Chaotic Good

To The Ones They Could Not Save

The bunk beds that the FBI has provided them with had enough beds for about half of the group. Thomas expected better from one of the best government agencies in America.

(I don't exactly know what the FBI is exactly and what it is made to do 'cause I don't live in the USA so I'll just make stuff along as I go, and hopefully, most of it is at least partially true)

The group was too lazy to find an agent to get a room for the other half of the Gladers with no beds and, even if no one said it out loud, they were too scared to be separated from each other.

So they improvised with the materials they had at hand. They used blankets and pillows to make 'mattresses' for the other half that didn't have beds so they wouldn't have to sleep on the floor.

None of them minded that they didn't have any blankets and pillows to sleep with because they were used to using folded jackets as pillows and sleeping without blankets anyways.

Jorge took one look at the makeshift mattresses and stated, "I need to sleep on an actual bed."

Minho snorted, "And please do tell us why, Oh Great One?"

Jorge glared at him, "My old back is a reason enough, hermano."

In response, Minho rolled his eyes, " Maybe we should leave your shanky ass out of fights, now that you're too old."

Before Thomas could blink, Jorge already had his gun cocked, silencer on, safety off, and he shot at Minho, barely missing the Asian's head, bouncing off the concrete wall, leaving a nicely bullet-shaped dent that the FBI agents would surely question them about later.

Minho jumped, "What the shuck, man? Are you jacked in the head? I thought you were too old to do that kind of klunk!"

Newt looked at Thomas with an 'are you going to do anything about this' face.

Thomas shrugged. This wasn't the first time people in their group tried to kill each other. It was only friendly fire.

Jorge blew the smoke coming out of the tip of his gun, "I'm never too old to put a bullet in anyone's head, including yours. Now, about that bed..."

This was Thomas's cue. "You can take mine. I can just sleep on the floor—"

This time, Newt sent him a 'did you just forget about me' face.

"—or with Newt, if he doesn't mind."

"I don't."

Minho sent a stern glare at them, but there was this mischievous sparkle in his eyes. "Just remember to keep everything PG 13, alright? There are still young shanks here." he gestured towards the younger Munies.

In response, all of the younger Munies gave him the bird.

Minho grinned, not fazed at all. "That's the spirit."

"I'm bored," Minho grumbled, "The slintheads basically kidnap us from the Safe Haven and give us nothing to do!"

"It's not as bad as when W.C.K.D. locked me in a white room for 26 days."

"Wait," Newt turned around to face Thomas, who was sitting on the other end of the bed, "Since when did this happen?"

"Remember when you were told I had the Flare bad so you couldn't visit me?" At Newt's confused face, Thomas added, "This was right before when W.C.K.D. wanted to return our memories."