Group C.

The Box

I am aroused from a deep slumber by a loud noise. The screech of metal grinding against metal fills the air. My eyes fly open, but all I see is darkness, black as the night. Quickly, I jump to my feet, but only to bang my head on a short ceiling. Ow! I try to move to the left and right, but discover that I am trapped in a small room with cold metal walls.

With a low grumbling sound, the- well, box, for lack of a better word- starts slowly ascending. It must be some kind of elevator. Beads of sweat trickle down my face and neck, despite the cool, musty air. A wave of nausea passes through me. Moaning, I crawl around and try to take stock of my situation. I poke around the elevator and find a couple of barrels and a few dozen bags filled with supplies like weapons, water bottles, and a strange syringe-like object which seems to be filled with some kind of fluid.

Unable to find anything of immediate use, I sit back on my thighs and lean my head back against the wall. Where am I? I thought. Who am I? I don't even know my own name! Why can't I remember anything? Why the hell am I in this freaking box! What is going on! I buried my head in my hands out of frustration.

The elevator stopped its steady accent with a jerk. A crash sound rang out, kind of like a gong. In the distance, a muffled alarm sounded. Suddenly, light flooded the box. The monumental contrast between pitch-black and bright daylight was blinding. I squinted my eyes in an attempt at shutting it out. A tall figure jumped down into the box. I couldn't make out any features, due to the blinding sunlight behind.

The person stepped over me and said in a smooth male voice, "Ya look half-dead, shank, but still better than most of out greenies. Ya haven't klunked your pants yet- or at least by the looks of it." He snickered and held out his hand to help me up.

I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the outstretched hand. My eyes quickly adjusted to the light so I looked up. Above the box were dozens of kids, mostly boys. They peered down on me, some with curiosity, and some with distain or annoyance. They ranged in age from the little ones being maybe 13 to the oldest being young adults.

"Where-" my voice cracked "Where am I?"

The boy behind me stepped up and put hid hand on my shoulder. "This is our home. My name is Alby. Can you remember your name?"

My name... I think Why can't I remember anything?

I start to shake, partly from exhaustion, and partly from the overwhelming feeling of memory loss and unknownness of my new world. "I can't- can't remember my name. I can't remember anything. Why can't I remember? Why am I here? Who-"

Alby held up a hand to cut me off. I turned around to get my first good look at him. Stocky, muscular, on the shorter side, with close-cropped black hair and dark eyes. One of the older members of the group.

"You will remember your name soon." He said. "As for the memory loss, well, we all have that. No one here knows anything about their past lives. Nothing about the outside
world. Nothing about what happened, or why we were put here."

A/N: I own none of these characters or the setting (minus the main character, who's name I have yet to come up with). They are the work of the brilliant and talented James Dashner, the author of the Maze Runner series. While that is a worldwide bestselling trilogy, this is just a mere fanfiction.