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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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027.
WASHING AWAY.
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"Who are they, really?"

"I dunno," Kennedy shrugged. She leaned against Newt's arm and rested her head on his shoulder. Her stomach was fit to burst; she felt like she might genuinely explode, and she could tell they'd all felt the same. "This whole thing is weird, as shuck."

"Alright," Newt nodded. "It is weird."

"Oh, so now you admit it?"

"Shut up," he rolled his eyes and moved his shoulder so she fell off, and Kennedy swatted his arm. "It doesn't mean they'll kill us."

"You hope!" Fry said.

They did.

Kennedy hoped these people weren't dangerous.

If they were, it was kinda too late. They were all in the building, and those doors didn't look particularly easy to get through — the running would only get them so far. Plus, she hoped that they were able to relax now. They deserved to be safe. Her people deserved a life without fear, without running, without panic. They deserved to settle down in a place they were free from WICKED, and she really hoped this was it. But, her gut said otherwise. Her gut said nobody in this place could be trusted until they figured out where they had ended up, and who with.

She didn't like feeling left in the dark. These people should have told them who they were, immediately. Why hadn't they? Kennedy stuck by her opinions — it was convenient, all of it. Very much, so.

How had they even found them?

That was what she couldn't stop thinking about. How they found them in that maze, and knew they had escaped. Kennedy tried her best to come up with possibilities in her head, she rifled through all the scenarios she could think of, but nothing made sense. It started to drive her mad, already. And she'd only been there an hour. This whole thing was making her itch.

"I don't know who these guys are," Fry patted his stomach. "But they can cook."

"Anything's better than your slop, Fry." Winston teased. They let out laughs and Frypan scowled, although he eventually laughed at the comment too. He wasn't a bad cook. But, they all had a feeling he hadn't been a chef in his previous life; did child chefs even exist? They weren't all that sure.

"We know they aren't with WICKED," Newt said.

"Do we?"

"Ken—" he sighed.

"I'm not saying they are," she shrugged.

"What are you saying?"

"Well..."

"She's saying we can't trust them for giving us nice food," like the last time, Thomas supported her.

Everything she said won him over, more and more. They hadn't been there long, but he could tell something was up. Since she had brought it into his mind, it had been at the forefront.

Thomas had dwelled on it all through dinner. He couldn't stop; she was right, after all. How had they known they escaped? Wasn't that weird? The more he thought about it, the worse his gut pulled into knots. Everything Kennedy had said was growing on him. He chewed on his nails as he pondered. Like the rest, Thomas wanted to ignore that feeling. That nagging in the pit of his stomach. This had been great, so far. Food. Real food. He knew most of them were longtime gladers, and hadn't had real food in years. Thomas was a lucky shank, so was Teresa. But, even so, he wanted to believe they were finally safe. So bad. Though, that didn't seem right. Kennedy didn't seem to think so. And, while he had only known her for one week, he trusted her. He trusted how she felt, especially when he felt it too. It wasn't all in her head, he didn't think. Unless the two had both gone insane.

"They said they aren't," Newt argued.

"That's good enough for me!"

Kennedy looked at Minho.

He was leisurely strewn across a table, his back on the surface as he faced the ceiling. She had heard him counting the lights under his breath and noticed his fingers twitching. Either he missed those feelings he got when running, or he was trying not to vomit.

"It is?"

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"Why?"

"I dunno, does everything have to be an enemy?" He posed them the question, which they couldn't answer. "You worry, too much."

"Maybe," Kennedy hummed.

"You do; trust me."

As she went to give him some sort of comeback, mostly using a lot of slinthead's and shank's, there was a loud beeping sound. They shared looks and instantly stood, despite their full tummies. There was a moment of silence before the door unbolted and swung fully open, revealing a man they had yet to see.

He had grey hair and rat-like features, a sharp nose and strange eyes that bulged out of his head beadily. He wore a dark coat over his turtle neck, boots that clicked as he walked into the room a few steps, although he took one back when he saw them shuffle away a couple of inches. They got closer together in protective stances, all ready to fight him if they had to, and Kennedy could feel Teresa's hand grab her own. She didn't let go. Rather, she stared at the guy with squinted eyes and hoped her stare matched his own. She gave him a harsher one when she saw the weird look on his face. Not an overt smirk, but not quite a smile.

Creepy.

"You guys doing alright?"

No one replied.

