Stolen [The Maze Runner Fanfiction]

I. The Box

Panic: pure, blind, terror. That instant before you are fully awake when you have no clue who you are, where you are, or what you're doing there. Well that's what I woke up to. Except it didn't go away when I got my bearings. I woke up with absolutely nothing, no idea where I was, who I was, or how I had gotten here. Wherever "here" was. The only thing I that my muddled brain can remember is my name: Skylar.

The more my thoughts come into focus, the more my senses begin to take in. I'm surrounded by Screeching, grinding, the sound of metal against metal, it's a truly awful sound. The metallic whirrs and dins echo around me like haunted whispers of a dying machine. It hurts my ears and causes my skin to crawl. Finally, all my senses return, throwing me into the instinctive panic of being in the dark. Some inherent fear of not knowing what was coming. Frantically, I crawl backwards, scooting myself rapidly along the ground with my hands, until finally my back slams into a cold metal wall. The collision jars my body, sending shock waves of pain racing up my spine. I turn around, scanning my brain for any recollection of what was going on or how I got here. I find nothing but blackness. Blackness in my mind, blackness all around me. I can't see anything, and all I can hear are the sounds of metal clashing against metal, and the sound of my own rapidly beating heart. At this point I begin to really panic: hyperventilating, shaking, sweating, I want to scream, cry, and throw up all at the same time. Why can't I remember anything?! My mind works perfectly, calculating my situation, remembering the details of how the world works, a busy city street, a warm summer day, but with no faces and no conversations to fill in the blanks. I can remember the what, but not the who, or where, or why. It's disorientating. It feels like chunks of my brain have been ripped from me.

Stop. Ok, Calm down. Panic will only get you killed. Who told me that? I try to put a face, a name, to the memory but nothing comes. The frustration that courses through my brain helps me to focus, if only temporarily. I push away the panic beginning to build in my chest. I need to concentrate. Instead of panicking, I decide to study the situation. I don't appear to be in any immediate danger, nothing or no one has attacked me yet, I don't think I'm injured, and I'm not drowning. Although, oddly, I am soaking wet, as if someone had just dumped a bucket of water on me. Maybe I had almost drown? Just another question to add to a rapidly growing list.

I feel the ground shudder beneath me, the metal behind my back vibrating with a terrible screech. Slowly, my eyes finally begin to adjust to the darkness, and I find that I'm sitting in some sort of metal container,which appears to be moving upward. My fear lessons when I realize the metal box I'm sitting in is small and that I'm alone. Ok, so I'm in a metal box going somewhere with absolutely no memory at all...this should be fun.

What did I do to deserve this? I think as the box continues to skyrocket upward. Was I a criminal? A prisoner? Had I been kidnapped? I guessed it doesn't matter now. The why didn't much matter at this point. Maybe later, but not now. I might as well move on and try to deal with it. Maybe I just hit my head and my memories will come back. I decided that sounded plausible, and calming, so I went with it. It was much better than trying to accept the fact that my memories were gone forever.

I look around for a clue, anything to help me figure out what's happening, and notice a few wooden crates in the box with me. I carefully stand up, taking a minute to regain my balance before crossing the box to inspect the smaller of the two crates.  They're labeled W.I.C.K.E.D. Wicked? The word sounds familiar, even though I can't quite put my finger on why. I knew it meant evil, but to me it triggered something else, a deeper recognition. A couple of minutes and a few splinters later, I have it opened. I find that it's full of food and supplies. Wait, how long am I supposed to be in here? Just then a small note catches my eye.

Supplies requested by group A

After couple more minutes, and a few more splinters, I have the second crate open. It is full of weapons: knives, swords, machetes and even a spear. Good, at least I can defend myself. That last thought scares me. What do I need these for? I wasn't a gladiator was I? No, that was a long time ago. Actually, maybe it wasn't, this could be a time machine for all I knew. I pick out a machete, and a knife that seems balanced enough to throw. How I know that? No clue. The weapons just feel so familiar in my hands. Like my brain knows what to do with them even if I don't. Who in the world was I?

I decide that if I'm going to need weapons, I might as well get in some practice. I pick a spot on one of the boxes. I take a few steps back and focus, breathing slowly in and out, then send the knife hurdling end over end toward the target. Thump. It's hits the target just a few inches away from the spot I was aiming for, not too bad all things considered. I throw it a few more times each with the same result. Somehow the repetition and my apparent competence with the weapons calms me down. I begin to relax just a tiny bit. Maybe I would be ok. But that was a lot of maybes.

My stomach lurches as a sudden jerk of the box sends me sprawling on the floor, my body tumbling into one of the crates. Luckily, I don't land on my knife. Groaning, I push myself up on my elbows, and back into a sitting position. Desperately I try to calm my stomach. Don't puke, don't puke, please don't puke.

Eventually, my stomach settles somewhat and I scramble back to my feet. Only then do I realize the box has stopped. I wait. Nothing happens. A thought occurs to me. If these supplies weren't meant for me then who are they for? Or worse what if I am the supplies? That is my last thought before a blinding white light eclipses everything around me.