The Tributes from the Maze (Newt/OC)

Newt Opened His Eyes

Newt opened his eyes. The sterile white that reflected off the entire room sent spots flying across his vision, blinding him momentarily. Once his eyes grew accustomed to the bright light, the blonde boy took in his surroundings. The last thing he remembered was being trapped inside his own mind as his body betrayed him, attacking his best friend. It wasn't really him. It was the disease that had seized his body and brain. In his last moments of sanity he finally managed to break out of his mental prison to beg for the sweet release of death. Thomas had pulled the trigger. Was he...dead?

Newt panicked and tried to get up only to be jerked back onto the hospital bed by restraints tied to his wrists and ankles.

"Easy there, or you'll hurt yourself and all my hard work will be for nothing." A feminine voice interrupted the frantic flow of his thoughts.

"Who are you?" The boy twisted his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the owner of the voice.

A gentle hand was placed on his chest, pushing him back down softly. Her heels clacked against the tiled floors and she moved into his line of sight. She had to be the most beautiful girl he had ever seen (not that he had seen that many, being trapped in a maze with all boys for most of what he remembers of his life). But it was an unsettling beauty. As if his body knew something was wrong. Something his mind could not pin point.

Maybe it was that she seemed too...perfected. Not a long, cascading raven hair was out of place and not a smudge was in sight. It was like looking at a portrait that had been painted over, and whilst not remembering the exact original, knowing it wasn't right. But piercing hazel eyes iced in long, dark lashes bore into his very soul. The only part of the portrait that had been left untouched.

A shock buzzed throughout him and there was a strange feeling, as though something was on the tip of his tongue but nothing was forming properly. All of his questions seemed to wash out of his brain. Great, Newt thought, she's an angel and I'm dead.

"Oh I'm can assure you, you aren't dead. And I'm no angel." Her peachy, full lips tilted upwards into a soft smile, displaying the dimples on either side of her round cheeks.

Blood flushed to his cheeks as he realised he had spoken aloud. "Then who are you?" He questioned.

"My name is Aria Paige. I'm part of a covert group in WICKED working undercover for the Right Arm. Lead by my mother, Chancellor Ava Paige. We've been planning to help immunes escape to a better life away from this corrupted continent. I know it sounds far fetched, but you can trust me." The girl, Aria, explained with a calm and calculated demeanour. Almost as if her speech had been rehearsed.

So he was still here in this hellhole, he wasn't dead. She swiftly took a needle and glass tube from the stainless steel bench next to her and leaned over Newt's bed to undo the ties around his right arm. Tapping and prodding his arm, she furrowed her eyebrows in concentration. Newt gathered that she was looking to take a blood sample. He was tempted to use his free arm to knock her out and escape, but something about her made him freeze in place, discarding her earlier doubtful statement.

"Ariadne?" The name tumbled from his lips. He had no recollection where it had come from. The girl's features hardened and her grip on his arm tensed.

"How did you...?" She began, but when her shocked eyes passed over his own confused orbs, a dismayed clarity settled over her. "I...I don't go by that name anymore."

So her name was Ariadne. But how had he known that? There was a tug in the depths of Newt's mind and he grabbed for it, pulling it out of hiding.

"Wasn't that the name of an Ancient Greek mythological princess? The one that helped Theseus escape the maze of the Minotaur?" He questioned.

"Yeah. Ironic, isn't it?" She rolled her eyes. "That's why I hate the name. The trials ruined it."