arrival. [ when thomas woke up, he thought for an incredibly brief second that he was back in the box in the glade, being sent back up for round two. would WICKED have the ability to just turn back time, make him start over because he shucked something up? obviously they weren't happy with what happened because
thomas got shot.
right.
coughing and gasping, he pushes himself up to his feet less than gracefully, immediately reaching up to grab at his shoulder, where the bandages from before still feel sort of fresh. whatever medicine they put in him was good, but wherever they put him--there's something off, because none of these people are gladers. ] Minho-- Newt? Teresa?
[ but with that horrendous feeling driving him forward, thomas figures they're just waiting outside; he digs around his runner's harness to yank off one of the ivy cutting knives and carefully holds it close to him as he edges outside, making his way into the bright light.
though he squints at it, the minute someone comes out at the same time as him, thomas is on them, whirling around and pointing the knife in their direction. it's not the most well done assault but hey. ] Who are you?! Are you with WICKED? Where are the others?!
main lobby. [ having been at least semi calmed down, thomas has at least put his knife away. clearly this place is another trial, and the fact that he's been brought here alone makes sense; the berg that carried him off when he got shot was only for him, after all. he wonders bitterly if any of these people are cranks, how many of them are munies, and his heart aches for the rest of the gladers, still trapped back in the scorch.
but, he is still the same curious thomas that came up in the box ages ago, so he starts to explore the lobby. the room key can come later, and he tucks it carefully into the pocket of his pants before he starts. picking things up and checking them, looking for cameras.
he's onto you, WICKED.
(he mostly just looks a little like a dirty, blood-and-dust covered lunatic.) ]
ota~
[ when thomas woke up, he thought for an incredibly brief second that he was back in the box in the glade, being sent back up for round two. would WICKED have the ability to just turn back time, make him start over because he shucked something up? obviously they weren't happy with what happened because
thomas got shot.
right.
coughing and gasping, he pushes himself up to his feet less than gracefully, immediately reaching up to grab at his shoulder, where the bandages from before still feel sort of fresh. whatever medicine they put in him was good, but wherever they put him--there's something off, because none of these people are gladers. ] Minho-- Newt? Teresa?
[ but with that horrendous feeling driving him forward, thomas figures they're just waiting outside; he digs around his runner's harness to yank off one of the ivy cutting knives and carefully holds it close to him as he edges outside, making his way into the bright light.
though he squints at it, the minute someone comes out at the same time as him, thomas is on them, whirling around and pointing the knife in their direction. it's not the most well done assault but hey. ] Who are you?! Are you with WICKED? Where are the others?!
main lobby.
[ having been at least semi calmed down, thomas has at least put his knife away. clearly this place is another trial, and the fact that he's been brought here alone makes sense; the berg that carried him off when he got shot was only for him, after all. he wonders bitterly if any of these people are cranks, how many of them are munies, and his heart aches for the rest of the gladers, still trapped back in the scorch.
but, he is still the same curious thomas that came up in the box ages ago, so he starts to explore the lobby. the room key can come later, and he tucks it carefully into the pocket of his pants before he starts. picking things up and checking them, looking for cameras.
he's onto you, WICKED.
(he mostly just looks a little like a dirty, blood-and-dust covered lunatic.) ]