ACT II   SCENE XXX
EPEIUS

   "WHAT THE hell?!" Cassandra yelled, grabbing hold of the ball, trying to pull it off, but it was clamped tightly around the boy's head. "It's stuck around his—"

"What's wrong?" Thomas shouted beside her as she grunted, her fingers slipping against the smooth surface.

Suddenly, the ball fell off with a heavy thud, and her hands passed through air. Cassandra collapsed backwards onto the ground in shock, her heart pounding a hundred miles a second against her chest. The boy's body went still with one final thump of his heavy boots, and the faint reek of iron filled the air.

"What the shuck was that?!" Thomas yelled beside her.

"What happened?" Minho asked.

"I... I don't know," Thomas replied, his voice trembling. "Who was that? Who was down there screaming?"

"It was Frankie," Cassandra answered faintly.

"Yeah, it was definitely Frankie," Winston confirmed. "He was just next to me, making a joke—then it was like something yanked him away."

"His head..." Cassandra whispered, then took a deep breath. "Something ate his head. It was round and metal, like a ball. Then it just... dropped off. I—I felt something pass by me a second before it happened."

"What the shuck?" Minho breathed in disbelief. "Are you freakin' kidding me?"

"Didn't you hear it rolling away after he stopped screaming?" Thomas asked. "I know it—"

"It's right here!" Newt shouted, followed by a scrape of metal against the ground. He grunted with effort as he picked it up. "I heard it roll over here. And it's all wet and sticky—feels like blood..."

"Newton, what are you doing?" Cassandra asked, appalled.

"What the klunk?" Minho asked again. "How big is it?"

"I don't know," Newt answered. "Bigger than a buggin' head, that's for sure. It's perfectly round—a perfect sphere."

"We need to run," Thomas said urgently. "We need to go. Now."

"Maybe we should go back..." It sounded like Archie. "Whatever that ball is, it sliced off Frankie's head—just like the old shank warned us."

"No," Cassandra said vehemently.

"No way," Minho agreed. "Thomas is right. No more dinkin' around. Everyone spread out a couple of feet from each other, then run. Hunch down, and if something comes near your head, hit the living crap out of it."

Cassandra liked his plan. They began to reposition themselves, and Minho took her hand as they returned to the front of the group. He didn't let go when he started running ahead. She held an arm above her head as she ducked low, ready to lash out at the barest touch of cold metal.

Another boy screamed from down the line. She couldn't tell who it was this time, but Minho gripped her hand tightly and continued to pull her down the tunnel. They ran, their boots stirring clouds of dust into the air, and she tried not to open her mouth to inhale.

There was the clank of metal hitting the wall as the scream gurgled to an abrupt stop behind them. Minho stumbled and she toppled onto his back, crying out as her knee slammed against something hard. He called for the others to stop while untangling himself from the ground. The Gladers skidded to halts behind them, the tunnel now filled with their panting breaths and the stench of exertion.

"Why'd we stop?" Frypan asked.

"'Cause I almost broke my shin on something up here!" Minho shouted back. "I think it's a stairway."

Cassandra felt around in the pitch darkness, and her hand brushed against rough metal, about a metre in breadth. She reached up and her fingers curled around iron rails. "Yup, definitely a stairway!" she announced.

They picked themselves up and started ascending the circling steps at a quick jog. The metal rang shrilly under their feet as Cassandra kept a hand on the railing to steady herself. She continued up the spiralling stairs until she slammed into Minho's back again. He let out a pained cry as a loud thud resounded above him.

"What did you guys hit?" Thomas called from further below.

"The shuck top, that's what," Minho responded in irritation. "We hit the roof and there's nowhere else..." She heard his hands sliding against the metal top and there was an audible click. "Hang on, I think I found—"

Cassandra's eyes ignited with fiery pain, and she let out a strangled yelp at the sudden onslaught. Then her skin burned beneath the radiation of the merciless sun as a heat wave rolled over her. There was a dull clunk as Minho dropped the top shut, and she didn't think she'd ever felt so glad to slink back into the shadows.

