1. FIGHTER - the maze runner, newt

Chapter 44

Mirror - Lil Wayne
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          The Glade was buzzing as everyone scrambled to get their shit together.

The grey twilight felt heavy on our shoulders as we filled our final hours with last minute conquests and light packing. The plains that once flaunted their vibrant shades of green were now dotted with the plentiful shadows of Gladers practicing all they learned about fighting. You could occasionally catch the grey metal glare from the waving knives and striking machetes, while the thundering clashes of metal against metal echoed across the bustling land.

The hum of excitement and dread tickled my eardrums as I caught flashes of Gladers wandering past me to pick a new weapon.

After the formation was made, the Council didn't hesitate to begin assigning jobs to anyone that wanted to help. While some got simpler jobs like filling up water bottles or passing around vials of the Serum, I was automatically ordered to create more weapons.

I would've complained but Newt was asking...so, of course I was fine with it.

It wasn't too bad at first. The Builders and Bricknicks would supply me with spare materials they took off the Homestead - seeing as we wouldn't need the structure to protect us anymore. They provided me with items ranging from long planks of wood to rusty old screws. Without anyone there to tell me how to properly make a basic weapon, I was able to release some of my creativity. On one spear, I sharpened the tip, added a knife and wrapped it in barbed wire.

I was making some deadly shit the Creators would've only seen in nightmares.

However, as the hours ticked on and the splinters began to pile up along my fingers, my art projects became aggravating and I was losing patience.

With my sore and aching hands, I leaned five newly sharpened spears against the outside of the Maps Room, allowing anyone who was interested to come and take them. I released a loud puff of air, turning to the rest of the weapons I had laid out.

Along the grass laid all my art projects in separate piles, weapons ranging from knives made of wood to axes donated from the Track-Hoes to my fancy spears coated with barbed wire. They weren't ideal but they were all we had. Besides, I think my art projects look badass.

So, if we die, we'll die in style.

I cupped my hands around my mouth before hollering loudly to the boys scattered amongst the fields, "Alright, boys, new weapons! Come take your pick before their gone!"

A series of eager voices emerged from the Glade in response, the noisy chatter between friends increased the closer they came. Gangly shadows fled to my station, their collective voice mashing into a low hum of chatter.

As they approached, I let myself relax, sighing loudly as I dragged a hand over my scalp, scraping the loose baby hairs off of my sweaty forehead and cheeks.

"Don't tell me you're really tuckered out from makin' weapons?" A playful voice snarked as their heavy footsteps near me.

A smirk subconsciously pulled onto my lips as I lifted my gaze to confront the smug spiky hair boy that reeked of sweat, "Of course not. I'm tired of dealing with your bullshit though." I laughed, making an obvious joke as I high-fived myself.

Minho grabbed the straps to his pack, playfully shaking his head disapprovingly, "Wow. Your joke was so lame you had to highfive yourself."

Sensing a competition, I squared my shoulders and faced him fully, my face shadowing a smirk. The Gladers ignored the face-off between Minho and I as they scrambled to pick a weapon they thought looked the most badass. The both of us were smirking, our tummies light with aching laughter and snickers.