⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖛𝖎𝖛𝖔𝖗
𝖆 𝖒𝖆𝖟𝖊 𝖗𝖚𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖆𝖓𝖋𝖎𝖈
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀❝Survivor (noun); a person who
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ continues to live, etc. after a
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ dangerous event.❞
( THE SURVIVOR ━ NEWT )
...
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MARG!
𝐃𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒, 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊𝐒 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐒. Those who had once been strangers, had become friends and allies. It had been six months since that faithful evening that led two of their closest friends to be captured by WICKED.
The new Group had been rescuing teens left and right, barely stopping in between if not to work on their ultimate mission; saving Minho and Aris from the organization that started it all.
Their plan had been six months in the making; sweat and blood had gone into every detail, many of them had to push themselves to new limits in order to gather as much information as possible in regards to the location of those still being held by WICKED.
Margaret was currently sitting in the back of a light blue beat-up truck they'd managed to somewhat fortify; panels covered the left side of the car, as the right one had been left open for her and Brenda.
The red-head was lightly tapping her fingers on top of the ex-military rifle that was resting on top of her criss-crossed legs, her gaze traveling from where the train transporting her friends would have come from at any minute to Jorge, who'd spent the past half hour pointing out how they were behind schedule.
"You know, next time you and Newt share a good luck kiss you could do it in private." The red-head playfully rolled her eyes at Brenda's remark. Taking advantage of the cracked window that separated her from the two in the front, Margaret smacked the back of the older girl's head only to flip her off as soon as the brunette turned around.
"They're late." Out of the corner of her eye, Marg noticed Jorge's nervous expression as he checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time.
A light scoff escaped Margaret's mouth. "Any second now." Jorge and the red-head exchanged a brief nod, only for the horn of a train to gain their undivided attention. "What did I just say?" A smirk made its way on the lips of the teen as she quickly flung the rifle across her body before mirroring the dark-skinned man's actions, raising the protective panels they had attached to both the front and the back of the truck.
In a matter of seconds, they found themselves driving right beside a rather long train that belonged to none-other than WICKED itself. The speed of the truck, mixed with that of the train, caused Margaret's long hair to fly in every direction, and, in that very moment, she was more than glad to have listened to Harriet's advice; the dark-skinned teen had pointed out how much of a nuisance Marg's hair could be in a situation like that, having suggested that Margaret tied it up in a ponytail so no strand of hair blocked her view due to the heavy wind.
