TMR - Thomas x X-reader fanfiction

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Price of Progress

The hum of the monitors filled the dimly lit control room, a rhythmic pulse that never ceased. The screens flickered, casting pale light against the walls, illuminating the faces of the Gladers as they navigated the Maze.

Chancellor Ava Paige stood at the centre of it all, her gaze locked onto Y/N's figure. The girl moved with a confidence that unsettled her. Not reckless. Not desperate. Purposeful. She knows something.

Ava's fingers twitched at her sides. She had always known that this group—their stubbornness, their defiance—would complicate things. But the fact that they were now deviating from WICKED's carefully laid paths meant something deeper. They weren't just surviving. They were adapting. And that was dangerous.

She inhaled slowly, turning from the screens. The control room felt colder than usual today, though she knew it was just in her mind. Her footsteps were silent against the polished floor as she moved toward the observation window, its blinds perpetually drawn.

Today, she opened them.

A sky of muted orange stretched over the horizon, thick with ash and dust. The sun, a bloated red eye, hung low, casting everything in the sickly glow of a world decaying from the inside out.

Below, the earth was cracked and dry, veins of blackened rock breaking through like the bones of something long dead. The remains of cities stood in jagged silhouettes, crumbling towers swallowed by vines and sand, rusted vehicles long abandoned on highways leading to nowhere.

Then there were the settlements.

Clusters of tents and makeshift huts, crammed together in desperate attempts at survival. Smoke rose from barrel fires where the few still capable of thought huddled for warmth, their gaunt faces barely distinguishable from the infected that lurked in the shadows beyond.

And the Flare.

It had consumed them all in different ways. Some still looked human, their minds slipping slowly, paranoia setting in like a second skin. Others had long since lost themselves, their bodies twisted with sores, their eyes void of recognition. Cranks.

She had once walked among them, back when the Post-Flares Coalition still believed they could contain the outbreak. Before the screams had turned into mindless snarls. Before entire cities had been burned to keep the infection from spreading.

The scent of rot and smoke clung to her memory. The taste of dust on her tongue. The sound of fingernails clawing at metal doors as those on the inside begged to be let out.

Ava closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose before pulling the blinds shut once more.

This was why they did what they did.

This was why WICKED had been formed.

She turned back toward the control panels, her mind shifting to another memory—one from the earliest days of WICKED, when the weight of the world had first fallen onto their shoulders.

A long, sterile conference table. The flickering light of a projector. A room filled with the brightest scientific minds of the century, their faces drawn with exhaustion and something far worse: acceptance.

"We need a controlled environment," Dr. Curtis had said, his voice cracking from too many sleepless nights. "A place where we can observe the immune in isolation, test their limits."

"An enclosed system," another scientist added. "Where outside variables won't interfere."

Ava had remained quiet, listening.

"We don't have time for a slow solution," someone else snapped. "The Flare is advancing faster than projected. We need results."

"Then we must be willing to make difficult choices," Janson had said, ever the pragmatist. "Children's brains are still developing. They adapt faster than adults. If there is an answer to be found, it lies within them."

Ava had felt a shift in the room then. A silent moment where the final line between morality and necessity blurred beyond recognition.

It was then that she had spoken for the first time.

"If we do this, it must be absolute," she had said, her voice steady. "No outside contact. No contamination. No hesitation."

They had all agreed.

The Maze Trials had been born.

A chime interrupted her thoughts, and she turned as the control room door slid open.

Janson entered, his movements precise as always. He stopped beside her, his hands folded behind his back, eyes flicking toward the monitors.

"Chancellor."

"Janson," she greeted, her voice composed once more.

"The subjects are progressing," he noted, his gaze sharp as he watched Y/N lead the group. "Faster than anticipated."

Ava crossed her arms, staring at the screens. "Yes."

"They're deviating from the intended path."

"Yes," she repeated.

Janson glanced at her. "And you're allowing this?"

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she watched Y/N's figure on the monitor, the way the girl carried herself. She was beginning to remember. That much was clear.

"Do you believe in fate, Janson?" Ava asked suddenly.

His expression barely shifted. "I believe in results."

A small smile touched her lips. "Then you and I are not so different."

She turned to face him fully. "Tell me, what do you see when you look at them?"

Janson studied the monitors. "Potential."

Ava nodded. "That's what I thought, too."

There was a long pause before Janson spoke again. "Shall I initiate the deterrents?"

Ava hesitated, just for a moment.

And then she said, "Proceed."

Janson nodded once before stepping toward the control panel. His fingers moved quickly, inputting a series of commands.

Ava's eyes lingered on the monitors as the Maze began to shift. Walls reconfiguring. New obstacles falling into place. The game becoming harder.

She turned away, walking slowly toward the exit.

They had all agreed, all those years ago, that this was necessary. That they would sacrifice a few to save the many.

But as the door slid shut behind her, she couldn't help but wonder—

How many more would need to be lost before humanity was saved?