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This book was a three-year journey, and you never doubted. Metal ground against metal; a lurching shudder shook the floor beneath him. He fell down at the sudden movement and shuffled backward on his hands and feet, drops of sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool air. His back struck a hard metal wall; he slid along it until he hit the corner of the room. Sinking to the floor, he pulled his legs up tight against his body, hoping his eyes would soon adjust to the darkness. With another jolt, the room jerked upward like an old lift in a mine shaft. Harsh sounds of chains and pulleys, like the workings of an ancient steel factory, echoed through the room, bouncing off the walls with a hollow, tinny whine. He wanted to cry, but no tears came; he could only sit there, alone, waiting. My name is Thomas, he thought. That … that was the only thing he could remember about his life.

A multicolored flag hung limply at the top of the pole, no wind to reveal its pattern. Thomas quickly looked away. Suddenly the leader of the group—perhaps he was seventeen—took a step forward. He wore normal clothes: black T-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, a digital watch. For some reason the clothing here surprised Thomas; it seemed like everyone should be wearing something more menacing—like prison garb. The dark-skinned boy had short-cropped hair, his face clean shaven.

But other than the permanent scowl, there was nothing scary about him at all. Thomas refused. Some instinct took over his actions and without saying anything he turned away from Alby and walked to a nearby tree, where he plopped down to sit with his back against the rough bark.

Panic swelled inside him once again, almost too much to bear. But he took a deep breath and forced himself to try to accept the situation. Just go with it, he thought. His original estimate had been close—there were probably fifty to sixty of them, ranging from boys in their midteens to young adults like Alby, who seemed to be one of the oldest. At that moment, Thomas realized with a sickening lurch that he had no idea how old he was.

Heads popped up here and there, kids leaning in every direction to get a better look. Just try and avoid being killed, survive, whatever. Newt was taller than Alby too, but looked to be a year or so younger.

His hair was blond and cut long, cascading over his Tshirt. Veins stuck out of his muscled arms. Alby spread his arms out, palms up. Thomas finally got his feet under him, scared all over again. He backed against the tree, trying to get away from Alby, who stayed right in his face. Newt reached out and grabbed Alby by the shoulders. You get me? Everything inside him churned and hurt; the tears that had yet to come burned his eyes. Newt nodded. Thomas fumed, wanted to punch somebody. Tomorrow morning, right after the wakeup.

None of us knew jack on First Day, you neither. New life begins tomorrow. Most of the kids wandered away then, each one giving Thomas a lingering look before they walked off. Thomas folded his arms, closed his eyes, took a deep breath.

Emptiness ate away at his insides, quickly replaced by a sadness that hurt his heart. It was all too much—where was he? What was this place? Was it some kind of prison? If so, why had he been sent here, and for how long? The language was odd, and none of the boys seemed to care whether he lived or died. Tears threatened again to fill his eyes, but he refused to let them come. Best be quiet now, accept the change—morn comes tomorrow. A line of smallleafed weeds ran along the edge of one of the stone blocks, tiny yellow flowers peeping through as if searching for the sun, long disappeared behind the enormous walls of the Glade.

High and shrill, the barely human shriek echoed across the stone courtyard; every kid in sight turned to look toward the source.

Thomas felt his blood turn to icy slush as he realized that the horrible sound came from the wooden building. Even Newt had jumped as if startled, his forehead creasing in concern. Thomas slid down the rough face of the tree until he sat on the ground again; he shrank back against the bark and closed his eyes, wishing he could wake up from this terrible, terrible dream. He finally forced himself to look over at the haggard building. A group of boys milled around outside, glancing anxiously at the upper windows as if expecting a hideous beast to leap out in an explosion of glass and wood.

A metallic clicking sound from the branches above grabbed his attention, made him look up; a flash of silver and red light caught his eyes just before disappearing around the trunk to the other side.

Thomas turned to his right to see a kid standing nearby, short and pudgy, staring at him. His brown hair hung down over his ears and neck, scraping the tops of his shoulders. Blue eyes shone through an otherwise pitiful face, flabby and flushed. Thomas nodded at him. The fear was like icy dew on his skin. They got him. He held out his hand.

I was the Greenbean until you showed up. Thomas thought. Nothing made sense; his head hurt. Another scream came from the house, a sound like a starving animal being tortured. No one dies if they make it back in time to get the Serum.

Dead or not dead. Just hurts a lot. Chuck shrugged, then looked away, eyes rolling.

Thomas sighed in frustration and leaned back against the tree. His memory loss was strange. He mostly remembered the workings of the world—but emptied of specifics, faces, names. Like a book completely intact but missing one word in every dozen, making it a miserable and confusing read.

