Minho x (y/n)
(y/n) wakes up in a rattling cage, unsure of where she is. Devoid of memories, she finds herself in surrounded by only boys in a vast green area. The glade.
She's just another part of Wicked's cruel game, sent up there to confuse the...
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I jump onto my feet, an adrenaline rush spiking through my body. I bounce on the balls of my feet, warming myself up and preparing for what's to come. It's broad daylight, and I can see the griever in all it's glory.
Well, hello, my delightful creation.
I hurl the dagger in my hand at the griever, my hands already reaching to my waist for the two next knives. The griever screeches at me, the blade embedding itself into the left side of the grievers face. It veers towards the right, before beginning to charge at me, slightly off course.
I hear the alarmed shouts of the gladers behind me, Minho in particular.
"STAY BACK!" I scream at them. There's sounds of scuffles, but luckily none of them come charging after me. Good, because this griever is mine.
Why am I so desperate for some action? It's like I live for this type of thing.
In quick succession, I send two more knives soaring through the air. They both find their mark, causing the griever to twist it's neck around in sickening lurches, shrieking from the pain. Still, it lumbers towards me, but it's straying dangerously close to the edges of the narrow pathway.
A lightbulb pops up over my head, an idea generating in my brain.
Grievers rely on sight and sound.
I take out one of my machetes and throw it at the wall. It bounces off, making a loud clanging sound. The griever, now unable to see, lumbers towards the new source of sound and throws itself straight over the edge. I let out a victory whoop.
It's screams echo through the hallway as it falls. I run over, falling to my knees and peering over the edge, careful not to fall over as well. The griever's desperately trying to grip onto the stone with its metal legs, carving deep scratches into the stone. I watch it as it slowly sinks into the murky depths below, it's cries fading into the distance. Squinting, I try to gauge the distance from my level to wherever the ground is, but it just seems like a bottomless pit. I don't even hear the sound of my machete hitting the ground. Once again, I marvel at the Creators.
Guess I've lost that machete forever. What the hell are the Creators doing? We're just shucking kids! Now they want us to fight grievers off some cliff-like pathway?
Footsteps run up to me, scooping me up in a tight embrace.
"(Y/n), you idiot." Minho whispers in my ear. I slap him on the arm none too gently, and his hold relaxes a bit.
"You were the one that knocked my hand." I roll my eyes at him, but I'm grinning at the thought of having defeated yet another griever.
"(Y/n), when are you going to stop giving us bloody heart attacks?" Newt steps out from behind the wall, pale faced but relieved, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. The rest of the gladers, feeling braver with the griever out of the way, also step out.
