WICKED games 2 (Newt x female reader) [COMPLETED]

1

"(Y/N), (Y/N)!" Someone is shaking me awake. I open my eyes, meeting Newt's anxious brown gaze.

"What?" I ask, panicking, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, they're bringing us inside a building. You need to come now!" He grabs my hand, pulling me to my feet and out of the helicopter, then across a short expanse of sand and into a hangar.

A strong grip rips me away from the others, and I kick back at my captor.

"Woah, chill." The person says, their voice muffled by a helmet, "we're just taking you to a separate room, you'll see them again soon." I relax slightly, but still don't go with the person. Across the hangar, Newt is casting glances back at me, being led by another armed and uniformed person. The boys are marched through a door, and I catch one last glimpse of Newt's blond hair before it slams shut behind him.

"What are you doing to us?" I ask, not really having a choice but to follow the guard through a second door.

"Nothing, I'm just escorting you to your room."

"Where's Teresa?" I don't get any more answers after that, and pretty soon I find myself shut inside a small room, a prison really, alone. I pace, look out the barred window, then sit on the small, hard bed. It's night outside, and suddenly I realise this is the first time I've actually seen the real sky.

I remember in the Maze; how perfect the illusion was. We didn't even know it wasn't real.

I look around the room, spotting a small shower and a bar of soap, as well as bottles labelled "shampoo" and "conditioner. I assume that the bucket next to the shower must be the toilet.

I look around a bit more, noticing a pile of clothes on the end of the bed. A plain pair of dark blue pants and shirt, as well as a pair of underpants and a bra, new sneakers, fresh socks, and a hair tie. On closer inspection, I see that everything is my size.

Shrugging, I strip of my blood, sand, oil and dirt covered clothes and pull my hair out of its braid. I turn the water on the shower – it's hot.

After I'm cleaned up, I dress in my new clothes, folding my ruined ones up and putting them on the floor. I braid my damp hair again, trying to get as many tangles as I can out with my fingers.

There really isn't much to do, so I just sit, staring at the impossibly boring opposite wall. 

I still have my digital watch from the Maze, and it's still working, I just need to clean the grime off the face of it. with a damp corner of my old shirt, I scrub away until I'm satisfied, although the face is pretty scratched up.

12.43. The numbers blink up at me, as if telling me to go to sleep. I lie down, closing my eyes.

"Subject A1," I sit up, rubbing my eyes. A guard stands in the doorway, a large black gun held across his or her chest. "you need to come with me."

"Why?" I ask, "And my name is (Y/N)."

"I can't tell you that," the guard says, "and for now you'll be referred to by your subject ID number. Please come with me."

I sigh, bending down to lace up my sneakers. I follow the guard out the door, down a long white corridor and into a small room, empty except for a table with two chairs, one on either side.

"Take a seat," the guard instructs, "A.D. Janson will be with you shortly."

I do as he or she says, watching the door slam shut. Whoever this A.D. Janson fellow is, he's taking his time.

It's been ten minutes when the door opens again, and a man walks in. He's about fifty, with greying hair and light stubble. He walks like he knows he's in charge and likes it, and something about his eyes make me think of a rat.

"Subject A1," he says, taking a seat opposite me and shuffling papers, "(Y/N)." He looks up, giving me a fake smile. I don't like him.

"What is this place?" I ask, deliberately keeping my face completely deadpan.

"Think of it as a safe haven. We will protect you from WICKED, the Flare, the Cranks, provide you with food, a bed..." He's hiding something.

"The Cranks?" I ask.

"The people who have the Flare. Savages, no human emotions left." It disturbs me how calmly and matter-of-factly he says it, like they're not sick people.

"The catch?" I fold my arms.

"Oh, there's no catch," liar, "we only ask that you cooperate with us." There it is.

"And if I don't?" I challenge, not breaking eye contact with him. He shuffles his papers again, glancing down at them.

"Well let's just say," he smiles again, "not all of you are immune to the Flare." My heart thuds.

"You're lying." I say, but in my heart, I know he isn't.

"Am I?"

I grind my teeth, I hate this man. "Who is it? Who isn't immune?"

"Now, (Y/N)," shakes a finger at me, "let's not be impolite. I come to understand that you have a close relationship with subject A5, or as you know him, Newt."

I'm so angry. I stand up, leaning across the table. "Don't," I say between gritted teeth, "don't you bring him into this."

"I won't harm subject A5, or any of your other friends if you cooperate with me." He doesn't even seem fazed at all. I drop back into my chair, avoiding looking at him. "Much better. I think we're done here." He takes his papers, standing up and heading to the door. He pauses, one hand one the frame. "And (Y/N)," I still don't look up, "you look so much like your mother." With that, he leaves.