ONE
「the catalyst」
＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚

THOSE FIRST WEEKS in the Glade were rough. They were dark times that none of the Gladers liked to think about. They had all been so young when they first came up, but it felt as if they were a million years older now, more than a year and a half later. Their youth drained from their very souls.

They had just as much information on the Maze as they did three months ago. There was nothing else to be found. No clues as to why they were there or where they could be. No exit.

Absolutely nothing.

Sylvia was a Runner. She had been since those first days in the Glade, being one of the few people willing to keep exploring it with all the dangers evident. Same routine every day. Wake up early, eat breakfast, run the Maze, return to the Glade, visit the Map Room, shower, have dinner, go to bed, repeat.

When they had first established the job they made two branches of the system. They did this because herself and a certain Asian boy had been the first to take on exploring the Maze. They both had different methods of traversing the expansive Maze, which led to a lot of arguing about how it should be done. Eventually, the boy who the Gladers had begun to look up to as the leader of the Glade forced them to come to an agreement. Making two branches of the system was how they did that.

There were the Scouters and the Mappers. Minho took charge of the Scouters. Their jobs were to scout ahead in the Maze, looking for any clues or signs of danger. Sylvia took charge of the Mappers. Their jobs were to stay behind the Scouters and draw the passage. They would note any important details and draw out a map of the Maze. The two branches had to work together, two people assigned to each section. A Scouter and a Mapper. Over time their system sort of merged together, Runners being both Scouters and Mappers. Each Runner had to draw their own map and take notes of any changes. They figured it was more efficient that way.

So now, since there were no more branches within the Runners and they were just a whole, Minho and Sylvia had to sort of co-lead. This was extremely entertaining to the Runners because of how hard it was for them to work together. Almost everyday they were bickering. Some even brought snacks to watch them fight, acting like it was a comedy show. Minho and Sylvia always had to make decisions together, such as who was assigned to what section and what days they were put on. They spent most of their free time analyzing the maps drawn by the Runners, studying the changes and marking them down.

They had assigned partners for every section; only changing it up every once in a while. Sylvia's current partner was Cole: a quiet, blond-haired boy with a knack for the arts.

It was the middle of the week, another casual day in the Glade. Sylvia's alarm, which was set up on her watch, went off at exactly 5:30 AM. She had decided to sleep for five more minutes, as she had been up late the previous night working on some things in the Map Room. Turns out, she can't keep track of time while sleeping. Minho sauntered into her room, not bothering to knock. He had come to drag her out of her slumber, reason being that she was late.

"Rise and shine, assface!" Minho sang loudly in her ear. She groaned and slapped him away, turning away from him and nestling back under the covers.

Minho grabbed hold of her blanket and tugged roughly, ripping the blanket from her bed and tossing it to the floor. She immediately shot up and glowered at him. The cool morning air sent goosebumps rippling up her arms.

"I am going to kill you!" She shouted, her voice rising with every word.

Minho simpered smugly at her, "You'd have to get out of bed to do that, sweetheart."

She felt her blood boil and she was sure she had steam coming out of her ears as she jumped up from her bed and shoved Minho out of the room, slamming the door in his face and surely waking up everyone else in the Homestead.

She absolutely loathed when he called her that. It set fire to her insides and her ears turned hot whenever he did. He knew it was one of the things that got under her skin the most, so he did it often.

She loathed him in general.

SYLVIA HUFFED AS she made her way to Frypan's kitchen. She walked through the doors and greeted him, thanking the gods when she saw what he had made. Sitting on the plate in front of her was a breakfast wrap containing eggs, bacon, vegetables, and some sauce Frypan had come up with.

She thanked Fry and grabbed the wrap from the plate. She would have to eat it while running. Sylvia filled her canteen with water and shoved in it her Runner pack. She grabbed a brown paper bag from the counter that Frypan left for each of the Runners, arranged in a neat line. It contained her lunch. She made quick work of organizing her runner's pack and took a bite of her breakfast before jogging towards the West entrance. The doors had just started opening as she arrived.

