Hi I thought I would give some Maze Runner fics a try! It is based during the Scorch Trials. Some of the dialogue is the same to keep it canon with the story line so please be aware of that ;p Sadly I do not own the Maze Runner Trilogy. Please review :)
Chapter One
I ran. Feet pounded the floor in a methodical rhythm that matched my heartbeat perfectly, in complete sync with my adrenaline and fear, switching between a sprint and a jog. I couldn't stop running. Knowing that if I did it would be the end of me.
Behind me were whoops and yells of excitement as they laid in their pursuit of me. Another trophy. The final one. Everyone else had been conquered. All that remained to be captured was myself.
In my starvation I had foolishly thought that they had gotten bored of the venture, and with my last remaining courage I slipped into the Glade, silent, unnoticed, blending with the shadows as I snuck past the remaining monsters. Thinking it was worth the risk I stole some food, enough that would keep me from death but not too much that would be noticed. The hot sun had my pale skin burning in its heat. I turned, a mouthful of apple as I faced The King.
In the past I would have frozen to the spot in fear, but I had learned from others mistakes. There was no hesitation, no witty words passed forth between us. Just a quick predatory glance was all I needed. I dropped my bag and bolted away from those blue, piercing eyes and cruel spread of lips that prefigured my end; or worse. The beautiful angel looked like something created from the apocalypse.
Shouts continued to follow me as my feet pounded on the hard floor of the maze, winding in and out of corridors only an expert would know. The grotesque, hybrid of culture and nature blurred past me in a comforting streak. Dodging vines and straining to keep the lead, but also let them keep me in sight. My breath was coming in short, quick bursts and my body felt as heavy as lead. But I did not slow. I would not give in to the pain. I wasn't considered a threat, so when I ran down the different corridors – seemingly random – the monsters didn't hesitate in their pursuit as they delved further and further into unknown territory – my territory. Not even when we were miles from the Glade and the sun had begun to sink.
The familiar tick of the Glade doors shutting had me stopping the game. Triumph. Finally, I had trapped them in here for the night. The distance between us grew and grew as I wound my way through the maze, until all I could hear were their defeated, anguished cries as they discovered that they lost me, and were trapped.
The stars were my only illumination in the dark pits of the maze, its ethereal beauty guiding me. I used the vines to haul myself up onto the second level of the maze. Up higher, I could see where the monsters milled around, arguing, threatening. I slinked away before their loud noises drew the grievers.
The small alcove in which I lived was simple. Created from mismatched materials and disguised with vines, it looked just like a normal wall in the maze without any cause for suspicion. The meagre supplies in it were pathetic, however, it kept me hidden from both the monsters and the grievers.
Melancholy filled me as the maze made its usual moans and groans as it shifted itself in certain sections. This would be the time when everyone would usually go to sleep. I shared this make-shift home with others, people who had escaped The King and the War and could either hide or die or join him. One by one they were gone.
It was only me left, to continue to run and hide and survive. And for what? There was no escape from this damned maze. I knew every inch of it myself! Anger itched its way across my body before it died out from the familiar douse of loneliness.
I fell asleep to the snarls of the maze and a scream from one of the monsters, a sadistic smile etching onto my face before I was pulled under.
I woke up to loud voices behind my door.
My eyes flew open immediately, senses on high alert. I was in the room alone, which was no surprise. Same ceiling, with the same crack in the paint running along a small side of the same corner, still flaking with a rushed re-paint. The smell of rotting flesh pervaded my senses like an onslaught, clogging up my nose and mouth, making me want to be sick, alarm bells ringing in my ears.
I slowly sat up in bed, looking around the room. Nothing had changed. A warning blared in my head but I pushed it down. I was safe. I was safe now. It was all over. A small smile cracked onto my lips, a genuine reaction that I haven't allowed myself to do in a long, long time.
The noises continued outside the room, but my levels of fear slowed quickly, my heart beat returning to its normal thump-thump. The prickly premonition stopped crawling up my spine like a familiar embrace. It was different, actually. To be without fear. My stomach did a queasy little flip, and I decided I liked it.
Casually, I flipped out of bed. New clothes had been laid out in my standard set of drawers. A simple watch. I bundled the sets of clothes in my arms and slipped into the secluded bathroom.
