little immune {the scorch trials} (request)

˜"*°• 24 •°*"˜

Moments after the world, Thomas's world, faded away into a deep abyss, he found himself standing in a blue room. Technically, the floor, walls, and ceiling were black, but the aisles of full of glowing substance gave the area a tint of azure.

Somehow, Thomas knew he'd been there before. In fact, he'd lived this very moment before. Deja vu came crashing in like a wave. He was frantic; he'd just done something wrong, something that would get him in trouble. If only he could remember what...

Then she was there. Teresa, dark hair loose around her shoulders, a faint smile on her lips. "Hey," she said.

Thomas rushed to her. "Hey. Did anyone see you come here?"

The smile fell from her face, confusion immediately replacing it. "No, what are you talking about?"

"We don't have a lot of time," Thomas told her.

Her face fell even further, melting into concern. "Thomas, what's wrong?"

He wasn't sure how to explain it without making her hate him. It was impossible. She was much too dedicated to the organization. Thomas, on the other hand, had had enough.

"I just had to see you," he started, "and just try to explain things before..."

He startled suddenly, seeing a figure in another aisle out of the corner of his eye. "Oh, no." Ignoring Teresa's questions, he pulled her away, to another part of the room. "Just listen to me, okay? Whatever they tell you about me, whatever they say, I just need you to know I had to do it. Okay?"

Her eyes were full of fear, along with something along the lines of disappointment. "What did you do?"

"I..." He shook his head. "I just couldn't keep watching them die."

Just then, a WICKED staff  member spotted the pair. "Over here!" he shouted to his comrades.

Thomas was snatched by the arms and pulled away, Teresa shouting in protest.

"I'm sorry," was the last thing Thomas said before she was no longer in view.

***

He woke with a start, clothes coated in sweat. Instantly, there was a small gentle hand on his shoulder, the touch calming and familiar.

"Tommy?" Y/n's soft eyes stared into Thomas's, full of worry and fear.

"I-I'm okay," he grunted.

Y/n still didn't look reassured. Just then, Minho's smirking face appeared over her shoulder. "Welcome back, you ugly shank."

Thomas sighed and sat up, but Y/n put her hands on his shoulders to try and push him back down. "You should rest, Tommy." He only shook his head in response.

"No, it's alright. I have to get up." Thomas stood, still holding tightly to Y/n's hand. He walked over to where the rest of the group was watching a very interesting scene unfold. Jorge seemed to be interrogating a man very aggressively. His victim was strapped to a chair, face bloodied and battered.

"I suggest that you talk!" Jorge berated. "You son of a bitch!" He punched the man hard across the face, nearly sending his chair toppling all the way over.

"I'm sorry," the man replied through gritted teeth, "you're going to have to leave my house."

Thomas, still observing the scene before him, found himself moving to stand next to Newt.

"Looks like you've been having fun," his friend said sarcastically.

"Lots," Thomas muttered.

"Listen," Jorge continued. "I don't enjoy hurting you. Okay? So jus make things easy for me. Where is the Right Arm, Marcus?"

Thomas's eyes widened. "Wait, this is Marcus?" He'd seen the guy earlier at the party, but he'd denied who he was.

Now, Marcus just laughed. "The kid catches on quick. Are you the brains of the operation?"

Jorge grabbed his hair and yanked his head back, getting up right in his face. "I know you know where they're hiding. So you tell me, and I'll make you a deal. You can come with us."

Marcus scoffed and shook his head. "I burned that bridge a long time ago. Besides, I made my own deal. You're the one who taught me; never miss an opportunity." His face broke into a diabolical smile.

"What's he talking about?" asked Newt. Thomas squeezed Y/n's hand a little tighter.

"I'm talking about supply and demand. WICKED wants all the immunes they can get. I help provide that for them. So I lure the kids in, they get drunk, they have a good time. And then, later, WICKED comes in. They separate the wheat from the chaff."

Jorge looked just as angry as Thomas felt. "I changed my mind, hermano. I do enjoy hurting you." He kicked Marcus square in the chest, sending his chair crashing to the floor and pulled a gun from his jacket. With the gun aimed at Marcus's face, Jorge yelled, "Talk!"

"Okay! Jesus!" Marcus finally relented. "But I'm not making any promises. These guys like to move around. They have an outpost in the mountains. But it's a long way away. You got half of WICKED on your ass. You're never gonna make it."

Jorge smirked deviously. "Not on foot. Where's Bertha?"

Marcus's entire face fell. "No, not Bertha."

Jorge nodded, clearly having too much fun. "Oh, we're taking Bertha. Have a nice life, Marcus. We probably won't be seeing each other again after this."

"Who's Bertha?" Y/n whispered to Thomas as they were getting ready to leave.

Thomas shrugged. "I guess we'll find out.