Admit Defeat (TMR fic 2)

Chapter 17

Six o'clock. We sit before the invisible barrier, staring at the man beyond it. I have one of my legs crossed, but the other is up so I can lean against it. I want to be as disrespectfully casual as I can.

They have not trained me to be polite. They have taught me to survive, to strip myself down into only the most necessary parts.

And they have created a fighter.

"Well," Rat Man says in a whiny voice, his rolling chair squeaking as he shifts to face us more directly. "The Gladers of Group A of the Maze Trials."

The boys around me glance at each other, questioning expressions written on their faces. I know they're wondering how he knows, and how much he knows.

I, on the other hand, only have eyes for Newt.

His expression is stone, and he doesn't move. He's already given up. He knows, just as I do, what the others don't want to admit.

"I work for WICKED," Rat Man says.

Silence ripples through the room, deadlier than uproar. Everyone flinches back, suspicious and angry. Newt blinks once but does not respond.

"You're with WICKED?" Minho growls after a moment. "Why should we listen to you? You'd better tell us what is going on, Rat Man."

Whatever Minho says, I know we'll listen to the scientist. We're too curious. I hate how obvious our reactions are, but I can't walk away either. I have to know.

"Now, now," Rat Man says. "Minho, right? My name is Janson. I'm here to share some very important information with you all, so it would serve you best to sit quietly and listen."

"Bold of you to assume Minho can do either of those things," I mutter, and a few of the Gladers laugh. Minho's shoulders also relax slightly, and I'm glad that he looks less murderous than he did a few seconds ago.

Rat Man glares at me before continuing. "Our world is plagued by a virus called the Flare, named after the sun flares that heralded it. WICKED is working to develop an inexpensive and accessible cure before the damage it does becomes irreparable."

"Why should we believe you?" Frypan asks.

"Because you've all been infected with the Flare virus to ensure your cooperation," Rat Man whines at us. I hate the way his voice grates on my ears. "Your first morning here you woke up to Cranks, victims of the disease. That will be your fate if you don't follow our instructions exactly."

Gladers whisper back and forth, words like 'disease' and 'instructions' often repeated. They don't trust him, but we have no reason to think he's lying about us being infected. It's exactly what WICKED would do to us. They've killed too many of our friends for us to think they're bluffing.

I'm not sure Newt is even breathing. He's perfectly still, just staring forward with blank eyes.

"You will need to run one hundred miles north through the Scorch," Rat Man continues, "in exactly one week. Once you reach the Safe Haven we'll administer the cure and you'll be free to live your own lives."

We're trapped. They've got us caught with no way out, except through the next level of their game.

I hate them for it.

They've always had control. All of it. Newt exhales slightly, finally visibly moving. He looks over at me, and panic hits me like a freight train.

I want nothing more than to let him comfort me, but I cannot. I cannot hand them the ammunition that they'll destroy me with. I have to break free of their game, and I have to be completely armored.

Newt is my weakness.

So I look away, purposefully angling myself so he'll know I don't want to interact with him.

If they realize I care about him...

If they discover how close we are...

Would the gun be pressed to my head, or to his? Which one of us would be the bait, and which one of us would have to choose?

I know what Newt would choose. He'd become whatever they wanted to protect me, to save his friends.

But me?

Would I follow their orders, or would I let him die?

I don't know, and it scares me.