Everything in there seemed to scream with its abnormality, its unnaturalness. The walls were too white. The basin too clean. The mirror too true. It was like something my imagination had conjured up during my time in that place, and I touched it tentatively with my palm, as though to make sure I wasn't dreaming – that this was real.
It showed me back a reflection of myself that I hated, hollow eyes gazing at me with an expression of despair and a stifled, murderous fire; I pulled my gaze away quickly, not lingering.
Under the hot water of the shower, I felt an odd feeling of despondence. I continued to scrub away the residual traces of my ordeal from my skin until it was pink and raw. My vigor was painful. The water trickled off my body in filthy streams and I struggled to remember when it was the last time I had properly bathed, feeling an irrational disgust at myself for not caring more about my cleanliness.
I emerged in a cloud of steam, heat clinging to my skin like a blush. Once dry, I quickly slipped on the clothes set out for me. I couldn't control the wave of pleasure as I realised these clothes were so similar to the ones I wore through my time in hell. Black, skin tight pants and a white tank top. I slipped on my hunting boots, my feet resting familiarly in the soles. The clothes fit me perfectly, hugging onto my short bony frame like a glove. In the corner of my eye I caught a slight glimpse of myself, but I hid my gaze before I could get a proper look, hiding my face behind sheets of dark hair.
I moved to leave the bathroom.
And then I sensed something.
The familiar crawl etched its way up my back like a venomous snake, bringing along goose bumps and a sick pit of dread in my stomach that saved my life more times than I could count. I floundered for a moment, looking around the small room wild eyed. My muscles strained achingly as I pulled the steel toilet roll handle from the wall in a wincingly loud noise and a splash of plaster. I held the heavy tool in my hand up like a weapon, already cursing myself for being such a fool.
It was always thus: I would always be brought in by the false dream of security. I could never achieve it. It seems fear, pain and danger was the lifestyle I was destined for.
The door cracked open and I braced myself for the worst. My chest tightened and my eyes dilated with fear. The door opened wider to behold the danger beyond.
My vision was sharp and crystal clear as I took in the teenage boys that stood at the threshold. They seemed more stunned than I was. A strangled cry escaped my throat and I set myself up in a fighting stance, knowing I wouldn't last if it came to that. One moved to come into the room, crossing the threshold. I flinched back as far as I could, holding out the pathetic weapon in front of me. I wondered if I could run past him, but I knew he would grab me in an instant. His strong arms were held above him in a surrender position, and although I knew this meant he didn't mean me harm, I didn't lower my weapon. We stood staring at each other, green eyes blazing into dark angular ones. Everyone else seemed to fall away as we tried to gauge who would make the first move. The silence was loud enough that I could hear my own frantic beat of my heart as it thudded against my chest, fear for this unknown threat.
Once he realised I wouldn't budge, the boy made a dismissive motion to the small crowd of boys huddled beyond the door. All of them looking put out moved away, with some non-committal grumbles. The boy who had opted to stay with me said something in a language I didn't understand, and my fear levels spiked. If I didn't know what he was talking about, how did I know he wasn't a threat?
His expression of annoyance relaxed as he looked at me. I could only imagine what he saw in me, a small, weak, pathetic little thing. "Hey don't worry shank, we're not here to hurt you. Seems we've been thrown in the same boat here. Wanna give me a hand and tell me your name?" he said reasonably, but for all I could remember I had never been spoken to with reason.
The accent and the language in which he spoke had my head reeling as I fought for an answer. He moved closer towards me, as though to grab onto me. My fear pulsating along the threshold went over the limit the second he touched my skin, and I bolted. Fear, complete, unabated fear stabbed at my heart and mind familiarly as I ran past him. Moving suddenly without any tension of muscles I leaped forward and slipped under his arm. Too surprised to react he let me whiz past him before turning and coming after me. I jumped over the odd bits of furniture and barged past the last lingering boy in the room, staring after me with a bewildered expression.
I reached the open door, slipped though it and shut it behind me, breathing hard. The bright light stabbed my eyes as I took in the rest of what would be my new prison.
Feral eyes took in the building faster than possible. What I noticed more than anything was the thick chains that secured the front door. Unbreakable.
