Chapter Text
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After Thomas pulled the trigger.
That was when Newt was sure that it was over for him. Sure that his pain was going to end, and that soon he'd be with his family.
The family he never remembered.
It didn't surprise him, though, when he woke up. Woke up to darkness. He laid in a bed. It reminded him of the beds back in the Glade. Just the right amount of softness.
He sat up, and felt around, his hands meeting nothing but the covers. He lifted his hands, and felt a bandage wrapped around his pounding head and over his eyes -- The reason for the darkness.
The whole situation reminded him of the time when Alby had found him in the Maze, after he jumped off the wall. He was in bed for a long while before he could go back to being Second In Command.
The sound of quiet voices brought him out of his thoughts. Not too quiet he couldn't understand them, though.
"Doctor, he's awake," The voice was a woman's.
Newt heard footsteps that came closer, until they stopped beside the bed he lay in.
"Well Mr. Newton, I must say I am astonished. I didn't think you would wake up this soon. You have proved me wrong," This time, the voice was that of a man.
Newt spoke, his voice rough, "Where are my friends?"
He heard the man laugh, a deep breathy sound.
"You don't want to know where you are? Or who I am?"
Newt wanted to laughed too -- he didn't need to ask that. He knew exactly who these people were. He felt anger rise in his chest.
"What are you bloody talking about? I know who you are. You're WICKED. You're the bloody shanks who threw us in the Maze and watched us like a child watching a pet mouse. You're the reason so many of my friends died."
This time the man sighed, "Well I can't say you're wrong. But, we did it for a good cause. Are doing it for a good cause. The ends justify the means. That's what we try instill in all of our subjects, that WICKED is good."
Newt suddenly wanted to punch the man's face in. He shifted forward and pulled back his arm. With the little strength he had left, he swung his fist toward the man's voice. But a hand caught hold of his fist, gripping it like iron.
"I wouldn't try that if I were you. My assistant here has full control of your vitals, and she can make you go to sleep so you definitely won't wake up again. Remember, Mr. Newton, I am trusting you enough not to use restraints on you."
Newt pulled his hand back, rubbing it.
"Fine," he said. "But I have some questions that I need answers to. "
"Go ahead," The man said stiffly.
Newt spoke, "First, why am I not dead? If I remember right, I was shot in the head by... someone."
The sentence came out in a constricted voice, and Newt immediately got a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. His best friend, maybe even the person he trusted the most in this broken world, had shot him.
Newt didn't feel any resent towards Thomas, only sympathy for what he had gone through.
Verily, Newt was the one who told Thomas to kill him. That if Thomas was ever his friend, to kill him. Though he hated how it was proven to him, this proved to Newt how good of a friend Thomas truly was to him.
No. Newt felt resent only towards the people who caused this. Towards WICKED.
Sighing again, the man, robot, monster --Newt didn't even know what to call him in his mind -- nodded even though Newt couldn't see him.
"Good question. You see, it takes one lucky person to survive a bullet to the head. Of course, it all depends on the velocity of the gun and the position of the bullet, the odds, all the boring stuff you wouldn't care to hear. Anyway, after your friend shot you, we had some of our men fly a berg over and pick up your body. You see, it shouldn't come as a shock to you we still have full access to your location tracking, brain waves, and such."
"So when we saw that you were still just barely alive, we brought you here. We then immediately started surgery. It was a very difficult procedure, but you pulled through.
We have known from the beginning that you are... special, so we did what we could to save you. Anyway, you will doubtless feel quite weak these next few days, since you woke up so soon after the surgery, but you will heal with time. I had my doubts about you waking up, but here you are. As I said, you were very, very lucky to have survived it. You can thank us for that."
The man finished his little speech with an obvious tone of pride.
It made Newt's stomach churn.
"Yeah, I'm bloody thankful," he said bitterly. "Now, what about me being sick? And what did you bloody mean when you said that I'm special?"
The man started to speak, but was cut off by the sudden sound of a distant alarm blaring. Newt heard a door slamming open and two quick whooshes of air, as if somebody had just shot two arrows. Or a gun with a silencer. He then heard two heavy thumps and the light tap of shoes on the floor.
The sound vanished after a moment and it was all over before Newt could process it all.
"Hey, what's going on?"
Silence.
"Hey! Somebody bloody say something!"
