movie watchers missed out on PEAK in Scorch Trials FR..
A break from regularly scheduled sports au programming to bring you this glorious piece of grub. Calling this series TMR illustrated because some (some) of the book stuff is PEAK ong.
Thanks to @shankiest and @shepardisstrange for this peak idea i literally got out of class and immediately hopped on this <33
UGH I LOVE BRENDA MY QUEEN
Perchance next I’m doing the scene where Minho gets his shit rocked by Jorge but we will see… 😛
yk this is funny because i have all the problems of ocd EXCEPT needing to have things organized a certain way,, however, it stops being the case when it comes to this, so i must create a new blog everytime
reading the scorch trials and WOW they are so different from the movies and so much better. don't get me wrong I love the movies and I probably always will but the books are fucking amazing
WHAT THE HELLY HELL YOUR MINHO FICS ARE AMAZING could i request one where its the reader instead of thomas who gets shot while trying to get away from janson with teresa, and they both get to yk the top of the building and the berg with minho, frypan, gally, brenda, and jorge floats down and teresa helps the reader into it(minho and gally get her into the berg) and dies when the building collapses and reader is just devasated. i think it would be very angsty for the reader cuz well she lost her friend (even though teresa betrayed her) they got minho back but she lost newt to the flare, and all of these thoughts run through her mind as she slowly passes out from the pain, so its just that angsty moment where minho holds an unconscious reader in his arms, bc he got deja vu of newt lying there and is just terrified that reader might be dying, and then lifts her and drags her into the berg, gally and frypan at the ready with first aid tools and jorge driving the berg and brenda (worried) sharing a glance with minho and after that a still passed out reader is propped up in minho's lap and he just runs his hand through her hair like damn girl you blazed a city for me, (ik its long and im sorry but this was a really good idea i had <33)
a/n: ahh this one was fun to write!! i feel like i could definitely turn this into a two parter, let me know what yall think:)
still breathing
⤷ pairing: minho x fem!reader
⤷ word count: 2.3k
⤷ summary: teresa tries her hardest to get you out of WCKD, but fire ravages the facility. as you lay on the roof thinking that your life is over, the berg cuts through the smoke like a lifeline.
⤷ warnings: reader takes the place of thomas, mention of injury/blood, mention of death, passing out, i think that's it
“Come on, we gotta go!”
The voice is distant, muffled, like you’re under water. You hardly hear it over the incessant ringing in your ears–a low hum that drowns out the chaos unfolding around you.
The world around you swims in and out of focus, no matter how hard you try to blink it away. Every movement feels like moving through quicksand.
You snap back to reality as your arm is thrown over someone’s shoulders. You blink, realizing Teresa is trying to get you up. Shaking your head, you force yourself to your feet, a wave of nausea rolling over you as you do. You swallow, forcing it down. Your head spins, the floor seemingly tilting underneath you as you limp forward.
Instinctively, your other hand clutches your abdomen. The metallic tang of blood coats your tongue, the smell of copper entering your nostrils even through the overwhelming scent of smoke rising in the air. The fabric of your shirt is soaked in red, gushing from the bullet wound that ripped through you not long ago. Your palm is coated in it, wrapping around your fingers and embedding itself in your nails.
You’re forced to push it to the back of your mind.
Smoke billows into the hallway as you stumble out into it, choking the air so thick it burns your lungs. Sparks emit from all of the damaged components of the compound, flying out in every direction.
Fire is quickly engulfing most of the facility, faster than you thought possible. Teresa attempts to go around the corner down the hall, but more smoke billows out and the heat burns your eyes, forcing you to blink away unwanted tears. She swears, turning back around, eyes frantically darting back and forth for an out. Spotting the door to the stairwell, she quickly pulls you towards it.
You force down another wave of nausea as she bursts through the door, quickly trying to gauge which direction is safer to go. She moves towards the stairs leading downward, but a small explosion sends flames flying up to block your path. You involuntarily flinch upon feeling the heat hit your face. Going up the stairs is your only other option.
The door slams open once you reach the top, revealing a scene that makes your heart sink in your chest.
The roof is surrounded by fire. Flames lick across the concrete, the heat pressing down on you from every direction. The city around you is a blur of orange, a stark contrast to the cool tones it emitted when you first entered.
Teresa’s footsteps falter once she takes in the destruction, trying to turn you around to go back down the stairs. Her attempt is immediately squashed by yet another explosion that sends fire up into your only exit. Her lips part slightly in shock, grip on you slackening just a hair.
Your body suddenly feels like it weighs three times more than it should. Your legs give out, arm losing its grip around Teresa, collapsing backwards onto the metal grate beneath you. You roll onto your side with your hand still clutching your wound, breaths coming in short, pained gasps.
Teresa is crouched beside you in an instant. She maneuvers behind you, pulling you semi-upright, almost like she was thinking about dragging you backwards. There’s no point, though. There’s nowhere to go.
Instead, your friend holds you in her lap, looking around at the hopelessness unfolding around you. Sweat beads on her face from the heat, and you can feel it on yours too. It drips down your temple, off of the tip of your nose, the collar of your shirt feeling damp from it collecting on your chest.
Your breathing quickens as another round of blinding pain surges through your body. Teresa’s hand hovers over your arms that are wrapped around yourself, noticing how the blood has covered your skin all the way up your forearms.
Her eyes squeeze shut, a quiet sob escaping her lips through the panicked breathing. It pains her to know that there’s nothing she can do to help you. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I tried.”
“I know,” you whisper as you weakly lift your head to look at her. She presses her head against yours, trying to accept that this would be your fate.
You’ve already come to terms with it. Your head drops against her shoulder, eyes closing, arms slowly loosening around yourself. You just hope that you succumb to the darkness of the bullet before the agonizing heat of fire gets you.
Then, you feel Teresa’s head lift.
You don’t hear it at first, or maybe it’s that you think your mind is playing tricks on you.
But there’s the unmistakable sound of aircraft cutting through the roar of flames.
You use what little strength you have left to lift your head, looking behind you. The berg roars into view, floodlights cutting through the smoke like a lifeline.
The two of you look on in disbelief. You’re almost frozen to the spot, but Teresa wastes no time, scrambling to her feet.
“Come on!” She forces you to your feet and you cry out despite yourself, the movement sending white hot pain through your body. “Sorry, I’m sorry,” she apologizes, but still gives you a gentle, encouraging shove to get moving.
The berg rotates around, getting ready to open the hatch as you slowly but surely get closer. It’s a bit difficult, as you feel like a newborn fawn learning how to use its legs. Your legs suddenly buckle, sending you hurdling towards the ground again. Teresa swears, hastily picking you back up. You will yourself to keep moving through the pain.
You can faintly hear someone yelling your name as the hatch opens. You’re not sure who, but it gives you the smallest spark of determination as you push forward.
Wind from the rotors whips your hair into your face as you reach the edge of the roof. You can see into the berg now. Vince, Gally, Frypan, Brenda are all crowded around the opening. The only person that quickly catches your attention, though, is Minho.
Relief floods through you despite everything else. He’s safe. That’s all that matters.
His hand is outstretched towards you, top half of his body hanging off of the ramp. “Grab my hand!” he yells, voice cutting through the noise.
The berg isn’t close enough. “Get closer!” Teresa yells back, hand grabbing your arm that’s currently around her shoulders to keep you upright.
They’re trying, but Jorge can’t get the berg much closer. You reach for Minho’s outstretched hand anyway, and he grabs yours tightly. The ship moves just a fraction, though, forcing you apart. You careen forward, hitting the concrete hard as you try to catch yourself. Pain shoots up your wrist as your palm slams into the ground.
“You gotta get closer!” You can hear Gally shout to Jorge, and they try again. You pathetically outstretch your hand from your position on your knees, while Minho reaches for you again desperately.
An explosion from the next building over sends the berg rocking, jolting all of its occupants. Part of the structure collapses, and Teresa looks behind her to see the damage. Debris flies towards the ground, towards the roof you stand on, making this all the more urgent. She turns back around, determination written all over her features. You’re dragged to your feet for the fourth time now.
Minho and Gally are shouting, both with their arms out. With the last little bit of strength you have, you force yourself to jump, feeling Teresa give you a shove from behind just to be sure you make it in. Gally and Minho grab at your arms, pulling you up onto the ramp and away from the edge of it.
