ACT I   SCENE XVI
PANDORA

   SHE LAY still in bed, pretending to sleep. She knew it was a dream, yet the sensation unsettled her. She felt like she was only half-there, suspended between worlds—everything filtered through a frosted pane of glass. A man and a woman entered the room, speaking in low, intense voices. She recognised them.

"The virus is concentrated in her prefrontal cortex," Dr. Clarke said. "It's still spreading—but slowly, at an almost insignificant rate."

"So she's not completely immune?" the Chancellor asked.

"It's difficult to say at this stage," she replied. "The virus is causing more neurons to fire in Point Zero."

"You've mentioned it before. Focal seizures?"

"Yes, it's truly remarkable," the doctor said excitably. "These precognitive episodes are more than just auras. She's able to predict things happening, forecasting future outcomes and identify patterns."

"Is she getting symptoms?" he asked warily.

"There was a minor episode two days ago," she answered. "But she recovered all composure immediately after. Chancellor, I think she may be the one."

"How quickly can you prep her?"

"We're ready now."

The click of the doctor's heels approached the bed, then a hand gently shook her shoulder. A sickeningly sweet voice called her name. Cassandra turned away, squeezing her eyes shut. The dream melted away as awareness returned, her senses sharpening back into focus.

   She was still lying down, but in a humid room filled with the musty damp of moulding wood. There was the familiar bleating of goats and pigs squealing outside. Mildew, grass and the faint scent of fried chicken from the kitchen. She loved the smells of the Glade, it felt of home and laughter. Sunlight penetrated through her eyelids and a new pair of voices spoke nearby.

"What's wrong with her?"

"Dunno."

"I'm guessing it's happened before?"

"Yeah."

"What's the Flare?"

"No bloody clue."

She felt no pain—just a sluggish, dreamlike heaviness that dulled her limbs. Fighting against the enticing lull of sleep, Cassandra opened her eyes and turned to the side. Newt was there to greet her, his gentle face a welcome sight, and she returned a tired smile of her own.

"How long was I out?" she asked, voice hoarse.

"Not too long," he told her. "It's past midday now. You had a fever but Clint gave ya some meds. Does your head still hurt?"

"I'm fine," she said. "Just... worn out."

He told her to get some more rest then slipped out of the room to grab her some food. She continued to lie there in a half-daze before she noticed movement in the corner of the room. Cassandra turned her head to find Thomas standing there, not really knowing what to do with himself. He shuffled forwards and sat on the chair hesitantly.

"Hey..." His voice was tentative, almost guilty.

Cassandra stared at him. "Thomas..."

"I just want to know," he pleaded. "You seem like you know a lot."

"I hardly know anything," she muttered, closing her eyes as if the weight of it all pressed down on her.

"But you remember me, right?"

She turned to look at him and his dark eyes begged her with a desperate urgency. She sighed. "I only know that you used to be one of 'em."

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly. "Whatever I've done before, I'm really sorry. Please just tell me what's going on."

She took a deep breath and her eyes flicked back to his face. Somewhere at the back of her mind, she knew that Thomas wasn't actually a bad guy but she wasn't ready to come to terms with that just yet. The exhaustion made her temporarily weak and she almost spilled it all out to him if Newt hadn't just walked back into the room with food. She slowly pushed herself up to a sitting position and took the tray from him. Newt stayed by her side, fussing over her like a mother hen, which was pretty amusing.

"Where's Minho?" she asked. "Did they bring the Griever back with them?"

Newt frowned. "They're not back yet..."

"What?!" She started and looked at him with wide eyes. "No way, they should be back by now. The Cliff isn't that far away."

His frown grew deeper. "I know."

"Think something might have happened to them?" Thomas sat up straight. "Maybe they got attacked?"

She grimaced at the thought. "If they were attacked..."

"Or they could just be taking their sweet time to look around." Newt shrugged but she saw that he was worried as well. "We'll know when they get back."

Once she was done with her meal, Newt took the tray back from her. He shooed Thomas out of the room so that she could rest and promised to come back in the evening. But she couldn't rest, not when Minho was still out there. Lethargy pinned her to the mattress, and her mind floated in fog. But worry gnawed at the edges.

The light dimmed outside but there was still no sign of the boys. She mustered enough energy to haul herself out of bed and drag her feet to the window. Her hands unlocked the rusty hinges and heaved them open. The Gladers were all grouped around the entrance of the Maze, waiting for their leader and Keeper to return. Anxiety seeped in, coiling tight in her gut.

She glanced at her watch and felt her heart drop, then leaned out the window to strain her eyes at the crack in the Wall. It wouldn't be the first time for Minho to come back later than usual but this was cutting it too close. It didn't feel right. Suddenly, there was shouting and the Gladers started pointing into the Maze just as a loud rumbling crack sounded like a clap of thunder.

