A/N: Before you start, I just want to let you know this story follows the events of The Death Cure very closely from page one up until the second to last reunion between Thomas and Newt (slightly before page.250). And it's in Newt's perspective.
Although I didn't write this fanfiction line by line of every single event in detail from the original, the plot still falls in pretty closely.
So if there are any confusion on a certain part that is taking place in this fanfiction, feel free to look back at the actual book to know what's going on.
And of course, many spoilers are in fact, ahead.
Recording 1. Location - Padded Room
I have no idea where I am now, how long I have been out for, or what happened to get me in this bloody padded place with nothing but a shuck toilet and a door. But the last thing I remembered was me seated in the common room of that Berg after the hot showers, the fresh clothes, the medical attention, the cold drinks, and the food those WICKED shanks provided us. Everyone was just worn out after that in rooms, so I zoned out in my seat. How on earth did I pass out in a breeze? How did everyone in the room doze off just like that? It must be something they put in the food, or the stuff they shot up in to everyone's arms from the medical station, it has to be, WICKED would never just let us walk in and walk out. I should've known they are on to something...and the fact that I found a bloody notepad and a pen conveniently laid beside me the moment I woke up isn't making me feelin' any better. They probably know my habits better than I do at this point. I have nearly forgotten that we were being watched all this shuck time.
The buggin' iron door wouldn't budge one bit as expected. The pathetic light dangling overhead too high up to reach. Nothing special with the metal klunker in the corner either. All I can do is wait for now.
***
The same thing happened continuously. After I sat and waited long enough for God-knows-how-long, the same three meals have been delivered through the bottom of the door every day. I try estimating the time they would open up the little slot, but it is completely random. The date and time now at this point is a wild guess to me. I would say it has been at least two weeks or maybe even mid-way through the third now. If those bloody shanks are looking for a way to slowly kill and torture a soul, they got it. Because my head is racing with these questions, thoughts, and worries each minute that seem like hours just to get no answer even after more waiting. I swear I can feel these twisted thoughts working its way to the dark corners my brain as if they are chewing away at the flesh sometimes. I might actually go insane if I am in here any longer. Where is Minho? Where is Tommy? Where is Frypan? What about Group B? Are they safe? Are they close? What happened to Jorge and Brenda? Are they going through the exact same thing as I am? Just painfully waiting for nothing? Or are all of this some joke and they are either long freed or long dead? The possibilities of questions and anticipation of me wanting to see them is surging at me like something I can never describe through words and didn't know I could feel until now.
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Before | A Newt Fanfiction
FanfictionI wrote this originally for novel study in my English class. But I decided to extend the story in to pretty much The Death Cure in Newt's perspective; what his mind and him went through during the entire journey almost up until page.250. Since I th...
