TMR - Thomas x X-reader fanfiction

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Reflections in Glass

A/N

Trigger Warning: there is descriptions of panic attacks in this chapter. Although kept fairly on the low, this may be triggering for some people. The sign ~~~ is placed before and after so you can skip the part <3 

The group lingered in the chamber, their breaths shallow as the weight of their discovery settled over them. The glass cylinders stretched endlessly, each one holding a Glader in a state of frozen limbo. The faint hum of machinery filled the air, a sinister reminder that this place was alive with purpose.

Y/N stood motionless before Zart's cylinder, her fingertips grazing the cool glass. His face, slack and peaceful, seemed almost unreal. But she remembered the way he'd screamed as the griever dragged him into the darkness. She had watched him die.

"Why him?" she murmured, her voice barely audible.

Thomas stepped beside her, his brow furrowed. "Maybe they're preserving them for... experiments. Or as backups."

"Backups?" Minho spat from across the room, his frustration bubbling over. "What the hell are we, action figures they can shelve and pull out when they get bored?"

Newt placed a hand on Minho's shoulder, his touch grounding. "We don't know anything for sure," he said quietly. "Let's not jump to conclusions."

Y/N turned to the others, her expression grim. "No. Minho's right. They're keeping us alive for a reason. And it's not because they care about us."

Her gaze returned to the console, the words Subject B-13 flashing in her mind. Do not terminate. The phrase gnawed at her, a sinister promise she couldn't fully grasp.

"Why me?" she said, more to herself than anyone else.

The hum of the chamber faded into the background as Y/N stared at the console, her mind spiraling. The phrase "Do not terminate" flashed across her vision like a warning she couldn't escape. Then, without warning, the ground seemed to shift beneath her.

The air around her grew heavier, the chamber dissolving into an overwhelming white light. She blinked, and suddenly, she wasn't standing anymore. She was strapped to a chair, her wrists bound, her head immobilized by cold, metal restraints.

The voices started as whispers, distorted and distant, but they grew sharper, cutting through the haze.

"Subject B-13 shows significant neural deviation."

"Memory suppression protocols are failing. Resistance is... unexpected."

"We'll escalate to Phase Two. Begin neural reconstruction."

"No," Y/N gasped, her voice trembling with fear. "No, please!"

The lights overhead intensified, a sharp pain piercing through her skull like needles threading her thoughts. A rush of images bombarded her mind—faces, places, fragments of conversations—but none of it made sense. It was as if someone had taken her memories and scrambled them, leaving her with pieces that didn't fit.

"Her neural pathways are... adapting. Fascinating."

The voice was calm, clinical, like a scientist examining a particularly interesting experiment.

"Will she be stable enough for Phase Three?"

"She'll stabilize, or she'll break. Either outcome will provide the data we need."

The pain grew unbearable, the searing heat in her head intensifying until the world around her shattered like glass.

~~~