"Shuck me," Minho muttered, his voice tight. "Looks like we found a way out but I think it's on the freaking sun! Man, that was bright. And hot."

Cassandra moaned lowly, feeling faint and lightheaded as spots erupted in her vision. She crouched down, resting her head between her knees.

"Let's just open it a crack and let our eyes get used to it," Newt suggested, stepping up to the top. "Here's a shirt—wedge it in there. Everyone shut your eyes."

Cassandra clamped her hands over her eyes as Minho lifted the top again. She could still see the searing white light through the crack between her fingers, blazing through the thin skin of her eyelids. It was excruciating. It took her a long moment to gather the courage to lower her hands and squint up at the impossibly intense beam of light. Beneath her, the dull grey stairs rose from a sea of impenetrable gloom.

"So what's up there?" someone asked from below.

Minho shrugged as he peeked back out, shielding his eyes. "Not sure. All I can see is a lot of bright light—maybe we are on the shuck sun. But I don't think there's anyone out there." He paused. "No Cranks either."

"Great," Cassandra said flatly.

"Let's get out there then," Winston said. "I'd rather get a sunburn than my head attacked by some ball of steel. Let's go!"

"All right, Winston," Minho replied chidingly. "Keep your undies on—I just wanted to let our eyes adjust first." He stepped up to heave his shoulders against the metal plate. Cassandra stood and braced herself, shielding her face with her hands once more.

"One. Two. Three!"

He grunted and the hatch squealed open on rusty hinges. Cassandra felt the burn instantly—her entire body lit up with stinging heat, every nerve ending set ablaze. "Aw, man," she groaned. "That freaking hurts!"

Minho and Newt shuffled down to hide behind her back. "Something's wrong, dude!" Minho cried. "It's already burning my skin!"

"He's right." Newt rubbed at his face and neck. "I don't think we can go out there. We might have to wait until the sun goes down."

The Gladers moaned in complaint—then Winston shouted, "Whoa! Hey! Watch out!"

Cassandra tore her hands from her face and forced her eyes open, ignoring the ache behind them. Overhead, a glob of silvery liquid swelled on the ceiling. It gathered into a molten sphere and dropped. She stumbled back, heel catching the next step just as the orb hovered, almost curious, then launched.

It struck Winston square in the face.

The scream that followed was raw and animal. The metal engulfed his head in one fluid motion, dragging him backwards down the stairs. The others froze, stunned. Thomas was the first to move. The liquid was creeping, oozing, covering more of Winston's face with each second. He clawed at it, nails scrabbling, legs kicking.

"Get it off me!" he screamed, voice thick with pain. His face was blotched red, hands slipping uselessly over the slick surface. Thomas grabbed hold and yanked. The metal resisted with a grotesque sucking noise, then slithered back down like it had a mind of its own. Winston howled.

Then Thomas pulled harder, just as Winston managed to push. With a sickening squelch, the silver mass tore free, flying through the air. It solidified mid-flight, hung suspended for a heartbeat, watching, then vanished into the shadows.

Cassandra let out a shaky breath. Winston collapsed, sobbing, hands cradling his scorched scalp. His hair was gone. Angry welts bloomed across his skin. She couldn't bear to imagine the pain behind his shudders.

"Are you okay?" Thomas asked. Winston just shook his head, trembling.

She looked to Minho and Newt. They stared back, eyes wide.

"What was that shuck thing?" Minho murmured.

"Magic goop that eats people's heads, that's what it was," Newt retorted.

"Must be some kind of new technology," Aris said suddenly. A few turned to him. "Well... from what I remember."

"That crap must gel around your face and eat through the neck until it slices clean off." Minho pointed. "Nice. Real nice."

