Subject A250: The Fallen

Five: Phase Free

Seconds passed. Then minutes. Minho's image remained on the screen, unmoving, left there simply to taunt Trace-- to remind her of the dreadful choice she'd just made.

She couldn't look away. She tried to force herself, but her gaze was fixed on his lifeless form, his head dangling limply, eyes shut. She half expected him to wake up, jolting back to life and pointing at the camera, yelling something out about how he'd tricked her. The ultimate dupe --how it was all being filmed for some weird prank show and he was the host.

None of that happened. His body stayed slumped against the back of the chair, alone in that room. She'd killed him. There was no way he was coming back from this. Minho was gone.

Tears had been running down her face for a while now, but Trace didn't sob. All she could do was stare, absentmindedly, at the horrific mess she'd made. All she could see was the result of her own, stupid selfishness --of her own cowardice. She'd failed Minho and, in turn, she'd failed everyone she'd come across so far. Even WICKED. She'd failed everyone.

She'd failed herself.

She'd given Chuck another chance, but he'd died in the Scorch. She'd escaped with Rose to give her a shot at a better life, but she'd died too. Now it was Minho she'd let down, and she couldn't shake the responsibility. This was her fault.

She thought of the last words he'd said to her, before he'd fallen asleep in the Berg --before WICKED had separated them all and initiated Phase Three.

"I've got a better girl to flirt with," he'd said.

She still didn't know what he'd meant by that --who he was referring to. Her best bet was on Harriet. Maybe Sonya. Either way, he'd been trying to tell her --or get her to figure it out-- before he'd fallen asleep. As it turned out, he hadn't succeeded. Now she'd never know.

Trace took a shuddering breath, still waiting for Minho to come back, still unable to comprehend that he wasn't coming back. She was unable to draw her gaze away from the screen --even for just a second-- lest he disappear forever. This could be the last memory she ever had of him. She wanted to savour it.

She was still waiting when the door opened again and Ratman stepped in once more, leaving the door open behind him for the first time since she'd been here. "Congratulations," he said. "Phase Three is complete."

Trace didn't have the energy to reply. This phase had taken its toll-- physically, emotionally, psychologically, and now fatally. She was exhausted.

Ratman walked over to the screen and hit another button. Immediately, Minho's image was gone, and Trace was hit by a nauseating wave of emptiness. Minho was gone. His image was replaced immediately with that of a pale, gaunt and wearied figure, sitting in an identical chair, facing her directly. Her hair was gone, her eyes were dark and lifeless, and her skin seemed to reveal every cleft and protrusion of her skeleton.

Trace sucked in a sharp breath at the sight, and the ghostly girl mirrored her. Although she hadn't looked her best the first time she'd seen herself in this mirror, she certainly hadn't looked this bad. Now she looked life she would break at the slightest touch-- a shivering, quivering jumble of bones, with hollow eyes that told tales of pure terror.

"Bit of a shock, isn't it?" Ratman asked her.

Trace gulped, trying to come to terms with everything that had happened within the last hour or so. She couldn't bring herself to nod her head, let alone reply to Ratman's slightly infuriating question.

"I would usually get Flint to do all of this, but since he's refusing...Brenda?" Ratman asked, turning towards the open doorway.

Brenda appeared in the doorway and stepped into the room, staring straight into Trace's wide and frightened eyes. She pressed a grim smile and nodded at Trace before moving forward and carefully prying the electrodes --one by one-- off her head, arms and chest. Then, she looked for approval from Ratman. He held a hand out to tell Brenda to stay back and approached Trace himself, choosing to crouch beside her.