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Subject A12: Joan "The Liberator"
Namesake: "Joan of Arc" who was considered a heroine of France for her role during the Lancastrian phase of the Hundred Years' War and the liberation of Orleans, France.
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Joan...
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Thomas tried catching his breathe once he reached the other side.
However, guilt dawned on him, causing him to lose it once more.
"JOAN!" He yelled upwards at the wall, hoping she could hear him.
"Shut up! You want another Griever to come after us??" Minho objected, his face still shining from sweat.
Thomas clenched his jaw before facing the runner, his blood hot with annoyance.
"What? Are you gonna take off again?"
This seemed to have humbled the boy, his gaze lowering in shame.
"I'm sorry, okay? Grievers are no joke, I didn't want to end up like Alby." He said in a softened tone.
Thomas returned his gaze to the top of the wall, trying to form a plan.
"For all we know, Joan could be trapped with a Griever on the other side. We gotta regroup."
Minho nodded and began pacing down the corridor, his eyes scanning the wall for any low vines to climb.
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Joan huffed as she gazed upwards at the sky. Her only option was to go up. She was no runner, if she tried to navigate the maze she would definitely get lost. At least at the top she would be able to see the Glade.
After finally finding a trusty patch of ivy, the Glader began to climb. Now that she wasn't being chased by a Griever, the task seemed to be more difficult.
When being chased, her adrenaline powered her forward and the fear of falling had left her mind. Now, as she slowly scaled the wall, her gut twisted as she forced herself to not look down.
Finally, her eyes glued upwards as she continued her ascent. Slowly, she tugged on ivy to test its strength before grasping it, her boots hugging the vine.
She had thought about leaning back and rappelling up the wall, but if she made the mistake of choosing a weak vine..
Guaranteed death.
And that wasn't in her agenda today.
Finally, Joan's fingers grazed the top of the maze wall, the cool stone a welcoming feeling. Carefully, she hauled herself up before shakily standing.
She winced as her knees and palms still stung from her earlier endeavors. One of the knees of her cargo pants was torn, her knee adorning a small gash and still bleeding. Small cuts also adorned her palms from them hitting the stone. Her shoulder wound stung as well, and Joan was convinced that that wound would never heal at this rate.
Looking to her left and right, she had a few feet of clearance as the wall was about 10 feet wide. Still, she stuck to the middle.
She blinked a few times as her eyes adjusted to the low light. The maze was highlighted slightly by the moonlight, slivers of it showing the edges of the different walls and corridors.