"That thing came out of the shuck ceiling," Frypan said. "Let's get out of here. Now."

Newt nodded numbly. "Couldn't agree more."

Minho winced as he looked at Winston. "Jack, Frypan—help him. Aris, gather the klunk he dropped, get a few guys to help carry it. I don't care how bright or brutal the light is up there—I'm not letting my head turn into a bowling ball today. Cassie, Newt, Thomas—the four of us are going up first."

"Let's go," Newt said without hesitation. He actually sounded eager.

"Hang on—" Cassandra started, just as Minho stuck a hand into the light.

He yanked it back, hissing. "That's hot. Definitely hot."

"Yeah, you think?" she exclaimed, wrapping her cool fingers around his. "We need to cover ourselves before we head out there."

"You're right. I don't want second-degree sunburns in five minutes," he replied.

Newt suggested emptying their packs to use the sheets as cover and to carry their supplies. Cassandra bent to unpack hers while Minho dumped his straight onto the floor. Gladers scrambled to stop everything from rolling off the steps, and she caught an apple as it bounced her way.

"Minho, watch it!" she scolded. He didn't seem to care.

"We'll look like ghosts," Thomas said, his sheet already loose from helping Winston. "Scare off any bad guys."

"Funny boy, that Thomas," Minho huffed as he untied the knots in his sheet. "Let's just hope there aren't any nice Cranks to greet us. I don't see how anyone could be hanging out in this heat though. Hopefully they'll be trees or some kinda shelter."

"Then they might be hiding, bloody waitin' to get us or somethin'," Newt muttered.

"We won't know till we investigate." Thomas whipped his sheet out and wrapped it around himself. "How do I look?"

"Like the ugliest shanky girl I've ever seen." Minho made a face. "You better thank the gods above you were born a dude."

"Thanks," he responded.

They wrapped themselves, gripping the sheets from the inside and folding the corners over their heads to form crude hoods, shielding their faces as much as possible. The makeshift coverings gave them a ghostly, almost comical appearance, their silhouettes lumpy and misshapen under the thin fabric. They looked ridiculous.

Cassandra squinted up at the blazing light, her heart pounding an anxious rhythm in her chest. The Scorch. She had only heard whispers of it in passing—fragments of stories, half-remembered warnings. One of the dead zones scorched by the worst of the sun flares. A graveyard of cities, of lives, of sanity. A place where the world had been cooked alive and left to rot.

She tried to imagine what lay beyond the hatch. Blinding heat. Endless sand. Ruins clawing at the sky like broken teeth. Maybe nothing at all. She wasn't sure what they were going to find out there—what horrors awaited them in that sunburnt wasteland—but a chill crept over her skin despite the rising temperature. Whatever it was, it would be brutal. And it would not care that they were tired, or scared, or just kids trying to survive.

Still, there was no turning back now.

"You shanks ready?" Minho asked, glancing at each of them.

"Kind of excited, actually," Newt replied.

"Me too." Thomas bounced on his heels. "Let's go."

"You guys are crazy." Cassandra stepped beside Minho. "You go first, honourable Leader."

He gave her a look of resignation, lips twitching like he was trying not to smile. "You're not gonna let me live this down, are you?"

Beaming, she replied, "Never."

He sighed dramatically, but the corners of his eyes crinkled with something softer, something that made her heart flutter in her chest. For just a brief moment, the world slowed, held captive by the look they shared.

And she remembered—flashes of warmth in the dark, a hand reaching out for hers, whispered promises in a maze of stone and blood. The press of his shoulder against hers when words failed. A voice that always found her. It came like a ghost in a dream—a whisper of memory, gone before she could reach for it—but enough to make her believe she hadn't imagined it at all.

Minho turned and bolted toward the blazing light ahead, his laughter trailing behind him like a challenge. Cassandra blinked, breathless, then ran after him.

It's 6am, I'm gonna try to sleep now. Will update when I manage to! xx