Subject A250: The Fallen

Fifteen: Flinterview

Trace turned around and stepped out the door, knowing she couldn't watch a second more of that tape without breaking down. She hadn't realised quite what it would be like-- how real it would feel-- like she was reliving it all firsthand. He kept walking with no particular destination in mind, treading her way through the weird assortment of furniture in the hold and stumbling over an abandoned pillow behind the sofa where Thomas slept. She found another door --on the opposite side of the room to where she'd come through-- and opened it up, walking through it without so much as a second thought.

There, she found herself in a wide hallway, spanning the outer edge of the Berg, lined by windows residing at head height. She found a crate resting just below a large window, where, if she stood on her tiptoes, she could just see the treetops over which they were currently passing. Absentmindedly, she climbed up and took a seat, watching the world below her go by.

She was still there five minutes later when somebody else stepped into the hallway.

"Mind if I join you?"

It was Flint. Trace shrugged at him as if she didn't mind and returned to staring out the window. With one swift leap, Flint was sitting beside her, his legs dangling off the outer edge of the box.

"They're watching you sing She'll Be Coming 'Round the Mountain," he explained.

Reluctantly, Trace turned to face him. "You didn't want to stay for that?" she queried.

Flint shrugged. "Already seen it. Didn't feel the need for an encore."

Trace leaned her head back against the window frame. "You just don't appreciate talent," she sighed. "What verse was I up to when you left?"

"The one about bananas."

"Oh, so you stayed for a while then?"

"I had to tell the others how the controls worked."

"Oh."

A moment passed and Trace began to survey the land below them again.

"Also I quite like the flipping and kicking verse so I stayed for that."

Trace grinned. "I knew you were a fan, deep down."

Flint smiled back at her and she returned to her wistful window gazing pose. This was her first proper glimpse of the outside world. It was strange, looking down on the treetops, travelling over this surprisingly lush environment, when all she'd known previously was the harsh terrain of the Scorch and the confinements of the Maze.

After a while, the motion of the Berg and the repetitive patterns in forest and land made her drowsy and Trace began to doze off.

A while later, she heard voices. Flint's. Talking to somebody else. She must have fallen asleep, as she'd moved a little and was much comfier than she had been when she first dozed off. Her head was resting on something softer.

"I didn't-- I wasn't..." Flint's voice trailed off. He was worried about something. Trace, in her half-asleep state, decided not to move. She tried to pinpoint what it was she was lying on. A shoulder? Flint's shoulder? That seemed about right.

Another voice responded. "It's fine," they said. "I just watched you bloody fake your own death in front of her. I'm pretty sure she trusts the rest of us more than she does you."

Flint sighed. "Did you get sick of the tapes, then?"

An uncomfortable silence passed, and Trace swore she could hear Newt scratching his head. "He's watching Phase Three," he eventually explained. "I couldn't...I just...it's bloody horrible. In fact, I don't know how you sleep at night after doing that."