You have to ignore the pain ripping through your abdomen, suppressing a scream from tearing itself from your throat. Minho immediately kneels beside you, hands hovering like he doesn’t know where to start. You’re laying on your side, watching with your neck craned as Vince and Gally try to reach for Teresa next.
Then, you hear a loud, thunderous groan. Not human, but rather the groan of steel and metal and concrete warping as it tries to hold itself together.
The world seems to stop moving as the building directly next to the compound begins to fully collapse. The sound is deafening as it tilts, and the collapse almost feels slow for a second until gravity takes over. The top dips, the middle buckles and then the whole thing drops, dragging everything with it.
It hits the facility with an explosion that sends Teresa flying off of her feet. You push yourself up with your elbows, eyes widening. Minho grabs your arm, like he’s nervous that you’re going to lurch forward to try to save her yourself.
“Teresa!” you scream, panic clawing its way into your throat. She whips around to look at you as she stands.
The flames surge higher behind her, reflecting off of her skin. For a moment, relief floods through you. There’s still time, all she has to do is jump if Jorge just gets the berg just a little closer—
Realization quickly hits you like a punch to the gut as she stands there, unmoving. She isn’t making any attempt to save herself.
By the look on your face, she knows that you’ve realized. She smiles sadly.
And within seconds, you watch one of your best friends, the girl who just saved your life, fall into the fiery abyss with the rest of the building as it crumbles.
You think you’re screaming, but you don’t know.
The berg lurches as it pulls away from the collapsing tower.
Your vision blurs as you stare at the spot where Teresa just disappeared, hardly registering the hands pulling at your shoulders. Everything feels like it’s happening in slow motion. You’re forcefully turned onto your back, multiple sets of hands grabbing at you.
You faintly feel fingers brush against your skin as someone pulls up the fabric of your shirt. Your eyelids flutter, darkness clouding the edges of your vision.
“Hey—hey, look at me. You’re okay.”
Minho’s voice cuts through the ringing in your ears that has started up again. You force your eyes open, feeling his hands on the sides of your head. He’s leaning over you, positioned at the top of your head.
Brenda, Gally and Frypan speak in panicked, rushed voices, but it all blends together into one. There’s pressure on your wound, someone pressing gauze to it to stop the bleeding. A weak, pained groan escapes your lips. It’s the only sound your body will allow you to make.
Your head is placed into Minho’s lap. His hands still cup the sides of it, thumbs brushing against your temples.
The pain in your side has dulled to a deep, dragging ache that pulls at your consciousness every time you breathe.
Suddenly it’s too much.
Too much loss, too much fear, too much grief. Newts face flashes behind your eyes. His voice, his last moments, how quickly the virus took over his body. Teresa falling still plays fresh in your mind. The weight of everyone you couldn’t save presses heavily on you.
Your breathing stutters, vision dimming.
“Hey, no, you gotta stay awake,” a voice pleads from above you. You faintly feel lips against your forehead, Minho’s nose brushing your skin as he leans down. “Don’t you dare.”
Everything feels fuzzy. Darkness creeps in at the edges of your sight again. You try to keep your eyes on him, but his face blurs as he pulls away. Your arm lifts shakily, trying to reach for his hand, but it stops short.
“I’m sorry,” you manage to whisper, though you don’t even know who the apology is for.
Then everything slips away.
Your body goes slack in Minho’s arms.
“No, no, no,” he breathes, panic crashing into him so hard it steals the air from his chest. He pulls you closer without thinking, despite protests from Frypan and Gally who are currently working on your wound. He glances up for a split second, meeting Brenda’s eyes. She’s kneeled beside you, eyes wet and red-rimmed. She looks at him, worry etched in every line of her face.
He looks away.
You’re dead weight in his arms, eyes closed. His mind betrays him, an image of Newt lying still on the concrete flashing through his head.
Pale. Gone. No longer breathing.
Minho feels sick, stomach churning with an anxiety he’s never felt before. Not from the horrors of the Maze, not from being struck by lightning in the Scorch, not even being captured by WCKD made him feel like this. “Please,” he whispers, forehead pressing to yours. “Don’t do this to me. I can’t lose you too.”
“She’s got a pulse. She’s breathing, Minho. She’ll be okay,” Gally cuts into Minho’s dark thoughts as he looks up from where he’s bandaging your abdomen.
Minho feels as though he should be relieved, but he isn't. Not until you’re awake again.
As time slowly ticks by, his gaze is persistently fixed on the faint rise and fall of your chest. Just to be sure that you’re still breathing.
Everyone else has cleared the area, giving Minho some space. Your wound has been flushed and dressed with what supplies they have on board, though your blood still darkens the floors beneath you.
You’re still propped up in Minho’s lap, his hands running through your hair repeatedly. He knows you can’t feel it, but it helps to ground him.
His eyes flit down to your face. You look peaceful, despite everything—eyes closed, lips parted slightly. A soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
He leans down, lips gently pressing against your forehead. Then your nose, your cheeks, the sides of your head.
His heart swells in his chest. He can’t wait until you wake up so he can tell you how proud he is of you.
Your perseverance is unmatched. You blazed through the Last City for him, broke into WCKD, saved his life, jumped out of a window, took a bullet, watched two of your closest friends die right in front of you—yet you’re still holding on despite the emotional and physical trauma you just endured.
“You’re gonna be okay,” he murmurs to you, though you can’t hear him.
hi hi hii!! Your fics lowk reanimated my maze runner obsession from like 6 years ago and I LOVE ur Minho writing so I have a request!! Could you write minho x fem!reader in which reader is from Group B and was their equivalent to Keeper of the runners? Set in the Scorch Trials, like where the Gladers meet Brenda and Jorge for the first time and reader got there earlier on her own? So basically like how Aris is the equivalent to Teresa in Group B but with reader and Minho. Like the other Gladers notice how annoyingly similar they are and groaning ensues: “great, now theres two of them,” type beat. I’d also love to see them butt heads and trade sass (especially because book Minho is such a little shit, lol) Love your writing and keep up the good work!! ❤️❤️
a/n: sorry if i didn't execute this well!! i wrote like 6 different versions idk why this was difficult for me to write but i ended up having fun writing it so i hope you enjoy n thank u for requesting!! also feel like i could probably turn this into a part 2 but idk
⤷ pairing: minho x fem!reader
⤷ word count: 6.2k (whoops)
⤷ summary: you think you've found the perfect place to lay low for the night out in the scorch, out of the danger of the storms and cranks. unfortunately, you're not the only one seeking shelter. somehow, you find yourself tagging along with another maze group, and one boy in particular gets on your nerves like no other. maybe it's because you're a little too similar.
⤷ warnings: not really any, just a lot of minho and reader bickering on their journey through the scorch, also my poor knowledge of book minho because it’s been a few years since i’ve read it. basically follows the events of the movie after finding jorge/brendas facility. use of y/n in this one, sry i know some people don't like that
You have no idea how you ended up in this situation. More importantly, you’re infuriated that you ended up in this situation.
Finding Jorge and Brenda’s facility was by pure luck. What wasn’t pure luck was another group finding them not long after you. Which then ended up putting you in the last situation you thought you’d find yourself in while navigating the Scorch on your own.
Hanging. Upside down. By a rope wrapped around your ankles. Blood rushing to your head.
You bristle silently as you hang there, nothing but straight irritation flooding through your veins. The rope digs into the fabric of your pants, creating an uncomfortable friction against your skin.
The group of boys (and one singular other girl) are strung up around you in the same fashion. One of them, noticeably, is Aris. Who you happen to know very well.
You could pick out his scrawny form a mile away. And while you have a lot of questions, your current predicament doesn’t allow you to ask them.
“Good plan, Thomas. Just hear what the man has to say. Really working out for us,” the tan-skinned Asian boy finally barks.
“Shut up Minho,” the brunette across from you mutters bitterly. Thomas tries reaching up for the rope, but his attempt falls flat.
“Yeah, Minho,” you bristle, his name on your tongue laced with malice, livid that your cover was blown. “You idiots just had to walk in and ruin everything. Especially you.”
Minho twists his body instantly, rope swinging lightly as he does. He glares at you hard. “And who the shuck are you?”
“That’s my business,” you mock, recounting his words to Jorge from earlier.
He rolls his eyes, a scoff leaving his throat. “The blood must really be rushing to my head right now, because there’s no way this random shank is talking to me like that.”
