Thomas blinked against the blinding light, his feet skidding across unfamiliar ground as he stumbled forward. The heat of the Scorch was gone, but the air around him felt just as oppressive, thick with tension. He barely had time to orient himself when Newt crashed into him from behind, Minho right on his heels.

"What the bloody hell—" Newt gasped, eyes wide as he took in their surroundings.

They weren’t in the Scorch anymore. Or the Maze. Around them, towering, twisted buildings loomed, half-destroyed, smoke rising from distant fires. The sky was an unnatural red, thick with ash and dust. Shouts echoed in the distance, followed by a bone-chilling shriek. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and something worse—death.

"This isn't WCKD," Minho muttered, eyes darting around. "But it’s not any better."

Thomas’ heart pounded in his chest as he tried to make sense of it. One second they’d been running for their lives, and now—this. There were figures in the distance. They weren’t Cranks, but something else. Human-like, but... wrong. Twitching. Unnatural.

"Where the hell are we?" Thomas breathed.

Newt scanned the horizon, a frown deepening on his face. "I don’t know, but it’s not exactly a vacation spot, is it?"

"Hey!" Minho snapped, jerking his head toward the alley to their left. "Incoming."

Thomas followed his gaze and froze. A figure were rushing toward them, but there was something off about them. He couldn’t figure out what though.

"Run or fight?" Minho asked, already bracing himself for whatever was about to happen.

Thomas felt his instincts kick in. Fight. Run. Survive. It didn’t matter where they were—Maze, Scorch, or this twisted place—survival was the only rule.

"We fight," he said through clenched teeth, gripping a piece of metal debris from the ground. "Then we figure out where the hell we are."