Heyyaaaa, sorry for updating late!

Dis chapter is meh BUT the end is quite... 'graphic?' PLEASE like I said before, if anything makes you uncomfortable, don't read it- I will not be offended, tbh it made me feel kinda freaked out. I've put in a little message where the 'triggering' part starts so just skip straight to the end if you want to.

Anyways, thanks for reading and for the support!

Btw, check out one of my friends' stories called Exorcist Little Princess (bet she stole the name from me XD)

It's a Blue Exorcist fanfiction and it would be awesome if you could take a look!

I don't own maze runner and sorry for mistakes!

Ivy's POV

Sharp echoes of my boots on tile reverberate and bounce eerily off of the pristine white corridor walls, the sound of harsh breathing complimenting the permeated silence. Far behind are the faint yells and shouts followed by an orchestra of frantic footsteps, an army of people desperate to find me.

My heartbeat struggles to keep up at the pace I'm running at, the violent throb causing abnormally fierce pains in my chest. I'm running on gasoline at this point, my adrenaline not being enough to fuel my fire. I need to get out.

I don't know where I'm running, but I'm sure I'll tell when I reach my destination. The glass vial of blue liquid they injected me with earlier is making me woozy, my vision starting to bend and swirl whilst I struggle to run straight. I can't afford to fall over. If I do they'll catch me.

Blinking rapidly, my breaths coming in even more ragged, hoarse pants, I begin to hear a few guards creeping closer. The sound of loud, metallic boots begin to clear, signalling that they're gaining ground.

Taking a sharp left turn, skidding for a few metres before running again, I think back to what he told me. I forgot who he is.

Who was 'he' again?

I don't remember. But he said to 'keep running; don't look back; survive.'

What was I running from?

A muffled shout of 'don't let her get away' reminds me.

I was running away from WICKED. Whatever they put into my body must have been the memory serum. Evil, sadistic bastards love to stick us with needles and put weird shit in our bodies, not to mention run hundreds of unnecessary tests all just to cut us open and fuck us up. But I thought the memory wipe process was only complete when they submerge the subject?

Oh wait- that only activates the dormant part of the serum which speeds up the memory loss, stores inactive memories and knocks the subject out before being sent up.

How do I know this?

Stop it Ivy!

But how do I know this? Who is WICKED? What is a memory serum? Where am I going?

I can't comprehend what's happening, only the slap of my feet on the ground and the lactic acid burning through my entire being. Fatigue is looming like a storm cloud, threatening to overcome me.

Balling my hands into fists, I narrow my eyes, repeating 'his' words like a mantra in my head.

Keep running.

"Hurry up! We can't let her go in yet!"

Don't look back.

"Faster, she's getting away!"

Survive.

"Where did she go?"

Keep running.

Inhale.

"The procedure hasn't been completed yet!"

Don't look back.

Hold.

"If she doesn't forget now, we could lose her!"

Survive.

Exhale.

This continued on for God-knows-how-long until the immaculate ground started giving way to grubby, stained concrete underfoot. I had passed several doors and intersections but decided to stay put in the direction I was now, fearing if I stopped for even a moment, my will to fight would dissolve like a fragile raindrop.

Upon nearing the end of the hallway, the light began to dim and the state of the passage started to deteriorate. Cut wires hung hazardously from light fixtures whilst splatters of a dried, maroon looking substance painted the walls in a sick and twisted fashion. The desperate shouts behind me were getting louder as I crossed the exit to this never-ending passageway, the narrow hall opening up to a vast expanse of darkness, the only light sources being man-sized tubes of bubbling aqua liquid. The containers they tortured my friends in.

Who are my friends again?

I ponder the question as I fly past the rows upon rows of large cylindrical compartments, trying not to falter at my break-neck speed. He said that once I make it the box, he would override the system and make sure they couldn't stop me from reaching the glade.

Who's he?

What's the glade?

Just stop and shut up- you need to get in the box first!

At the mention of 'the box' I skid to a abrupt halt, nearly overbalancing and slamming face first into a container. Box, box... where's the box! My eyes dart in an urgent manner, scanning every detail of the 'room' as quick as physically possible whilst painfully trying to calm my erratic heartbeat. Frantic, I turn my body around, feebly searching for anything that resembled what I should have been looking for.

