•||Maze runner •||• Imagines & Preferences ||•

Succumbed to the Darkness - Thomas

You could see anything before yourself. It was just utter and complete darkness. It swarmed you, but you didn’t move - didn’t fight. Because every move, even the slightest, sent a jolt of pain through your entire body.

You were forced to remain still in a pitch black room. You don’t, in that moment, remember what anything other than the thoughts and memories that surface around in your mind. You knew that this was all part of WICKED’s plan, and what they did seemed to serve some kind of purpose in their minds. But, right now, in that moment, as you sat shivering on some kind of cold floor in nothing but the clothing they’d given you, wondering just when the hell your life had turned into this.

It had either been days, or months, maybe even years since you’d been taken, along with Minho, by WICKED. In this room, you had no concept of time. No idea when it was day out, or when it was night. You slept whenever you could, and they, whoever they were, had never taken you out of this room once. There was a slot, somewhere around you, that sometimes delivered you food and water.

You never were able to catch a good look at it given that your eyes were so accustomed to the dark, that the bright light made you cower.

All you had were your memories. The one’s they hadn’t taken from you, and you’d made ever since waking up in that box in the glade.

All you could do now was remember your friends. Remember Frypan. Remember Brenda and Jorge who you’d met only shortly before being taken. And Newt and Minho, who you hoped the latter was okay, given that he was in the same predicament as you. And all you could was remember Teresa, who’d betrayed you. But most of all, all you could do was squeeze your eyes shut, despite the constant darkness around you, and picture Thomas.

Picture the short about of warmth you’d been given around him. The short amount of time you’d gotten to spend together you had taken for granted, and all you did now was wish that you could be back by his side, his hand in yours. Able to just be close to him.

Your memories were fading, with every electric shock. With every damned test they threw on you, and you found yourself desperately grasping onto the memories of your friends. Of Thomas.

You didn’t know why they were doing it, or why WICKED chose such a cruel and inhumane method to get what they wanted. You’d cried all your tears, wept all your fears, now you were just a shell of who you’d been. Long ago had you given up the hope that someone would come and save you, and even longer had you given up struggling. WICKED had shown through the pain that littered your body constantly that any struggles were futile and only ended in your own suffering.

You felt gross, like you hadn’t showered in days. Which you hadn’t. The clothes they’d given you stuck to your sweaty body, your body tensed and exhausted. You wanted to sleep, but found you couldn’t. It almost felt like you shouldn’t, as if something was waiting for you. And normally, when that feeling passed, it was never good.

Nothing ever was good.

Sure enough, your intuition was correct. You heard distant footsteps, rapid, and just the sheer velocity of the footsteps caused you to flinch, to cower further into the corner where you sat. For a moment, a split second, you thought that the footsteps would just fly by. Maybe it was feeding time? You didn’t know.

But sure enough the footsteps stopped, directly in front of the room they held you in. You found your breath caught in your throat, your hands before you, clutching at one another tightly, causing your nails to dig into your dry and dirty skin. You heard the familiar bang from the door, one that you had long ago identified as metal. Back when you still thought you had a chance at escaping.

You thought that it would just be the slate, and your hunger would be replenished. But it sounded different, nothing like a tiny little slate opening and rather the entire door.