Other boys emerged from another room, staring at me curiously. My stomach churning threatened to make me sick, or worse. Curious eyes turned suspicious as they made their way towards me in a horde and my skin crawled in fear. Bangs on the door behind me forced me to run to the opposite side of the room, my back to the chains, cornered like a frightened animal. The toilet handle remained in my hand, a weak pathetic thing as I watched as all the boys stalked and circled me, trapping me like a wild rabbit and they were the predators.
"Oh god-" I whimper, forced out of my mouth unintentionally. Sobs threatened to clog up my throat as I knew that this would be the end. The suspicious, untrusting, cruel eyes were ones I knew all too well. There was no escape. At this thought, tears burned in the back of my eyes. I forced them back, biting hard onto my lip until it bled. I would not cry. Not in front of these strangers.
I had almost pulled myself together as the last of the boys gathered around me.
Horror struck as my gaze slid past them. Beyond the crowd were figures hanging from the ceiling, bloated and stinking in their death. Logically I understood that they were the source of the stench that engulfed the building, but nothing prepared me for their bulbous, bloodshot eyes, thick, hanging tongues. It was too much. Too much like the maze. Vomit threatened to push itself up my throat.
In a scream of terror I randomly threw my tool, thumping the boy who had tried to trap me in the bathroom, in the head. The profanities streamed out his mouth again like a foreign language. A smaller, thinner boy raised his hands up in the air, and crouched. He walked toward me slowly, as though I were a beast.
My lip trembled and I clenched my shaking hands into fists as he advanced. His light brown eyes shimmered with kindness. He stopped until there was a foot between us. Was this a trick?
"Hey, we won't hurt you." He said in a calm voice, still looking at me with those wide, understanding eyes. My green ones tracked his movement through menacing slits.
"How do I know that?" I shoot back, glad to hear my voice steady and strong.
"What's your name?" Another boy asks. My attention immediately flips to another. Tall, blonde, lanky. Murmurs ripple through the sea of boys, and my gaze is flipping from each one, gaze not resting. My heart beats faster as I can't comprehend who is the next, most important threat. I stay silent, my gaze flickering. Panic builds.
At my silence, no one else speaks for a while. Movement. My eyes track the Asian who I hit, blood trickling weakly down the side of his short black hair. His face was a twist of annoyance as he moved to the front to stand in between the two who had already spoken.
"Listen, you shuck face." I winced at the menace in his voice and almost cowered away. His voice softened as he continued, "We ain't gonna hurt you. So tell us who you bloody are." I straightened, and my red lips pulled back onto my teeth, resembling more a beast's snarl than a smile.
"My name is Newt." Said the tall blonde. "This is Thomas," he continued, gesturing at the boy with kind brown eyes, "Minho." Minho was tall, taller than me. Tanned skin, the kind you get from spending a lot of time outside, short black cropped hair and muscled arms. His face looked as it might've been kind, but seemed in a perpetual state of barely suppressed distaste. These would be the last faces I would see before I died, and I spent my time taking in their images. The threat these people posed was not one I was used to, all obnoxious and boastful and full of bloodlust. The unknown was what I feared as I stared with wide eyes at the group before me.
I gulped, reaching into my small reserve of courage. "They call me The Thing."
Laughs boom through the room and I can't control the flinch as I take a step back. Embarrassment flames across my milk coloured skin as they laugh. Even the boy with kind eyes sniggers.
"Funny." Minho says. "Seriously, what's your name?"
I jut my chin out defiantly, but I know it doesn't work as my lip trembles and my fists quiver. "I don't know my name. I don't know anything. So they called me The Thing."
"Wait – you don't remember anything at all?" Newt asks, confusion on his face.
"Do you know someone called Teresa?" My eyes flick to the worried voice coming from Thomas. His face was a complete depiction of worry and despair.
I shake my head slowly. "No. I don't know anyone with any names."
Newt's thoughtful look turned into one of deep contemplation. Fear itched its way over my body once more, causing tremors to ripple along my body and I forced myself to be calm. If I got into a state, there is no way of knowing how it will end. My eyes close, and I take a deep breath.
"What are you going to do to me?" I asked, and I couldn't help the small, weak voice that came out – barely a whisper. "Please – Please don't kill me." I choke.
My eyes flick open and lock on Minho, the one I sensed the most likely to attack.
"We're not going to do anything, okay?" Thomas said gently.