Minho stood waiting there, which was unusual. Cole should've been in his place. He was talking to Kit, his current running partner.

"Where's Cole?" Sylvia questioned out loud.

Minho informed her, "He has a stomach bug or something. Clint said he was throwing up. You'll have to go out alone today."

A slight wrinkle appeared between her brows, "Is he okay?"

"He'll be fine."

"Hey," Kit joined in, "You sure you'll be okay alone?"

Kit was one of the original Gladers. He had perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth and could be obnoxious when he wanted to, but he had his moments of decentness. For example, right now.

"I'll be fine." She saluted him mockingly, and ran off into the Maze.

SYLVIA JOGGED AT a moderate pace through the looming corridors. Her mind wandered as she ran. She tried to guess what Frypan was making for dinner, she thought about getting new shirts in the next supplies shipment, and she thought about Cole being sick.

Cole was one of the youngest runners they had. It wasn't that they knew his exact age, but given on looks, he appeared to be no older than fifteen. Sylvia herself had no idea how old she was.

She took in the sight of the corridors around her. The different shades of green ivy clinging to the dull gray walls, the sharp glare of the sun, the weeds peeking through the cracks in the pavement, the heat of the day building on her shoulders, the metal plague hidden bearing the word 'WICKED' beneath the vines.

It was a little past noon and the sun was high above her head. A Beetleblade scuttled past her and she kicked it. The artificial bugs creeped her out, with their tiny metal legs and glowing red eyes. Whenever she saw one she felt as if her privacy had been invaded, their red stares boring into her skull.

She wiped at the sheen of sweat sticking to her hairline. Her stomach rumbled quietly in hunger. She was almost at the stopping point anyway, where she would stop to eat her lunch. She jogged in silence until she reached the dead end.

Sylvia sat with her back against the wall, removing her pack and digging through it for the brown bag. She dug into her meal, eating speedily so that she could get back to the job. If she finished early, she would have the Map Room to herself and actually be able to get work done. Whenever all the Runners were in the hut together it was hard to get a good focus on the task at hand, so Sylvia usually tried to get back early.

Sylvia finished off her meal and had started packing everything back in her Runner's pack. She took a gulp of water from her canteen and secured the container back on her belt.

As she stood up, she noticed something at the very end of the corridor that she hadn't noticed before: a smudge of something on the floor.

She moved towards it, crouching down and running her finger through it. It was a streak of blood, leading into a crawl space hidden by the ivy. The blood was dark red, almost brown, and dried. It was old.

Sylvia was starting to get a bad feeling about this, a knot making itself present in her gut. Pebbles dug into her knees as she leaned forward to move the ivy aside.

Light flooded into the darkness of the crawl space. Bile rose in her throat. She slid back a few feet and emptied her stomach of its contents, any lunch she had just eaten now on the floor.

Slowly, hesitantly, she turned back towards the crawl space. Splatters and puddles of dried blood stained the area. One could only fit if they were to lay inside it in a fetal position. There were shreds of clothing on the floor and the black rope strands of a necklace.

It was Ronan, a Runner who had never come back from the Maze a couple months ago. He always wore that damn necklace.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for it. The material had a small silver spiral charm attached and was spotted with blood. She felt more nauseous than before.

Light glinted off the wall and she noticed there was something written there in blood. She peered closer. The smears of blood were barely decipherable, and it looked a lot like "THE CLIFF", which didn't make any sense.

What was he trying to say? Maybe it was nothing, Just something he'd written while half out of his mind and going crazy from the Griever sting.

Nonetheless, she took out a pad of paper and wrote it down. Anything could help.

Sylvia stuffed his necklace in her back pocket. She would put it on his grave in the Deadheads, give his soul some peace.

