• Trial One: The Maze •
||𝐆𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐑|| Blake was said to have tamed the vicious robotic creature, Seven. She was granted the nickname Griever Tamer. But was the creature ever really tamed? Or was it just a distraction, a way that WICK...
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Blake stumbled backward as the world slapped her in the face once again. Every Gladers' eyes were glued on a pair of Creators' eyes. The air stilled with silence, it felt like a vacuum sucked the life out of it. Blake watched wordlessly, her face deadpan, fist tightened, nails digging her palm like a shovel in the dirt. She felt like an animal being watched by children. Sad children.
Each of the people behind the glass wore black coats over white shirts. Their faces carried an expression so lifeless it ran goosebumps down her scratch arms. Blake wondered if the Creators were disappointed by them. It was stupid of Blake to care, but all the less, she did. What would they do to them then? Kill them? Torture them? Make them forget everything and start over?
"Who are those people?" Chuck whispered, but his voice echoed, causing everyone to hear.
"The Creators," Minho said; then he spat on the floor. "I'm gonna break your faces!" he screamed, his voice increased by the echo caused Blake jump.
"What do we do?" Thomas asked, looking around. "What are they waiting on?"
"They've probably revved the Grievers back up," Newt said. "They're probably coming right—"
A loud, ear ringing beeping sound cut him off. Despite the night Blake had been through, she stood taller, pushing loose pieces of hair behind her ears. This echoing noise was better than the screams and cries of the lost Gladers...
"What now?" Chuck asked, a slight quiver in his voice.
Everyone looked at Thomas; he only shrugged in answer. Blake turned her attention back to the door, noticing one of the doors was swinging open toward them. Chuck's question then echoed around her head as she asked the same thing to herself.
What now?
The beeping stopped, a deadly silence filled the chamber. Blake's breathing stilled, no one moved.
Instead, two people walked into the room. One was a woman. Her hair thin and straight fell to her shoulders in a sweep of brown. Her dark eyes narrow in precision. Her plain outfit was pressed and suited for her, a combination of black pants and a white button-up shirt with the word wicked spelled across the breast pocket. She was stiff. No smile nor frown.
The women were very familiar. Blake knew her, but she was unsure of how. She couldn't recall her name or what she did to contribute to the Maze. Frustration crept in as she tried to piece together who the women were.
Another person stood next to her, a boy in an oversized baggy black sweatshirt, its large hood pulled up over his head, shadowing over his face making it impossible to tell who he is.
