Minho (95)

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"Subject A-7, you were one of the leaders of your group, correct?" A man with a clipboard asked as he paced around the room

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"Subject A-7, you were one of the leaders of your group, correct?" A man with a clipboard asked as he paced around the room.

"Eh, i guess you could say that." Minho shrugged, looking very bored with the situation.

"What's the point of this again?" He sighed, looking away from the camera to the scientist in the room.

"Just getting some information. Tell me, we've heard a few of you have plans on escaping. Do you really think you could survive running around in the scorch?" The man said in a nasally tone as he checked off something on the clipboard.

"Running kept me alive for three years in the maze. I'm not afraid of the scorch." Minho leaned back in his seat while talking.

"So what are you afraid of?" The man asked.

"Not much." Minho rolled his eyes.

"Really? Not the cranks? Or grievers? What about losing your friends? Thomas, Newt,
Y/N?" The man said, sitting across from Minho and leaning forward expectantly, waiting for a reaction.

"You leave them out of this." Minho glared.

"Oh, so you are afraid, aren't you?" The man said with a smug expression.

"No, I'm not." Minho said firmly, leaning forward once again to rest his elbows on the table.
"Because I'm gonna make sure nothing happens. Nobody is laying a finger on any of them, let alone one of you pricks, you hear me?" Minho growled, completely ignoring the camera and focusing on the man now.

"You seem awfully confident there." The scientist said calmly.

"I am. You touch Newt, or Thomas, or Y/N, and it'll be the last thing you ever do."

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