As she stood again, she saw a Beetleblade perched on the wall, watching her. It's beady red eyes a steady and evil thing. She felt anger bubble deep within her. The Creators observing from afar.

"Fuck you." Sylvia snarled at it. She stormed down the corridor, angry at the Creators, angry at Ronan for not coming back, angry at herself for not finding a way out of this godforsaken place.

She ran in silence, the only sounds were the stomping of her feet and her puffing breaths. Sylvia needed to tell someone about this. She needed to tell Nick. She needed to get out of this Maze. She needed to break something.

Sylvia followed the ivy she cut down back through the halls and tried to stop thinking of the blood soaked necklace in her back pocket.

She came to an intersection within the Maze. Three different paths ahead of her. One to the left, one straight ahead, and one to the right. The passage straight ahead was the way back home. It was also the passage containing a Griever.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The Griever had its back turned to her. It was walking away from her, it's whirring and clicking filled the corridor. She started to move forward, standing on the tips of her toes. The Griever didn't know she was there. Sylvia planned to take a right, for it had another way back to the Glade. The only downside is that it would take a lot longer.

Sylvia continued inching forward, unblinking eyes glued to the Griever in terror. Her fingers twitched and a bead of sweat ran along her spine. She took another step and-

A twig snapped.

Louder than a shout. Louder than a gunshot. Louder than a bomb.

Sylvia took off running as the Griever screeched. She heard the blood rushing in her ears as her mouth became dry. She could feel her pulse in her head and throat and arms. She ran faster, her legs pumping with desperate conviction. Wind slicked her sweat soaked hair against her forehead. Her lungs burned with exertion.

The Griever screeched louder. It's clicks and whirs reverberated through the expansive corridors. It was getting closer and closer with each second that went by.

Sylvia ran faster than she ever had in her life. Self-preservation kicking in and adrenaline pumping through her veins. She gripped the knife that hung at her belt and turned, stopping for barely a second and throwing the knife at the Griever. In the time that she stopped, the Griever was able to slash at her leg and she hissed as it pierced her lower calf. Sylvia didn't wait to see if the knife had struck its target and turned the next corner. Her foot caught on something sharp and a cry left her mouth as she catapulted forwards. Her ankle bent as she fell and she heard a crack or a pop or a snap. Horror built in her chest at the sound. Her head slammed into the ground painfully.

Her vision swirled dizzyingly and her ears rang. Spots clouded her vision as she tried to move. Sylvia's head pounded as she attempted to scramble to her feet. The corridor spun and as soon as she put weight on her left leg a yelp left her lips. She crashed back to the ground. Fire burned up her leg and it felt as if she'd been stung by a hundred wasps.

The Griever shrieked somewhere in the background. The knife must have hit its target because the Griever stopped advancing momentarily.

Through her blurring vision, she could see the corridor to her right starting to close. With as much strength as she could muster, she dragged herself across the stone floor towards the closing hall. Sylvia was able to gain purchase and scrambled on her hands and knees. She could hear the Griever clicking and wailing behind her. She reached the corridor and flung herself on the other side of it before it closed.

Sylvia heard the Griever screech and dig it's mechanical legs into the wall on the other side, creating a terrible, high-pitched grating sound.

Sylvia lay sprawled across the warm concrete, breathing heavily and bleeding. The adrenaline was starting to wear off and she was starting to feel every single lesion on her body. Her ears rang and she felt hot and cold all at once.

Her ankle felt as if it had been hit with a hammer ten times. The pain came in waves, throbbing and searing and stabbing. She lay there for five minutes or five years. Time was funny when relishing in the preservation of your life and trying not to pass out from pain.

Her vision swirled and faded from blue sky to whiteness to blackness and back again. Her skull pounded and her heart rammed against her chest, pleading to break through her ribs and spill out on the floor. Sweat or blood or tears ran down her face and arms.

She breathed in and breathed out, letting her lungs fill with air and release it until she felt steady enough to sit up.

