maze armstrong. d12. cb. fin.

Growing up in Twelve, one realizes that nobody wants to stay in Twelve. If everyone could pack their bags and move safely out of the district, they would. The same applies to Maze, except she would never bring her family.

They don't deserve her.

She grew up under an iron boot. Her parents expected obedience without question, and perfection in a place where perfection isn't possible. If she disappointed them, she ended up on her knees scrubbing wood with a toothbrush, or sitting in the hot sun for hours until she "learned her lesson." She was sick of it. They dared her to leave, thinking she would come crawling back.

She didn't. When she ran away, she had to be stubborn. Don't give them the satisfaction. You don't need them.

Life was tough in the streets of Twelve, but she didn't need them at all. She found her way, taking shelter in an abandoned apartment complex. She shares the space with drug addicts, who attempted to mug her only to find that she never carries money on her person. Maze thinks ahead - she has a stash.

The cash is from making deliveries. She hand-delivers items and goods from the train the businesses and homes. Medical supplies for the Mortuus hospital, dough for the bakeries, barrels for the bars. She makes enough to get by, and that is all that matters.

As miserable as it can be, it is her own form of freedom. She plans to enjoy it while it lasts.