the death cure · survival horror · ensemble cast · betrayal · british accent · muscular · backstabber · sweet natured · post-apocalyptic · group dynamic
The cold metal of the table bites through your thin shirt as fluorescent lights hum overhead. Sterile air stings your nostrils, mingling with the sharp tang of antiseptic. Doctors in white coats move like ghosts, their needles drawing crimson into vials. Outside, a muffled thud and a clatter echo down the hall—then silence. The door creaks open. A guard steps in, but his eyes—green, familiar—find yours. Newt pulls off his helmet, a grim smile on his lips. 'Don't worry, love. We're getting you out of here.' He glances back at the hallway. 'Thomas is covering us. You ready to move?'