❝The Maze Runner❞ || Thomas

Alby

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       The sound of an all familiar alarm filled the air, startling me out of my slumber, nearly knocking my heart right out of my chest. I shot straight up, gripping the weapon I slept with against my chest. There was a rush of adrenaline.

I rubbed my eyes quickly before standing to my feet, grasping my quarterstaff that rested against the bark of the tree beside me.

"More supplies," I had breathed out, running across the glade, now only a few feet from the box. Red lights flashed on and off, metal grinding against metal.

I waited patiently before the box had then come to an abrupt stop. I watched the concrete doors open, then the metal doors, dust flying up as I peered down at the darkness below.

I leaned down, waiting for the dust to remove itself.

Suddenly, my line of sight was clear.

"What the he-" I was cut off.

A pair of strong hands gripped my neck before their force had forcefully shoved me towards the ground; my quarterstaff falling beside me. I let out a grunt of pain, fear rushing through my figure as I gripped my chest.

The hands had gripped my throat yet again. I gasped for air, tears threatening to spill, hoping and praying id be met with even a single whiff of oxygen.

"Who are you!? Why can't I remember anything!?" The man yelled through gritted teeth, his grip growing tighter. My hands gripped around his wrists, my eyes meeting his. "Tell me!"

"Pl-please," I could barely breath out, trying so desperately to feel air in my lungs once again. I began to grow lightheaded as stars flooded my vision, my heart rate pounding in my ears. "Please... I'll tell y- you everything."

I felt my hands slowly fall to my sides as my vision narrowed be he jerked his grasp from my throat. I turned over to my side, choking, gasping for air. I spit out the saliva that clogged the back of my throat.

I inhaled deep breaths, resting against my forearms for a few seconds. Suddenly, the man gripped me from the collar of my shirt; his face only inches away.

"Talk," he threatened.

"Okay, okay," my voice cracked, throwing my hands up in defense before swallowing hard as he increased his grip on my shirt. "Look, the same thing happened to me weeks ago. Memory swiped, scared, exhausted—no idea where the shuck I was."

The man studied me heavily.

"I've been here alone, for almost a month now," I exhaled a deep breath. "I don't know why. I don't know who put me here and I don't know who put you here."

He slowly loosened his grip before letting go of my shirt. We both stood to our feet, brushing off the dirt and debris. I bent down to pick up my quarterstaff from the left of my figure.

"Lynn," I stated plainly, debating on whether or not to hold out my hand for him to accept. He hesitated before taking my hand and shaking it.

"Sorry about that," he gestured towards the whole scene. I shrugged my shoulders, brushing off the entirety of the valid crashout.

"If you don't mind me asking," I paused for a moment. "Do you remember anything?"

He looked down for a second.

"Name? Where you came from? How you got here?" I interrogated, now meeting his gaze once again.

"Alby," he breathed out with relief. "My name is, Alby."

"Welcome to the Glade, Alby."

I tugged my shirt, shifting in my stance before walking towards the box. I jumped in, now chucking the product over my head and onto the ground above me.

"Glade?" he called out, clearing his throat.

"I had to stop myself from going crazy somehow," I added, grunting as I threw a carton of canned goods over my head. "I'll explain everything."

I had then told him everything there was to know about this place. The Glade, the Maze, the Bloodhouse, and even the plans of building more shelters in the future. He was anxious, eager to keep his mind busy, and his form was strong and well-built. He was more than willing to start helping with builds I had drawn out for the course of the following months ahead.

Alby and I had eventually considered one another as friends rather than just acquaintances. We eventually built the Homestead, filling it with comforters, necessities, and whatever else they sent us. Having a bed was more than a luxury at this point.

Alby was off resting in his dwelling, growing more accustomed to what was normal for anyone among the Glade.

I laid there against my cushioned bedding, staring at the sealing above me as my mind began to wander. This was it—my life, my purpose, and my reality. But I was no longer alone. That feeling alone was enough to spare me from the inevitable void of complete and utter insanity.