Before you can open your mouth to retort, Jorge enters the room.
“Enjoying the view?” The older man asks, stalking towards the group of you with his staff.
“The hell do you want?” you can hear somebody ask.
“That is the question,” Jorge says, raising his staff. “My men want to sell you back to WCKD.”
You scoff. “As if.”
Jorge ignores you, continuing to speak. “You tell me what you know, and maybe we can make a deal.” His hand hovers over the lever that controls how high you’re all currently hanging.
Thomas hesitates. “We-we don’t know much.”
Suddenly, your stomach drops as the lever is pushed. The ropes jolt, dropping everyone a foot lower. Panicked shouts ensue. Thomas yells out, “alright, alright!”
“They’re hiding in the mountains. They attacked WCKD, they got out a bunch of kids. That’s it, that’s all we know.”
You frown, knowing that your Maze is the one that The Right Arm ambushed. It still hurts that you didn’t make it out, but you’re glad that at least Harriet and Sonya are out of WCKD’s hands.
Jorge takes a couple steps forward, opening his mouth to speak. He’s quickly interrupted by Barkley, one of the raggedy men who lives in the facility, who you can tell appears to be a bit suspicious.
“Hey, wait. You’re not gonna help us?” Thomas asks incredulously after Jorge tells Barkley that he’s done here.
“Don’t worry Hermano. We’ll get you back to where you belong.”
He walks off, throwing a “hang tight” over his shoulder.
You huff, deciding you’re not wasting anymore time. You start trying to gain momentum to swing your body, though it doesn’t work very well with no extra help.
“Doesn’t look like that’s working out for you very well,” Minho says matter-of-factly, watching you with a smug look on his face. You wish you could smack it off of him.
“I don’t see you trying. You realize you’re in the same predicament as me, right ceiling boy?” you snap.
“She’s right. We gotta try something here, we can’t just sit around and wait,” Thomas says. Minho grumbles something incoherent, maybe something about how he “shouldn’t be agreeing with mystery girl over here.”
Next thing you know, Minho is pushing the girl closest to the lever towards the rail to the side of the pit you all hang above. It takes a few attempts, but she eventually manages to grab it, twisting her body to be able to grab the lever. You’re all dropped another couple of feet as she pulls it.
She frees herself from the ropes binding her ankles. Then, quickly, she starts to free everybody else. She grabs a pole, using it to have each person grab it to pull them over to the floor.
The energy in the room is frantic, rushed. Helicopter lights flood through the windows, illuminating the room as WCKD lurks outside. Looking for all of you. The words “WCKD property” coming out of Janson’s mouth sends a chill down your spine.
Finally, you’re the last one standing. Or hanging. Thomas holds a pole out towards you, and you grab it tightly.
“Are we seriously helping her? We could just leave her, you know. Let WCKD walk away with something,” Minho groans. Thomas’ head snaps back as he pulls you to safety, beginning to unwrap the rope around you.
“I’m not leaving anyone behind,” Thomas says, tone warning Minho to knock it off.
You’re choosing to ignore Minho’s comment for now, because there’s no time to break out into a fight, but anger boils beneath your skin like an itch you can’t scratch. You scramble to your feet once you’re freed, mumbling a “thanks” to Thomas. Before you can even take another step, your shoulders are grabbed and you’re spun around.
Your mouth opens to protest, but you falter once you notice that it’s Aris. His eyes are wide in disbelief as he pulls you into a tight hug. Your shoulders relax, squeezing him tightly.
“Y/N, how the hell did you get here? Why are you by yourself, what happened?” he asks as you pull away.
Minho huffs somewhere nearby. “Ah, so mystery girl does have a name.”
You shoot him a deadly glare, then turn back to Aris. “Long story. Don’t worry about it right now,” you say, hinting at getting the hell out of the facility as soon as possible instead of standing around chatting.
And with Jorge’s surprising help, you all make it out safely before his facility blows to pieces.
The Scorch almost feels the hottest it's ever been. It’s miserable, and it’s starting to show on everyone’s faces.
The group that you’ve now found yourself tagging along with, including Jorge, laid low for the night after narrowly escaping WCKD. Now, you’re back to trekking through the desert, on your way to find Brenda and Thomas after they were separated from you.
It seems to stretch on forever. There’s debris everywhere, bones of buildings half swallowed by sand.
Minho walks stiffly in the front of the group. He’s focused–until he hears you behind him.
“Left.”
He doesn’t slow. “I see it.”
“No, you don’t,” you say smugly. “There’s a dip there. Step on it and you’re gonna fall.”
He stops just short of it, looking down. Sure enough, there’s a sizable dip in the sand where a piece of debris has created a small ledge. He exhales slowly through his nose, not wanting to admit that you’re right.
“...Lucky guess.”
“Sure,” you reply.
Minho shoots you a look over his shoulder. You aren’t even looking at him, just already scanning ahead, unfazed.
He has decided that he doesn’t like you. Or rather, he doesn’t like how you’re so similar to him.
“Okay,” he mutters. “Who put you in charge?”
You blink. “No one?”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
From behind you, Newt pipes up. “She’s not wrong, mate. You would’ve eaten sand.”
Minho smiles tightly. “I had it handled.”
“Mm,” you hum. “Loud and wrong. Lucky I even said something, I could’ve just let you go down. Actually, I should’ve.”
He whirls around, irritation flashing through his dark eyes. “You always this mouthy, or am I special?”
“Definitely you,” you snap back. Aris overhears, and can’t help but smile in front of you. You’re not being completely truthful–you’ve always had a little attitude to you, he would know. But he can tell you’re just being like this to get under Minho’s skin.
A collective groan ripples through the group. “Great,” Frypan mumbles. “Now we’ve got walking attitude one and two.”
Everybody keeps moving, silence settling over the group for a few minutes.
You, however, who prides yourself in being able detect change in an instant thanks to that Runner instinct, slow your pace.
The wind had been getting worse for the last hour, which was noticeable in itself. At first, it was just a low whistle through the dead buildings and broken concrete of the Scorch. But now, the direction has changed, the air carrying sharp grains of sand that scraped across skin every time the group pushed forward.
Up ahead, Minho walks at his usual pace. Fast and determined, like the idea of slowing down would kill him. Behind him, the rest of the group trudges along in a loose pack. Newt wipes sand from his face, squinting against the wind.
“Shuck it,” Frypan mutters. “Feels like the whole desert is trying to sand my face off.”
A few steps behind them, you lift your arm to shield your eyes. Something feels off.
The wind picks up again, and up ahead, you see what almost appears to be a wall of dust and sand looming in the distance.
“Stop,” you say suddenly.
No one listens, or they don’t hear you. Either way, you roll your eyes and raise your voice.
“Stop!”
This time a few of them halt in confusion. Up front, Minho takes a few more steps before realizing the group isn’t behind him anymore. He turns, irritation already written across his face.
“What?”
You gesture to the barren landscape ahead, to the wall of sand that feels like it’s closer than it was a minute ago. “The wind shifted.”
“So?”
“So,” you repeat slowly. “That’s a dust storm. And it’s coming this way.”
Minho folds his arms. “And you know that how?”
“Because I have eyes.”
A few of the Gladers exchange looks. Minho glances up, then back at you, unimpressed. “We’ve been walking through worse.”
“Yeah,” you say flatly. “And it’s about to get a lot worse.”
Minho scoffs. “We’re not stopping every time you think something is wrong–”
“Take shelter for a few minutes,” you cut him off. “Let it pass, then we move.”
He stares at you like you just insulted his entire bloodline.
“You don’t get to call breaks.”
You raise a brow. “Really?”
Minho takes a step forward, as if he’s challenging you. “Really.”
The wind whips harder between the buildings ahead, sending a powerful spray of sand in your direction. You gesture towards it.
“It’s getting closer,” you say as if it’s obvious. Which it is now.
“It’s wind.”
“It’s wind that’s about to sandblast everyone’s eyeballs. And decrease visibility worse than it is now.”
“Okay, meteorologist. Dramatic.”
“Oh my god,” you mutter.
Behind you, Newt rubs his temples. “Please,” he groans quietly, “not another one.”
“What?” Aris asks.
Newt nods towards you and Minho, who are now standing two feet apart and glaring at each other like you’re about to break into a fist fight. “They’re the same bloody person.”
Minho points a finger at you. “We keep moving.”
You cross your arms defiantly. “No.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Again, who made you–”
“Minho.”
