Destroyer - The Death Cure (Book 3)

Chapter 1: Anger

**This version of Unstoppable gets me right in the feels**
It definitely makes me feel Alex in this Book- she's confident, strong capable, but under her outer armour she's a broken scared girl. But she won't let you see it because she hides behind her sass, sarcasm, indifference and anger (kinda like a certain Keeper from the Maze)

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"No! Please! Please no!" He whimpered, "please not again!"

They called themselves doctors, but they never helped when he begged and pleaded or screamed in pain. They would just watch and take notes with blank eyes. Minho could never see anything other than their eyes, everything was covered in white. Everything was white. The room walls were white the floor was white, their clothing was white, even the lights that glared down at him were white. The only face he could see always looked in pain. Her once thick shiny black hair now hung lank and dull around her pale tired face. Her bright electric blue eyes were now gaunt, rimmed red with big black bags.

"I ...am sorry!" Teresa struggled. Her neck muscles were straining and her chest was heaving as she tried to form words and get them out.

"I.. can't...fight it...much longer...!" She gasped, her head twitching.

"Tes. Tes...It's not your fault." Minho whispered sadly.

Minho stopped fighting the other doctors, seeing how hard Teresa was trying to fight the mind control chip. He stopped and held still, he wasn't giving up, but he stopped to help the only friend he had in this shucked up place. He didn't want her to get into any more trouble or hurt because he was fighting. Her trembling hands finished strapping him down to the reclining chair bed. He saw a single tear leak over her eyelashes. Minho couldn't move now, only his head. As Teresa stepped away her hand brushed his. He grabbed her fingers. And gave them a squeeze.

"Min...ho...I'm..sorry!" She panted.

"It's not you." He repeated.

Dread was filling him even as he tried to reassure her. He knew it wasn't her. It was THEM. It was WICKED. And their relentless pursuit in the name of science.

For five months Minho was dragged out of bed, strapped to this chair, needles were inserted, pain inflicted and his mind tampered with. Lately he couldn't figure out what was real or not real. Some evenings when he was deposited back into his cell he couldn't figure out who was a friend or enemy, his memories were being played with.

He did know WICKED was still evil, the "doctors" in white were the ones doing this to him and Teresa was being controlled. He wasn't sure if his friends were coming for him. Week after week his hope diminished. If they were, why would it take so long? Did Alex still love him? Maybe not. His memories kept telling him she wasn't actually in love with him. She was working for WICKED, she was still a soldier who believed in everything WICKED was doing...that's why she wasn't there to save him.

His head was held down and strapped so he couldn't move. A doctor with cold latex gloves approached, holding a long needle, his eyes were even colder. Minho whimpered involuntarily. He knew the pain that would follow. The needle was inserted into his neck, he could feel the ice cold fluid entering his body, and spreading through his veins. Instantly all his muscles tensed and he arched his back letting out a scream of pain, struggling against the restraints. He screamed until his voice was gone. Every nerve and fiber of his being felt like it was set on fire, being ripped apart. And then the sharp stabbing pain in his mind hit. He closed his eyes, succumbing to the pain and the memories or dreams.

Alex was running the maze with him. She was laughing at him. She was faster. She was always faster. He watched her red hair fan out behind her. He loved watching her hair.