Changes (Newt x OC) (Maze Runner Fanfic)

Captured.

The girl led us through the Cranks, with all the confidence she had earlier when she walked in, and us, not so much. We all relaxed when we reached the bright door, but our worries weren't over.

She led us through a long hallway, the only sound was the thumping of our shoes on the metal floor.

"How did you catch them?" Thomas asked out of the blue as we walked up a flight of stares.

Our leader stopped walking and laughed. "Catch then? What do you think we are, stupid?"

"Well-" he began but he was cut off.

"We just take extra precautions when people start to turn," she said causally and began to lead us again, returning to complete silence.

We walked past a couple men playing cards spurned a table and sitting in two giant brown chairs. They looked up at us, giving us suspicious looks, and one even put a hand around a gun the was sitting next to the bottles of beer on the table. I'm assuming they were guard duty.

"Wait," Teresa began. "Those things out there are your friends? And you just chained them up?"

"No worse then cutting them loose to Crank Land," the girl responded, giving Teresa an 'are you stupid' look.

"What the heck is Crank Land?" Frypan muttered, his voice shaky.

Stopping in front of a sliding door, the girl sighed. "You guys aren't from around here, are you?" She yanked it open and walked through, leaving us to follow her, gaping at the sorry scene we walked into.

The levels of the warehouse were lit by flickering fires, and full of dirty, jacked up, actual living, normal people. They all turned to us, their eyes watching eerily as we followed the girl. Little camps were set up in the huge expanse, light from the lighting storm flashing above through the windows on the roof. Some people were huddled in groups, talking in hushed tones and eyeing us. It gave me the creeps, but also made me feel sorry for the people. Some kids stood around helplessly, others with adults, but mostly alone. It was worse than the destroyed city. The city wasn't living, it didn't have emotions or a brain for it to realize its normal life was over, but these people did.

As we began to walk up a new set of rickety, metal stairs, a big, toothless, bald man appeared, ducking out from the shadows. "So now we're taking in strays?" he growled, meeting Minho's gaze who stood in front of the man, showing no expression of fear.

"Back off Barkley," the girl called over her shoulder, "Jorge saw them first."

The man took a step back from Minho and scowled. I grabbed my friends arm and pulled him up the stairs with the rest of us, elbowing him in the gut, trying to get him to be reasonable, and not cause the usual trouble that he would.

"I don't like this," Minho muttered.

"Let's just see what this man has to say," Thomas whispered back, eyeing Brenda carefully.

"Who's Jorge?" Thomas asked, pushing his way to the front of our little single file line behind the girl.

"You'll see. People don't really come out of the Scorch alive, so you caught his attention," she paused, leading us up the stairs and to a new door, which with no hesitation, she opened, to a room full of torn apart junk, pieces of scrap metal, and a couple of couches. In front of a large window stood a huge desk full of radios and tools, sat a man in a black dress vest and snazzy dress pants and shoes. He was muttering quietly along with a fuzzy radio.

"Jorge-," Brenda began but the man shushed her.

"Shush! I almost go it!" A strong accent hunted his voice as he swore and the radio fuzzed out. "Damn it!" he shouted, banging the table, and unplugged the radio, then turned to us. "Do you ever have the feeling that the whole worlds against you?"

Yes, I've had that feeling lots. I had to restrain myself from nodding as Brenda made us step farther into the room, and she plopped herself casually onto a sofa.

"Three questions. Where did you come from? Where are you going?" He stepped up closer as he poured himself a glass of either water or vodka into a very nice glass. "How can I profit?" He looked at us with raised eyebrows and an expectant look. "Don't all answer at once!" he exclaimed, taking a swig from his glass. This man was definitely Jorge.

After a long silence, Thomas answered for us. "We're headed for the mountains. We're looking for the Right Arm." Thomas sighed, giving into the man. A couple scattered chuckles and taunts spread across the crowd of men behind us, and Brenda gave Jorge a questioning look.

Jorge laughed. "You mean you're looking for ghosts." More laughter, then awakened silence. "Now, where did you come from?"

"That's our business," Thomas stated while me and Minho stared Jorge down, putting on our best glares.

Jorge wasn't fazed. He just stuck out his bottom lip, looking disappointed, then nodded, very, very slightly. Then two men pushed us away from Thomas, grabbing his arms, and pushing him to the ground, and onto his knees, while he struggled against them.

"Get off him!" I yelled and tried to attack the men, but I was also grabbed by the man named Barkley by the waist, getting an angry reaction out of Newt. Soon the entire group was being held back.

"Shut up you big baby," Brenda muttered as Thomas squirmed, and pulled something out her pocket, something metal with a screen. She grabbed his jacket collar down, revealing the back of his neck, and held the thing above his neck. A green lazer ran up and down his neck, then it disappeared, and the thing made a beep. It was a scanner. "You were right," she mumbled, then handed Jorge the scanner and his eyes were lit up with the screen, then looked up at us.

"Sorry muchachos," he smirked. "Looks like your tagged. And that means your very, very valuable."

I looked at Newt and we have each other worried glances. That did not sound good. At all.

"What does that mean?" Minho snarled. "Tagged?"

"One word missy," Barkley snickered in my ear, his disgusting breath stoning my nostrils. "WICKED."

At that they yanked us back down the stairs, as we struggled, kicking, biting, slapping. It was horrible. It took them only ten minutes to put us in the worst captivity I have ever been in. They hung us, upside down, from the roof, my the ankle, over a drop, in the middle of a dark smelly room in the warehouse.

"This great," Minho grunted sarcastically, bending his body in the weirdest ways, trying to reach the cord around his foot, making him just spin around in circles helplessly. "'Just hear what the man has to say.' Really working out for us Thomas."

"Shut up, Minho," Thomas muttered, clearly not amused by his sarcasm.

I sighed loudly, rolling my eyes, "All of you need to shut up."

"This is bloody hell," Newt said when we met gazes. I snickered, and gave him a nod, which was insanely difficult in the position I was in.

"Bloody hell indeed."