A MAZE RUNNER TRILOGY
"And one day someone walks into your life,
a total stranger, and they become so important
to you. And while you're only known them such a short time,
you feel you're loved them for a lifetime."
#1 Ranking for #TheMazeRunner
#1...
❝ Let's just say the world out there is a rather precarious situation. ❞
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃
Waking up in increments, the world resolves itself from a blurry watercolor to something resembling reality for Madylin. The stifling smell of antiseptic stung her nostrils, the hard bed digging uncomfortably into her spine. A low, almost tuneless humming vibrated through the small room, a man's voice lost in some private melody.
Confusion crashed over her. Where was she? Her head throbbed, a dull, persistent ache that made it difficult to think. Pushing herself into a sitting position, she blinked against the harsh fluorescent light. The room swam into focus: sterile white walls, a small metal table, and the faint outline of medical equipment. It was a hospital room, unmistakably, but how had she gotten here? The last thing she remembered was... she didn't want to actually.
"Newt?" she croaked, her voice raspy and weak. The humming continued, undisturbed. "Thomas? Fry? Anyone...?" The silence that followed was deafening, amplifying the growing anxiety in her chest.
The door, a stark slab of white metal, cracked open, pulling her gaze. A young man stepped inside, bathed in the fluorescent light of the hallway. His hair was a riot of dark brown curls that tumbled around a sharp, angular face. He had high cheekbones and eyes that seemed to be constantly assessing, constantly questioning. He wore a uniform, something vaguely military or officer maybe, but her memory refused to cooperate. The colours were familiar, yet stubbornly refused to click into place.
"Ah, you're awake then?" he said, his voice surprisingly gentle against his sharp features.
"Who are you?" she demanded, the question tumbling out, laced with suspicion and fear.
He ignored her. "I'll let your doctor know you're awake." He turned towards the door again, as if the conversation were already over.
"Wait!" she pleaded, a desperate edge creeping into her voice. "Tell me what's going on... please. Where am I? Where are my friends?" She reached out a hand, instinctively wanting to grab him, but she stopped herself.
He paused, his hand still on the door handle. He looked at her, really looked at her, for the first time. His expression was unreadable, a carefully constructed mask. He seemed to be weighing something, battling an internal debate.
Finally, he spoke, his voice low and hesitant. "You were nearly dead when you arrived. We slowed the process." He gestured towards her arm, to the faint, angry scar that still pulsed with phantom pain that she couldn't quite see as it was almost all hidden by a lightweight cast. "And we fixed up that broken arm too."