“---in charge here?”
“MINHO.”
The wind whips up again, strong and unforgiving. A cloud of sand and dust surges towards the group, so thick that you can barely see when it blows over you. Everyone immediately turns their backs, shielding their faces.
Frypan spits, trying to remove the gritty sand from his tongue. “Okay yeah maybe we should–”
“Move!” you snap, already moving towards the shelter of a partially collapsed building nearby. The group follows instantly. Minho stays planted for a second longer before muttering something under his breath and stalking after everyone.
Inside the crumbling shell of the building, the wind is blocked enough that you can breathe without inhaling half the desert. Everyone slumps against broken walls and piles of debris.
Minho leans against a column, arms crossed, still glaring in your direction.
“You’re enjoying this,” he accuses.
“A little,” you reply instantly, shrugging.
Someone chuckles quietly. Newt drops down onto a chunk of concrete. “Seriously,” he says, looking between you two. “Where’d she come from again?”
“She said that was her business,” Minho mocks, recalling your words from earlier where you’d been mocking him.
You roll your eyes. Frypan, who sits nearby, seems to remember something. “Hey, wait,” he starts. “How’d you two know each other again?” he asks as he gestures towards you and Aris.
Before you can answer, Minho cuts in. “Yeah, actually. Been wondering that.”
Aris shrugs like it’s nothing. “Same maze.”
The group collectively quiets for a second.
“Same maze?” Newt repeats.
Aris nods. “Yeah. You know how I came from a maze full of girls? She was one of them,” he says. “One of the best Runners we had, actually. She was Keeper for a reason,” he continues, blissfully unaware he’s detonating something.
Silence.
Every Glader slowly turns their head towards you. Then toward Minho. Then back to you.
“Oh, you have got to be shucking kidding me.”
Newt just laughs in disbelief. “Bloody hell. It all makes sense now.”
Minho straightens. Frypan points at the two of you like he’s just solved the world’s worst puzzle.
“Great. Now there’s two of them. That’s just what we need.”
You squint. “Wait, so you’re telling me that he was also a Runner?” The distaste in your voice is evident.
Minho drags his hand down his face. “And you’re telling me,” he points at you, “you were the female version of me?”
You cross your arms over your chest. “The word version implies downgrade.”
Newt leans against the wall, exhausted. “No wonder they’ve been arguing since the second they met.”
Minho scoffs. “I don’t argue.”
You laugh in response. “Oh, you absolutely do.”
He shoots you a look. “You called a sandstorm break.”
“And I was right, wasn’t I?”
He opens his mouth to argue, but another massive gust of sand roars past the opening of the building. After a beat, he exhales slowly through his nose.
“...Fine.”
You grin, satisfaction flashing across your face. “Thanks.”
He points a warning finger at you. “Don’t get used to it.”
In the background, someone mutters “we’re never getting any peace again”. Unfortunately, they’d be correct.
When the storm passes minutes later, you all reemerge from the building. You’re in front now, not wanting to give Minho the satisfaction of leading the group.
He watches you, irritation buzzing underneath his skin. With that, though, is something dangerously close to respect.
He would never say it out loud, though.
The banter between you and Minho continues for most of the afternoon, much to the Gladers displeasure. They would be lying if they said they weren’t sick of listening to it.
“You’re slowing down,” Minho says at one point.
“I’m not. You’re impatient,” you say flatly.
“I’m efficient.”
“I’m conserving my energy. You’d think you would know a thing or two about that. Y’know, being a Runner and all?”
“I don’t need to conserve energy. Clearly, I’m just the better Runner.”
You snort. “Oh please. You’re just mad because you know that’s not true.”
“I’m mad because you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying. You wanna find out?”
Minho huffs a sharp laugh. “You ever think about not talking?”
“Do you ever think about listening to someone other than yourself for once?”
“No. That’s kinda my thing.”
You roll your eyes. “Your head truly couldn’t get any bigger.”
“And yours couldn’t? Arrogant shank,” he mutters under his breath.
You still happen to hear it.
“Impatient,” you seethe.
“Difficult.”
“Snobby.”
“Cynical.”
“Bossy,” you continue as you hop up onto a slab of concrete from a fallen building instead of walking around it. Minho vaults it easily.
“Show off,” you say.
“You say that like you didn’t take the harder route on purpose.”
“It’s not harder.”
“Right. You just took the ‘look at me’ route.”
You drop down on the other side without missing a beat. “Funny coming from someone whose entire personality screams ‘look at me’. Always moving like you’re auditioning for something.”
“Auditioning for what?”
“Attention.”
Minho grins. “Jealous?”
“As if,” you scoff. “I can’t wait for the day you slip up and I have to drag you out of it.”
“Please,” he huffs. “You’d leave me.”
“Maybe. Or maybe not.” You meet his eyes. “I’d complain the whole time.”
He laughs, and it might be the first time you’ve heard him laugh at something you said. “You’re unbelievable.”
You shrug. “I try.”
Silence falls over the two of you as you keep walking. The rest of the group chatters behind you, but you pay it no mind.
After a few minutes, Minho speaks again. “If you’d been in my Maze, I would’ve hated you.”
You smile without looking at him. “If I’d been in your Maze, I would’ve taken your job.”
“Ouch.”
“Truth hurts.”
He bumps your shoulder lightly as you walk. “Good thing we’re not competing.”
You bump him back harder. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Behind you, Newt groans. “Are you two done yet?”
“No,” you and Minho both say in unison. You glare at him.
“Don’t do that,” you say.
“Relax, shank. Guess we’re just more in sync than you thought.”
“God, I hope not. That might get me killed.”
“Very funny. I happen to believe the opposite, actually.”
“Well, I don’t,” you mumble. It’s not that you don’t think he’s capable—if he was Keeper of the Runners in his Maze, then he's obviously smart and knows what he’s doing. You’re very guarded, though. You don’t trust just anyone. It has to be earned.
For once, he has nothing to say back to you.
Entering Zone A is far from comforting.
It’s full of life, yet run down and slightly unsettling. Music pulses through the air, bass vibrating through the cracked concrete and sand underneath you. People are talking and laughing, yet it all blends into something overwhelming and wrong.
You’re still leading the group when you enter the Zone. Immediately, you’re on edge. There’s too many eyes. People stop talking as you pass, some openly staring. A few smile in a way that makes your skin prickle. It’s obvious that you all don’t fit in with the vibe here.
Minho is still walking beside you, but far enough away that it doesn’t annoy you.
You happen to notice, though, that he quickens his pace once he notices the attention that your group is drawing. He subtly moves in front of you, angling his body enough that you’re no longer fully visible from the front.
You don’t like that. It makes you feel weak.
You scowl, opening your mouth to protest. “Move.”
“What?” he says, not looking at you.
“I said move.”
Minho ignores you, guiding the group through a small crowd of people. You can hear Jorge in the background directing you on which direction to go, but you’re too focused on the way Minho steps fully in front of you after someone’s gaze lingers on you a little too long.
You grab the back of his arm and yank him to a stop. “Knock it off,” you snap. “I don’t need you doing whatever this is.”
He finally turns to face you. “Doing what?”
“Protecting me,” you say sharply. “Or whatever it is you think you’re doing. I can handle myself and the rest of the group.”
Minho’s jaw tightens. “This isn’t about your pride.”
“Oh, spare me,” you fire back. “I’ve survived enough on my own. I think I can handle this.”
“You realize you survived a Maze full of girls, correct? And half of your journey through the Scorch has been spent with us. People who you now know you can trust.” His voice is sharp. “This isn't the same. We have no idea what these people did to Thomas and Brenda.”
Around you, everyone keeps moving—Aris, Newt, Frypan, Teresa and Jorge—probably not wanting to listen to your hundredth argument of the day. Minho’s focus locks entirely on you now.
Your frown deepens, but he keeps going. “You think I don’t know you can handle yourself?” he says, voice low. “That’s not the point.”
“Then what is?” you demand.
Minho glances past you for a moment. His eyes scan the crowd, noticing the men and women watching too closely, the way some people lean in when they realize you’re new here.
“We don’t know these shuck people,” he snaps, gaze returning to you. “We don’t know what they want or what they’ll do if they want something from us. We’re walking into their territory.”
You cross your arms. “I didn’t ask you to watch my back.”
He laughs once, short and humorless. “You think I’m doing this because you asked?”
