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

- CHAOS AND ACTION -

We emerge into a new section of the level - a wide, bright expanse of white-tiled walkways and glass-paneled labs. It's unnervingly quiet compared to the floors below. Here, the chaos hasn't fully reached yet. Doctors and lab workers stroll briskly across the space, each one in a pristine coat, carrying tablets or syringes or trays of samples. No one runs. No one panics. This is the heart of WICKED - and it feels like a machine, smooth and indifferent.

There's a four-way corridor intersection ahead, branching off like arteries in a sterile beast. We walk through it like we belong, heads slightly bowed, but moving confidently. That's key - confidence. No one questions confidence. But I can feel eyes. Then we turn a corner and I see someone I didn't want to.

Down the hall, standing alone at the far end, is Dr. Ava Paige.

She spots me instantly. Her face doesn't change - not a flinch, not a blink - but I know she recognizes me. Her hands fold calmly in front of her, as if she was expecting us. That makes my blood boil. My grip tightens on my taser. I only have this thing. One shot, and it's not even lethal. Meanwhile, Thomas, beside me, is already reaching for his stolen pistol.

But before we can make a move, there's motion from behind us. A figure steps into view down the opposite end of the hall.

Janson.

He doesn't hesitate. He draws his weapon, eyes focused and unblinking. "Get down!" I scream, yanking Newt and Thomas just as the first shot fires. The bullet explodes into the wall near Thomas' shoulder.

We sprint.

The hallway stretches endlessly ahead. Thomas pulls me forward, and I drag Newt by the arm as more gunfire cracks behind us. Janson is shouting but I can't hear the words over the deafening alarm and the pounding of our boots on tile. "Minho!?" Thomas yells, eyes darting into every window, every room we pass.

The halls of WICKED twist around us like a maze, but we don't stop - not until we find him. The air feels thin, claustrophobic, too clean. I can taste my own adrenaline on my tongue, bitter and sharp.

"Freeze!" A voice barks.

A guard appears at the end of the hallway, gun drawn, already aiming. But I don't hesitate. I don't show mercy.

I shoot.

The stun gun kicks in my hand, the bolt crackling through the air before it hits him square in the chest. His body jolts, convulses, then slams backward into the wall, falling limp. Sparks spray off the metal trim behind him like angry fireflies.

Newt's hand grips the back of my uniform, steadying himself, or me. His breath is ragged, the warmth of it brushing against the side of my neck for a moment.

"Minho!" Thomas shouts again, voice cracking through the chaos like a whip.

"Minho?!" I scream too, adding my voice to his. The guards already know we're here. We might as well get something out of it.

All three of us yell his name as we sprint through the maze of corridors.

Doctors and nurses scatter like ghosts in white, darting into rooms, disappearing behind glass doors. We don't fire at them. They don't stop us. They're not the ones trying to kill us. The guards are - and for them, we don't hold back.

The white walls are streaked now with black smudges, singed from misfired rounds or sparking circuitry. The air reeks of ozone, sweat, and fear. Somewhere behind us, a radio crackles. "Target sighted - east wing! Three runners!"

And that's the first direction we've gotten. "This way!" I urge the boys, praying I know which way is north.

We're watching each other's backs, ducking through open doors and behind corners. None of us are trained. We're just three kids in over our heads, fighting in a war we never asked for. Our movements are frantic, sloppy, but desperate enough to work. We're not soldiers. We're survivors.

"There they are!" Another voice yells. "Over here!"

We dart around another corner, nearly colliding into a steel cabinet. I feel Thomas's hand shove my shoulder, redirecting me, then he stumbles into Newt. We're tangled in each other's limbs, but we stay on our feet.

The guards behind us shout orders. But they still don't shoot. Not directly. They hesitate. Newt notices too. "They're under orders," he pants. "They're not meant to kill us. Probably."

"Not a comforting guess," I mutter, checking my taser. Two shots left from what I know.

We reach a junction - another damn hallway - when Thomas throws his arm out. "Get down!" He shouts. We drop instantly. I practically collapse onto Newt, breaking our fall with my forearm on the tiles. Bullets slam into the wall just overhead. "Shit," Thomas growls, crouched low, back to the wall. "I'm almost out." He peeks around the corner and ducks back immediately. "Too many," he mutters.

I glance down the hallway we just came from. The guard I shot is still there, slumped in the corner. Something on his belt catches my eye - a smooth silver sphere about the size of an apple. There's a button on the top. I scramble toward it, grab it fast. "Get back!" I bark at the boys.

Thomas and Newt duck instinctively. I pull the pin - or what looks like one - and toss it blindly around the corner.

The sound is like lightning detonating inside a metal drum. A blinding electric pulse explodes outward, casting blue-white arcs in all directions. The floor vibrates beneath us, and a high-pitched whine follows the crack of release. I hear yelling - guards shouting - before it all goes quiet.

Dead quiet.

I blink against the after-image burned into my vision. Thomas looks at me, stunned. "Nice," Newt says, breathless, and grabs my hand to pull himself up. His palm lingers for a beat longer than needed. "Now let's go."

We bolt.

Another hallway. Another tight turn.

"You three! Freeze!" Someone screams and getting awfully tired of the demand.

A guard stands with his gun raised, just ten feet away. I lift my hands - only to realize too late.

I left my gun back there. My fingers clench at air. Newt's holster is empty too. He notices, frantic. "Bloody-"

Thomas lifts his pistol. Theres a click. Nothing. "I said get your hands up!" The guard yells louder, stepping closer. One finger curls around the trigger.

I tense. I don't have anything left. None of us do.

But then something moves.

A blur charges from the far end of the hall, fast and brutal. It collides with the guard like a freight train, slamming into him full force. The guard screams as he's lifted off his feet, smashed through the glass of a medical viewing room. The crash sounds like an avalanche of ice and metal.

The glass shatters around them in a rain of silver shards. Sparks fly. Alarms shriek louder. Chaos reclaims the corridor.

We do freeze.

The guard doesn't get up.

And the figure who brought him down stands there, chest heaving, fists clenched. Blood smears the collar of his shirt, his knuckles red and raw.

He turns to us.

Thomas gasps. Newt blinks like he doesn't trust his own vision. But I know that face. I'd know it even through smoke and hellfire. His hair's a mess, wild and matted to his forehead. His lip is bleeding. There's a cut above his brow. But his eyes - familiar, defiant - they burn with fire.

The boy steps forward slowly, one hand flexing as if ready to take down the next thing that moves. I can barely breathe.

"Minho," I whisper.

~