After the Crank (TMR Fanfic) [Completed]

Chapter 33

10.4.19

----------

319

Thomas fell down. He heard another explosion. Many people or cranks collapsed. It seemed some of them got a very bad injury. The blending of burning and blood smell spread throughout the air. His eyes were half open, peeking through the thick smoke. He tried to get a better vision. But, it was too far to get caught by the corner of his eyes. At least, he saw Vince and his group headed to the burning berg.

He desperately felt the urge to get up and run. He couldn't just wait for the announcement of WICKED's victory, that they killed everyone at the berg. The thought made him went crazy. A flash of Brenda's last image kept haunting him, making him more insane. He forced himself to get on his feet. He needed to do something, anything to save his friends. However, not that easy. Moving became impossible for him. The bullet that had pricked his bone wasn't the same bullet from the launcher. The bullet attacked his nerve, shutting it down. He was paralyzed.

When hands reached out, he did nothing. Even though he wanted so bad to reject them, he gave up on useless body. His best effort was to kept his eye open and peek around. Newt, he saw the boy was trying hard to open the berg. Save my friends, he desperately hopped.

The fox face pulled back his troops. They got into the light plan one by one. The injured cranks were ignored. He saw two guards carried Aris entering the plane. Then, he himself was taken to the same light plane. He stole the last glance over the Berg. The fire was getting more smolder.

He was dying just to move his fingertip. Still his effort earned nothing. The bullet locked him up in his own body. Unfortunately, it wasn't the worst part. His head started to produce some terrible images of his friends. He wanted to shut his mind down as much as he wanted to think about his friends.

He did want to save his friends. He wanted to take them out of the berg before fire burned them all. He wanted to make sure that his friends were fine. He wanted to ... all of the things he wanted to do tragically end up on the stone bed that merged to the plane's floor. He lied down on it with frustration became his blanket. He wanted to scream out loud. He wanted to cry. As hard as he tried, the scream stuck before it reached his throat.

Something pricked his skin. It felt cold. Quickly, he felt like he was flying. Everything blurred, shaking. Dizziness took over him. He finally could move his finger, but it was too late. Whatever the liquid that streamed down his blood stream won. He fought to keep conscious. Instead his eyes closed and the world slowly gone.

***

His eyes fluttered. Once his eyes fully opened, he closed them. The room was too bright. He needed a few seconds until he could adjust his eyes. The wall and the ceiling colored all white. He was lying on a bed, alone. Hands and legs tied up. He tilted his head and saw the wall ahead was made from the thick glass. He found no one out there.

Where am I? He was too dizzy to remember. Not wanting to force his mind, he just took a look around, searching for some clues. The bed, the wall, the ceiling, the glass wall, and he couldn't find the door. All seemed very suspicious. He must be at the enemy's place. And then he saw a note on his shirt. Three words that called his memory, 'Property of WICKED'.

It brought back the feeling that consumed him before, frustration. He was dying to know about his friends. All of people at the Berg, Brenda, Newt, Minho ... he wasn't ready for the bad news. He wanted his friend to be saved some way somehow even though the blurry vision he had the last time he was awake made him thought the opposite thing. If the bad news was what he got, he didn't hesitate to say his life would be over. There was no life without people he loved.