“Then why?” you push.
Minho hesitates, just for a second. “Because if something happens,” he says finally. “I won’t forgive myself for seeing it coming and doing nothin'. We have to stick together out here, even if you don’t like it.”
Your anger falters. Honestly, you’re surprised he even cares enough. “I don’t need a guard,” you say quietly.
“I know,” he replies, but leaves it at that.
Silence stretches between you, thick and tense. Then, you sigh, sharp and annoyed. You know you’ve lost this fight. “You’re impossible.”
He smirks faintly. “You noticed.”
You step around him, but this time, you don’t shove him away when he falls back into position beside you. Not in front, just close. And you let him—just this once.
Everything after that escalates rather quickly, seemingly moving in a blur.
You find Thomas and Brenda, thankfully unharmed (albeit maybe slightly hungover). With them, you also find Marcus. Jorge wastes no time in borderline torturing the information about the Right Arm out of the sleazy man. By the time Jorge is finished with him, his eye is swollen shut, blood leaking from a cut above his brow, pride shattered.
His truck, which he calls “Bertha,” awaits your group once Marcus gives up where the Right Arm’s outpost is. The space is quite confined with the amount of people you have crammed in the back, and it would be your luck that you’ve managed to be squished up against Minho. You’re pretty positive the other boys did it on purpose.
Minho, you quickly discover, doesn’t stop moving. He fidgets almost the entire time, either trying to get comfortable or trying to get on your nerves, you can’t tell.
“Would you stop?” you finally snap, turning your head away from the window to glare at him. He flashes you a lazy grin, knowing he’s getting under your skin.
“My bad. It’s a little tight back here, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Yeah, I have. And it would help if you’d sit still,” you say as you grit your teeth.
He purposely stretches his arms, nearly smacking you in the head. He’s sitting with his legs spread slightly apart instead of keeping them together, taking up even more room. In the background, you catch Newt rolling his eyes.
You slam your elbow into Minho’s ribs. Not enough to hurt, but hard enough that you can hear a quiet ‘oof’ escape his lips.
He frowns. “What was that for?”
“Stop moving and give me some more space or you’re gonna get it again,” you bristle, elbow drawing back again to deliver a second blow.
“Alright, alright,” he says in surrender, begrudgingly giving you some more leg room. He folds his arms over his chest, trying to keep them contained. “Jeez, woman,” he mutters under his breath.
“Stop talking,” you huff as you overhear his comment, giving him a quick pinch to the skin of his upper arm. He smacks your hand away, and your hand balls up into a fist as if you’re ready to punch him. Which you are.
Before you can think about it any further, Newt interrupts—always trying to be the mediator. “Would you two bloody fools knock it off? See, I told you it was a bad idea,” he says to Aris, who has a smug look plastered to his face. You should’ve known he was up to something.
Yourself and Minho, though, both go quiet. You lower your fist, placing both hands in your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. Although you’d love to keep arguing, the last thing you want is to annoy Newt further.
“Thank you,” Newt mutters. The truck now goes almost completely quiet without you and Minho bickering.
Minho has to pipe up, though, one more time. “See how boring it is in here without me talking? You shanks wouldn’t know what to do without me.”
You have to bite your tongue hard to prevent yourself from speaking again.
The truck eventually rolls to a halt.
The roadway is covered in old, abandoned, broken down cars. There’s multiple of them, and no way to get through, meaning you’ll have to keep moving on foot.
The thought of that is slightly unsettling.
Hopping out of the truck, you take in your surroundings. You’re surrounded by mountainous terrain on both sides, the rocky landscape towering over you.
You all start to push forward, making your way through the mess of old vehicles. Crows caw in the distance, disrupting the silence, creating an eerie atmosphere. As if they know something that you don’t.
Your fingers brush over the windshield of a car, flitting over a bullet hole that creates a small crater in the glass. It dips under your fingertips, jagged edges sharp against your skin.
You’re about to pull your hand away when a bullet flies mere inches past your head, pinging off of the metal hood of the car behind you. A few more follow in its wake, causing everybody to duck down behind the cars.
And of course, as you take cover behind a rusted out SUV, Minho is right next to you.
You roll your eyes, even in the current situation you’re in. “How do I always get stuck with you?” you whisper-yell, sliding down so that your back is against the door.
He scoffs, crouching down on the ground and facing the direction of the car instead of away from it. “Oh yeah, because I planned this.”
The round of shots finally subsides. Thinking that it’s over, you turn and slowly peek over the hood of the car–for about half a second, before Minho grabs the back of your jacket and yanks you down.
“Are you trying to get your head blown off?”
You shove his hand away. “I was just looking.”
“Well maybe don’t look when someone’s actively trying to kill you.”
“Relax, I know how to handle myself.”
“Yeah, you keep saying that. Could’ve fooled me,” he pauses momentarily, then continues, like he wants nothing more than to piss you off. “You know, for someone who supposedly ran the Runners in Group B, you’re kinda terrible at following basic survival instincts.”
Your jaw tightens. “Actually, I’d beg to differ. I’m trying to scope out where my enemy is instead of cowering behind this car like someone else.”
Minho snorts. “Sure, if that’s what you wanna call it, go ahead.”
Your hands tighten into fists at your side. Faintly, you hear Jorge yell out to get ready to run back to the truck, but you barely register it.
“Minho,” you say flatly. “I could kill you.”
“Would love to see you try,” he mumbles, muscles tensing as he prepares himself to run.
You also get into position, moving to a crouch with your hand braced on the ground. “You better watch out. When we start running I’m tripping you.”
Minho barks a quiet laugh. “Good luck keeping up with me.”
You shoot him a look. “You’re not that fast.”
He looks at you for a second, then leans in, voice low and cocky. “Wanna test that?” His breath tickles your ear.
His face is much closer than you anticipate, his voice almost sending a shiver down your spine. You can feel your skin heat up at the proximity, and then you want to smack yourself for even considering that he might be attractive. Which he is. But you’d never admit that and boost his ego even more.
Instead, you shove him away. A smirk is forming on his face, and it takes everything in you not to slap it off of him.
Before you can even open your mouth to fire back, you hear the sound of a rifle being loaded.
“Drop it.”
Silence follows. You shoot Minho a questioning look, but he looks just as confused.
“Now. I said drop it!”
You turn your head, looking back to where the voices are coming from. A few cars back, you see two girls with rifles pointed down at who you can only assume are Thomas and Jorge.
“On your feet. Let’s go.”
Thomas and Jorge rise from behind their car, arms raised up in surrender.
“Move! Back up!”
The rest of you don’t move, frozen to your spots. Thomas and Jorge back up towards the guard rail.
“Come on, let’s go. On your feet!” the blonde girl commands, and one by one you can see everyone else get to their feet. You don’t move for a moment, contemplating doing something stupid, until Minho grabs your arm and yanks you up with him like he could sense what you were thinking.
As you look closer, though, the two girls look awfully familiar. You steal a glance over at Aris, who looks equally confused.
One of the girls falters, looking between the two of you. She lowers her weapon.
“Aris? Y/N?”
Aris stays silent. You do as well.
She pulls down her mask, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.
“Oh my god, Harriet?” Aris exclaims, pushing past Teresa and Brenda. Harriet pulls him into a hug, then pulls you into it as well.
Sonya brings her mask down next. She does the same as Harriet, arms wrapping tightly around you and the boy next to you. “You’re lucky we didn’t shoot your dumbasses,” the blonde says lightly, and you huff out a laugh.
The Gladers stand to the side, arms still raised up in surrender.
Aris turns his head to look at them. “We were in the Maze together,” he replies. You nod, and you don’t miss the way everyone still looks a little lost.
Harriet whistles through her fingers, giving the signal that it’s all clear. It’s then that you realize there are multiple snipers standing on top of the mountains above you.
With that, you’re brought into The Right Arm’s camp.
Not everything goes as smoothly as you’d all hoped (like Brenda almost cranking out in front of Vince, which almost went south quickly), but it’s thankfully quickly resolved thanks to Mary and Thomas and you’re all allowed to settle in.
You’re currently sitting on a bench made out of large wooden sticks, deep in conversation with Harriet, Sonya and Aris.
Your body feels lighter, muscles no longer tense and mind no longer in overdrive as you sit there surrounded by familiar faces. It feels like everything is finally settling into place. Like you’re finally going to be able to rest and stop running.
