Subject A250: The Fallen

Ten: The Swipe Gripe

The room was silent by the time Ratman spoke again. Its occupants waited anxiously to hear what the man had to say. Trace snuck a quick glance at the rows behind her. Dozens of pairs of frightened and confused eyes stared ahead, focussed only on Ratman.

"As you have now been informed, the Trials are over. You've all been briefed on the Flare and our reasons for these Trials. It is our hope that once your memories are regained you will believe us and cooperate, enabling us to make the final refinements to the kill zone blueprint." Ratman clasped his hands in front of him, resting them on the lectern. "We are in the final, crucial stages of this refinement, and the majority of that is down to all of your effort. So, congratulations."

Immediately, Minho's voice came from the crowd, somewhere to Trace's left. "I ought to come up there and break your shuck nose," he snarled. "I'm sick of you acting like everything's so peachy-- like half of our friends didn't die. Like they weren't murdered."

Trace didn't need to turn around to know that last part was directed at her. She kept her gaze to the front of the room, staring at the wall behind Ratman.

"I'd love to see that rat nose smashed!" Newt snarled, agreeing with Minho. Trace hated to hear him like this, and she knew it would only get worse. The Newt she knew and loved was already vanishing by the second.

Ratman didn't smirk this time; instead, he sighed. "You've been warned already of the consequences should you try to harm me. Ava? Is this something you'd recommend to the others?"

Trace jumped at the mention of her name, but couldn't resist beating Ratman in his stupid game of sass. "Actually, it was worth it just to see you cower in fear. To see you quiver like a scared little rodent in the corner. To draw even the tiniest amount of blood from your whiskery jaw, knowing that your pain wouldn't even register on the scale of that which we've been through."

"So you would do it again?" he asked, beckoning one of his men forward.

"No," Trace answered swiftly, not allowing herself to take any more chances. She'd suffered through enough electrocution for one lifetime. "Once was enough. I think you got the message."

Ratman continued to address the group, apparently satisfied with her answer. "About the people you lost -- for that I am truly sorry, but in the end you will understand why their sacrifice is so important. What concerns me is that you do not seem to understand the stakes here. The survival of the human race lies in your hands. Your cooperation is crucial."

Trace had to sit on her hands to prevent herself from getting up to punch Ratman again. Despite what she'd just told him, she'd gladly do it again-- in the absence of his guards, of course.

"Let's hear him out," Thomas suggested and, although Trace knew he was only playing along to figure out Ratman's motives, she had to stop herself from turning around to glare at him. Self-restraint was not her forté.

"WICKED is good," Teresa said, suddenly.

"Oh for the love of--" Trace had forgotten about this. "If I slap her do I have to talk to the Launcher again?"

"Yes." Ratman's answer came bluntly.

"You people sure are trigger-happy."

Teresa ignored her entirely, choosing instead to go on about how she'd written those words on her arm, how there must be a reason for it, how they should get their memories back for that reason.

"I agree!" Aris yelled.

Now Trace had three people she wanted to hit.

The room erupted into a dozen different arguments, some of them progressing into very heated discussions-- practically nose-to-nose. Trace stayed put, waiting. She made eye-contact with Ratman, who was doing the same. She looked away; the sight of him still disgusted her.