Disclaimer:

Still upset that this book turned out to be so long like I'm only halfway through TMR lmao

-✼-

"Dylan, wake up."

A pair of hands were shaking me awake, which was really annoying. Couldn't they just let me sleep? What time was it?

I grumbled incoherently in response and snuggled further into my warm, comfortable bed.

"Frankly, you scare me and I don't want to be a victim of your attacks, but you need to get up."

Again, I made no move to get up. I didn't care. I was tired, and I didn't want to wake up. That was that.

"Dude, she's gonna kill you, Minho," Another voice said, sounding farther away than the first one. Was that Thomas? I think it was.

"I'm invincible, shank," Minho snapped. "Okay, here goes..."

A dribble of water landed on my face, ice cold on my skin. Before more could follow, I had already lifted up the covers, jumped out of bed, and launched myself at Minho. I wrapped my legs around his waist, flipped him over, and he landed on his back, me on my feet. He lied there for a minute, gasping in pain, while Newt was startled awake by the thump of Minho's body hitting the ground.

"What the shuck was that?" he asked groggily as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. He saw Minho on the ground and heaved a weary sigh. "Minho, what did you do to her?"

"He tried dumping water on her to wake her up," Thomas replied. I could now see that he was standing in the doorway, nowhere near me.

Newt chuckled, which turned into a yawn. He stretched his arms above his head, looking incredibly adorable.

"For the love of Gladers, Dylan," Minho groaned as he got himself up, "where did you learn how to do that?"

I shrugged. It had come as an instinct. "Honestly, no idea. Maybe I was taught before I came here or something."

"It was pretty sweet," Thomas complimented, still not moving from his place in the doorway. Coward.

"Thanks," I said, then glared at Minho, who scratched his head and rubbed his elbow. "Why did you wake me up at this ungodly hour?"

"You're training, Rookie," Minho replied, "and I'm your boss for the duration of this session, so no more flipping me over, got it?"

I mock saluted him, standing up pencil straight with my feet together like a soldier. "Affirmative, Lieutenant Minho." I then furrowed my eyebrows because that didn't sound right. Had I used the correct terms? "Wait-"

Exasperated, Minho grabbed my arm, rolling his eyes as he pulled me out of the room. "Come on."

I scrambled to get my feet underneath me since Minho was moving so fast. I was actually going to follow without complaint until I remembered something very important. Digging my heels into the splintery wood floor, I did my best to make Minho stop. However, since he was so strong and I was very small, it didn't work and he ended up literally dragging me down the hallway. Instead, I decided to flat-out stop moving.

"What on earth are you doing?" Minho demanded.

"I have to go to the bathroom," I told him. He looked to the ceiling and sighed, his cheeks puffing out.

"Fine," he agreed. "Go. But make it quick. Step one of training— you have thirty seconds!"

Panicked, I sprinted down the stairs and out the door, rounding the back of the Homestead and making it to an open bathroom with twenty-one seconds left to spare. When I finished, I came back outside and started to run to the front, but then I realized Minho and Thomas were already waiting in the back.

"Nine seconds left," Minho said, looking at his wristwatch. "Nice."

"I hate you," I grumbled.

"We're late, though, so get your butts moving." Minho clicked on a flashlight and led us to a storage closet. I caught glimpses of ropes and other odds and ends as the light swept around the room, finally landing on an open box filled with running shoes.

"That right there's the number one supply we get," Minho told us. "At least for us. They send new ones in the Box every so often. If we had bad shoes, we'd have feet that look like freaking Mars." He bent down and sifted through the shoes. "What size you guys wear?"

"Size?" Thomas asked, then thought for a second. "I don't know."

"You idiot," I scolded, "check the tag on your shoe."

"Oh. Oh, right." Thomas smiled sheepishly and pulled off his shoe, looking inside. "Eleven."

"Jeez, shank, you got big feet." Minho looked through the box a little more before producing a pair of sleek silver shoes. "But looks like we got some— man, we could go canoeing in these things." He handed them to Thomas, who commented that they were fancy. Minho turned to me. "What about you, Dylan?"

I pulled off my own shoe and checked the inside. "Six and a half. There's just one problem." I pointed to the bin. "Those are men's shoes."

Minho blinked at me, turned to look at the box, then back at me. "There's a difference?"

I was drowning in the stupid. I never thought such a question would come from Minho. "Yes."

He started rummaging through the shoes, a troubled look on his face. "Well, I have no idea how to convert the size to women's, so here." He handed me a pair. "These are the smallest we got."