The camp buzzes with activity, still making final preparations for the following day. People move in and out of tents made up of patched canvas and salvaged tarps, carrying crates and passing supplies, moving quickly to speed up the process.
The sound of Aris’ name being called out snaps you out of your thoughts. You look up to where the sound comes from, eyes locking onto the Gladers on top of the ridge overlooking the camp. Aris lifts his hand in greeting, yelling a friendly ‘hey guys!’ back at them.
Standing, you wipe your hands on your pants. “I’ll be right back,” you say, looking at Harriet and Sonya. You’ve decided that there’s something you need to do.
You make your way up the small hill, careful not to lose your footing on the rocky terrain. It doesn’t take very long for you to make it to the ledge where the Gladers reside, but as you do, your stomach churns nervously.
Thomas, Newt, Frypan and Minho sit on a smaller rocky ledge, all of their eyes drinking in the sight of the camp before them.
As you approach, you clear your throat so as not to startle them. The four of them turn to look in your direction. Frypan gives you a friendly wave.
“Hey!” he calls. “Look who decided to join us.”
Thomas gives you a friendly nod. Newt offers a small, tired smile.
Minho glances over last. His eyebrows lift slightly. “Well, look at that,” he says. “Thought you’d finally ditched us.”
You stop a few feet away from them, crossing your arms. “Trust me, I considered it.”
He smirks faintly at that.
You hesitate for half a second, suddenly feeling more awkward than you expected. Then, you clear your throat again. “Actually…I just came up here to say thanks.”
This gets their attention.
“For letting me tag along,” you continue, gesturing to the camp, to the entire miserable stretch of Scorch behind you. “You guys really didn’t have to. And I know it probably wasn’t ideal to add on another person.” Your eyes flicker over to Minho, and you can’t help but to throw in a quick jab. “Even though someone in particular did want to leave me for WCKD.”
For a split second, you think you almost see shame flash across his face. But it’s gone as quickly as it appeared.
Thomas gives you a small smile. “You kept up.”
Newt nods in agreement. “Better than some of these shanks, actually.”
Frypan points a thumb at Minho. “Especially him.”
Minho scoffs immediately. “Oh please.”
You just huff a small laugh. “Seriously, though,” you say. “Thank you.”
There’s a brief pause. Then Minho tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Huh.”
Your eyes narrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” he says casually, lips twitching. “You know, this might be the first non-insulting thing you’ve said to me since we met.”
Immediately, you roll your eyes. “Oh don’t worry. I can fix that.”
“There it is,” he says with a grin. “Thought we lost you for a second.”
“Whatever,” you shoot back. “This isn’t about you.”
“Pretty sure it always is.”
Frypan snorts in the background. Newt rubs his face, and you can’t tell if he’s trying to conceal a laugh or if he’s really just tired of the two of you.
You point at Minho. “Has anyone ever told you that you talk way too much?”
“Nope,” he draws out, popping the ‘p’ obnoxiously. “You always have something to say back, though.”
“Not true.”
“Sure.”
You shake your head, fighting a smile that you don’t want him to notice.
The wind moves gently through the trees on the hilltop. For the first time in days, there’s no worrying about Cranks, or desert storms, or WCKD being hot on your trail.
After a few minutes of silence, Minho glances over at you again. “So you gonna stick around with the rest of us? Or are we gonna act like strangers once we get to the Safe Haven?”
You shrug. “Depends.”
“On?”
“If I can tolerate you for more than five minutes,” you say as you vaguely gesture at him.
He smirks. “Good luck with that. Doesn’t seem like that’s going well so far.”
You give him a small shove, a small laugh escaping you. Then, once you feel like you’ve intruded on their space long enough, you turn to make your way back down the hill.
You pause before you take another step. Then, you look over your shoulder. “...Thanks, Minho. Especially for not leaving me as WCKD bait.”
His expression flickers with surprise for a split second, but he quickly recovers. “Yeah, yeah,” he says, waving a hand dismissively. “Don’t get soft on me now.”
You scoff, but say nothing more as you make your way down the hill and back towards your friends.
Behind you, Frypan elbows Minho. Hard.
“Shut up, man,” he mutters. But as he watches you head back towards the others, the faintest hint of a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.
You rejoin Harriet, Sonya, and Aris, who has a wide grin plastered to his face.
“Don’t,” you warn him, already having a slight idea of what he wants to say. He just shakes his head, arms going up in mock surrender.
Thanking the Gladers lifts another weight off of your shoulders. You feel lighter already, excitement growing in the pit of your stomach at what’s to come next, of how carefree your life will soon be.
Unbeknownst to you, that would all change in the blink of an eye.
@lu-thinkingstuff I accidentally deleted the original ask (and the entire fuckin fic I'd nearly finished along with it) so have a screenshot of your ask I managed to keep. Sorry.
I'm writing this as a standalone piece, but it can be read as a prequel to quite a few of my pieces if you please.
INDOCTRINATION
MASTERLIST | MINHO MASTERLIST
SUMMARY: See above. I know the request is fem!reader, but I guess this can be read as gender neutral since I don't think I used any pronous to refer to you, apart from you obviously lmao. Follows no cannon events. I am making this shit up. Can be read as a prequel to "Life before Drowning", any other of my fitting work, or as a standalone. Whatever ya want. References to the simulation sky that's in the books - if you're reading this as a movie fic, then let's pretend this is a failed WICKED experiment.
The last few weeks had been a blur of chaos you can barely remember. With the Flare finally taking its victims in your hometown, families flocked to their last resort, donating their children to WICKED.
Most children weren't picked.
Of course, they weren't. Most children aren't immune. The occasional normal child was also plucked from the masses and swept away from the warmth of their families to the cold, white walls of WICKED's laboratories. But that was rare, and they were only ever valued as a control variable in whatever twisted experiments they took part in.
Not that you ever knew that.
The potential horrors didn't matter to most parents; yours included. Mothers and Fathers desperately passing their remaining blood to men in masks in hopes of saving their loved ones. There really wasn't much choice.
You were given even less choice as you were one of the lucky ones to be picked.
A white room became your home for several weeks. They made you forget your parents - those parents who willingly passed you into Ava Paige's custody in hopes you'd have at least a fleeting chance of survival on the infected planet.
They took your name, too. Your personality. The few memories you'd managed to develop so young. All of it; gone.
You were almost in a state of shock when they finally said you could leave your pristine tiled prison cell.
Following your capture through the endless high-tech halls and flawless clean corridors, you reach a large dining hall. Several long tables fill the room, along with the high-pitched chattering voices of children. The kids vary in age - some older, some younger, but that doesn't matter. They're all talking.
"Grab your food and find a seat." The booming, hollow voice of the balding man in a labcoat reaches your ears, and you can't even begin to process what he's saying.
"W-what?" Your voice is barely a whisper as you squeak out a response.
"Join the queue, and then find somewhere to sit. Your lunch break doesn't last long." He gives you no chance to ask anything else as he turns and walks back down the corridor. Leaving you with very little choice but to continue into the room.
Getting the food is the easy bit; a tray full of a passing excuse for food and a small cup of juice. Finding somewhere to sit is the problem. You mindlessly search for an empty seat, though your gaze mainly lingers on the masked individuals lining the room; armed and dangerous.
"Psst. Don't stare. They don't like it when you stare."
Your head snaps towards a voice. An Asian boy, about your age, leans over the table top, hand cupped around his mouth as he whisper-yells at you, like he's pretending to be subtle.
"...What?" You stare back at him as a grin creeps across his face as he sits back down.
"Those freaks? Duh? Don't stare at 'em. They'll snap at you." When you don't respond, the boy starts to sense your unease. "...You gonna sit down or what?" He vaguely gestures to the empty space on the bench across from him. It takes you a second to move, but he seems relieved when you do. "You got a name?"
"Uh, (Y/N)... I think."
"You think?" He scoffs as you struggle to get your leg over the slightly wobbly bench. You think it's wobbly, or maybe you're shaking too much; it's hard to tell.
"Well, yeah - that's not my real name, is it?" Your response leaves the boy unsure how to react. You're... not wrong.
"Huh. I guess. I'm Minho." He says with a grin. "And even if it ain't my real name, they made a good choice. It suits me, right?"
For the first time since you'd arrived, you find yourself smiling. Minho is charming, for a kid. He's already got an air of confidence about him, which is almost reassuring in this situation.
