Newt | Through The Gates Of Hell

Fine Dining, WICKED Style

Y/N's P.O.V

Three weeks. Three weeks since I'd escaped the hellhole of a maze. Three weeks since I'd seen my best friend die in front of me. Three weeks since I'd been rescued from the clutches of WICKED by the mysterious organization. Three weeks since I'd lost all my friends, either to the maze, or to supposed Paradise. Three weeks of being poked and prodded by a bunch of lab coat wearing ninnies. Three weeks of crawling through vents, meticulously planning an escape route, and gleaning every scrap of information possible. Three weeks of befriending random people, people I could put my plan in action with. Three weeks of doubting our rescuers; questioning their true intentions. 

Three weeks were an awful lot of time for me.

I was sitting at my usual table in the cafeteria, with my friend, Lise, when the group of boys walked in. They were wearing the usual clothes issued to us by the idiots who had saved us -- simple, plain clothes, consisting of simple, unmonogrammed T-shirts, pants, and running shoes. It wasn't a big group - there were only five of them. Depressing. Had only five of them escaped the maze? Had the rest died? Or had they just refused to come? I carefully studied them, my brain automatically sizing them up, naming them. 

There was a brunette guy; he looked smart. I figured he was the brains of the entire group. He was definitely nervous, and there was tension coiled in his lanky but athletic frame. He kept looking around, as though searching for someone. His eyes slid over everyone, and his shoulders slumped. He evidently hadn't found whoever he was looking for. I mentally labelled him as "Brain" and moved on.

I took one look at the next person, and immediately dubbed him as Mr. Hair. His hair was shaped so perfectly that not a single strand of black hair out of place. I wondered how many hair products Mr. Hair applied. I highly doubted my hair had ever looked that good. He sported a robust body shape, arms bulging with muscles. His Asian features contorted, showing his immense surprise as he took in the group of teenagers sitting around. Whatever he had expected, it certainly hadn't been this.

The third dude had dark skin and a buzz cut. He was tall and muscular, but not in a scary way. He radiated joy and a sense of jovialness. His open and trustworthy face gave him an affable air. When he saw the food, he gesticulated wildly, pointing towards it. Something told me that he had been the cook of the group's maze. I decided that his name would be 'Big Friendly Guy', or 'BFG' for short.

Guy the fourth had a lot of acne. Like, a lot of it. With barely a twinge of regret, I named him "Acne".

My eyes zeroed in on Blondie. He was, well, blond. I had no idea why, but I felt a strong tug of familiarity in my heart.  The blond guy looked in my general direction. Somehow, I knew he was looking right at me. Our eyes locked together. My skin tingled. My blood sang.

I know him, I know him, I know him. 

I know him. 

How? As far as I could remember, I'd spoken to exactly one guy, and I was pretty sure he was dead. Nevertheless, the familiarity screamed at me. I knew him. Through the dammed memory blocks the Creators put in, my past self was probably yelling at me, and pounding on the walls in my mind. 

I 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 him.

Blondie looked away, and I snapped out of my reverie. Together, the small group walked toward the table where the food was kept.