I looked at the tag— they were men's sevens. I sighed, comparing the size of the shoe in my hand compared to mine that I had taken off. "Great." I slipped it on and tied the laces. "These are huge."

Minho scratched his head, shrugging. Thomas stopped admiring his shoes that fit perfectly well and suggested, "Maybe if you tie the laces really, really tightly, it'll help."

"Thanks Thomas; you're a genius," I said sarcastically, but took his advice all the same. We went outside of the closet to have enough room to really try them on while Minho grabbed some more stuff.

"Only Runners and Keepers get these," he said. Before I or Thomas could look up, plastic watches dropped into our laps. The face of it showed only a digital display of the time, and I inwardly groaned upon seeing how early it was. "Put it on and never take it off. Your life might depend on it."

My life depending on a watch? I was confused until I realized he meant that we could tell what time we were supposed to get back before the Doors closed. I buckled the watch onto my wrist, noticing with dismay that even that was too big, even on the last notch. I didn't complain though, and kept listening.

"Here's a backpack, water bottles, lunch packs, some shorts and T-shirts — sorry Dylan, only for boys, but maybe we can send a request note to the Creators — and other stuff." Minho nudged the two of us, which caused us to look up. He was holding a couple pairs of tightly cut underwear, made from a shiny white material.

"Oh my God," I said, shuddering.

Minho smirked. "These bad boys're what we call Runner-undies. Keeps you, um, nice and comfy."

"Nice and comfy?" Thomas questioned.

I put my head in my hands, feeling my face flush. "Oh my God."

"Yeah, ya know. Your—"

"Yeah, got it."

It was quiet after that, so I assumed Thomas had accepted his gift.

"You guys really have this all thought out, don't you?" he asked. I took that as my cue that I could look again.

"Couple of years runnin' your butt off every day, you figure out what you need and ask for it." Minho started stuffing things into his own backpack, while I questioned my existence. Running my butt off every day, waking up at the crack of dawn every morning. Was that something I really wanted to do for the rest of my time here?

Thomas was surprised and took no notice of my existential crisis. "You mean, you can make requests? Supplies you want?"

"Of course we can," Minho said. "Like I said about Dylan's shoes— just drop a note in the Box, and there she goes. Doesn't mean we always get what we want from the Creators. Sometimes we do, sometimes we don't."

"Ever asked for, I dunno, a map?" I asked.

Minho laughed. "Yeah, tried that one. Asked for a TV too, but no luck. I guess those shuck-faces don't want us seeing how wonderful life is when you don't live in a freaking maze."

I looked down to the ground. "What if life out there isn't so great?"

As Minho turned to me, perplexed, I saw two shining red dots on the wall of the storage closet- the eyes of a Beetle Blade. I tried my best to ignore it as Minho asked a question. "What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "I mean, what kind of parents would let their kids be condemned to a place like this? Once you really think about it-" a flash of something completely mortifying blocked my eyesight for a second and made me tumble with fright off the box I was perched on- a face falling apart with terribly disgusting sores covering it, teeth visible through holes in their cheeks where its skin had deteriorated. The eyes were bloodshot and puffy, the pupils dilated to the max and hair falling out in clumps. Then, as quickly as it had come, it vanished, leaving me feeling like a sheet of ice-cold horror was encasing my body as I breathed heavily, trying to rid my mind of the image. What did that mean? Was it a memory?

"Dylan!" Thomas exclaimed, and I vaguely heard him rush over and help me up. I stared blankly, wide-eyed and still terrified. "What happened?"

"She looks like she saw a shucking ghost," Minho's concerned face appeared in front of me. "You alright?"

I blinked, then nodded, even though I was not fine. I shook my body, trying to shake the feeling away, then sighed. "I'm fine. It's just..." I thought wildly for an explanation, "a Beetle Blade scared me."

Minho laughed and stood up from his previously crouched position. "Well, you better get used to those, they're everywhere. Tie those laces tight enough?"

I nodded, even though I could still move my feet around quite a bit in the boat-like shoes. Minho nodded in approval and glanced at Thomas. "What about you?"

My brother stood and jogged in circles, then jumped up and down. "They feel pretty good. I guess we're ready."

Minho's neutral expression turned to one of disgust. "You look like an idiot, prancin' around like a shuck ballerina. Good luck out there with no breakfast, no packed lunch, no weapons."

Thomas stopped moving. "Weapons?"

"Weapons." Minho stood and walked back to the closet. "Come here, I'll show ya."

I got up and followed behind Thomas. We went back into the storage closet and I couldn't see what Minho was doing because Thomas was so tall (at least to me), so I just stood and waited.