Sylvia examined her arms. They were full of scrapes, but nothing too serious. Her eyes slid down her body. Her shirt had rips in it and her pants and tears around the knees. As her eyes traveled further, more blood appeared. on her left leg, a gash resided from the Griever. Crimson red blood stained the majority of her pant leg. Her ankle was worse. She couldn't see it, but it hurt like hell. Her boot covered her ankle, but there were tears in the leather material of her shoe.

She wouldn't take her shoe off to examine her ankle because she remembered Jeff telling other Runners who hurt their ankles it would hurt more than it would help. She would wait until she saw the Med-jacks and they would deal with it.

Sylvia ripped the lower part of her shirt into a strip and tied it around the gash on her leg. She gripped a piece of ivy on the wall and hauled herself up, using all the strength in her right leg. She fully leaned her weight against the wall and winced.

Her expression pinched, she attempted to put weight on her left leg, it was just bearable if it was lightly, but any more and a stabbing pain shot up through her leg.

Sylvia looked around her for any sticks she could use for support and found none.

She checked the time on her watch: 5:34. She had roughly half an hour to get back to the Glade before the doors closed.

Sylvia took a deep breath and steeled herself. She moved forward, hands gripping the ivy for support and groaning as she did. She inched along the wall, bit by bit, wincing every so often. The ground swayed beneath her and her vision was supported by white dots.

Time felt endless and the corridors seemed to stretch farther and farther away from her with each step she took. She stumbled through the halls, shadows moving across the walls and her own shadow following her. She left a trail of blood behind her as she went, the makeshift tourniquet already soaked with blood.

Sweat ran down her face and slicked her increasingly paling skin. The ringing in her ears turned into the screams of the damned. Her tattered clothing turned into fifty pound weights. Her knees buckled and she hit the floor, pebbles kicked loose scraping the flesh of her palms. Her throat felt dusty and she sucked in breaths like a panting dog.

Sylvia unscrewed the canteen at her belt and poured the water in her mouth, droplets overflowing and running over her chin and down the valley of her neck. The prickling agony in her left ankle shot up through her leg.

Still — she got back up. She continued, the stone walls towering over her. She was so close now. She could feel it in every step she took and every beat of her heart. Her eyes drooped and she forced them open. One more corridor.

Sylvia grunted through every step, unwanted tears prickling the corners of her eyes. She wiped them furiously. She would not let the Maze take her. She would not be subject to the Creators.

She could hear shouting and arguing Gladers faintly through the ringing in her ears now. She had never felt so relieved. She was so tired. She turned the corner. The Gladers pointed to Sylvia as she emerged. Two minutes were left on the clock. Sylvia could see the blurred figures of the Gladers and limped forward.

Nick broke his own rule and immediately ran into the Maze once his sight landed upon her. Newt followed behind Nick, not hesitating for a second. The Gladers were gathered at the entrance of the Maze. They looked as if they were shouting but she couldn't hear a word they were saying. Their chants warped in her ears until they were distorted and unrecognizable. Nick and Newt went on either side of Sylvia, throwing her arms over their shoulders and dragging her back to the Glade. Her eyes drooped once again.

Both Nick and Newt must have been saying something to her, for she could feel their warm breaths against each of her ears. She couldn't make out what they were saying. A high pitched ringing built in her ears and the corridor spun around her. The ground began to shake, the vibrations reverberating through her bones. They stepped into the Glade as the doors were a quarter of the way closed.

They didn't bother to stop at the entrance, the Gladers parting like a school of fish as the three of them made their way through the crowd. Sylvia realized faintly that she was being rushed to the Med-jack room in the Homestead. Nick and Newt were practically dragging her now, her legs having failed her. Her eyelids grew heavy with exhaustion and her head bobbed against her chest. The agony consumed her whole as darkness filled her vision.

Gone with the wind.

AUTHORS NOTE:

i feel like this is a really chaotic way to start this book but