𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐨𝐮𝐥 - 𝘕𝘦𝘸𝘵𝘮𝘢𝘴

Thomas, the explorer

He gave some slow, hesitant steps in the gloom; the darkness of the night had already fallen upon the miserable square he had landed on just a few hours ago. He'd been exploring on his own for a while now, waiting for the curious gladers to lay their eyes off him for a second, to get the chance to get a proper look at the place on his own. He'd watched the forest from afar, without really venturing into it — who knows what could be in there — and explored the various shacks and wooden structures in the center of the maze, including Frypan's kitchen; he'd kicked him out, shouting at him all sorts of words he couldn't yet understand. Now, with the protection of the night's shadow, he could finally inspect the massive walls around the glade, which everyone seemed to trust, for a strange reason he couldn't quite understand.

The pale, bloodied kid still haunted his memories, his piercing screams had stopped being heard, and the shack stood completely still — Newt and Alby certainly hadn't left, but he didn't have any desire of going on whatsoever; not after what he'd seen. His black-stained veins, his bloodshot eyes, and that animalistic rage in his wrathful expression made him shudder in fear. He had so many questions, but no one seemed willing to answer him, no one seemed to care about him at all... so he'd taken the matter into his own hands.

He walked over to the nearest opening between the concrete columns, and gave a long look to the dark hallway: it was almost impossible for him to tell whether there were walls or some strange constructions inside it. He looked around, making sure no one was watching, and ventured inside. A few reluctant steps over the humid, hard ground were enough for him to feel the adrenaline of the unknown. He leaned forward over the nearest wall and frowned — more walls, it's all there was, ivy-covered, definitely man-made walls. There was a cold, eerie atmosphere inside that incomprehensible place, he could feel the smell of moss and dust in the air. He wasn't scared, as the word says more like, dangerously curious.

What is this place? He thought, squinting at the darkness and daring to take a few more steps inside.

"Hey!" A deep, nasal voice suddenly shouted. He turned around, forcing his eyes to focus on the shadow who approached him with a frightening speed. The faceless boy clutched him by the arm and threw him to the ground, away from the gap between the walls, giving him no time to react.

He scrambled to his feet, distancing himself from the attacker. The faint, dim lights of the small settlement lightened his silhouette just enough for him to hack his identity: it was once again, the nastiest guy in the glade, Gally. He clutched his shirt, twisting it with his fist.

"What the shuck is wrong with you? Do you want to get yourself killed?" He bawled, spitting all over his face. His ragged expression soon turned mocking, a scratchy laugh escaped his lips watching him struggle to get away. "We gotta stop meeting like this, Greenie."

He wriggled himself free, more desperate to get away from his stench rather than his grip. "Get off me!"

"Calm, calm, calm," Gally sniggered, grabbing him by the shoulder.

His blood was boiling, his heart pounding against his chest. He pushed him with a newfound strength, his eyebrows pushed against each other. "Don't touch me!" He shouted, surely gaining the attention of the gladers around them.

"Whoa! Take it easy!" Gally scowled, puffing his chest. He looked at him up and down, spite twisting his expression. "Just relax," he smiled, knowing he'd just ignited his rage.

He clenched his fists, ready to punch Gally to death when a firm hand grabbed his shoulder from behind. He shot his head back, jumpy like a spicy cat, but meeting Newt's dark eyes, part of his dignity made its way back to his brain, cooling it down — for all he knew, he couldn't even fight.