How I survived in an all boys glade

Chapter Eighty

- Subject: A17 - The Heart -

"Is everyone okay?!" I call out, my voice strained as the darkness presses in around us.

"Yeah..." someone mutters, their voice barely audible. Then, a door behind us opens with a soft hiss. I squint as my eyes slowly adjust to the light.

"What the shuck?" Theo murmurs, his voice filled with disbelief.

We step out into a hallway, the lights flickering on one by one as we begin moving forward. I follow the line of light, instinctively falling in between Newt and Minho, with Theo on the other side of Minho. Chuck, Thomas, and Teresa lead the way, with Fry and Winston trailing behind.

We walk in silence for a while, the eerie quiet of the hallway only broken by our footsteps. 

Eventually, we reach a door marked 'EXIT,' bathed in a soft green light. I glance around at the others, catching Fry's gaze. We exchange a look of confusion before he turns to Winston.

"Seriously?" Fry asks in disbelief, his eyes wide as he studies the sign.

I glance up at the sign, then at the two small lamps beside it—a red one and a green one. The green lamp is lit.

Thomas cautiously approaches the door, pressing down the handle. The door creaks open, revealing a scene that makes my stomach churn.

Inside, there's smoke drifting through the air, the alarm still blaring, and people in white lab coats sprawled across the floor, each with at least two bullet holes in them. My stomach drops. I start absentmindedly playing with the bracelet on my wrist when I feel a warm hand slip into mine.

I glance down to see Newt holding my hand, his thumb tracing small circles on the back of it, grounding me as we move forward.

As we step into the room, my eyes are drawn to a long window in the wall. Curiosity pulls me toward it. I peer inside and see two bodies on tables, both looking to be around fifteen or sixteen years old. Each one has a round bloodstain on their stomach, marking them as victims of the same fate. My heart aches for them. They never had a chance.

I just stand there, staring at them, feeling the weight of their untimely deaths. Why did they have to end up like this?

Minho's hand rests gently on my lower back, guiding me forward. Newt pulls me with him, his hand warm against mine as we rejoin the others.

"What happened here?" Winston asks, his voice trembling with shock as we find a man lying on the ground, a gun beside his hand.

Minho nudges the gun aside, his expression hardening as he looks up at Winston. Without a word, he continues forward.

I follow, and then—

"Oh, my God..." I mutter under my breath.

We step into a large room, and the sight before me makes my blood run cold. More bodies—more people in lab coats—lying dead on the floor, each with a bullet wound. I walk closer to Minho, feeling a heavy knot form in my stomach.

I release Newt's hand as he walks toward some screens with Fry and Theo. Something catches my eye, and I stop, my breath catching in my throat.

On one of the screens, there's a picture of me—just two years younger—frozen on the display. I walk toward it, heart hammering in my chest, my thoughts a jumble. Minho is standing on a podium with Chuck, but my attention is fixed on the screen.

I approach it slowly, my mind racing as I read the text beside my image:

Group A

Subject: A17 - The Heart

The words sting as I read them.

Subject A17 is the kind one in the group, but can still be tough if she needs to be. She's the one the other subjects count on, is good at helping where she's needed. She's the softer one, but will still come up with comments here and there. She is the heart of the group, always making sure everyone is safe. She will be the first to make sure the new arrivals are safe and well taken care of, even if it means following them into the Maze and staying there for the night. Can be of use later on.

'Can be of use later on?'

The words echo in my mind, sending a chill down my spine. What do they mean by that? Was this all part of some plan? Did they release the Griever in broad daylight just to see how I'd react? Were they testing me? Trapping George to see if I would try to help him?

My mind spins with the implications, but the questions come too fast to process. I stand there, staring at the screen, my thoughts colliding in a frantic whirl.