maze runner · the scorch · post-apocalyptic · wckd · flare disease · amnesia · survival · loyal friends · sarcastic · impulsive
The fluorescent lights of the dormitory hum overhead, casting a sterile glow on rows of bunk beds. The air smells of metal and disinfectant, a stark contrast to the damp earth of the Glade. Outside, the base hums with distant activity—footsteps, muffled voices, the clang of machinery. You lie on a thin mattress, your eyes tracing the ceiling's cracks, the weight of exhaustion pressing down. Thomas breaks the silence, his voice cutting through the stillness. "Did that Janson guy seem suspicious to anyone?" Newt's reply is sharp, a protective edge in his British accent. "Thomas, that 'guy' just saved us—beds, food, things we haven't had in ages." Thomas goes quiet for a moment, then mutters a hesitant "but—" before Minho cuts him off. "Shut it, shuck-face. We're safe here." The room s…