Chaotic Good

Remember, W.C.K.D Is Not Good

Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the plot and my OC's. Everything goes to their rightful owners.

line for FTR (first time readers) and RR (rereaders + SarcasticLilShit because i know you're there somewhere)

Ever since they reached the safe haven, Thomas has been getting back his memories, piece by piece at first, but today he just woke up, and they were just there.

His memories were restored. Like they were never gone.

Oh, how Thomas loved the feeling, to ask a question to himself about his past, and the answer would come up immediately, right between his fingertips.

He remembered the pack, the adventures he had, everything.

He remembered Scott. His best friend, his brother.

But the good memories were gone. He remembered how the pack cast him aside, for he was the flaw in the pack, the weakness. He remembered how the betrayal felt like, as if he could just curl up in a ball and die right there.

Looking back at himself, he was shocked by how he acted, begging the pack to bring him back, to be stronger for them.

That wasn't even the worst part.

The biggest shocker was that there was no flare. Everything was simply a simulation to study their brain waves, but a simulation that was partially real, like a virtual reality. The places they went to were man-made, and when they ran, they were on a treadmill. The torturous days in the maze, how the days dragged on in the Scorch, the relief of waking up in the safe haven, were all for nothing.

The deaths were for nothing.

Newt knocked on the door, "Tommy, are you okay in there?"

Newt. His beloved and fiancé. Newt had proposed to him right before they entered W.C.K.D. when they went back to rescue Minho. When Newt nearly turned into a crank, Thomas had done everything he could to save him. Including giving the blond his blood on the spot, keeping calm as Newt was driven mad because of the flare, trying to bite his arm.

"Tommy!" Newt shook his arm. Huh, Thomas didn't even notice Newt coming into his room, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Thomas nodded, "But I have to tell you something. Newt, the—"

Screams were heard from outside, and both Thomas and Newt leapt into action, grabbing their guns and loading them. They opened the door to find the survivors aiming guns at an unknown group of people, who were armed and pointing guns back at them.

Thomas stepped forward, being the unofficial leader. Up close, he noticed the FBI uniforms the unknown strangers were wearing and the badges they had.

He sighed. He should have known something like this would happen. Someone must have noticed the gunshots they shot to honour the dead and tipped them off to the police.

Their leader stepped forward in front of Thomas. They recognized each other at the same time.

"Stiles?" Rafael McCall called out uncertainly, not quite believing his eyes. The boy that the pack and him had been looking for over 2 years was right there.

Stiles had changed. His arms and legs rippled with muscle, making his body more like a runner's body, and his hands had a lot more calluses. His hair had grown shaggy as if he had only cut it a few times in the 2 years that he was missing, unlike his shaved head he used to have.

Rafe also noticed how the other teenagers looked at him, and how he stepped forward. The air of authority and caring around it made it clear. Stiles was the leader here.