"Keep 'em down in the basement so shanks like Gally can't get to them," Minho said, talking about what I assumed was the weapons he was telling us about. "Come on."

I heard stairs creaking, and then Thomas started following Minho down a trapdoor. It was extremely dark in the basement- I couldn't see anything except inky black. As I descended down the dozen or so steps, the air grew steadily colder, which was refreshing. The air smelled of mildew (then again, what didn't) but I had gotten so used to the scent that it didn't really bother me at all.

I didn't notice I was on the last step and tripped, falling into what I hoped was Thomas. I pushed away from him - or it - and regained my balance on the dirt floor. Minho pulled a string, turning on a single light bulb that illuminated the room in a dark, orange glow.

As soon as I saw how much dust was littering everything, including the air, the sneezes came. And came. And came. And they wouldn't stop.

"Jeez, Dylan," Minho mumbled. I rolled my eyes and sneezed one more time before I finally stopped and was able to look around the room.

When Minho said "basement," I expected a dingy little crawlspace with a few boxes and that was it. But I was horribly mistaken. The rook was huge. Many shelves lined all four walls, there were blocky, poorly-constructed tables, all covered in all sorts of fun stuff that sent shivers down my spine. Wooden poles, metal spikes, large squares of mesh, rolls of barbed wire, saws, knives - oh great - and swords. One entire wall was filled with archery supplies, which reminded me of Alby shooting Ben in the forest.

"What the heck," I stated the same time as Thomas murmured, "Wow."

We looked at each other for a second. I gazed around again, my eyebrows raised when I finally turned back to Minho. "Are you sure this place isn't a prison?"

Minho chuckled. "Almost positive."

I stomped over to a table and saw a few scraps of metal sculpted into claw-like pointers. I fit them inbetween my fingers and swiped in Thomas and Minho's general direction.

"Look," I said, clawing at the air again. "Call me Wolverine."

Minho blinked at me. "That's the stupidest name I've ever heard in my life. You should be like...Scissorhands or something."

Thomas winced. "No. That's even worse."

I put the really awesome claws down, dusting off my hands and returning to Minho's side, knowing he was about to explain stuff.

Sure enough, I was right. "Don't use much of this klunk. But ya never know. All we usually take with us is a couple of sharp knives."

I cringed and looked at the ground. "No thanks."

"Watch, Dylan, you'll love this," Minho taunted. He pointed to a large chest that was already open. Knives of all shapes and sizes were filled to the brim.

"Nope." I looked away. "Nope. Nope. Nope."

"Why are you so afraid of knives?" Thomas wondered. I sighed and took hold of his hand, turning it over and showing him the scar. Minho leaned over me to observe.

"I accidentally sent a knife right through your hand," I answered. "I am the reason you have that scar."

I dropped his hand and Thomas examined the jagged white line on his skin, like he was seeing it in a whole new light. Expecting some awesome story, Thomas questioned, "What happened?"

Preparing for laughter, I took a deep breath. "We were five or six. I was chopping vegetables with our mom and you scared the shit out of me. I turned and stabbed you on instinct."

Minho chuckled, pressing his lips together. A few more laughs escaped until he was nearly in tears, clutching his stomach.

Ignoring Minho's obnoxiousness, Thomas turned back to the weapon. "Seems kind of dangerous to have all this stuff," he said, thankfully changing the subject. "What if Ben had gotten down here right before he went nuts and attacked us?"

Minho sobered up and pulled keys out of his pocket, holding them up. "Only a few lucky toads have a set of these."

"Still..."

"Quit your bellyachin' and pick a couple. Make sure they're nice and sharp. Then we'll go get breakfast and pack our lunch. I wanna spend some time in the Map Room before we head out."

Thomas headed for the knives, as ordered. I, however, wandered to the archery section, running my fingers along a dusty bow.

"That'll take practice," Minho warned from behind me. "Most fail at archery."

"I don't care." I picked up the bow, measured its size against my body to make sure it wasn't too big, then selected a few arrows and a quiver to store them all in. They were extremely dusty, but a little cleaning up and they'd look brand new.

As I held all of my things, my excitement waned even more. I didn't want to think about why I needed weapons to go into the Maze.

"Can I start calling you Artemis?" Minho asked, clicking off the light with the string.

I smirked. "Only if I can call you Mean-hoe."

"I rest my case."

gif is will poulter stating the necessities of runner apparel

__________

this chapter was pretty long and boring so im sorry for that, but hey a pretty important thing happened to dylan. can you guess what she saw??

also there was a wolverine reference so u can't really complain amirite

dedicated to thosecrystalblueeyes because they flipped when they got to the end and i feel bad

-kristyn