TMR one shots/preferences

You escape the maze (part 2)

"Listen Up!" Minho called. "Number one priority is to protect Thomas and Teresa. Get them to the Cliff and the Hole so-" Minho was interrupted by the Grievers, which were roaring to life. In unison, the Grievers rolled towards us, slowly closing the distance.

Thomas stared ahead of him, and I was close enough to hear what he whispered to Minho. "Somehow I have to get through that!" He nodded towards the group of Grievers advancing towards them from the cliff, looking like an incredibly malevolent force. Newt and Minho exchanged a glance, the anticipation so heavy it was tangible.

"They're coming!" Teresa yelled. "We have to do something!" I shifted uncomfortably as Teresa said this, the grip on my machete tightening. I took deep breaths to calm myself down, but with the oncoming slew of Grievers in my sight, it did nothing.

Thomas moment (These are gonna be a paragraph, so just skip this paragraph if you don't wanna read it)

I looked up at Thomas to see him already looking at me, and even though we were all probably about to die, he gave me a forced smile of reassurance. I tried to scrape up the will to smile back at him, but I came up empty handed. Thomas shuffled slightly closer to me, and I leaned into him, immensely grateful for the comfort that he provided. I clung to his hand like it was a lifeline, and he squeezed back just as hard.

Finally, Newt whispered something to Minho, and Minho nodded once, a look of rock-hard resolve spreading across his face. He turned towards us, determination sparkling in his gaze. "We head straight for the Cliff! Fight through the middle, push the shuckin' things toward the walls. What matters most is getting Thomas and Teresa to the Griever hole!"

My attention drifted from Minho to the Grievers, who were now only a few feet away. My stomach churned, bile rising up in my throat as I watched their slimy, squirming bodies pressing towards the group. "Ready!" Minho yelled, raising his barbwire wrapped club in one hand, a long knife in the other. He pointed towards the pack of Grievers, his silver knife glinting in the light. "Now!"

Minho charged towards the creatures, Newt on his heels. The Gladers followed, a tight group of teenagers rushing to their deaths. Thomas and Teresa hung back, waiting for an opening. It was gory. Even though the Grievers were outnumbered, the boys hardly knew how to fight such a thing.

The Gladers worked as quick as they could, struggling to make an opening in the middle for Thomas and Teresa. I distantly heard Thomas' voice and hoped that they would hurry. The Gladers were doing ok for now, but there was no telling when someone could die.

I ran to help a kid that I think was named Sawyer who was getting cornered by a Griever. I ran up the Grievers back, my feet slipping on the gooey flesh. I then plunged my knife into the Grievers back, though it seemed to do nothing except anger the creature even more.

It gave a bloodcurdling screech before flopping onto its back, crushing me. 'These things are smarter than I thought,' was the only thing I had time to process before the breath was knocked from my lungs. I braced my palms against the concrete, trying to push myself out from under it to no avail.

I let out a half groan-half scream, struggling under the thing. The Griever was equally panicked, trying to get off it's back where its soft stomach lay exposed. Someone finally grabbed my upper arms, dragging me out from under the thing.

Minho moment (These are gonna be a paragraph, so just skip this paragraph if you don't wanna read it)

I crashed into that persons chest, and they're arms cradled around me. The tight blue shirt and muscular arms gave away who held me, and I only buried myself deeper into their chest. Minho wrapped his arms around me, whispering into my ear. He pulled away after a second, as this was not the place to do that kind of stuff, but kept ahold of my hand. Together, we stabbed the squirming grieved in front of us, and it's shrieks slowly ground to a halt.

I looked to Minho and we both nodded, parting ways. It was the same thing over and over again- slash, stab, dodge, get stabbed anyway. They just kept coming, crawling up the edges in small groups of 2-5. Suddenly, they all gave out, collapsing in sync.

I saw some of the boys in a cluster at the edge of the cliff, Minho and Newt closest to the edge. Without a second thought or look behind me, I sprinted towards the edge, slipping to a stop. I looked over and saw a rough outline of a square made by vines knotted together and attached to the walls, and I looked towards Newt and Minho, and Minho nodded back at us.

He took a step back, before leaping forward into the hole, clutching his knife to his body. Newt went next, and I followed closely after. Frypan and Winston came next, followed by a bunch of other boys. There were 21 of us left, and we all look like a force to be reckoned with, Griever slime and blood coating us from head to toe.

"The rest?" Thomas asked, his voice small and scared.

"Half of us," Newt replied, his voice heartbroken and tired. "Dead."

Silence followed that word, and it wasn't broken for a long time. I thought about all the boys that died in that fight, who sacrificed their lives so we could be here. I thought of all the boys who I didn't even know the names of, regardless that I'd been here for over 2 years. All these thoughts raced through my head, and slowly they got more and more depressing, before they were interrupted.

"You know what? Half might've died, but half of us shucking lived. And nobody got stung- just like Thomas thought. We've gotta get out of here."

"Let's get out of here," Newt replied, his voice gruff. "Right now."

"Where do we go?" Minho asked, his question directed towards Thomas.

"I heard the door open down that way." Thomas pointed down the dark hallway.

"Well- let's go," Minho answered, turning and walking down the tunnel.

Newt ushered the Gladers past him, trying to shoo me after them.

"I'll go last," Thomas said. No one argued, and I went next, Newt following. Ahead of me I heard screams and yells, and I was mentally preparing myself for something horrible, worse than a Griever. Murmurs spread, and finally the boy in front of me- his name was Alex, I think -turned and whispered.

"There's a slide up ahead." I nodded and turned to spread the news to Newt, who turned and told Chuck. I went down the slide a few seconds after Alex did, shooting down at an incredible pace due to the slick grease or slime coating the slide. Soon, the tunnel began to turn in circles, and my stomach roiled with nausea. I pressed a slime slicked hand to my mouth to keep myself from throwing up, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping that this would be over soon.

I heard another scream ahead of me, and this time there wasn't an echo that followed. In a few seconds, I shot out of the small space and onto a mass of squirming, writhing bodies. I struggled to get out of the confusion, before another person shot out of the slide and onto the pile of bodies. I finally made it out of the group, pushing myself to my feet and wiping my hands on my pant legs.

Soon enough, Chuck, Teresa, and Thomas shot out of the hole, and were standing with the rest of the group. When I finally started looking around, I realized that the space was big enough to fit several Homesteads, and then some. There was a bunch of machinery and equipment, and to my right there were a bunch of pods.

"Look!" Someone shouted. I turned to where the boy was pointing, and saw a row of tinted windows, with people sitting behind them. As I observed their white coats and notepads in front of them, I realized they were the Creators. The people who put us here.