A/N: Okay, so this my version of what I think happened to Blondie, Amber and Rocket. I was watching the Maximum Movie Mode and Zack Synder said that he deliberately made it ambiguous when Blondie and Amber are killed, so the audience could come up with their own theories and this is mine; if anything happened to any of the other girls then in her head, Babydoll would kill them off because most of it takes place inside her head. She's an unreliable narrator with a week time limit so if any of the girls were injured, she'd never see them again because no matter what happens to her, she won't see them again as they won't be involved in the escape anymore; they'll be in the ward or an isolation cell.
Blondie's eyes flicked open. The events of the previous night rushed to the forefront of her mind causing her to bolt upward. Which was a bad idea. Her head began to violently pound, her back was killing her, her jaw... Oww. Her eyes began to burn. A few seconds past, then she broke. Blubbering and sobbing with no sign of stopping. Her hands began to shake. Then a sudden thought hit her.
What happened to everyone?
She remembered Blue threatening them... Then nothing. She glanced over the room, she didn't recognise it. It was very small, already cramped with the little that was in it now. Darkly painted and it looked like all of the furniture had been recently moved out. There were no windows but there was a broken mirror. Laid in the next bed was Amber. She was fast asleep but looking pale. There was nothing visibly wrong, at least that she could see yet the sheets covered most of her so it could have been anything.
Blondie was laid in a hospital bed; an IV was attached in the crook of each arm. She grabbed the right needle and ripped it out of her bruised, olive-toned arm; suppressing a shriek. Immediately pain flooded her body. Ignoring it, Blondie proceeded to rip out the other before moving her covers back. She shuffled out of the bed, her small feet landed on the cold floor. Her legs immediately gave out from under her. She barely managed to catch herself, her battered fingers only just managing to grip the crisp, white sheets.
Silently screaming in frustration, she forced herself to her feet, using the bed to steady herself as she walked over to the broken mirror on the wall opposite her. The needle marks in her elbows were burning. She crossed her arms, putting them over the puncture wounds and applying pressure.
Swallowing heavily, Blondie prepared herself for what she would see. Five, four, three, two, one... Her olive-toned skin was sickly pale and there were very stark, dark shadows surrounding her blood-shot dark brown eyes. A cold sweat covered her. Her inky black hair was limp, sweaty and ... Was that blood? She only wore her dark grey asylum uniform. Her feet were bare. No shoes or the regulation knee-high socks... More blood...
She peered at her feet again. The black nail polish was still there. They were caked in dried mud and blood. She had rope burns around her ankles as though they'd been tied and she'd fought against them. She looked at her hands – they were still shaking. Rope burns around her wrists, skin and blood under her black-painted fingernails. She stared at her reflection. Her entire body and face was covered in big, black bruises. She had a black eye, a busted up lip. Why did she have rope burns and blood under her fingernails? She cast her mind back to last night, she remembered Blue cornering her and then... Blank... Nothing... Oh, God! What had happened?
Blondie paused before unbuttoning the asylum dress, ignoring the pain that blossomed when she did. Five, four, three, two, one... She looked down. Angry, scarlet wounds glared up at her. There was some dry blood – that had to be hers, judging by the wounds. She turned around and looked at her skinny back; exactly the same. What had had happened?
"Excuse me, what are you doing?" A female voice asked.
"Oh. I – urm..." She mentally cursed herself.
"Get back in bed. You shouldn't be up and walking in your condition." The nurse said. She looked sweet and motherly; ironic in this place.
"My condition?" Blondie echoed.
"You don't remember?" She asked then sighed. "PSTD, probably. Blue took you off-site last night. You apparently ran all the way back here and burst into the reception, hysterical. Your dress was covered in blood; you looked like you'd just been run over. You were crying, bleeding and you had two broken fingers on each hand. There were burn marks all over you, like someone had gone at you with a hot poker. You were screaming about Blue kidnapping you and how he and his men tortured you for information on Mary's escape plan. You said that you escaped and just ran all the way here." The nurse paused, her eyes sad. "You fainted and they brought you in here."
