Chapter 1
AN: Please don't hate me :P This is my first ever work on the site, and I know it can probably be better. Really short chapter, but I promise the next one's gonna be longer. I should know, since I've already wrote it. Please review my work if you have the time, its greatly appreciated
I do not own the Maze Runner or any of its characters, all rights go to James Dashner
The sun's light vanished below the horizon.
Then there was chaos.
All illumination disappeared, reminiscent of the Ending back in the maze. A scream out pain rang in his ears, and Thomas realized it was his own. He felt an almost unbearable pain in his head, and dimly recognized the sounds of others screaming, yet they seemed almost muted.
More than darkness, there was a sense of moving,disorienting Thomas. Everything was cold, so cold, and then so very hot that he could feel that he had burnt himself touching his own skin. His head felt like it was bursting, and he could feel vomit rising. And then everything came to a sudden stop, as the lights went back on. Revealing a room of pure white, with six words painted on the wall.
World in Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department
Despite everything, somehow, they were back again.
He quickly looked around. He was alone. All his friends had disappeared, or perhaps it was him that had moved.
'What the shuck?' Thomas muttered. The room had a single door, with a ugly wooden desk in front of it.
Which begged the question: Why was he here? Certainly there was a purpose to it. He remembered that he had stayed in one just like it when he was being Tested on.
His memory? It seemed to be very, very important to him once. He could remember trying to remember. Did that mean that his memories had been taken before? As a... Variable. There were other with him too, weren't there? A bunch of boys, cut and bruised. Two girls, each important to him in their own way. Teresa and Brenda. Two boys, which he knew he could rely on. Newt and Minho. All were his friends, who had been through the Trials with him.
Everything was all sorts of messed up in his mind. He felt like he should remember, that there was truly nothing stopping him from remembering if he put his mind to it. Forcing himself to think, he tried his best to remember. Just what had happened, that he had ended up in this room? And Thomas remembered.
It came back to him, piece by piece. A dark elevator. The Box. Huge walls built of gray stone and covered with thick ivy, spider-like creatures of metal and blubber. The Maze, Griever, The Glade, all of it. He remembered fear. Fear that nobody could imagine, lest they had gone through it themselves. Debilitating fear was in the background of every memory. Desperation, too. All of that was overshadowed by a will to live. He remembered hope, too. He survived a night in the Maze. He found the exit. He found his best friend, whom he had been with for the majority of his life. They escaped, but only to find worse. He remembered the blazing heat of the Scorch, running from Cranks, getting knocked out and thrown into a gas chamber. Fighting Bulb Monsters, and finally taken to the Safe Haven.
But why had all that happened? Who had put him in those situations?
One word. Rather, an acronym. An organization which had done all of this to him and his friends. Six letters. Suddenly the words on the wall seemed to jump out at him.
World in Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department
"WICKED…" He said to himself, not caring how he must have sounded, talking to himself. They had taken his life and those of his friends and were using them to find the Cure, no matter what the consequences.
And then the rest of his memories came back to him all at once, not just those he had lost recently, but every last scrap. They came back in a flood, too much input all at once for his brain. As he fell unconscious, he heard a man laughing. And that voice was familiar to him, for it belonged to Rat Man.
And then the rest of his memories came back to him all at once, not just those he had lost recently, but every last scrap. They came back in a flood, too much sensory input for his brain. As he fell unconscious, he heard a man laughing. And that voice was familiar to him, for it belonged to Rat Man.