And in case you were wondering, five foot nine … brown hair. Oh, and ugly as fried liver on a stick. He was sixteen? He felt much older than that. I have. We live here, this is it. Better than living in a pile of klunk. Poo makes a klunk sound when it falls in our pee pots. He stood up and walked past Chuck toward the old building; shack was a better word for the place. It looked three or four stories high and about to fall down at any minute—a crazy assortment of logs and boards and thick twine and windows seemingly thrown together at random, the massive, ivystrewn stone walls rising up behind it.

As he moved across the courtyard, the distinct smell of firewood and some kind of meat cooking made his stomach grumble.

Knowing now that it was just a sick kid doing the screaming made Thomas feel better. A common pattern to their memory losses. They all remembered their names. Why not their last names?

You can count on Chuck, okay? He turned to face Chuck. Where this sudden courage and resolve came from, he had no idea. Chuck shrugged. Dark wallpaper covered the walls of the foyer and hallway, half of it peeling off.

The only decorations in sight were a dusty vase on a three-legged table and a black-and-white picture of an ancient woman dressed in an old-fashioned white dress.

It reminded Thomas of a haunted house from a movie or something. There were even planks of wood missing from the floor. The place reeked of dust and mildew—a big contrast to the pleasant smells outside. Flickering fluorescent lights shone from the ceiling.

He stared at the old woman in the picture. Had she lived here once? Taken care of these people? He looked like he was fifteen or so, tall and skinny.

His nose was the size of a small fist and resembled a deformed potato. Need a new diaper, shuck-face? Without another word, he made for the stairs, only because they were close, only because he had no idea what to do or say.

But the bully stepped in front of him, holding a hand up. All I want is some help. But really, how would he know? And how could this kid remember him? The bully snickered, a short burst of laughter mixed with a phlegm-filled snort. Then his face grew serious, his eyebrows slanting inward. And I saw you during the Changing. Panic ate at him once again. Would things ever stop getting worse? Thomas tried not to think about it and pointed up the stairs, from where the moans of the sick kid echoed through the building.

Then he shook his head. Seriously, go on. But Thomas knew the kid was up to something.

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You can call me Captain Gally if you want. Two or three were missing, and not a single one approached anything close to the color white. His breath escaped just enough for Thomas to get a whiff, reminding him of some horrible memory that was just out of reach.

It made his stomach turn. A few snickers escaped the crowd, and Gally looked around, his face bright red. He peered back at Thomas, hatred furrowing his brow and crinkling his monstrous nose. He felt the heat of blood in his face.

No one made a move to stop him from doing as Gally asked, except for Chuck, who stood at the front door, shaking his head. He started up the stairs. Up he went, wincing at every splintered sound. The stairs reached a landing, turned left, then came upon a railed hallway leading to several rooms.

Only one door had a light coming through the crack at the bottom. He reached down, turned the brass handle, and opened the door. Inside the room, Newt and Alby crouched over someone lying on a bed. Thomas leaned in closer to see what the fuss was all about, but when he got a clear look at the condition of the patient, his heart went cold. He had to fight the bile that surged up his throat.

The look was fast—only a few seconds—but it was enough to haunt him forever.

A twisted, pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous. Purplish bruises covered the kid, red hives, bloody scratches. His bloodshot eyes bulged, darting back and forth.

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Thomas felt weak. What was wrong with that kid? Thomas slouched against the railing in the hallway and stared at the floor, not sure what to do next. Without saying a word, he pushed past Alby and headed down the creaky steps, going as fast as he dared. Ignoring the gaping stares of everyone at the bottom—especially Gally—he walked out the door, pulling Chuck by the arm as he did so.

Thomas hated these people. He hated all of them. Except Chuck. He realized that Chuck might actually be his only friend in the world. Chuck nodded. Ten minutes. He wished for all the world he could remember something about his previous life.

His mom, his dad, a friend, his school, a hobby. A girl. The Changing. Gally had called it the Changing. He scanned the compound of the Glade, this new place of nightmares where he seemed destined to live. The shadows from the walls had lengthened considerably, already creeping up the sides of the ivy-covered stone faces on the other side. At least this helped Thomas know directions—the wooden building crouched in the northwest corner, wedged in a darkening patch of shadow, the grove of trees in the southwest.

The farm area, where a few workers were still picking their way through the fields, spread across the entire northeast quarter of the Glade. The animals were in the southeast corner, mooing and crowing and baying. In the exact middle of the courtyard, the still-gaping hole of the Box lay open, as if inviting him to jump back in and go home. Near that, maybe twenty feet to the south, stood a squat building made of rough concrete blocks, a menacing iron door its only entrance—there were no windows.

