The iron doors groaned.

  It wasn’t the sound of metal shifting.

  It was the sound of something ancient waking up after a long and disappointing nap.

  Both doors pulled apart just a fraction at first — enough to let out a draft of cold, stale air. Then, with a shudder, they opened fully, revealing the first corridor of Maze Run #477983.

  Leo stared at the yawning passage.

  Harlada gripped her blade.

  Bert swallowed loudly enough to echo.

  “Okay,” Leo whispered. “New rule. Before we do anything—”

  “We huddle,” Harlada said.

  “—we huddle,” Leo repeated.

  So they did.

  Three nervous idiots in a tight circle, hands on shoulders, heads nearly touching.

  “We go slow,” Leo said.

  “No sudden movements,” Harlada added.

  “Stay alive,” Bert said.

  “Preferably,” Leo added.

  The Maze pulsed behind them, as if bored already.

  They broke the huddle and stepped forward as one, crossing the threshold into the unknown.

  ***

  They had taken exactly four steps when Leo said, “Bert, shouldn’t you look for—”

  “TRAPS!” Bert finished triumphantly, right as his foot snagged on something that very much was a trap.

  A metallic click echoed down the corridor.

  “Oh no,” Bert whispered.

  A fireball erupted from a hidden slot in the wall — enormous, bright, screaming down the hallway like an angry comet on its day off.

  Leo yelped.

  Harlada dove sideways.

  Bert crouched, arms over his head.

  The fireball missed them all and instead detonated against the doorway behind them. A wave of heat washed over their backs as the entire entrance corridor burst into flames.

  “Well,” Bert said, singed and trembling. “I found it.”

  Leo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Bert…”

  “I SAID I FOUND IT!”

  They moved forward quickly — not because they were brave, but because going backwards was now extremely on fire.

  As they crept deeper into the corridor, a low guttural sound echoed from around a bend ahead.

  Wet.

  Heavy.

  Hungry.

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  “Oh perfect,” Leo muttered. “We’re going to be killed by zombies in the first five minutes. That’s… efficient, at least.”

  Harlada tightened her grip on her weapon. “Let them try.”

  But Bert held up a hand. “Wait! Maybe this version communicates in gutturals! Let me… uh… answer.”

  Before anyone could stop him, he stepped forward and produced a noise so awful it made the Maze itself pulse in concern.

  “GRRHHH… HRRRGHHH… BLRRFGH?”

  Leo blinked. “Did you just try to speak zombie?”

  “It’s about respect, Leo. Respect between cultures.”

  The guttural noise around the corner grew louder.

  Then three mangled shapes lurched into view — versions of themselves, broken and dripping, jaws unhinged, arms outstretched.

  Harlada exhaled sharply. “They don’t want respect.”

  “No,” Leo said. “They want us.”

  The zombies charged — which means creeping just a tad faster.

  And the fight began.

  ***

  The zombies hit them like a collapsing wardrobe — loud, clumsy, and full of regret.

  Harlada was the first to move.

  She didn’t dive, or roll, or parry.

  She simply stepped aside.

  Then again.

  And again.

  Every swipe, every claw, every slow-motion lunge missed her by entire sitcom laugh tracks.

  She blinked.

  “…Is this it? Is speed just… the answer?”

  One zombie swung a sluggish arm at her.

  She leaned backward a fraction and the hand whooshed past her face like a drunk pigeon.

  “Speed might actually be the answer,” she said, sounding almost offended.

  Meanwhile, Bert was fighting much more… directly.

  He grabbed one zombie’s outstretched arm — and ripped it off clean.

  The zombie stared at the missing limb.

  Bert stared at the missing limb.

  Leo stared at the missing limb.

  “…Did you just remove him?” Leo asked.

  Bert didn’t answer.

  He just started hitting the zombie with its own arm, whacking it repeatedly until the creature sagged like a punished carpet and collapsed.

  “One down,” Bert said, panting. “Two to—HEY!”

  The second zombie lunged at him — all teeth, drool, and missing jaw fragments.

  Leo jumped forward, waving his hands.

  “HEY! HEY! LISTEN! Over here!”

  The zombie turned, confused by the yelling.

  Leo pointed at Bert.

  “He has more meat!”

  “HEY!” Bert yelled.

  The zombie tilted its head, clearly reconsidering its dietary options.

  While it was distracted, Leo flicked a small pebble he’d picked up earlier. It was pathetic. It was tiny. It was barely a weapon.

  It hit the zombie right in the eye.

  The creature shrieked, staggered, and then collapsed face-first, completely done with the concept of existence.

  Leo blinked at the pebble in his hand.

  “…Not bad,” Harlada admitted.

  The third zombie lurched toward her, arms reaching, mouthless face leaking something unpleasant.

  Harlada exhaled, lifted her staff, and calmly brought it down on its skull like she was extinguishing a lantern.

  Thunk.

  The zombie wobbled.

  Thunk.

  It kneeling-wobbled.

  THUNK.

  It collapsed.

  Silence returned slowly, like it didn’t trust them.

  Bert leaned against the wall, breathing hard. “So… first five minutes?”

  Leo wiped zombie goo off his sleeve. “Let’s never speak of this again.”

  Harlada twirled her staff. “Speed is the answer.”

  “No,” Bert said, holding up the severed arm triumphantly. “Violence is.”

  Leo sighed. “Can the answer be ‘both’?”

  The Maze pulsed:

  Combat acknowledged. regression; not funny.