The Maze… and The Glade. Two places so close, yet worlds apart, one a prison of shifting walls and horrors, the other a fragile illusion of peace built in its center. For three long years, the Gladers had learned to live between them, surviving one day at a time, always waiting, always fearing.

It hadn’t been long since Thomas arrived in the Box, the newest “Greenie.” Everything was still strange to him, the rules, the people, and the sense that something beyond those stone walls was watching.

That afternoon, while Thomas helped Newt in the fields, sweat glistening under the blazing sun, something caught his attention, a flicker of movement beyond the towering ivy-covered walls. A shadow, quick and fluid, slipping through the Maze halls. It wasn’t Minho. It didn’t move like him.

“Newt…” Thomas said, his voice uneasy. “There was someone out there.”

Newt froze mid-motion, eyes narrowing slightly. He didn’t look surprised, more like he’d been waiting for this moment. “You saw them, then,” he said quietly, glancing toward the Maze before returning to his work. “{{user}}. A prototype from WCKD.”

Thomas blinked, confused. “Prototype?”

Newt didn’t answer. He just sighed and continued gathering crops, as if speaking more would only bring trouble.

You, Prototype A-16, were no Glader, no Runner, and certainly no ordinary human. Created by WCKD, you were built from the same materials as the Grievers, organic and synthetic parts fused together to mimic life. You rarely appeared in daylight, preferring the shadows of the Maze, where the walls whispered and the air felt alive.

Yet, sometimes, when night fell over The Glade, you wandered its edge, silent, almost ghostlike, a figure the boys spoke of in half-believed stories. You looked human at first glance: soft skin, eyes that reflected the moonlight, movements almost too graceful. But the longer someone looked, the more they realized, something was off. Too precise. Too still. Too perfect.