OBLIVION [Thomesa]

twenty

"That bomb . . . The only one small enough that it wouldn't kill him for at least a couple of weeks, just by sitting inside him, but big enough to kill only himself and his captors, and small enough to be placed in through an incision at the leg - did he have an accident recently?" Minho said suddenly.

"Yes." Brenda replied, standing. "Two days ago, a crash on his motorcycle. Gash on his lower calf. Wouldn't let me heal it. Said he needed it - that - that the pain helped the hurt in his head." A crease appeared between her eyes. "I healed it a day later, when he already stitched it up himself, and he said it was making it hard for him to walk . . . "

Oh.

"He then made a larger incision in that gash - placing the small bomb in it, before stitching it up. Then you healed it, closing the wound. You didn't notice the bomb because it was cloaked. And you just sealed the stitches, you thought it was more of a scrape than anything really deep. It's in his calf - where he already has several scars, it will go unnoticed. The detonation is also on his skin - he would have placed it on his wrist -  easiest, since hands are most often bound together, or bound close at least."

"So we hope we can find him before he snaps?" Newt asked, obviously unpleased with the idea.

"Ideally, yes. But unlikely. We hope if he snaps, we can find him very quickly." Brenda said roughly. "As soon as he starts the bomb - meaning, he has twenty minutes or so before it goes off, then, maybe it'll send a signal. We can follow it.

"Or else, the Rat Man will send something, A message, a video, a clue, and we will be able to find and save him before he ever decided he needs to detonate the bomb."

"He's doing it to protect you." Newt said softly. "All of you. Even his death, and he's still trying to save people . . ."

Brenda sighed. "It won't happen. He won't die. We'll save him."

The trio stood there, together, "We'll save him."

On our lips,
And knowing how big of a lie it was,
Haunting,
in our minds.
___________________________

They swooped upon the building, dark shadow falling over the panels like a dark, writhing ribbon,
deformed and contorted
by the flickering light of the city,
mixed with the darkening storm.
He knew as soon as his feet crunched softly on the cement of the building that it was over,
and that he was too late.
He knew it, as soon as he pulled out the device tracking his phone signal - and looked at the flickering bead, that hadn't moved in the last few minutes.
The Rat Man had left it - left it, so they couldn't follow.
He knew it
in the loud, screaming silence -
He knew it.
It was too silent,
too dead,
too absent,
of him.
Thomas.
He had missed him by three minutes -
And not just a faceless, nameless stranger.
Thomas.
His Bestfriend.
The fist trembled,
The surrounding air still seemed to burn white and hot with Thomas's terror,
and smoke darkly with his screams,
But he was just beyond the reach of any of his friends.
Even Minho.
He knew it, even as he stood there,
in the heavy air.
It was over. But it didn't stop his boots from moving forward, or his thoughts to frenzy like sharks -
Each dark hatred of his,
Like a starved, evil, predator, Fighting and scrapping,
and hungry to mutilate and torture the last few scraps of his sanity -
His Friend.
His Comrade.
Between the spaces in the scarlet letters,
he shoved the jagged shards of thought,
the mess of soggy sanity,
and they settled between each crimson stroke,
like crows on a telephone line,
waiting to peck at rotted flesh,
and suck the marrow from charred bones.