The Maze Runner Imagines and Preferences

Newt: Pacing

Hey Guys! Thank you ever so much for just under 2k reads!! I love you so much and I wasn't even expecting two to be honest. Anyways.
This isn't exactly an imagine it's just something I started writing and it's basically about Newt in the Crank Palace.

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The sound of Cranks were orbiting him, taunting him. Newt's throat was dry and his feet were soar from endless pacing. That's all he did. Day after day. He paced. Thinking. Pacing. More thinking. Too much thinking. Please stop thinking.

Pacing.

His body jerked as he refused to let out a sob. He felt his upper lip twitch in anger for WICKED. His face was burning red and he wanted to rip them apart, he wanted to- NO.
He was thinking like one of them.

Pacing.

Thinking.

Pacing.

A crowd of Cranks had gathered to watch the boy as he walked back and forth, oblivious to what was in his path. His eyes rarely blinked and his jaw was locked.
Their ravenous eyes followed him, back and forth. They looked as though they were waiting for something, waiting for him to break. They'd all been there, but they were way past the gone so it didn't matter to them anymore.

Pacing.

Thinking.

Pacing.

"Hey! Quit it will ya!?" A guard shouted towards Newt, raising his gun threateningly. The Cranks sneered but Newt didn't notice.

Pacing.

Thinking.

"I said quit it!" The guard raised his voice and stormed over to Newt. Yet even then he was too spaced out to realise.
The guard hit him over the head with the butt of the gun and Newt collapsed to the floor.
Cranks cheered and cackled and more and more were turning their attention to the commotion.

Newt snapped out of his gaze and went into something else that wasn't...him.
He lost it. He threw himself at the guard, scratching and kicking and screaming...biting, even.
The guard cried out in pain and reached for his gun which had fallen from his grip. Newt pinned him down. But it wasn't Newt. It was someone else- something else.

Newt started screaming at him, thrashing his arms and legs about wildly.

He then stopped as quickly as he'd started. He sat back in realisation at what he'd done. Guilt flooded his face and he could do nothing but stare.
"I-I'm sorry." He remorsed, shaking his head in disbelief. He backed away from the guard on his hands and feet, he then noticed all the attentive eyes on him. Every crank in the palace was watching him like a hawk. All were silent.

Every single crazy long gone crank that hadn't stopped wailing on since the minute he arrived here were dead quiet. It was an eery silence, the one you'd expect before absolute chaos.

Newt then looked down at the guard, noticing a change. He wasn't moving.

His lifeless body was barely recognisable as being one, his clothes were filthy rags and his skin was as red as the blood that surrounded him. Only some of his hair remained in spaced out blotches and his eyes were wide open with terror.

It didn't take long for the Cranks to notice too and they began cheering Newt with their chants and shouts. Newt stood up slowly and they grew louder, inching closer to the dead body. In less than a second they were tearing away at the guard, finishing him off like vultures.

Cranks fought Cranks for the best limb or the sharpest tooth or the nicest eyeball. It disgusted Newt, they weren't people. They were Cranks...and so was he.

He turned away from them and began pacing.

Thinking.

Pacing.

Thinking.

Pacing.

Thinking

Pacing.

Thinking.

Pacing