A large round handle resembling a steel steering wheel marked the only way to open the door, just like something within a submarine. Thomas had just moved his attention to the four vast openings in the middle of the main walls of the Glade when Chuck arrived, a couple of sandwiches cradled in his arms, along with apples and two metal cups of water. Soon, though, his hunger won out and he took a huge bite. The wonderful tastes of ham and cheese and mayonnaise filled his mouth.

After another couple of bites, Thomas finally asked the question that had been bothering him. Though it was hard to make out from where he sat, there was something odd about the stone edges of the exits to the outside corridors. He felt an uncomfortable sense of vertigo looking at the towering walls, as if he hovered above them instead of sitting at their base.

Looked uncomfortable. The frustration at getting no answers from anyone was starting to grind his nerves. Half of everything. That he seemed indifferent to having his life taken away from him. What was wrong with these people? Thomas got to his feet and started walking toward the eastern opening. They were only thirty feet away now. And they close up every night. He looked up, looked side to side, examined the massive slabs of stone as the uneasy feeling blossomed into outright dread.

They reached the huge split that led outside to more stone pathways. Thomas gaped, his mind emptying of thought as he saw it all firsthand. Thomas barely heard him, shocked by how much bigger it was up close. At least twenty feet across, the break in the wall went all the way to the top, far above. The edges that bordered the vast opening were smooth, except for one odd, repeating pattern on both sides.

On the left side of the East Door, deep holes several inches in diameter and spaced a foot apart were bored into the rock, beginning near the ground and continuing all the way up. On the right side of the Door, foot-long rods jutted out from the wall edge, also several inches in diameter, in the same pattern as the holes facing them on the other side. The purpose was obvious. The walls really move? I figured there was a door that swung shut or a little mini-wall that slid out of the big one.

How could these walls move? Chuck threw his arms up, clearly frustrated. Makes one heck of a grinding noise. Same thing happens out in the Maze—those walls shift every night, too.

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Thomas ignored him, more interested than ever in the outside of the Glade. A maze? In front of him, through the East Door, he could make out passages leading to the left, to the right, and straight ahead.

And the walls of the corridors were similar to those that surrounded the Glade, the ground made of the same massive stone blocks as in the courtyard. The ivy seemed even thicker out there. In the distance, more breaks in the walls led to other paths, and farther down, maybe a hundred yards or so away, the straight passage came to a dead end.

It was all so crazy it really did seem funny. His heart skipped a beat when a boy unexpectedly appeared around a corner up ahead, entering the main passage from one of the offshoots to the right, running toward him and the Glade. He headed straight for the squat concrete building located near the Box.

Thomas turned as he passed, his eyes riveted to the exhausted runner, unsure why this new development surprised him so much. He watched, curious, as they met at the big iron door of the small building; one of the boys turned the rusty wheel handle, grunting with the effort.

Chuck had said something about runners earlier. What had they been doing out there? The big door finally popped open, and with a deafening squeal of metal against metal, the boys swung it wide. They disappeared inside, pulling it shut behind them with a loud clonk.

Nothing developed, but something about that creepy old building gave him goose bumps, a disquieting chill. Someone tugged on his sleeve, breaking him from his thoughts; Chuck had come back.

Before Thomas had a chance to think, questions were rushing out of his mouth. A loud boom exploded through the air, making Thomas jump. It was followed by a horrible crunching, grinding sound. He stumbled backward, fell to the ground. And we read from Minho, how his phase 3 was. And it was all so freaking good. I like Minho much more after this. I really do. We can't do this to kids. You're evil, I'm evil. Everyone will die. No matter what. Let nature win.

Go find it for free online or something, but read it. Si eres fan de la saga simplemente tienes que leerlo. I enjoyed reading this, but I can't give it more than 3 stars, since it was excesively short and didn't really clarify much about the story.

As a complement to the saga it's good and fun, but it's missing a lot to be justified as a separate book. It could be just an annex for some special edition of The Maze Runner, but a separate book seems like a waste for so little.

Also, I was hoping it would include the second epilogue from The Kill Order that was only in certain editions, and that I had to I enjoyed reading this, but I can't give it more than 3 stars, since it was excesively short and didn't really clarify much about the story. Also, I was hoping it would include the second epilogue from The Kill Order that was only in certain editions, and that I had to search and read online, despite it being important to the closure of that prequel: But instead, strangely, this books has a different story about that event that contradicts the other one, so I don't know what to think.

