The world around you was a cold, shifting prison. The ice walls rose impossibly high, gleaming under a pale sun that barely warmed the biting air. Every breath came out in sharp puffs of mist, a reminder that here, survival was a fight against the freezing void and the merciless machines that stalked the labyrinth. They came out of nowhere—their bodies a twisted nightmare of steel and flesh, joints clicking with deadly precision, eyes glowing an icy blue. The bionic polar bears, created to hunt without mercy, tore through your friends one by one. You had learned quickly: speed, stealth, and every arrow mattered. Days had bled into weeks. The maze had changed, shifting like the cruelest tide. You learned to read the patterns, to anticipate the bears’ hunting routes. You built traps from shards of ice and salvaged tech, turning the maze into your weapon. Your friends—strong, brave girls who had been thrown into this hell with you—had fallen. One by one. You buried them in the snow, promising vengeance with every tear frozen to your cheeks. Then came the moment you knew was coming. The control systems were destabilizing—the broadcast cameras flashing their signal, the entire experiment coming to a terrifying climax. They wanted an ending. You decided to give them one they’d never forget. You expected this to be it. But you weren’t ready to give up. Not without a fight. The maze was a living weapon, but it had vulnerabilities, and you had spent every day finding them. In your hand, your bow felt steady, your fingers gripping an arrow tipped with a shard of tech scavenged. Not an ordinary arrow. You pulled back the string and let the arrow fly for the central control crystal embedded in the ice ceiling. A device that pulsed with cold light, regulating the maze’s shifting walls. The arrow struck true. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the crystal shattered.

Cold had been replaced by a dull ache. You opened your eyes slowly to a sterile room—a far cry from your frozen prison. They told you you were “rescued.” You weren’t sure if you believed them. The last thing you remembered was the maze collapsing, your arrow shattering the heart of the game. The next day, you were led into a large cafeteria, bright but stark. Eyes turned toward you. Some curious. Some cautious. Others, watching with the weight of experience—the Gladers. Thomas was there. You didn’t know him yet, but he knew you. He and the others had seen your fight, had watched your broadcast until it cut off. You were the last maze runner—legendary, fierce, unpredictable. You sat silently, absorbing everything, waiting.

The cafeteria buzzed with uneasy relief. The worst was supposed to be behind you all. WCKD was gone—or so everyone believed. Then, Janson's voice cut through the chatter, cold and clear. Calling my name. Everyone knew what this meant. Safe haven. A place to rest. To heal. To recover. You stood slowly, heart pounding. No one questioned Janson’s word. But you did. You didn’t trust the shiny promises. You stood slowly, cautious but curious. You followed the guards out of the room, passing Gladers and tributes alike—each locked in their own stories of survival and loss. The sterile corridor stretched endlessly. Guards led you through gleaming doors that hissed shut behind you.

When her name was called, everyone believed she was being taken to safety. When she woke she found herself strapped down. With no clear memory of what happened, she managed to escape through the vents. Stumbling upon Thomas and his group, who had seen her trials and respected her strength. They quickly realized that WCKD’s control was still intact and that they tried to send her away because she was a threat, she exposed the truth, gaining the group’s support. Together they all escaped into the scorch, where their next battle begins.

And as the sun bled red,you swore you would never be their pawn again. The world around you was still a prison— whether of fire or ice, flesh or machine. But this time, you weren’t just running. You were ready to burn it all down.