Till World's End [Skylar's Story//The maze runner (death cure) fanfic]

2. Concrete and Evidence

"Well if you won't help us... Maybe your boyfriend will." Janson's cold voice echoes through the concrete room, sending chills down my spine.

I don't reply, hoping it is just another of their empty threats. Surely, after what I told them, the group has fled as far away from WICKED as possible. Surely they don't really have Minho? I'm laying on the floor, only a thin blanket between me and the damp concrete of my cell. This is where they kept me between sessions. At first, I spent more time in the white walled room than this one, but now, they hardly ever pulled me out except to remind me that they were in control here. Whatever. To me, it was just a reminder of how afraid they really were of not being in control.

"If you still remember him." Janson sneers. They could no longer erase my memories through the chip in my brain, but that didn't mean they wouldn't try other tactics. So far, they had failed, but I didn't know how much longer I could hold on. It had been years since WICKED captured me. Wait no, weeks. I open my eyes just a sliver, peaking at the lines I've scratched into the wall. No, not years, not even weeks. Days, it's been days. Shuck it, I'm going to die. I can't even remember how long I've been stuck in here.

"Giving me the silent treatment eh?" Janson asks, kicking the bars on the outside of my cell, and sending a metal vibration reverberating around the cage. I sit absolutely still, knowing how much it bothers him when I don't reply.

"You just wait." Janson sneers again, "I'll win, you'll see." And with that he turns, leaving the room and slamming the door behind him. Good luck to you.

I wince and sit up, rubbing my temple with my right hand, the only one not broken. I attempt to wipe some of the blood from a cut on my lip, dabbing it with the tattered edge of my already bloodstained shirt. I know I must look awful, maybe even worse than I did after the maze. My usually wavy hair is matted and tangled, a result of being denied a shower for so long, not to mention the missing chunks that have been ripped out. Some, by me in frustration, others by WICKED in an attempt to gain my cooperation. Great persuasion skills WICKED, really. I move to where the little food I receive daily sits at the edge of my cell, groaning with every movement as my various injuries see the need to make their presence known.

I look up straight into the camera near my door, "I really hate you."

I sit back, thinking of everything I've remembered. Everything I knew about the flare, about Immunes, about my role and the roles of those around us in WICKED. A fresh wave of guilt washed over me as I thought about it. The fact that I had once supported them, at least to a degree. Nearly everything I remembered only served to make me miserable. My only comfort was in a few select memories.

Memories of friendship, and memories of rebellion. I didn't remember everything, far from it in fact, but I remembered enough to know I didn't always comply with WICKED, and that some of my best friends now, had been my best friends even then. They had kept all the girls separate, but that apparently hadn't stopped me and Kate from sneaking out quite regularly and hanging out with some of the boys. We had been best friends before, so it didn't surprise me that we had gotten along so well in the maze. Thinking of her brought a fresh wave of sadness, and I tried to push it away with happier memories.

Newt, Minho, Alby, Thomas, and James were the people who most frequently joined our mischief. It's funny, thinking back to the few memories I have of them before the maze. Minho was just as sarcastic if not more so, and Newt was still the leader even then. I smile when I think about how little WICKED was able to change us, and how we all ended up back together anyway, no matter how hard they'd tried to make us forget. They may have erased our memories of each other, but I knew, somehow, they would never be able to fully erase the connections we'd made.

I couldn't remember the specifics much, and I wondered how close Minho and I had been before the maze. Did I like him then? Did he like me? I let myself ponder the questions for a short time, before pushing them away completely.

I couldn't afford to think about him right now, I needed to stay strong.

I returned my thoughts to the rebellion side of my memories. I remembered that I had once been a top WICKED candidate, right up there with Brenda, Teresa and some of the others, but I hadn't taken it, choosing instead to stand with the majority, which had gotten me in a lot of trouble, and gotten me thrown in the maze. I smile when I remember the look on Newt's face, when I broke rank and walked over to him and Minho, leaning against the wall and refusing to leave them. Thomas and Teresa, had chosen to stand by and watch instead.

Strangely, I did not have one single memory involving Mal, and never remembered even seeing her. Maybe they found her after I'd already been sent in? It was unlikely, considering she came up right after me, but possible, and the only solution I could come up with as to her absence.

I try to reel in my thoughts, and burry them down deep for a later time. I miss my friends too much to think about them. Wherever they are, I just hope they are safe.

Another thought surfaces, one that disturbs me even more than thoughts of my friends.

The flare wasn't an accident.