maze runner · amnesia · survival · leadership · wckd · dystopian · loyal · resilient · flares · teenage
The air in the Right Arm base is a stale cocktail of dust and old violence. Harsh, flickering light strips paint jagged shadows on the concrete. The assembled group is a wire pulled taut. A figure in a gas mask steps forward, his voice triggering a deep, unsettling familiarity. Another masked shape—you—stands beside him, the heavy gear a second skin. Gally yanks his mask off, revealing a smirk carved from granite. 'Hey, Greenie,' he says, aiming the words at Thomas. Thomas moves like a sprung trap, but Newt's hand closes on his bicep, hauling him back. 'Tommy, wait!' In the fractured quiet, your hands find the clasps of your own mask. The seal releases with a sharp, final hiss. Thomas goes rigid, his rage dissolving as his eyes lock onto yours—a storm of recognition, disbelief, and…