🌶️ Little Spicy scene thrown in here 🌶️
**Just for mazewriterrr **

Evelyn was terrified to see how many Gladers were left. She slowly shifted.

Her and Newt. Minho. Tessa. Thomas. Nick. Sonny. Jeff. Frypan. Chuck. Percy. James.  The new kid Aris.

Thirteen

Evelyn counted only thirteen. After all they'd been through, only thirteen were left. And that included the new kid, Aris. Evelyn had lived with sixty boys at one point. Out of the sixty boys...they were down to thirteen.

"Thirteen." Newt said dully.

"How many did we lose in the storm?" Minho asked.

"Eight. Eight Gladers." Newt snapped. "Unless some shanks ran into another building." He added softer.

Dude," Minho said. "How're we gonna fight our way through this city with only eleven people? There could be hundreds of Cranks in this place for all we know. Thousands. And we don't have a clue what to expect from them!"

Evelyn got abruptly to her feet. She could feel the anger quickly reforming. Her arm burned with an icy frost. Grabbing her arm with a gasp of pain. She ran across the building to the other side, despite the yells behind her. She ripped a door open and bolted through. She leaned against the wall and slid down, her knees pulled to her chest. Holding her aching arm to her chest, she lowered her head to her knees. Tears slid down her face, she could feel them freezing to her cheeks.

She heard hurried footsteps only for them to slow down and cautiously walk towards her. Warm hands were laid on either side of her face and her head was lifted.

"Oh Evy." Newt's voice broke. His eyes swam with tears.

"Newt...I can't! I can't keep doing this!"

"Doing what, my Angel?" He asked, his hands running through her hair.

"Pretending everything is okay! It's not! None of this is okay! WICKED killed more than half our family! We had sixty boys! And now we're down to thirteen- and that includes you and me! And...and...I'm so lost! And I feel so broken!"

"Then..I'll help hold you together until your whole."

"But I won't be! Ever!" She yelled. She pulled away from Newt's hands, and got to her feet.   "Newt!" She cried, fresh tears in her eyes. "I'm shucken dying! Our dream of a house with a door and lock isn't gonna happen! No way we can have a family, WICKED took that ability away from me years ago. I won't be able to watch the sunsets with you! Or dance with you in the moonlight. I'm dying, and I'm gonna turn into a wild animal with no humanity, I'll forget your beautiful eyes, and that shy cocky smile, I'll forget how you call me Love and Darling. I'm going to forget how your lips taste and how your hands feel in my hair."

She heaved a huge sob, her chest heaving and her shoulders were shaking.

"Newt! I'm going to forget everything good! And I'm scared! I'm terrified one time I won't be able to snap out of it and I'm going to hurt you!"

Without warning Newt gripped her hip and shoved her back into the wall, a hand already buried in her hair. His body pinned her to the wall. Her sobbing was cut off. Her lungs forgot to work. He was kissing her so aggressively it almost hurt. She made a whimpering noise. When he tried to pull away she pulled him back, her nails digging into his scalp. One hand buried in his hair the other gripped the back of his shirt. He groaned a little louder.

His tongue twisted around hers. Newt slid a hand up her shirt, while the had a fist full of her hair. She tried to make a moaning noise, but it was stuck in her throat. Newt was pushing her into the wall, except there was nowhere to go. He untangled his hand from her hair, he now had both hands up her shirt. She felt the rumble deep in his chest. She tried to arch her back into his touch but his body had her pinned to the wall too hard. His hands were more needy, more aggressive than usual. She wanted more. Her body craved more.

He broke their kiss to breath. She gasped for air, like she was drowning.

"Shuck Newt." She finally moaned.

Wrapping her arms around his neck she also lifted a leg and wrapped it around his waist. Pulling his hands out from her shirt he grabbed her hips and lifted her up; using the wall as support, she wrapped her legs around Newt's waist. His hands sliding down and under, holding under her thighs for support.

With a growl he kissed her hard again. Forcing her mouth open. Evelyn's hands buried into his hair pulling him closer.

"Uh guys?"

Newt ripped away. They were both breathing wildly. Looking around they saw Jeff standing in the door.

"You might wanna come see this..."

