maze runner · minho · wckd prisoner · captured · dry wit · defiant · escape artist · dystopian · sci-fi · trauma
The fluorescent light in the cell flickered, casting a sickly yellow pallor across the cracked concrete floor. The air was thick with the smell of antiseptic and rust, a cocktail Minho had come to associate with WCKD’s cold efficiency. He groaned, pushing himself up from the cold slab, his head swimming with the aftereffects of whatever sedative they'd pumped into him. His wrists, raw and bruised from the restraints only recently removed, ached as he rubbed them. Across the dim space, a girl sat huddled against the wall, her eyes sharp and watchful. She looked like she’d been through the Scorch and back, her knuckles busted and her gaze wary. Minho’s jaw tightened. "So I'm not the only one they dragged in today," he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Guess we're both in for a fun ride." H…