Nobody answered Newt's shout, but he didn't want to get up and walk around without being able to see anything.
Newt gently pulled the bandage up from his eyes. He immediately shut them; they had grown sensitive from seeing nothing but darkness for who knows how long and the artificial lights did nothing to help.
After a moment, he opened them again slowly. He looked around the room. Beside a slight fuzziness around the edges, his sight seemed not at all affected.
He was in a large room.
In the room was the bed he lay on, along with maybe ten others lined up against the walls.
A heart monitor beeped, signaling that his heart rate had sped up. An IV was attached to his arm, and there were two long desks with computer screens and keyboards, papers sprawled out all over the desks and on the floor.
On the floor beside the bed and the desks lay two bodies. A man and a woman. A metal dart stuck out of the back of each of their necks. Newt didn't know if they were dead, but he didn't want to find out.
There was a door in the corner that was slightly ajar, like someone had just left in a hurry.
Laying on the edge of the bed was a manila folder, Newt's name written across the front in big red letters. He reached over and grabbed it, slowly opening it. It contained two papers. One was a map of what he suspected was the building he was in, probably WICKED's headquarters. The other was a letter. He read the letter first. It read:
Dear Newt,
It is my belief that the Trials are officially over. Though my associates disagree, we currently have more than enough data to develop a blueprint for a cure. Your participation, and that of the other subjects, is no longer necessary.
With the help of some of our most skilled doctors, we were able to remove the bullet from your head in time to save you. It was a very complicated procedure and I had my doubts, but you fought through it.
You may be wondering why you don't appear to be infected with the Flare, and I am sure you will be pleased to hear this: you were never infected from the beginning. You were always immune. Well, not always. You see, you were the only subject to ever develop an immunity to the Flare. That is why we tried so hard to save you.
I have high hopes for your future. Regarding the sickness you did have, as I'm sure you're aware, we have the ability to develop almost anything we require to accomplish the Variables.
It shouldn't surprise you to hear that we had — a long way back — developed a virus that is nearly identical to the Flare. It is a version similar to that used as the griever venom. It is harmless if treated with a special vaccine, and it isn't contagious.
But with every powerful vaccine comes its side effects. You will experience vivid hallucinations and nightmares. I am sorry to say it, but it is the price one must pay. We used this virus as one last useful Variable.
My associates had other goals for it, but it proved to be very effective in accomplishing the goal I had planned for it, and that was to give Thomas the courage and motivation he needs to finish a great task that I have given him. He is doing it for you, and for all of the friends that he has so tragically lost.
Each of you have been through so much pain and suffering to get us where we are now, especially you. That is why I am giving you the instructions you need to get to the Safe Haven. The real Safe Haven.
When I became chancellor I realized the importance of creating a back door of sorts to this building. I placed this back door in an unused maintenance room. I am asking you to remove yourself from the building as soon as possible. Time is of the essence. I have enclosed a map that will lead you to this back door. It's a FlatTrans that will transport you to what I hope will be a new life.
If the plan that I have given Thomas and the others succeeds, then you won't be alone for long in the Safe Haven. Your friends will soon be there with you, and you can all strive to find peace and happiness.
Each one of you deserves another chance at a normal life.
I wish you the best of luck.
Ava Paige, chancellor
Newt stared at the paper, his mind swirling. He didn't trust this chancellor, not one bit. But did he have a choice? He could stay here and wait for... what? He looked at the map enclosed. Black marker traced a route. The route that, apparently, would lead him out of this place, away from WICKED.
Suddenly, the blaring alarm from before got louder until it boomed overhead, snapping him out of his thoughts. He decided he didn't have a choice but to follow the lady's instructions.
Newt stood slowly, stuffing the map and letter in the pocket of his scratchy hospital pajamas.
He suddenly realized that his whole body felt weak, his arms and legs feeling as if they were each fifty pounds heavier.
He remembered the doctor guy telling him that he'd feel weak for the next couple of days, because he had woken up so soon after the surgery. He suddenly wondered how long it had been since it happened. He pushed the thoughts aside. He didn't want to ever think about that incident again.
He walked over to the door, peaking outside. The hallway was empty.
He slipped out the door and into the hall, taking out the map and following the black line that the lady had drawn. As he followed the map, he almost laughed at how ironic it all was.
The very people who had caused all of his pain and suffering were now helping him find a new life. Helping him escape.
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