He spun around and left. He didn't even phase him that Newt had Evelyn pressed into the wall, her legs wrapped around him. Her shirt pulled up, both their hair dishevelled.

Evelyn unwrapped her legs and Newt placed her down. She fixed her shirt and threw her hair back into a messy bun and Newt took her hand and they went back into the main area without a word.

What was there to say? Everything she said and yelled and cried was truth. There was no exaggeration in her words. Newt was there, he saw all the boys deaths. He had seen what fully gone Cranks were like. There was no changing her fait. Just make the most of the limited time she had.

Walking into the main room, Evelyn noticed every Glader was on their feet, except Minho and there was a middle aged Hispanic man standing in front of the Gladers.

"Ahhh! Here's the hormonal little couple!" He cried and clapped his hands and rubbed them together.

Evelyn narrowed her eyes. Something about this man's face. His eyes. Something about them.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Jorge," he said, his arms outstretched as if he expected applause. "And I'm the Crank who rules this place."

_______________________

The Gladers were silent. All staring at the man who just confessed to being a crank. Evelyn let go of Newt's hand accepting her jacket back, slipping it on along with her bag. Once they were on she folded her arms. Still glaring at the man in front of them.

"You people forget how to talk?" Jorge asked, a smile on his face that looked completely out of place in the shattered building. "Or you just scared of the Cranks?"

"Hardly." Evelyn snapped. Teresa had handed her the hatchet. Which was still covered in Crank blood and black goo.

Jorge the crank eyed up the weapon when Evelyn swun it around and slid it into the loop on her back. It looked like she had taken the wind out if his sails. His grin had slipped. It was quickly replaced by a twisted one.

"Scared we'll pull you to the ground and eat your eyeballs out? Mmm, tasty. I love a good eyeball when the grub's runnin' short. Tastes like undercooked eggs."

"Huh. Guess I'll be the one to find out." Evelyn said, folding her arms and sticking a hip out.

She had no idea where this attitude was coming from. But she didn't feel scared, she was hungry, cranky, sore and tired. The frustration of being interrupted, yet again, was still at a high, she felt agitated and reckless.

"You admit you're a Crank? That you're freaking crazy?" Minho asked, raising an eyebrow. He was doing a great job at hiding how much pain he was in. Evelyn knew he would do what he had to. And right now it was put on a brave face.

"He just said he likes the taste of eyeballs." Frypan sputtered. "I think that qualifies as crazy."

Jorge laughed, and there was a definite tone of menace in it.

"Come, come, my new friends. I'd only eat your eyes if you were already dead. Course, I might help you get that way if I needed to. Understand what I'm saying?"

All mirth vanished from his expression, replaced with a look of stern warning. Almost as if he was daring them to confront him.

No one spoke for a long moment. Evelyn's jaw was grinding. Then Newt asked, "How many of you are here?"

Jorge's gaze snapped to Newt. "How many? How many Cranks? We're all Cranks around here, hermano."

"That's not what I meant and you know it," Newt replied flatly.

Jorge started pacing the room, taking in each Glader as he went.

"Lot of things you little kids," he had stopped in front of Chuck. Evelyn saw his eyes soften for a split second with a tug down of his lips. He blinked and it was gone, so fast Evelyn throught she imagined it.

"Things you need to understand about how things work in this city. About the Cranks and WICKED, about the government, about why they left us here to rot in our disease, kill each other, go completely and utterly insane. About how there's different levels of the Flare."

He came to stop in front of Evelyn, he looked at her with an intensity like he was trying to read her mind or tell her something without saying it. But he kept going with his little speech, but his voice took on a different tone.

"About how it's too late for you―the ill is gonna catch ya if you don't already have it."

"Isn't that interesting." She said quietly, her eyes narrowed, she had grabbed her infected arm.

"Indeed." Jorge said with a nod.

He stayed there for a second. They stared at each other. There was something about this crank. She could feel the fear and unease from the others. But she didn't feel it. Maybe the Flare was interrupting her ability to be an empath. Jorge the Cranks eyes changed again. They weren't crazy; intense, and yet there was a steady calm, a gentle stillness to them. Similar to Newt's.

"Do you ever get the feeling the whole world's against you?" He asked her quietly.