And what's up with Thomas's father calling him Thomas? Maybe it can be justified as a glitch in Thomas altered memories or something like that, but to me, it seems like a sloppy mistake. Nov 10, Neil or bleed rated it liked it Shelves: How sad. View all 9 comments. Apr 22, Franco Santos rated it did not like it. Jul 29, Nirvana rated it it was amazing Shelves: Y bueno, lo digo otra vez Aardig voor de echte fan.

Leuk dat ze hem hebben uitgebracht, maar mij doet het niet zo heel veel. Geeft wel meer inzicht in wicked. Jul 23, Meli rated it it was amazing. Es esclarecedor en algunos aspectos, bastante desgarrador en el resto y muy interesante. View all 3 comments. Jul 10, C. Maria rated it it was amazing. Well, yes. This is what I was talking about. How all this started and some in depth information and knowledge about the characters and WICKED and how the virus appeared really bad decision and awful - I made my skin crawl.

Read for the booktubeathon challenge to read the last book you bought. I really enjoyed this addition to the Maze Runner series. I haven't reread the series in ages so I was worried I'd forgotten most of the story and wouldn't understand this additional piece but it was actually really helpful in reminding me about what happened in the series. I loved the extra memories most of all, especially Minho's at the end. It's made me want to reread the series again. Haha ik heb nog nooit zo snel een boek gelezen!

In een halfuurtje had ik hem uit maar ik vond het wel echt een toevoeging aan het verhaal. Sommige vragen zijn beantwoord maar andere niet. En het einde maakte me weer zo nieuwsgierig naar meer! Een goede toevoeging aan De Labyrintrenner! Lees hier mijn recensie: English Thanks, James Dashner, for getting me out of my big reading block.

I do not need to say anything else, right? In the line of the saga: While it is a very short story that does not give much, it makes you know new data that leave you speechless and relive this wonderful series.

Si bien es una historia muy corta que no da p English Thanks, James Dashner, for getting me out of my big reading block. Si bien es una historia muy corta que no da para mucho, te hace conocer datos nuevos que te dejan boquiabierta y revivir esta maravillosa serie. Oct 17, Colleen Houck added it Shelves: If you are a Maze Runner fan then you should check this one out. It has some nice Pre Maze Runner scenes.

En realidad, poco y nada. Claramente solo vale la pena la tercera parte del librito. Nada del otro mundo. Lectura recomendada si eres fan de la saga, como para recordar lo emocionante que fue y suspirar al recordar momentos gente, pero sinceramente no vale ni la pena comprarlo. Excepto que Claramente solo vale la pena la tercera parte del librito.

Excepto que quieras tener la saga completa Na het lezen van de labyrintrenner trilogie was ik eigenlijk nog niet klaar met deze serie!

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Sample of an Abstract for a Psychology Research Paper. This cause-effect study was taken up to study the correlation between drug abuse and the factors that lead young adults — 18 to 22 years of age — to start substance abuse.

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The experiment will test whether a person can keep administering painful electric shocks to another person just because they are ordered to do so. The expectation is that very few will keep giving shocks, and that most participants will disobey the order. They were recruited by advertisement in a newspaper and were paid. Instruments A "shock generator" was used to trick the participants into thinking that they were giving an electric shock to another person in another room.

The shock generator had switches labeled with different voltages, starting at 30 volts and increasing in volt increments all the way up to volts. The switches were also labeled with terms which reminded the participant of how dangerous the shocks were. Procedures The participant met another "participant" in the waiting room before the experiment. Each participant got the role as a "teacher" who would then deliver a shock to the actor "learner" every time an incorrect answer to a question was produced.

The participant believed that he was delivering real shocks to the learner. As the experiment progressed, the teacher would hear the learner plead to be released and complain about a heart condition. Once the volt level had been reached, the learner banged on the wall and demanded to be released.

Beyond this point, the learner became completely silent and refused to answer any more questions. The experimenter then instructed the participant to treat this silence as an incorrect response and deliver a further shock.

When asking the experimenter if they should stop, they were instructed to continue. Of the 40 participants in the study, 26 delivered the maximum shocks. All 40 participants continued to give shocks up to volts.

Most of the participants became very agitated, stressed and angry at the experimenter. Many continued to follow orders throughout even though they were clearly uncomfortable. The study shows that people are able to harm others intentionally if ordered to do so.

It provides evidence that this dynamic is far more important than previously believed, and that personal ethics are less predictive of such behavior. Discussion and Conclusion What are our thought about the results compared to other relevant theories.

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