A little note before we begin: This is my first fanfiction. I am open to constructive criticism and all that jazz so please don't hesitate to let me know what I can do to improve the story.
I do have it planned out from beginning to end, but I am willing to alter that plan. Also: I have no idea how this works.
I don't think I will get in trouble for posting this story but if I do, please don't blame me. I don't know how rights and all that junk works. But other than that, please enjoy the story!
*this begins right after 250 of the Death Cure. Only instead of shooting him, Thomas knocks Newt out and takes him with him to the Burg. They are currently in the van driving through Denver.
If you haven't read the books, this won't make sense to you.
I wake up, tied to the passenger seat of an unfamiliar van. The first thing I notice is a piercing pain coursing through my head. Next to me is a man I have never seen before in my life.
I hear a faint whispering behind me, and am able to pick out Tommy and Brenda's voices. But the rest are completely unfamiliar.
"Where the bloody hell am I?" I ask. The voices behind me stop. The man driving the car turns and looks at me. The car stays silent for a moment.
"Newt?" I hear Tommy ask behind me. "You okay, man?"
I try to turn around and look at him, but theses bloody ropes keep me facing forward. "Tommy? Is that you?"
"Yeah." He says. "How're you feeling?"
"I've been better." I say, rolling my eyes. "My head hurts worse than it ever had before. And I'm also tied down to a bloody seat. Other than that, I'm fine. Oh... wait.
Did I forget to mention that I'm slowly going insane? Yeah that might be important."
Tommy falls silent. Brenda scoots up to the spot right in the middle of the passenger seat and the driver seat.
"Get a hold of yourself, Newt. You can't give Thomas grief. He did nothing wrong. If anything, you ought to thank him." She says.
"Thank him?" I ask. "What for? He failed to do what I asked him."
"He saved your damn life! And you don't bother acknowledging that?"
"Yes, Brenda, that's the problem. He saved it, not took it." She rolls her eyes, but drops the topic.
"Why are we taking him along, again?" the man in the driver seat asks. "I mean, no offence, but this crank ain't doing nothing but start arguments."
"What did you just say?" I ask. The man turns to look at me.
"That you don't do nothing but start arguments?" He says, giving me a questioning stare.
"Listen here, shank. I'm the only one allowed to call myself a crank. If any of you call me that, you're going to get a beating in your bloody head. Got that?"
The man chuckles. "And since when do I take orders from a crank?"
I know I can't do anything about it. I know I should drop the topic. But ever since I started showing symptoms of the Flare, my temper started getting worse and worse.
I can't control myself as I feel my arms struggling against the ropes, trying to get to his face.
I somehow get them free, and reach my hands up to his neck. I feel the car swerve to the right as he lets go of the wheel to try and pry my hands off my neck. But I won't let go.
I keep my stone-hard grip as I watch his face turn from a white to purple. He starts making gagging noises, but I still don't let go.
Suddenly, something sharp stabs me in my arm. I feel a cold liquid course through my veins and make its way to my head.
I turn to my left and see Tommy holding a syringe, his face full of disappointment.
I feel very... tired. Too tired, in fact, to even sit up in my seat. I let myself fall back into the suddenly comfortable, padded chair.
My eyelids begin to grow very heavy, and I let them fall. The last thing I hear before I'm out completely is a man I don't recognize.
"I told you ya should've killed 'im."