IT STARTED WITH A MAZE - Newt x Reader (F)

- A WAY IN -

I don't think I take a proper breath for the next 10 minutes of walking. I'm unsure if GallY or Thomas do, either. Newt is still panting, but I relish the sound, grateful I'm able to hear it.

Finally, we reach a door - big, rusted, reinforced. Gally puts a hand on it and turns to us. "Act natural," he says.

I blink. "What does that even mean?" But before I can ask, he's already pushing it open.

Blinding light floods in. We squint instinctively, raising hands to shield our eyes as we step out of the tunnel - and into another world.

A station. A real one.

We're suddenly standing in the middle of a wide underground concourse, high-arched ceilings above us and floors polished to a shine. People walk briskly in every direction, dressed in clean, pressed clothes that fit. Their shoes aren't falling apart. Their faces are partly hidden by sleek white masks that filter air, but even so, they look calm. Determined. They have somewhere to be.

I freeze. Newt and Thomas do, too.

What the hell?

The air here smells different - like copper and steriliser, not mildew and rot. The fluorescent lights don't flicker. They hum steadily overhead. The space isn't broken. It's... maintained. It's functioning.

We're in the Last City.

Gally keeps a brisk pace, hands in his coat pockets, not looking back to check if we're following. But we do. All four of us blend into the current like driftwood caught in a river.

I feel every inch of grime on my skin. Every patch of mud dried on my jacket. We're ghosts from a different world, stumbling through one that's kept going without us.

"Red zone, departing the station in five minutes," someone announces overhead through hidden speakers. Then, almost cheerfully: "Thank you." I glance at Newt and Thomas. Never in our lives have we been thanked by a disembodied voice.

We keep walking, moving with the crowd until the station opens out onto the street. The transition is seamless, a smooth architectural design that spills us up into the open city.

It hits me all over again.

Buildings rise around us, intact and gleaming. Not towers of rubble or half-bombed ruins, but real, honest-to-God buildings. Glass reflects the late afternoon light, windows unshattered, some even open. Neon signs hum quietly over doorways. People walk in and out of storefronts.

Electricity. Plumbing. Life.

I nearly stumble.

Gally bounds up the first set of stairs two at a time like it's nothing. The rest of us lag behind. We're not used to climbing stairs that haven't crumbled underfoot.

At the top, he stops, leaning against a handrail like he's done this a thousand times before - and I'm beginning to realise that maybe he has.

The three of us catch up and finally, finally, pause.

The city sprawls around us, humming with movement. Cars pass in the distance. Distant music drifts from an open window. Somewhere, a dog barks.

Newt exhales, slow. "This is a long way from the Glade."

I laugh under my breath, but it's a little breathless. "And all the damn WICKED compounds."

Another voice booms overhead, calm and artificial. "Fifteen minutes until mandatory curfew. Please proceed home in an orderly fashion. Remember, this is for your safety. Thank you for your compliance."