"Yeah," you giggle, "I guess it does suit you."
And that is how you met Minho. Reckless, cocky, funny, brilliant Minho. And by brilliant, I mean he is a brilliantly bad influence.
It's not like you got to see him very often - just over lunch and the rare breaks you both got at the same time. But when you did, it was always fun. You even developed a little group, mainly including Minho's friends - he has enough charisma for both of you.
The first time Minho snuck into your room, you were eleven.
It's the middle of the night, the faint sounds of footsteps from WICKED guards echoing through the small white room you reside in at nights. It's all background noise, now, you barely even notice it as you drift off to sleep.
Until the loud clattering of the vent hitting the floor makes you jump out of your skin, shooting up in bed.
"...shit." Minho murmurs as he peers into your room.
"Minho?" You whisper-yell at the sudden intrusion. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I couldn't sleep." He responds, matching your tone as he attempts to clamber out of the vent and onto the safety on the floor below.
"So, you decided to break into my room?" You climb out of bed, coming to assist your best friend as he slides down your wall.
"Yeah. Figured I'd give you a visit."
You cross your arms, eyebrow cocked as you glare at your friend. "Are you insane? We're gonna get in so much trouble if you get caught." You grumble at him, swallowing your initial shock (and your small smile thanks to his presence.)
"So? What are they gonna do?" Minho dusts himself off. "Make me train more? Poke me with another needle? However shall I cope?" His sarcasm results in another eye roll from you, but you can't help but chuckle as you shove him, playfully - but warning.
"They could lock you in your room for a week." A beat passes. "Again."
"Great." He grins. "Means I get some peace. Sleep away my problems."
"You're such a dick."
"You love me, really." He flashes you another signature cocky grin.
You don't even dignify that with a response. "What exactly are we doing then? Just... hanging out in my room?"
Minho hesitates, then looks back at the vent, then you again as a sly smile slowly creeps across his face. "I think I have a better idea."
And that is how you end up crawling through a vent in the middle of the night, and following your chaotic friend through the facility. Minho is a lot calmer than you are; cracking jokes, whistling and generally being a cocky little shit. You, however, are hissing at him every thirty seconds to shut the fuck up.
Somehow, you both stumble into a vacant hall. Well, Minho dragged you through another vent and whilst he gracefully jumped down, you fell in a heap on the floor.
"Christ-" you grumble as you dust yourself off, looking around the room. It's dark, unusually so - the only light creeping in from under the locked door to the room from the buzzing halogen bulbs. "Where are we?"
Despite your low tone, Minho doesn't do much to hide his voice. "Dunno. Damn - this place is huge!" The boy chuckles to himself, dragging his hand across the wall to navigate, the sound of his words, and comfort, creeping away from your reach.
"Minho-" you say into the void, further panic swelling in your gut.
"Yo, I think I found a light switch."
Before you can object that this is a bad idea, there's a hollow click, quickly follow by a binding light.
You weren't expecting it; expecting the same dull bulbs that consume the WICKED labs. But what you get is anything but.
The entire ceiling springs to life, imitating the bright blue of the sky you haven't seen since you found yourself in WICKED's custody.
"Holy shit-" Minho gawks upwards as he stares, too, finally in your line of sight.
The fake sky is scarily realistic - the glow of the sun, the faint fluffy clouds floating across the screen. You're not even sure you could call it a screen, honestly. There's not lines, or glitches or lagging from the technology. It looks so real. Like you could reach out and feel the damp clouds through your fingers, the heat of the sun on your skin.
You look at Minho, who looks at you at the same time. Both of you have no words; how could you? But your silence and exchanges looks say everything words could - what the actual fuck is this?
"...this is.." Minho starts, losing himself quickly.
"..beautiful." You finish for him.
"I was gonna say freaky." He responds, earning a chuckle from you as you wander into the middle of the room. "Hey, there's other buttons-" He says, gesturing to the control panel on the wall that he originally assumed was a light switch.
With the click of his fingers, dark clouds start to fill the fake-sky, creating a dimmer, more stormy atmosphere. But there's no rain. Just clouds.
Those seem to be the only two weather modes as Minho keeps switching between the two. Cloudy and sunny. It's definitely not quite advanced enough to imitate the real thing.
"Look- there's a time monitor." Minho mumbles as he moves a slider. The sky dims, as bright sunset colours fill the ceiling before it creeps into dusk, and then into a series of bright stars.
Minho's goofy grin says enough as he moves away from the controls, joining you in the middle of the room. You barely even notice him until he's crouching the lie on the floor.
"What are you doing?" You raise an eyebrow at him as he moves to lay on his back, looking up.
"Star-gazing, duh. What does it look like?" He says as he smiles at you, before gesturing for you to join him.
"We're gonna get caught-"
"Will you relax?" He chuckles, leaning up on his arms. "When are we ever gonna get a chance to do this for real? Might aswell enjoy it whilst we have the chance."
"It's fake." You cross your arms defiantly.
"Still pretty. Still better than our boring white rooms." He retorts. "C'mon."
You sighs, but relent as you move to lay next to him.
He's right. It really is pretty. The mimic stars sparkle and flutter, and suddenly the labs and the experiments feel worlds away, even if your escape is an extention of your captives skills.
Minho suddenly starts chuckling.
"What? What's so funny?" You say, turning your head to look at him.
"Nothing." He shrugs. "Just thinkin' that if Thomas was here, he'd probably be telling us about all those star thingies."
"...star thingies?"
"Yeah. You know? Those... stars that are, like, in a pattern."
"...constellations?" You can't help the amused smile creeping across your face at your friends ignorance.
"Yeah- those. They got names don't they?" Minho turns to look at you. "Thomas is such a dork. He'd know all of them."
You shake your head as you look back up at the ceiling, but Minho keeps looking at you.
"We should tell the others." You say, not noticing his gaze.
"What?"
"About this room. Newt and Sonya would love this."
"I thought you didn't want to get caught?" He chuckles and you roll your eyes.
"Yeah- but this is cool. They should see it."
A beat passes as Minho continues to look at you. "Nah."
"Nah?" You look at him, surprised by this. He's rebellious and fiery and is normally the first to drag everyone into schemes and fun despite the risks.
"Nah... this is... ours." He says, smiling softly at you, before he shifts slightly to slips his fingers between yours, looking back up. "Just ours."
And that's what it became.
At least once a week, you and Minho would sneak around and into this secret special room. You'd spend hours talking and messing around, and somehow, you didn't get caught. Or maybe some of the kinder WICKED people were turning a blind eye to two kids enjoying themselves.
Who knows.
It was like this for about a year. Maybe a year and a half.
But, things took a turn.
Minho was starting to revieve praise for his athleticism. He became one of the most physically capable subjects, and it was impossible to get him away from a rigged-up treadmill. So, by the end of the day, he was exhausted. Too tired to be crawling around vents with you.
You were thirteen, maybe fourteen when Minho ended up crawling though your vents again.
Hearing the familiar noise, you're out of your bed before he's even here, your bare feet already on the cold floor as he appears.
"Minho-?"
"I know. I know." He grumbles. "I'm sorry." He says, before you can even get so much as a word in, and it leaves you stunned.
"For what?"
"For like... not being here. For neglecting you, I guess." He shrugs as he runs a hand through his hair.
"Neglect-?" You cut yourself off. "Dude, they've been working you to the bone. You don't have to apologise."
He sighs, seemingly of relief. "Yeah, well, I still feel like a dick. You're my best friend."
"Well, you're here now." You attempt to reassure him. "We can go back to the sky room."
He shakes his head. "Nah. I was thinking we could go exploring." He flashes that damn grin at you again.
"...exploring?" You raise a brow, crossing your arms.
"Yeah. Yanno- like me, Newt and Thomas used to do."
"I never joined in with that."
"Well- you should've. And we were exploring when we found the sky room, so you're no so innocent." He chuckles, and you can't help but admit he's right. Yet, he continues at your hesitation. "Look, we found that room by chance. Surely there's more cool and interesting things to find. I'm getting bored of looking at the same fake sky everyday."
Something in that comment stings. You'd never gotten bored of that pretend sky. Maybe because you'd always been with him - and you could never get bored of him.
"C'mon." He drags out the syllable. "One night of exploration. Just one. Who knows how far they'll be making me run from now on. Better take the chance whilst you have it."
You playfully shove him at this. "...fine. One time only. Okay?"
