[ there's ringing in his ears, and thomas isn't sure if that's from the explosions he'd just ran from, the Flat Trans he'd just been shoved through, or whatever the hell is going on now, with the destroyed shuttle surrounding him.
this isn't where he's supposed to be.
he'd gone through the Flat Trans, made sure it was safe on the other side, he should be in a field of green, looking down a hill into a glade, surrounded by thick forest, with mountains and a view of the ocean not far away. instead, he's in some fried rust bucket, with a bunch of strangers strapped in all around. not all of them look like they made it through whatever happened here. it was supposed to be over. the chancellor said they'd go somewhere safe and start to rebuild. a real safe haven. WICKED was destroyed, wasn't it? then again, how many times has he been told he was "safe" to find that so, so, so very far from the truth? his chest aches, and the scrapes and bruises all over his person are starting to set in, adrenaline from the escape ebbing away, and thomas feels the crushing feeling of despair sinking in.
they'll never be safe. not really. not ever. they'll never let them go, will they?
first things first, though - those around him. with a groan, thomas stretches, popping his seat restraints off, grabbing the backpack beneath the chair, and pulling himself up to look to the person next to him. hands reach for their safety restraints, starting to free the person up, in case they're too out of it or injured to manage (not that thomas looks much better, considering he's pretty much been through hell and back very recently). ] Hey, you okay? Anything broken? Can you stand?
exploring;
[ thomas doesn't waste much time getting out of the shuttle and looking around. his mind is reeling, but still revolving around the same idea - WICKED, it has to be WICKED. at least, he's not seeing Brenda and Minho or Fry around, so hopefully they made it through to the safe haven. hopefully, it's just him WICKED stole. somehow. he's stopped questioning how they do what they do. if he had his memories, maybe he'd have a better guess, but he'd honestly rather have the confusion than risk becoming the person that designed all... this.
still, it's odd. usually, there's some instructions. some clues as to what they want them doing, where they want them going. what maze they want the rats to run through for cheese. or, you know, basic freedom and survival. here? nothing. just the shuttle, the pack of supplies, and ruins in the distance. so that's where he heads - the ruins. chances are, with WICKED, if he tries going anywhere else, bad stuff will be putting him back onto course.
thomas can be found picking through bushes, looking around at the trees, occasionally muttering to himself, like trying to take mental notes. if he happens to see someone struggling, he'll likely reach out to give them a hand. after all, that landing was apparently pretty rough. otherwise, he'll ask a question now and again to anyone who's nearby. ] Anything looking familiar to anyone?
ruins;
Hey! Guys! Listen!
[ there's a teenage kid, about 16 and looking like he's been through zombie infested hell and back already, that's clamored up on one of the higher ruins, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out to those nearby. he might throw an acorn or two at people if they aren't paying attention. ]
The shanks that dropped us here obviously aren't up for answering any questions or getting us out, so we need to start working together. [ for a sixteen year old looking like he just went diving through a mind field and then fought a gorilla with knives for hands, lost in some dystopian earth, he doesn't actually seem that panicked. annoyed as hell, yes, but not panicked. ] The klunk supplies they gave us aren't gonna last more than a few days, even with rationing, and we need to get some kind of shelter worked up. There's animals around, but we're gonna need more weapons and people who can hunt if everyone's gonna have enough to live on.
[ as he talks, thomas digs through his pack some, where he's crouches on the ruined wall, frowning at what he's finding, though continues talking. ]
We need to start sharing what we know. The faster we pool information and skills, the faster we get out of here.
[ a pause, a blink, and he glances back up, lines of his features hard. angry. ]
The faster we find the slintheads who did this and let 'em know how we feel. [ aka stab them in the face, pretty much. it's pretty obvious he means stab them in the face. another pause, and he nods, before starting to crawl back down off the wall. ] Good that.
Thomas | The Maze Runner
[ there's ringing in his ears, and thomas isn't sure if that's from the explosions he'd just ran from, the Flat Trans he'd just been shoved through, or whatever the hell is going on now, with the destroyed shuttle surrounding him.
this isn't where he's supposed to be.
he'd gone through the Flat Trans, made sure it was safe on the other side, he should be in a field of green, looking down a hill into a glade, surrounded by thick forest, with mountains and a view of the ocean not far away. instead, he's in some fried rust bucket, with a bunch of strangers strapped in all around. not all of them look like they made it through whatever happened here. it was supposed to be over. the chancellor said they'd go somewhere safe and start to rebuild. a real safe haven. WICKED was destroyed, wasn't it? then again, how many times has he been told he was "safe" to find that so, so, so very far from the truth? his chest aches, and the scrapes and bruises all over his person are starting to set in, adrenaline from the escape ebbing away, and thomas feels the crushing feeling of despair sinking in.
they'll never be safe. not really. not ever. they'll never let them go, will they?
first things first, though - those around him. with a groan, thomas stretches, popping his seat restraints off, grabbing the backpack beneath the chair, and pulling himself up to look to the person next to him. hands reach for their safety restraints, starting to free the person up, in case they're too out of it or injured to manage (not that thomas looks much better, considering he's pretty much been through hell and back very recently). ] Hey, you okay? Anything broken? Can you stand?
exploring;
[ thomas doesn't waste much time getting out of the shuttle and looking around. his mind is reeling, but still revolving around the same idea - WICKED, it has to be WICKED. at least, he's not seeing Brenda and Minho or Fry around, so hopefully they made it through to the safe haven. hopefully, it's just him WICKED stole. somehow. he's stopped questioning how they do what they do. if he had his memories, maybe he'd have a better guess, but he'd honestly rather have the confusion than risk becoming the person that designed all... this.
still, it's odd. usually, there's some instructions. some clues as to what they want them doing, where they want them going. what maze they want the rats to run through for cheese. or, you know, basic freedom and survival. here? nothing. just the shuttle, the pack of supplies, and ruins in the distance. so that's where he heads - the ruins. chances are, with WICKED, if he tries going anywhere else, bad stuff will be putting him back onto course.
thomas can be found picking through bushes, looking around at the trees, occasionally muttering to himself, like trying to take mental notes. if he happens to see someone struggling, he'll likely reach out to give them a hand. after all, that landing was apparently pretty rough. otherwise, he'll ask a question now and again to anyone who's nearby. ] Anything looking familiar to anyone?
ruins;
Hey! Guys! Listen!
[ there's a teenage kid, about 16 and looking like he's been through zombie infested hell and back already, that's clamored up on one of the higher ruins, cupping his hands around his mouth and calling out to those nearby. he might throw an acorn or two at people if they aren't paying attention. ]
The shanks that dropped us here obviously aren't up for answering any questions or getting us out, so we need to start working together. [ for a sixteen year old looking like he just went diving through a mind field and then fought a gorilla with knives for hands, lost in some dystopian earth, he doesn't actually seem that panicked. annoyed as hell, yes, but not panicked. ] The klunk supplies they gave us aren't gonna last more than a few days, even with rationing, and we need to get some kind of shelter worked up. There's animals around, but we're gonna need more weapons and people who can hunt if everyone's gonna have enough to live on.
[ as he talks, thomas digs through his pack some, where he's crouches on the ruined wall, frowning at what he's finding, though continues talking. ]
We need to start sharing what we know. The faster we pool information and skills, the faster we get out of here.
[ a pause, a blink, and he glances back up, lines of his features hard. angry. ]
The faster we find the slintheads who did this and let 'em know how we feel. [ aka stab them in the face, pretty much. it's pretty obvious he means stab them in the face. another pause, and he nods, before starting to crawl back down off the wall. ] Good that.
wildcard;
[[ idk hit me!!! ]]