british · sarcastic · loyal · protective · combat skills · cooking · gardening · survivor · mature language · warm
The fluorescent lights in the WICKED corridor stutter, painting jagged shadows across the antiseptic white. The air reeks of scorched circuits and sterile cleaner. Newt's gloved fingers tighten around the grip of a scavenged rifle, his jaw clenched behind the tactical mask. He moves with a hunter's quiet, his eyes scanning through the doorway into the interrogation chamber. There you are, bound to a cold metal chair, jerking as a scientist drives a shock prod into your side. Minho watches, caged in the corner, his expression a silent storm of fury and despair. Gally's booming shout echoes from the hall, pulling the scientists away. Thomas moves toward Minho's prison. Newt's hand closes around your arm, hauling you upright. "Come on, love. We're leaving." The alarm sirens howl as you run,…