𝐃𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐈𝐀 - TMR, Gally ² / ³

𝟢𝟣𝟦，𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐚 𝐬𝐧𝐚𝐤𝐞, 𝐣𝐨𝐚𝐧

"How long until we break into WCKD?" She wonders impatiently. "And when do we kidnap Teresa? How much time do we have left?"

"I can see that you and Thomas are family," Vince mumbles, quiet enough for only her to hear.

She should probably tell Thomas that they're cousins soon, though.

"We need another three days," Newt says. "That's all the time we have. Why?"

"Well, I never agreed to working with you. I never asked to be kidnapped, and I have a group of more than a hundred people waiting for me to destroy WCKD with them. So, farewell!"

"Hey, you can't just—"

"I can," she interrupts. "Y'all said you would keep me here if I didn't cooperate, but you in fact untied me and thought I said I'd help. I might, but first, I'm going back to my hotel."

"We need you, Joan. You might be the most skilled of us all."

"Jorge, Vince, and Brenda are way better," she snaps, attempting to reach the door.

"But you're the only one who— who... you know."

Confused, she glares at Thomas and Newt. "Who what?"

"Who's ready to kill anyone in the way," Jeff finishes.

She shakes her head. "Y'all should just stay here and let the Cranks I cured handle it."

"You cured them? You have a cure?"

"Serum," she corrects. "And I know how to get a cure. And that's why y'all can't risk dying."

Vince's eyebrows furrow. "You do know that if you didn't permanently cure them, they'll be Cranks again, right? If you go back, they might kill you."

"I'll be fine." She shows him the knives and gun in her waistband. "Besides, I've only been gone for a week. Most of my people only start getting a temper in the first week of not getting a serum."

"So you're planning to just take loads of your own blood in one single day?"

She sighs. "I've got it, alright? And no, I'm not taking my own blood again. I already have it. It's just in my room."

"I'm quite confused at the moment," Jeff comments.

"Those bags," Joan replies. "I got a few of them filled with my blood. I can give them that. Just let me leave. I promise I'll come back once I've convinced them to come here, too. Or I'll come back after getting them under control. I won't leave Gally behind again."

They all share a glance. Hopeful, she waits for them to reply. If they don't agree, she'll go anyways, but it would be nice to not to something secretly for once.

"Fine," Thomas says, which makes him receive a few glares from the rest. "But if you don't come back—"

"Yeah, yeah— I'll be back," she says. "I promise."

With a final sigh, Vince nods. "Fine. But be careful."

***

Something is off. She can sense it the second she approaches the hotel's entry. The windows are dark, there's a strange smell in the air, and it's suspiciously quiet.

The girl slowly opens the door. She takes a deep breath as she steps inside, then turns her flashlight on, which she brought just in case.

On the floor, there's blood. Not only a few spats or lines... no, a whole pool. It's covering the floor as if it's a carpet.

Her stomach makes a twist in disgust, but she continues walking. Her shoes make a sound each time they dip into the blood. On the walls, there's hands. Bloody handprints. There's cracks of nails boring through the wood. But no one's around.

"Res?" Is the first name she calls. "It's Joan. I'm back. Sorry that I was gone for so long— I can explain."

She continues moving after a few more calls. Glass is on the floor, shattered. It's shattered in such a way that it leads all the way to the elevator, which is further into the hotel.

The door opens only a second after she pressed the button. Meaning that they still have electricity. Someone has been keeping it up.

She shines around the small, metal room. The flashlight mirroring back into her eyes because of the elevator's mirror almost blinds her, but she doesn't miss the black figure that was just right behind her.

With a gasp, she spins around.

Nothing.

Okay, maybe the hallucinations are returning.

But she doubts it.

Her heart slams against her ribs as she looks at the wall. Written there, in red, dripping blood, she sees it. YOU'RE A SNAKE.

She shakes her head. Swallows. Bites her lip, then looks down. Eight empty, ripped-open bags.

The realization hits— it's hers. The blood on the floor? It's hers. On the walls? Hers. These letters written in blood? Hers.

They used her bags. They got her trapped.

"You're a snake, Joan." Res.