A/N: If you don't like horror then probably don't read this chapter....or this series....why are you a fan of the Maze Runner?
I'd like to know your opinions on casting Trace.. I think I prefer her being a little more mysterious, but if you'd like me to cast her let me know right now.
Also, who do you think would play her?
"No!" Trace screamed, her voice disappearing into the distance. "No! No! No! No! This is so unfair! WICKED is good? Good at what? Sending people to their deaths? I already knew that; you didn't need to prove it to me firsthand!"
This was ridiculous. Truly and utterly ridiculous. Why would they make her do this on her own? Was this just some cruel way of sentencing her to death? Watching her suffer her way through the Scorch, only to starve or be eaten by some crazed maniac out here?
She slumped down onto the dirt, trying to decide whether she'd rather just hide in the dark forever. She could adjust over time, surely. Strengthen her senses of smell, hearing and touch while losing her sense of sight. Trace could become a mole-person, scurrying around in the tunnels, scrounging for moss to eat off the concrete floor.
Okay, maybe she had better options. Not that the shucking Scorch Trials was one of them.
"Very funny!" she yelled again. "Now send me to Newt!"
As the words left her mouth, she spotted a figure in the distance, wandering aimlessly. It was hard to tell exactly, but from her standpoint, they looked as though they weren't wearing any clothes. They must have been about 300 metres away- not yet a threat- but it still put Trace on edge; someone was definitely out here with her.
Trace shuddered. "I said 'send me to Newt', not 'send nudes'," she muttered. But she decided not to draw anymore attention to herself, and shuffled over to the shelter.
The sun was directly overhead, and she had no way of telling whether the mountains were lying north or south. She decided she'd better wait a while before she set off, wanting to make sure she was heading in the right direction.
Trace found a stick in the dirt nearby and stabbed it into the ground. Then she marked the furthest point at which its shadow reached, hoping she could track its movement like a sundial.
"This is stupid," she muttered, leaning back against the shelter. "So, so stupid. I'm probably just hallucinating; none of this is real. Maybe I'm in an insane asylum somewhere, committed as a result of my severe case of fangirl syndrome. I'm probably wearing a really trendy straightjacket right now, muttering to myself."
She thought for a second. "I guess I'm muttering to myself anyway, aren't I? If I'm not in an asylum already then I will be soon."
I guess that's Crank Palace, her mind supplied her with.
Trace sighed. Now her own mind was teasing her, toying with her emotions. How rude.
She sat and waited, using a makeshift blanket she'd taken from the mattress fabric to keep herself shaded. The heat was unbearable, and she was already incredibly thirsty. She really had no idea of how she was going to make it through this. The others took all the food and water. She had nothing of the sort.
"Let's sing a song," she suggested. To herself. To distract herself. Because she was alone. By herself. On her own. In the Scorch. By herself. Alone.
And so the heartwrenching ballad, performed by the one and only Trace, live from the Scorch, began:
"Alone in the Scorch
YOU ARE READING
Subject A250: The Flame (COMPLETED)
Fanfiction--Book two in the Subject A250 series-- She took the Grievers down. She survived the maze. She knows the story is far from over. So, how will she fare in the Scorch?
