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

- IN THE FIRING LINE -

The city blurs around us - flashing lights, distant sirens, the sharp clang of hurried footsteps on cracked pavement. I lose track of time, unsure how long we've been running, how far we've come. All I know is the steady, desperate rhythm of our breaths and the image of Newt stumbling in Thomas and Minho's arms. His head lolls forward every now and again as we run. Every time I look back at them I'm bitterly conflicted whether I'm doing the right thing by running away from WICKED.

Then, from somewhere behind us, a low rumble grows into a violent roar. The ground trembles beneath our feet, and for a moment the city seems to hold its breath. The still doesn't last long.

The explosion rips through the night, a sudden, searing burst that throws debris into the air and lights up the dark sky with a terrifying orange glow. Flames shoot upward, twisting and snapping like wild fingers clawing at the sky. The echo crashes against the buildings, a jagged wave of sound that vibrates deep inside my chest.

We all halt instinctively, drawn by the sight and sound, the shock locking us in place. The air smells of burning plastic and smoke, thick and choking even from this distance. My eyes can't leave the flames licking the edges of the horizon, the devastation sprawling like a scar across the cityscape.

"We're supposed to take down WICKED, not the whole damn city," Gally mutters bitterly, voice tight with frustration. I know exactly who he means, who's behind that attack - Lawrence. His reckless ambition, the cold calculus that doesn't care who gets caught in the crossfire.

"We need to go," I say firmly, forcing my legs to move again even as my heart clenches. My gaze flickers back to Newt, his head tilting slightly with every breath, fragile and uneven. The virus- is it airborne? Teresa's words echo in my mind, whispered in that frantic run through the building. Is that why his condition got so bad so fast? "I need to go," I say more quietly, almost to myself.

Thomas's hand finds my arm, steady and sure. "We stick together," he says without hesitation.

Gally's eyes meet mine, a silent agreement passing between them. I nod, but inside, my mind is racing ahead, torn between the need to stay and the gnawing pull of what Teresa told me. We're not far even now - just blocks away from the WICKED tower, the heart of the storm we've been running from.

Every step forward feels heavier, burdened by the weight of what lies ahead.

We round the corner and suddenly chaos crashes into us like a wall. Sirens shriek, lights flash in a stuttering blur of red and blue, and a line of heavy vehicles clogs the narrow street ahead. People in full black body armor move like shadows between the vans, shouting orders over the noise, weapons drawn. Guns, at least a dozen of them, gleam under the city lights.

"Hey, stay low- stay low," Gally hisses, already crouching. He reaches out, gripping Newt under one arm and pulling him behind the cover of a toppled street sign. The rest of us duck down fast. My knees scrape pavement as I land beside them, breathing hard. Newt is pale. Too pale. His lips move slightly but there's no sound, and sweat beads on his brow despite the night chill. He's only getting worse.

Thomas edges up slowly, back pressed against the wall, and just barely peeks around the corner. "Shit," he breathes.

I glance at him quickly. "How bad?"

He swallows, voice tight. "Bad. They've really got the whole street blocked. Vehicles, barricades- fully armed guards." A part of me wished my eyes were lying earlier.

"Damn it. That's where we need to go," Gally mutters, his fists clenched against the pavement.

"What are they waiting for?" Minho asks, brows drawn as he peers upward toward the flickering lights.