As though from a silent command, they split off, heading to a room that I hadn't seen before. Thomas gestured for me to come over as he had a quick conversation with Newt and Minho. Another boy with olive skin and jet black hair joined the small cluster, and I edged away.
"Who's that guy?" Minho proclaimed to newbie. I instantly became interested in this new one. So I wasn't the only one that was fresh in this merry band of thieves. The look of mistrust Minho was giving the newbie was clearly making him feel uncomfortable, and he shifted under his intense gaze.
"Minho, meet Aris." Thomas gestured. "Aris, meet Minho." Minho replied in that same foreign language.
"Look, let's take down the top beds in Aris' room and move them around the room. Then we can all sit and figure out what's bloody going on." Newt said.
Thomas shook his head in desperation, and I put that into my inventory. Already, these people had promised that they wouldn't attack and yet… and yet I was already thinking on attack mode. "No. First, we need to go find Teresa. She must be in some other room."
"Isn't one," Minho said.
"What do you mean?"
"I just checked the whole place out. There's the big common area, this room, our dorm room, and this shuck-face's room." He said, gesturing at me. I nod, acknowledging it. "Thought she was Teresa because of the dark hair, but obviously..." he trailed off, guardedly looking at Thomas. "There are some seriously shucked doors that lead outside – where we came in from the bus yesterday. Locked and chained from the inside. Doesn't make any sense, but I don't see any other doors or exists."
"But… what about last night? Where'd the food come from? Didn't anyone notice other rooms, a kitchen, anything?" Thomas looked wildly around the common area.
I piqued up. "I don't recognize anything. The place I was in was completely different… If that helps." I trail off, worry gnawing onto my stomach like starvation.
"Your door wasn't there last night." Minho said thoughtfully.
"Maybe there's a hidden door," Newt said. "Look, we can only do one thing at a time. We need to –"
"No!" Thomas shouted, and I couldn't help myself. I thought he was going to lash out in anger and I crouched and moved back faster than a reflex, a seasoned training of someone who has only lived with fear in her life. I struggled to remember the last civil conversation I had had and heat built up behind my eyes. The boys all looked at me with complete and utter confusion. Shame made my skin flare in hot red splotches but I didn't offer an explanation and nobody asked. I recovered myself and Thomas continued. "We've got all day to talk to this Aris guy and the… Thing. The label by the door said Teresa should be here somewhere – we need to find her!"
He stalked off, pushing past boys who we still milling around.
We stood in silence as he started to check the dead bodies to make sure that whoever this Teresa girl was, her face wasn't among them.
Newt rubbed a weary hand on his face. "Come on, let's get sorted shall we?"
I trailed after the three boys like a lost puppy, shooting worried looks to everyone who I met eye contact with. Which, was seemingly everyone. I was something of a novelty apparently. I stayed silent, despite Newt's attempt to hold up a conversation, I was too busy dwelling on this new hell I had been thrust into. I thought I had escaped. I thought that I was safe, before it was all mercilessly ripped from me without a second thought.
A thick hand grabs my wrist, and Minho pulls me down to sit beside him on one of the beds that were taken apart. I give him an alarmed look and scramble away to the far edge. He doesn't look hurt, in fact he looks quite amused. My anger spikes and embarrassment flares across my face once more. I mumble an apology and move to sit off the edge. I force a wry smile onto my face as I see him staring.
"We can't just call you Thing." He says, struggling not to laugh.
"Why not?" I ask, puzzlement scarring my face.
"Because, it's not right." Newt says, as he squishes himself next to me, forcing me to be closer to the two boys than I would have liked. My skin flares up and I feel hot all over, not having any human contact that I remember that wasn't something violent and torturous. Before either of them can say another word I jump up and move to an empty bed across the room, feeling hot and cold all over and a huge lump in my throat in a physical depiction of my fear. I shivered, was this what it was going to be like for the rest of my life now? I would be too scared to even sit next to people who didn't bear a threat to me – yet.
Across the room Minho's expression looked mildly amused and hurt flashed across my chest in a wave of fire. He had no idea what I had been through! No concept of the torture and horror that had been my life for the past year… and beyond that… nothing. I couldn't remember anything, not even my name.
But for now I had no choice but to trust these people, something I am not used to doing.