tough world ✔️ | death cure minho

17.2

FRANKIE WAS ABOUT to exit the bathroom when a commotion from the other side of the door stopped her from her tracks.

She pressed her ear to the door and heard sets of heavy footsteps. There were at least three different people out there.

Shuck.

They had been made.

The airport security probably got curious over the noises Newt made whenever he got angry. Or maybe the sound she made every time she took a step in her monstrous orthosis.

She could try talking them into thinking that she was the only person on board, but since they were already inside, they could meet Newt any second now.

She had to get a weapon.

Launchers, in the storage.

Frankie took a deep breath and pushed the door open slowly.

She peeked.

Nobody was around. The commotion had shifted to the sleeping quarters.

Hurriedly, she limped towards the storage and opened the crate. Another bang sounded from the other side of the Berg, and she tucked in two guns into the sides of her pants. Then she chose a small, electrical Launcher.

She wasn't planning to kill anyone. Just stun them enough to run away with Newt, hide somewhere.

Pressing her back to the storage wall, Frankie waited. She had to know Newt's position and condition before she made a move. Rescuing him was her priority right now.

Please, Minho. Get back here. Reggie, Brenda, Jorge, Thomas.

There was a sound of something tumbling.

They're the protagonists, right? Protagonists' timing is usually perfect.

A shout, followed by hurried footsteps. Something hitting the floor. Newt's shouts.

They got him.

Frankie took a deep breath. No matter how many times she was caught in a sticky situation like this, and no matter how qualified she was for using firearms or knives, her heart always hammered hard against her ribcage.

She always had to convince herself that she could do it.

Minho, please.

Through the open door, Frankie could see the intruders, streaming out of the Captain's sleeping quarters.

There were four men, all clad in red security uniform. Each had a gun strapped to a holster on their pants.

Two were gripping Newt's arms, dragging him out into the common area. He was... wasn't hysteric now. Instead, he seemed calm, ready to be arrested, with tear streaks down his gaunt cheeks.

No.

"Check that wing, just in case," one of the them said.

Two security guys who didn't have their hands full with Newt strolled over to her side of the Berg.

One passed through into the bathroom and the other...

When he entered the storage room, Frankie shot him squarely on the chest. He screamed as electric shock erupted throughout his body, causing him to jerk uncontrollably on the ground.

"Ryder! Are you okay?"

Frankie hopped over the fallen Ryder guy, out into the hallway, and aimed to the bathroom guy.

The ambush had successfully taken down two men.

"HEY!"

One of Newt's captors took out his gun and fired.

Frankie ducked and stumbled into the pantry. The KAFO prevented her from bending her knee properly, so she hid behind a layer of plaster wall by the door.

"Airport security!" The man announced, "Miss, get out here while we're still being nice!"

Frankie pressed her lips together, tightening her grip on the Launcher in hand.

Gunshots rang as multiple bullet holes appeared on the door and the wall it was facing.

Thinking that the rat had been shot, the security guy pushed the door open slowly and stepped in with his gun aimed forward.

Frankie smacked his hands upward and the pistol blew off, planting a bullet on the ceiling. She jabbed him on the chest with her elbow and they both staggered back into the hallway.

The man fired furiously, despite knowing that he was just wasting his bullets right there on the walls and ceiling.

"What's your name?!"

Then he aimed his punches at her neck, her cheek, her stomach.

Frankie doubled over, but she used the opportunity to stand behind him. She placed her hands firmly around his neck, used her upperbody strength to lift her up so she had her good foot on his shoulder. She bent her knee, locking their position, and swung downward.

The momentum caused the man to follow her jerk, twirled one-eighty degrees, then, due to the dizziness, fell on his stomach to the ground. Frankie stepped back quickly and fired her Launcher.

Suddenly a bullet grazed her hand and she let the weapon fall to the ground with a yelp.

The last man standing wasn't apprehending Newt anymore.

"Put it down! Put the weapon down!"

Frankie took out the gun from her pants, but she was too late. The man shot her leg, twice.

Too bad for him he was aiming for her bad leg. The bullets got stuck between its metal structure, and even if it broke her skin, she couldn't feel anything.

She fired back, returning the favor to his unfortunately unprotected right leg.

The man shouted in pain as he fell to his knee, clutching his wound as blood began to pour out.

Frankie sighed in relief, "Newt—"

Something thumped and cracked against her chest. In an instant, she felt the burning power of a a thousand bolts of lightning striking her at once. She fell backward and sprawled on her back helplessly, her whole body convulsing and her vision was consumed by brilliant lights.

She couldn't blink. She couldn't close her eyelids to block it. Pain washed over her body —her arms, legs, and torso shook no matter how hard she strained to stop them.

The crackle and pop of electricity filled her ears, but soon a deep, thrumming hum pounded in her ears and rattled her head. Barely on the edge of consciousness, she felt the white-hot charges of heat diminished in strength and number gradually. Her vision started to return.

She couldn't believe it.

She just couldn't believe it. Newt was there, a gigantic electrical Launcher in hand.

He had shot her.