CANON COMPLIANT: A Group B fanfiction following Minho's equivalent, Rogue. Read the Scorch Trials through the perspective of Group B.
"Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them. Her friends and their bodies. She saw Rachel and Ada, their cold, de...
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Rogue woke to a high, thin ringing, making her wonder if it was coming from the room or from inside her own skull. Her eyelids fluttered; the ceiling twisted, blurred, then steadied in a sickening sway. The back of her head throbbed with a deep, punishing ache.
She tried to swallow, but something forced her tongue down. A gag. Thick fabric, tied tight. Panic spiked hard through her chest.
As her vision cleared, the reality of her position snapped into place.
She was strapped into the same machine Florence had been bound to, limbs pulled apart, metal cuffs biting into skin, tubes running up and into her body with an uncanny coldness that made her stomach flip. Her breath hitched sharply, the gag dampening the sound.
Then she saw the floor.
Dark, dried stains had soaked into the concrete beneath the machine. Vanessa's blood. The body was gone, but the ghost of it remained, brown around the edges.
The door slammed open.
Huck burst in like a man kicked awake mid-nightmare. His shirt was rumpled, hair messy, and that smug, lazy cruelty he'd always worn was missing. What replaced it was something meaner.
Rogue tried to speak, tried to demand answers, curse him, anything, but the gag smothered every attempt. He didn't even glance at her.
He went straight to the machine, fingers moving fast over the controls, muttering every so often under his breath. He reached into a metal compartment and pulled out a container filled with blood, a disturbingly large amount. All Florence's.
He tipped it slightly, as if testing the weight. "Your friend's blood," he said, voice rough with satisfaction, "is going to make me a pretty penny."
Rogue pushed against the restraints, fury rising like bile. Her wrists scraped against metal. Her throat burned with the sound she was trying to force out. Huck only gave the smallest, exhausted smile.
Gwen sat in a chair in the corner, watching quietly, legs and arms crossed. Her eyes never left Rogue's face. Rogue glared, the hatred so sharp it nearly steadied her nausea. Gwen stared back, unbothered, head tilting slightly.
Huck dragged over another empty container, shoved it into place, and locked it in with a metallic click. He hit a switch.
The machine woke with a low whirr that vibrated through Rogue's bones. A pulse followed, and then an unmistakable pull began deep in her veins.
The pain hit instantly.
A dragging, wrenching sensation ripped through her arms first, then her chest, as if her blood were being yanked straight out through her nerves. Her vision flickered. Heat drained from her limbs. She felt herself going light-headed, weaker with each second, understanding in a brutal flash why Florence had screamed so loud.