For a second, Blondie thought she was hallucinating. "What?" She forced the word through her bruised, full lips. "No, no... No!"
"I'm so sorry." The nurse whispered and pulled her into a tight hug that hurt like hell. Angry fire igniting all over. After a few moments, she let go. "I have to get back to work but I'll send Dr. Gorski, she knows more."
The nurse gave her another quick hug before starting to walk out. She bit her lip before deciding.
"What's my name?" She asked. The nurse turned around.
"What?" She questioned.
"My name." Blondie repeated. "What is it? Jones has been calling me Blondie for so long. I- I don't remember my name."
"Cynthia Lopez." The nurse replied and exited. Blondie sighed and leaned against the bed, she stared at Amber's unconscious form. What did I do?
"Amber," She breathed. "What have I done? Did I tell?"
The door burst open and Dr. Gorski ran in, or rather walking as fast as she could in her high heels, and hugging her tightly when she approached. The gesture was odd and set Blondie's teeth on edge, making her skin feel itchy... How long had it been since she had been hugged? Over ten years? Possibly...
She could clearly remember the last time she had been hugged, it was a month or so before her mother had gotten hooked on drugs, before she'd begun to sell her body and beat up her only daughter as she screamed as a young Blondie that it was her fault that her father had been killed in a drive-by shooting. She remembered that day clearly, she'd been about seven and had walked in on her mother having sex with a stranger on the living room couch.
The stranger had looked at her and smiled, afterwards saying that he hoped she'd be like her mother one day... Only now grasping what he meant, she shivered and suppressed the urge to vomit as she leaned into the doctor's hug.
"You're okay," She said in her heavy accent. "Good, good. Now we have to wait and see who else pulls through."
"What do you mean?" She asked, once she found her voice. Dr. Gorski released her tight grip and moved some curls out of her face, like her mother had done on her first day of school. 'I will not cry, I will not cry.' She thought. 'I refuse to cry.'
Blondie took a hold of Dr. Gorski's hands in her own tiny, bruised ones. "What happened?"
The Polish woman sighed. "Amber was shot by Blue, bullet to the stomach. The doctors removed it but we're still waiting to see if she stabilises and pulls through. Anna got stabbed by the chef. She's been stitched up but we're still waiting on any signs."
It took Blondie a moment to realise that Gorski meant Rocket. She had completely forgotten everybody else's names as well as her own.
"Abigail escaped. We don't know where she is but she escaped when Mary allowed the guards to catch her when she was at the front gates."
"...Mary almost got out?" She whispered. "W-what happened?"
"She gave herself up and they lobotomised her. We were too late when we figured out that Blue had forged my signature. God knows how many times he's done that. But don't worry about him, we won't be seeing him for a long time – he's going to prison and hopefully, he'll hang for his crimes."
"He deserves to die." She agreed. "... Could I see Mary? Please?"
She followed Dr. Gorski in as she opened one of the doors down the dark hall and hushed her in. The room was small; a single, untouched bed and a wet-room. Mary sat in the centre of the room, on a thin, plastic chair and hooked up to an IV. Her giant eyes were blank and glassy, her face emotional-less. Her tow-headed hair hung in low pigtails. She couldn't do anything, couldn't see anything. It was like looking at a coma patient who had their eyes open. It killed her, seeing Mary like this.
"We've had a tiny bit of improvement." Gorski said, "She said one word the other day."
"Really?" A tiny piece of hope filled her until she crushed it. She don't afford to be hopeful. "What did she say?"
"Paradise." She sighed.
She couldn't look at her, the more she looked at the girl in the chair, the more guilt and pain rose up inside her. This is all her fault. I wish I had never met anyone of them. Then she couldn't have failed them, couldn't have gotten them killed, couldn't have been tortured. But it happened.
And she couldn't change any of it.