"HEY YOU, STOP!"

My heart leaps in my chest as I spot a neon green 'entrance' sign illuminating the dreary entrance to a small room-like structure of a metal cage filled with boxes and crates of different sizes. A ladder was proper up next to the metal grate, the only way in being thought the top where two doors that opened up doubled as the ceiling. I didn't hesitate. That's the box.

I shoot towards the ladder almost jumping two rungs at a time and nearly tipping it over in my desperate climb. Desperate screams and profanities are directed my way from the hallway entrance as I jump into the box, green lights flashing as soon as soon as my feet come in contact with the rusty ground.

I see a few guards stop several feet away, taken aback by the sudden lurch the cage takes before starting to ascend, knocking the ladder and creating a loud, metallic bang.

He hadn't been lying. He did override the system all to make sure I wouldn't get caught. And I couldn't even remember his name.

These pitying thoughts swirl around as I crumple to the floor in a head, relieved as my pursuers faces leave my line of sight. My tummy does a few flips, nauseating my senses and forcing my hand to my mouth in a feeble attempt to supress the bile stinging the back of my throat.

What now?

My vision fades in and out of focus, bending light and fogging up with exhaustion and no doubt the masses of chemicals running through my veins. My legs and arms are numb. My breathing laboured and shallow. My heart beat pounds in my ears causing them to throb. Any moment now, I should pass out. My memories will be unstable, but I should pass out.

Wait no, I don't want to forget.

My name is Ivy; I'm 16 years old; I've been forced to work for WICKED.

My name is Ivy; I'm 16 years old; I have been forced to work for WICKED.

My name is Ivy; I'm 16 years old; I hate WICKED; please kill me.

I push aside the fact that my limbs still burn, getting up into a crouch before feeling my way around the dim box, only the occasional light illuminating the darkness. I decide right there that I can't forget. I can't .

I begin rummaging thought wooden crates, knocking things over in the process and breaking a few things I couldn't decipher in this lighting. My fingers eventually brush again cold metal, the feel of it tingling between my touch, my stomach dropping slightly at the thought of what I was going to do.

This had to be permanent.

I can't forget.

THIS IS TRIGGERING- PLEASE DON'T READ IF YOU FEEL LIKE ITS GONNA AFFECT YOU

I grasp the handle of what I can only describe as a sharp, serrated edged dagger before crawling to the wall and sitting in a little corner. With the blade held securely between my hand, I point it downwards to the exposed skin of my thighs, my inner conscious screaming out in turmoil and self preservation.

Shut up and get on with it.

I close my eyes, squeezing them shut and biting my tongue. There's no need doubt. I bring the cold metal onto my flesh, keeping the point held there for a few seconds before taking a deep breath, pushing in, and yanking the blade down- hard. The sickening sound of my skin tearing makes me clench my teeth in disgust, yet, not stopping. I repeat the painful process several times, forming the letter 'K' with shaky hands.

Blinking a few times at the bloody mess in front of me, laughing a wavering, ironic laugh. Well, I think, took me long enough to do this.

I continue to make deep lacerations in my soft skin until there's no more space, the entire expanse of my legs covered in warm, metallic crimson and seeping through the gaps in the bottom of the moving cage.

Where am I?

Who am I?

How did I get here?

I just yawn sleepily, my vision fading in and out of consciousness as I shrug the questions off and curl into a ball on the uncomfortable floor, the knife gripped tightly between two hands.

I close both eyes, my head touching the metal as I free fall into a never-ending abyss.

I gasp as tears sting my eyes, shooting up and tipping out of my hammock. I try to look around, my face pressed into the earth of the forest before I take in where I am. I'm in the Glade; it's still dark outside; I was sleeping next to Newts hammock.

It was all just a dream.

Or was it...? I dazedly push myself from up off the floor stumbling back over to my bed and hugging my arms around myself up as I do so every night.

That wasn't a dream

That wasn't a dream.

That wasn't a dream.

I rock myself back and forth at the revelation, hoping it wasn't true. Taking in short, small gasps, my eyesight blurs with flooding tears as I tuck my thin blanket over my head.

In my small sanctuary of isolation, I let the hurt go and sob because there was nothing else to do. Releasing the liquid pain from my eyes was just the sedative I needed before being able to curl up and resuming a fitful, dreamless sleep.