A/N: I'm a bad fan. I love X Ambassadors and I love Dylan O'Brien. Watched the trailer to Deepwater Horizon numerous times and didn't realise the song they use is an X Ambassadors one :/ I suck.
On that note- final chapter right here. I'm gonna have to hit that 'complete story' button for the first time ever. I'll leave a sappy note at the end of this though, don't worry.
The bus stopped after two hours. Staggering off, they were led through a dusty, abandoned carpark. They were ushered into an old, discreet building which looked like it hadn't been touched for a hundred years. Inside was a huge, empty room, with a number of doors around its perimeter, each supposedly leading to different rooms. Their 'rescuers' took them up a flight of stairs and opened one for them. Trace gulped a little at what was inside.
It was the dormitory. The walls were lined with brightly-coloured bunk beds, each adorned with a crimson blanket and pristinely clean pillow. The walls were a blinding shade of yellow, and the lime green curtains made the whole place look like some weird playhouse.
"I've been shucked and gone to heaven," Minho stated, in awe. With the rate that this plot was advancing, Trace really didn't want to think about who may or may not be in heaven.
"Can't be heaven," she said, rolling her eyes as if it were obvious. "Teresa's still here." That earned her a definite scowl from Teresa, and an attempt at a glare from Thomas, who was really just trying not to laugh.
They were left behind with about ten members of staff, who were all dressed in neatly ironed white shirts and dress pants. Trace refused to speak to any of them, but was secretly grateful to receive a small bag of bathroom supplies, along with a pack of new clothing to change into. She kind of wished this was a little more movie-like, so that Thomas could do his dramatic shower lean. Then again, that might be a little stalkerish to watch in person, and perhaps, without Chuck dying, Thomas wouldn't need to be quite so dramatic.
No, she decided. Thomas was always dramatic.
Then the staff brought in dinner. Actual, real, existing, not-made-up dinner.
And better yet, it was pizza.
Maybe they were in heaven.
Trace was tempted several times to take Newt's helpings of pizza, but she supposed he had been in the Glade for two years. Trace had only been there little over a week. Still, she did really like pizza...
"Hey!" Newt yelled, slapping her hand away. "My pizza! Eat your own, you bloody slinthead!"
"But mine went missing," Trace whined.
"It's called digestion, Trace. Apparently you're very efficient at it."
"No, no. I'm telling you: mine disappeared. It's one of WICKED's tricks. Like the shuck Griever Hole. My pizza just vanished."
Newt scoffed. "I'll believe that when Minho stops caring about his hair."
"Not going to happen," Minho butted in. "That's like telling people to stop caring about oxygen; mankind needs it to survive." He waved a hand in the direction of his hair for a visual demonstration. Newt nodded, as if Minho had proved his point.
"Fine," Trace pouted. "I won't share my....my toothpaste with you, then!"
"I've got my own, thanks. I think I'll be fine." Newt raised his eyebrows, waiting for Trace's comeback.
YOU ARE READING
Subject A250: The Fangirl (COMPLETED)
Fanfiction--Book one in the Subject A250 series-- She's read the books. She's seen the movies. She knows all there is to know about the storyline. Except for her role in it.