"Okay." He smiles. "Let's go."
So, once again, you find yourself creeping around the sleeping facility with your far too confident best friend.
Though, when Minho reaches a locked door, you would've never expected him to slip an excess card out of his shoe, swiping it into the card reader.
"What? Where did you get that?" You hiss, wide-eyed and stunned.
"Some dumb lab-coat dude left it on the side. So, I picked it up. Finders, keepers." He says as he pushes the door open.
Sneaky around is one thing, finding hidden rooms through vents - but stealing an ID card is something else. You're literally never going to see each other again if you get caught. Not that you get chance to voice your concerns as Minho walks into the room.
This sinking feeling creeps into your gut, yet, you can't find it in yourself to tell Minho. What if he really is starting to find you boring? Being whiney to him about this would only confirm that. You don't need him getting closer with someone else, especially not the flocks of girls in the dining hall who have started taking interest in the boy since he started his physical training.
Okay. Maybe this is creeping beyond friendship. It was years ago, but you're always thinking about the way he held your hand the first time you found that room. How it was just yours. Your special place, just for the two of you. And he doesn't want to go there anymore?
You've never felt so insecure.
So, you keep quiet.
The first room is full of labelled chemicals you don't understand.
The second is full of strange, clouded tubes, with slimy, creatures with metal arms. Even Minho was eager to leave that one - to remain ignorant for his own bliss, pulling you along once you stop to stare into the tubes. You suspect Thomas mentioned something to him. Thomas has always been Ava's favourite.
Though, the third is far less scary. It's a office - well, more like a small library with a computer and a desk. Filing cabinets liter the walls with endless documents.
Minho lets out a low whistle. "A computer." He grins, casually sliding into the office chair as he starts fiddling with the computer. Having most of the common sense in this friendship, you've assumed that the computer is password locked.
Which is confirmed by Minho's hushed cursing.
So, you start looking through the documents in the drawers. A lot of them are medical files and general testing that you don't really understand.
Though, a few documents contain blueprints and titles such as "the Maze Trails" and "The Scorch Trails". They're detailed and confusing.
"Minho-" you gets his attention, passing him the notes as he's distracted from the computer, a puzzled expression crossing his face as he looks through them.
He doesn't get much time to comment as you find another interesting drawer; labelled "Subjects."
Flicking through a few, you recognise the pictures of the people you've spent the last few years with. Teresa. Thomas. Gally.
You stumble upon Minho's- grinning at his awful mugshot style photo. A7. The Leader. They've already got him marked down pretty faithfully.
Though, something consistent through all the documents is the phrase "status: Immune." Something about that stands out to you, for some reason.
That is until you reach Newt's file.
Staus: Nonimmune. Control Variable.
Nonimmune?
Nonimmune.
"Uh, Minho-?"
"These maps are insane." He mumbles, still examining the blueprints. "Do you reckon these are those big plans Thomas is always yapping about?" He picks his head up to look at you, noticing your face drop, concern written throughout your features. "What? What is it?"
"...we're all immune to the Flare, right? That's why they're testing us. To find a cure?" You don't even look up at him.
"Yeah..? Why else would we be here?" His grin is there, same as always, but now it's uneasy and uncertain. You look at him, before walking over and slapping Newt's file onto the table.
It takes him a moment to catch on, but when he does, his face drops, and he just looks at you.
Before any words are exchanged, footsteps can be heard from down a corridor.
"Shit-" you both scramble, collecting all the papers and stuffing them in whatever drawer they came from (or whichever is closest.)
It's a mad dash to get out of the room - adrenaline and fear coursing through you both. You didn't even find your own file.
Are you immune? Could the Flare get you?
Little do you know, Minho is internally freaking out over the same thing.
In your panic, your silence evades you, which alerts whatever guard was prowling the building.
"Quick! Up here!" Minho commands as he struggles to open a vent, giving you a leg up before yanking himself up the wall and diving in.
You don't even know where you're crawling to, you're just trying to rush away. But, eventually, it goes quiet, only the sounds of yours and Minho's panting in the small vent system.
"We have to tell Newt." You say, managing to turn in the small space to face him. Minho hesitates for a moment, but nods.
Of course you have to tell him.
"Yeah, at lunch, tomorrow. We'll tell him. But right now, we have to get back to our rooms. They'll be checking." You nod in agreement. "Let's get you back first."
Minho has a far better memory than you, leading you back to the safety of the room before he turns to navigate the way back to his.
"Minho-" you say, turning to look at him once your feet hut the floor, a sense of dread overwhelming you.
"..yeah?"
You can only look at him. There's so much you want to say, but none of it want to come out. Some deep gut feeling screams at you that this is the end, but you tell yourself you're being silly.
His blank expression pushes you to talk, though.
"Just.. be careful."
He offers a warm smile, but rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be fine. Don't worry about me. See you at lunch tomorrow."
Your attempt to mimic his expression falls flat as he shimmies back into the vent and on his way.
You didn't know how accurate your instincts would be.
The next day, you make your way to the lunch hall. You're late- your lab testing ended up being longer than possible. But when you enter the dining hall, Minho's absence is quickly noted.
Though, you do spot Newt. Maybe Minho's running has gone overtime, again?
"Newt-" you shout him, jogging across the hall. "Have you seen Minho? We need to talk to you."
Newt doesn't even have to say anything as he glances at Thomas, whose eyes are burning into the table in front of him. There's some sense of desperation in Newt's expression, mixed with grief and regret, but like he can't say anything.
It makes your stomach flip and your heart stop as you open your mouth to speak, but you don't get any sound out.
"(Y/N)." Janson's annoying voice sends a chill down your spine as you turn to look at him. Two guards stand by his sides, his forced grimace doesn't reach his cold, unforgiving gaze. "I need a word."
Janson gestures for you to walk with him and you swallow a lump in your throat. Your first instinct is to run. Like Minho thought you. But in a room full of people? It's not like your quiet escapades in the middle of the night.
Your feet are like concrete as you force yourself to walk towards him.
Janson walks in front of you, the guards behind you. You're trapped, and even if you did run, that wouldn't change anything as he leads you into a room. It's a room you're familiar with.
It's where you have one-on-one progress conversations with Janson to discuss how you're doing. Minho spent more time in here than you ever did, but that doesn't mean the confines space doesn't fill you with anxiety, even in normal circumstances.
You take your place in the cold chair as Janson sits across from you, the slab of metal that is meant to be a table keeping you separated feels like a godsend. Though, not much of one with the guards breathing down your neck.
"...Where's Minho?" You manage to croak, attempting to mimic your missing friends confidence.
"He's been dealt with." Janson says, and your blood runs cold.
"What- what does that mean?"
"I'm sure you already know what that means. From your adventures last night." The world stops.
You knew.
You knew it was a bad idea and your own insecurities led you to keeping your mouth shut and hiding away from your concerns. What? Because of a stupid crush? Your own feelings of inadequacy have led to Minho's demise. And it's soul-crushing.
"I-I don't understand." You words falter, any false confidence quickly shattering.
"It's a shame. Really. It is." Janson nods as he leans forward, his elbows on the table. "We let yours and Subject A7's strange relationship slide because it was showing promising results. New waves in the Killzone we were examining. I knew we should've stopped it." He sighs. "...and now, you know too much."
"Where is he?" You spit, fists clenched, unused adrenaline causing you to tremble.
"I told you." Janson hisses. "You already know. But don't worry. You're not going to remember any of this." Janson nods towards the guards.
"What-" your words catch at a sharp sting in the side of your neck as one of the masked-men injects a burning liquid into you. You gasp, grasping the side of your neck. "What have you done?"
Your words slur slightly as a dull buzz fizzles into your vision, your head feeling light.
"My job." Janson leans back as he watches you sway in your seat. "What was always going to happen."
WHOOP WHOOP. 1K BABYYYYY.
You can't even respond as your limp body slips out of the seat, and your consciousness leaves you before you even hit the floor.
I guess this is my 1k follower post - and it's angst. That's typical of me. Sorry for the massive gap since I last posted something, but everyone's support has given me a drive to write. Well, at least finish writing this. Sorry if its not everything you wanted, but I've always felt there's something so much sadder about not getting that chance to say goodbye to someone, and things fizzing out instead of a bang.
germansingergirl
blakekathryn
snowghoul
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
gummygunk
dailybridgerton
vaporwave