The sign that the Doors were closing.

Without thinking it through, Cassandra flew across the room and wrenched the door open. She pushed past Clint who had just come up to check on her and jumped down the stairs three at a time. Bursting through the door of the Homestead, she was sprinting across the Glade seconds later. There was a gap between the group of boys and she could see two figures in the distance. One of them was carrying the other over his shoulder.

Minho.

"Somebody stop her!" Clint shouted from the other side of the field.

Only a few people heard him and Thomas was one of them. He stood at the front of the group and turned his head to look back as she barrelled through the throng of boys, surprising herself with how much strength she could summon. The walls were closing in fast and it was already too late when Newt realised what she was doing.

She was racing against time, yet everything unfolded in perfect clarity—each shout, each footstep, imprinted sharply in her mind. Newt yelling at her to stop and Thomas grabbing hold of her shirt. Minho's eyes widening in horror as she squeezed through the metal bars.

Cassandra hit the ground just as the Doors slammed shut with a final resounding boom. She scrambled to the side and her stomach heaved but nothing came out. Her entire body trembled from exertion, sweat sliding coldly down her back. Alby cried out sharply from up ahead just as Minho collapsed to the stone floor, groaning in pain. Someone behind her ran forward to help them.

"What the shuck have you done?!" Minho cried out in dismay. "And Greenie, if you think that was a brave thing you just did by following her, listen up. You're the shuckiest shuck-faced shuck there ever was. You're as good as dead, just like us."

"I couldn't just stand there and leave you guys out here," Thomas started crossly.

"And what good are you with us? Whatever, dude. Break the Number One Rule, kill yourself, whatever."

"You're welcome. I was just trying to help," the boy replied, voice thick with sarcasm.

Cassandra spun on him, eyes blazing. "Why did you follow me?" she demanded, temper flaring at him. "How stupid could you be?!"

"Like I said, I couldn't—"

"Ugh, Thomas! Have you heard nothing of what the others have told you?!" she growled reproachfully.

"Hey, you knew better than I did and you're here too!" he said indignantly.

"At least I'm a shucking Runner! You—" She stopped herself and looked down the long corridor when she thought she heard a click. A chill crept up her spine as she looked back to Minho. The brevity of their situation had finally hit her hard and the paranoia settled in with it. 

"We can't stay here," she whispered.

Minho had managed to get up and grab Alby's arms. "Come here and help me with him."

"What are we doing?" Thomas asked eagerly as he moved to assist.

"Giving 'em at least one body to bury the next morning," Minho replied and that didn't seem to be the answer Thomas had been hoping for.

"Stop it—both of you! We're not dead yet!" he exclaimed. "I'm sure we can think of something? Climb up the vines, maybe?"

Minho suddenly grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him against the wall. "You don't understand, shuck-face! You don't know anything and you're just making it worse by trying to have hope! We're dead, you hear me? Dead!"

He then looked away from Thomas, his face scrunched with shame. He let go of the boy and backed away. Cassandra could see the nervous tension vibrating through his body. Minho, who was always so brave and joked about everything, never hesitated to fight tooth and nail even when the odds were against him. He dropped to the ground and buried his face in his fists.

"Ah, man, oh man," he groaned. "I've never been this scared before, dude. Not like this."

"But you're both Runners!" Thomas exclaimed in frustration. "You know the Maze! You've met Grievers before, haven't you?! You can't give up!"

"This is different, man, you don't know," Minho said in exasperation.

Thomas opened his mouth to argue again but stopped. They froze in petrified silence and Cassandra felt her hair stand on end. Low mechanical whirring resonated from deep inside the Maze. The clicking of metallic claws against the stone floor. A hollow ringing. The squelch of oozing flesh. She felt her pulse quicken and ice-cold fear froze her limbs.

They were coming.

"We have to split up," Minho said quickly. "It's our only chance. Just keep moving. Don't stop moving!"

He shot forwards to grab hold of Cassandra's arm. She was still kneeling on the ground, eyes wide with terror as her body started to tremble like a leaf. Her face was pale and she looked at him with barely concealed panic.

"Cassie, come on, we need to go."

"I—I can't..." Her voice cracked. "I can't move..."

"Yes, you can," he urged, eyes darting around nervously. "Cassie, come on. We need to go! We need to go!"

The desperation in his voice snapped her out it and spurred her into action. She forced herself to move, lifting her knee up and pushing against her left foot. Her body jerked upwards and Minho grasped her hand tightly. Cassandra stumbled before breaking into a lumbering run after him. They left Thomas and fled into the Maze.

Each vote and comment is used to supply a compass for poor Thomas.