❝ never trust a survivor
until you find out
what they did
to stay alive ❞
―Kurt Vonnegut, Bluebeard
[ the maze runner × the hunger games ]
No one was ever happy in District 12. They were the poorest among the distric...
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"THIS IS A BLOODY horrible idea, ya know that, right?" Newt stated.
Thomas sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that day, and it hasn't even reached noon. "Yeah, I know. But do you have a better plan?"
"No, but this plan is still garbage."
"Newt, seriously―do you want to rescue Rosalind or not?"
"All I'm tryna point out is that this plan seems a wee bit too centered around your girlfriend."
"Teresa's not my girlfriend!" Thomas said irritably. "And she's crucial in saving Rosalind because I can't think of any other way to execute this plan, alright? I trust her. And you should too."
Newt closed his eyes and took a deep breath, looking like he was trying very hard not to smash his head against the building wall and break his skull.
"Fine," he said finally, though the deep scowl on his face revealed that he wasn't happy about it at all. "Have ya done finalizing everythin'?"
Thomas nodded, and anxiety and anticipation trickled through him, making his fingers jittery. If the plan doesn't work, then there would be no hope in saving Rosalind.
"Ready?" Thomas asked.
Newt nodded.
"Then let's go rescue our ally."
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Teresa was standing guard at the Cornucopia, and she was wishing she got assigned a better job. Boredom and exhaustion tugged at her―never a good combination. Every single little noise made her jump, and it didn't help that she had the strangest feeling she was being watched.
She heard the faint scuffling of boots against ground, and whirled in the direction of the sudden sound. Her machete held tightly in front of her, she kept an eye out for any moving creatures in her peripherals. The maze loomed in the distance, as gigantic and towering as they could be. The reflective golden cornucopia and the heat waves rolling through the air made it hard to make out the miniscule details, setting Teresa on edge.
She heard the shuffling of shoes again, and confused, turned in a completely different direction. What was going on?
Then she felt it―a presence behind her, breathing and watching―and turned around so fast she nearly got whiplash.
"Thomas?" She stared, astounded as the she took in the sight of the sweat-covered boy before her.
"Shh!" He shushed her hastily.
"Wait, Thomas, what're you-?"
But the dark-haired boy quickly clamped a hand over her mouth, and she had to stop herself from gagging from the stench of his sweat. His whole face was bright with alert, his dark brown eyes wide and dilated as they stared into her sapphire ones.