Evelyn couldn't help but snort in dirision. "Did you seriously just ask me that?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at the crank.

He hummed.

"So the way it's gonna work, around here... comprende?" Jorge finally tore his eyes from Evelyn and continued on, turning and stopping right by Minho's outstretched feet.

"Those who are at a disadvantage are those who speak first.  I have three questions. Where did you come from? Where are you going? How can I profit?"

Minho let out a low, dangerous-sounding chuckle. "We're the ones at a disadvantage?" Minho swiveled his head around mockingly. "Unless that lightning storm fried my retinas, I'd say there are thirteen of us and one of you. Maybe you should start talking."

Evelyn admired his cocky attitude, despite the mess he was in. But she knew this crank was smarter than he was letting on. She could see it in his eyes. There were definitely more cranks around, they just didn't see them. And probably all with wild weapons. She glanced around, only a few of the Gladers still had weapons from their scavenge in the Mall the other day. And now Evelyn's chest was tightening with anxiety and apprehension.

Jorge looked at Minho for a long time, his face blank.

"You didn't just say that to me, did you? Please tell me you didn't just speak to me like a dog. You have ten seconds to apologize."

Minho looked over at Thomas and Teresa and the others with a smirk.

"One," Jorge said. "Two. Three. Four. Five. Six."

"Do it," Thomas finally said aloud.

"Seven. Eight."

Jorge's voice was rising with each number. Evelyn thought he caught a glimpse of movement somewhere far above, just a blur of streaking shadow. Maybe Minho noticed it, too; any arrogance drained from his face.

"Nine."

"I'm sorry," Minho blurted out flatly.

"I don't think you meant that," Jorge said. Then he kicked Minho in the leg.

Evelyn's hands clenched into fists when her friend cried out in pain; the Crank must've gotten him right in a burnt spot. She felt her hands frost over.

"Say it with meaning, hermano."

Newt tried to grab Evelyn. But let go immediately with a small yelp.

Evelyn looked up at the Crank, hating him. Irrational thoughts started swimming through her mind; she wanted to attack, beat him like Thomas beat Alby after escaping the Maze. She wanted to wrap her hands around his neck like the lady from WICKED.

Jorge pulled his leg back and kicked Minho again, twice as hard in the same spot.

"Say it with meaning!" He screamed the last word with a harshness that sounded crazed.

Minho wailed, grabbing the wound with both hands. "I'm ... sorry," he said between heavy breaths, his voice strained and full of pain.

Evelyn flew forward. With an angry yell she slammed Jorge hard in the chest, sending him flying backwards. She kept a tight rain on her powers, but she had shocked him with the freezing cold.

Then Minho was on top of him, yelling a string of obscenities even Evelyn had never heard. Her best friend squeezed his thighs to trap Jorge's body, then started punching.

"Minho!" Sonny shouted. "Stop!"

He flew forwards and pulled Minho off. Evelyn had pulled her hatchet out. Still breathing wild, anger and rage still flowing through her veins, she held the hatchet in one hand and let her frosty hands get worse. She felt her eyes frosting over as well. Pain was shooting up her arm and into her wrist and hand, but she stood in front of what was left of her family.

There was movement up there, in several places. Then he saw people looking down, people readying to jump. Ropes appeared, dangled over the sides of the jagged holes.

She heard Sonny yelling at Minho to stop and look around there are more cranks.

Cranks dropped to the ground from above. Some of them did a wild jump-and-roll; others slid down ropes and landed squarely on their feet. All of them quickly gathered in a pack behind their leader, maybe fifteen of them. Men and women; a few were teenagers. All filthy and dressed in tattered clothing. Most of them skinny and frail-looking.

The Gladers packed together as well, all behind Evelyn. They stood behind what was once their shy quiet timid sunshine healer. She was now breathing heavily, her hands sparking in icy white frost and she was swinging a blood soaked hatchet in slow menacing circles. The happy sweet and innocent girl was gone, replaced by a wild trauma riddled woman slowly turning into a Crank.

The two groups faced each other. Jorge was eyeing Evelyn. And Evelyn didn't take her eyes off Jorge.

Evelyn was dying anyways; she didn't mind dying for her family.