Bionic (Maze Runner Fanfic)

Prologue

(A/N - edited)
(Nov.2020)

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I...really don't know what to say.
I guess I can start from the beginning.

There was a virus.
Nobody really knew much about it at the time, but I can't say that I'm certain. I was very young, and just like most new minds, I was trying to figure out the world around me.

I remember feeling cold.
I looked around, and there were people everywhere, surrounding us, but not looking. I was scared.

I looked up at my mother, that just like everybody else, was walking forward, and not looking at me. I remember she wore a big grey and warm coat, and all that I could do was stare at it while I gripped her hand tight. Thinking about it now, I don't know how I was able to keep my eyes dry.
She tells me that back then, we had been walking for half an hour, but I don't recall it.

Except for the smallest things, I don't remember anything from the world outside.
I remember when my mom burst into my room one day, telling me to grab my jacket. She started packing my things quickly. They were all things that I didn't find important, like clothes and products that I saw in the bathroom, while I wanted my dolls and colouring books.
I cried when she pushed me towards the door, so she let me bring my most prized posession from then, the green and orange teddy bear with the broken plastic circle on the belly. If I knew that, when I stole that glance behind me to look at my room, it was going to be my last, I would never leave.
But to make things easier, nobody ever told me that.

And everything after it was just a view of heads in a crowd and snippets of dark blue from the sky above.

"Mommy." I said, shaking her hand.
She never answered.

When we were done with that half hour, I found myself inside some metallic box with seats and large windows that showed nothing but black and the occasional light. The box moved up and down, and there was a reoccurring sound that my mind couldn't quite explain, metal perhaps. I didn't think it was funny. I kept quiet, and I just looked around.

My mother, breaking her silence, finally looked at me.
She smiled softly and sweetly, her eyes more red than usual.
"Hi, baby. Are you okay?"

I slowly nodded, wearing wide eyes to match.
"Where are we? I wanna go home."

My mother looked at her side, biting her bottom lip, before coming back to me.
"We're on a train. Mommy is gonna take you with her to her work."

I blinked, feeling almost grossed out.
"Why?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but ended up defeated.
"I-I...everything is going to be fine, sweetie, don't worry."

That's all I could remember. And just like that, I kissed my old life goodbye and was greeted with what awaited me for many years to come: a life spent inside walls, white lab coats, the smell of sterilized tools, alcohol and disinfectant, and the ever so painful glow of monitors and technology.

I guess it wasn't so bad at first.
The virus has no end on sight, so my mother decided that it would be a good idea to meet the people around me and start to learn somethings.

It wasn't pleasant for me, as a child, to be shown around to scary and shady looking adults, that only smiled and asked me questions that I didn't want to respond to. I would often hide behind my mother's legs until she pulled me out, turning me into the light and making me stay in the open for others to see.

The first few months were a mess. I would cry, scream and shout at night, afraid to be in a windowless bedroom, with only the dim light of the green emergency exit sign to keep me company and cast weird shadows around the room.

Then one day, it got better. My mother decided to introduce me to the other kids in the building.
They were the kids of other workers, cast inside this claustrophobic place for protection.
She dropped me off in a room, and with a smile, told me to go on.
I was frightened.

There were kids playing everywhere, talking with others, throwing things around, running or just making a lot of noise. I'm pretty sure we were all around the same age, as I would later learn that the older kids and over the age of five were already having classes for W.I.C.K.E.D.s own purposes.

There was one boy that seemed friendly enough.
I decided to approach him. He had brown hair and brown eyes, and sat on a table, with some colouring pencils.

I walked towards him, fiddling with my hands, until we stood three feet apart. Then I stopped and looked at him.
I didn't know what to do.

Some seconds passed, and he must have seen something on the corner of his eye or felt my scared gaze, because he lifted his head and stared right at me. I froze, wondering what I was meant to do in that particular situation. Just as I was about to open my mouth to speak, the boy looked back at his drawing, ignoring me. Not the best start of a friendship, I know, but back then, that didn't matter.

I looked back at my mother, that was eyeing me with hopeful eyes, ready to see if I could fit in with or not. As I wondered if turning around and running to her while crying was an available option, I heard a shuffling in front of me, and looked forward to see the boy standing with a neutral expression, his arm extended, and a green pencil in his hand, silently asking me to take it.

I carefully took it and then, after a look at my mother, I followed him to the table. None of us spoke until after we started dodling something.

"What's your name?" he asked, only lifting his eyes from the paper once.

"Pamela. But... mommy calls me Pam sometimes."

He kept doodling, only focusing on the drawing.

"I'm Drew. I don't know where my mommy and daddy went, but they'll come back soon. They said they would never leave me alone, and I am not supposed to talk to strangers."

He didn't said anything else for some time. My mother says that asking personal questions when you don't know somebody is rude. But how was I supposed to tell the difference between a normal question and a personal one?
So instead I kept quiet, hoping that he would say something soon. I felt awkward. What should I do, exactly?

"I'm almost this age." He smiled a lot while he lifted 5 fingers before going back to doodling "How old are you?" He asked, not bringing his eyes up.

The fact he wasn't looking at me was making me scared. What kind of person doesn't look at one another?

"Four." I mumbled.

He then lifted his eyes to me, and with a smile he spoke these words:
"Lets be friends."