Sam // The Maze Runner : Scorch Trials-Death Cure

#1 Property of WCKD.

I sat on my sofa, legs hidden under my blanket and a book settled on my lap.

Time here goes incredibly slow, so we individually set out our own source of entertainment, and skipping or hoola hooping were not my idea of fun, so books and radio it is. We all have our ways.

Jorge was, as he usually does at this time, staring out the musty window. Jorge liked to watch the electrical storms when they roll by, that's what he was doing now. Occasional booms of thunder echoed from outside as flashes of dry lightning lit up the room. It was loud, which set me off focus and I had to read over a line, sometimes even a page because I had lost where I was.

Jorge spun around abruptly, clapping his hands together as he announced, "well ladies," he jokingly aimed at me, "we have guests."

My eyebrows raised with intrigue, considering the lack of fresh blood over the past few years, but I kept my eyes focused on my book, determined to finished the page before I even think about looking up.

"Sam, fetch them for me will you?"

Without, again, glancing up, I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.

"Make Brenda get them." I huffed.

"Because I asked you." He 'duh' toned. I smirked, rolling my eyes.

"It's alright Jorge." Brenda began, standing up and stretching, "I'll do all the work, gingy?" She glances back at me, expecting a laugh or a taunt. I do not react. "I could stretch my legs."

I gave Jorge an 'I told you so' look and he chuckled to himself, watching Brenda leave before wandering over to the radio placed on his desk and fiddling with the dials.

Sooner or later, after nearly ten whole minutes of unbearable static noises varying in volume, I heard the familiar jog up the stairs. Brenda, and multiple conjoint ones I couldn't distinguish so I figured they must be our VIP guests.

Slipping the red leather bookmark onto the page and slamming it shut, I placed it aside and stood up, crossing my arms over my chest. The blanket fell to the floor, my cargo trousers covered in bobbles of wool from the blanket, a grey long sleeved shirt underneath, that had been chewed at the sleeves and, becuase it's blooming chilly in here, a hoodie.

"Jorge, they're here." Brenda announced, jabbing her thumb at the group before she settled on the sofa I had once been on.

I watched them file in as Jorge shushed her, pretending that he is getting somewhere with this radio, for dramatic effect. I watch each of them from the corner of my eye, each having some different air about them. I wander around the group noticing our men behind them blocking them off.

There were six of them in total. Five boys and a girl. They all had one thing in common, none of them felt good about being there, in that moment.

Jorge, seemingly giving up with the radio, sighed and in frustration pulled the plug from it, standing and turning himself to look at the group before him.

Placing his hands on his hips he got straight into it without introduction.

"Do you ever get the feeling the whole world's against you?" He asked rhetorically.

They all exchanged certain glances before Jorge gained their attention again.

"Three questions: Where did you come from?" He grabbed a jug and a glass. "Where are you going?" He began pouring in the glass. "How can I profit?"

He waited for answers and when none came, he berated the silence in his humour.

"Don't all answer at once."