"Sorry about all the fuss," the rat-man said, she supposed with reference being to locking them in a room with no explanation. It was a bad apology. "We had ourselves a bit of a swarm."

"A swarm?" Kennedy echoed, "Who are you?"

"I'm the reason you're all still alive." He told her, somewhat in the vainest way imaginable. You know when people were trying to act humble, when really they were so full of themselves that it made you want to punch them? Yeah— it was that kind of vain. "And it's my intention to keep you, that way." Rat-man explained, moving a step back and holding out an arm. "Now, if you'd come with me so we can finally get you kids squared away,"

"You didn't answer me."

"Hm?"

"What swarm?" Kennedy asked pointedly.

"Well—"

"You mean, all those cranks?"

He rose his brows, as though he was realising something, and his weird, twisted smile widened. Like he recognised her.

"In due time," he said.

Another poor answer, but this place seemed to be full of them as far as Kennedy had learned. She watched him turn on his heel, as if he expected them to follow him. His heels clicked and echoed in the silence.

"Weird shank," Minho observed.

"You bet."

"Mhm."

"Really weird, man."

"Strange!"

"What do we do?" Teresa asked, face confused.

Kennedy continued to stare at the doorway, as if expecting him to pop back up like the creepy devil he was. She hardly realised all eyes had fallen upon her until she turned back, shocked to see they were waiting on her to tell them what to do.

She still wasn't used to that.

Admittedly, Ken half-expected Alby to speak up and start giving out instructions. He was always good at it, like it came naturally to him. He was a born leader, and so was Newt. Some people were; as far as she could tell, she would have to learn. Some were born with the ability's to lead, like Thomas. That was why her gaze drifted to him. He was already looking at her, like he had no idea himself. Not very helpful, Thomas.

"Follow him, I guess." Kennedy eventually shrugged, "Let's go."

"Inspiring."

"Shut up, Minho."

When Minho had, in fact, shut up, Kennedy sucked in a breath and stepped out into the quiet hallway.

There were a few men — unmasked — lingering, and she stared at their guns for a lingering second, then continued. Teresa was on her side, hands still interlocked, and Thomas was on her right side.

Rat-man was already at the far end of the hall. He was swiping a card at the doors and the light flashed green, blinking twice, and it granted him access through the doors. He turned and waited for them, with that awful smile, and Kennedy tried to make a point of acting brave. Truthfully, this guy creeped her out. Even if he was a man who could give them answers. In a way, she was afraid — she was scared to find out where they were, and who they were, and he didn't make her feel any better. But she bit the bullet and followed; they walked through the hall they had been pushed through on the way to the prior room, and ended up at the large doors. She found that they looked bigger this time, more daunting. Although, he had no consideration in her dwelling thoughts and walked onward. His pace was quick, and swift.

"You can call me Mr Janson," the rat-man, Janson, said. "I run this place. For us it's a sanctuary," he explained over the drilling, a new volume to his tone to overpower it. "Safe from the horrors of the outside world. You all should think of it as a way station. Kind of a... home between homes." He said, "Watch yourselves,"

Newt dodged the sparks, stepping aside.

Home between homes? Way station?

Ambiguous, as ever.

Kennedy was debating telling the man that he was irritating and vague, although she had a feeling he had probably been told those things before. He probably already knew. So, she stayed quite, and took in his words.

Thomas piped up; "That mean you're taking us home?"

"A home of sorts," rat-man answered. He turned back and kept walking through the construction, "Sadly, there wouldn't be much left of wherever you came from." The thought saddened them, his words echoing in their minds. Not much left of wherever you came from. It cut Kennedy deep. Would they ever know? He noticed the damp atmosphere and smoothly carried on, "But, we do have a place for you. A refuge, outside the Scorch, where WICKED will never find you again." He bargained, "How does that sound?"

Great.

If she could believe it.

Minho didn't.

"Why are you helping us?"

She wondered what had changed his mind and made him feel so suddenly skeptical. Perhaps it was the weird vibe this man gave off, or the food had settled in his stomach and he could think clearly. It was undetermined, but it made Kennedy feel better. Knowing they were on her side felt good. It was reassuring.

"Let's just say, the world out there is in a rather..." Janson took a moment to think, "...precarious situation. We're all hanging on, by a very thin thread."

Thin thread?

Kennedy was rapidly growing bored of his weird way with words and desperately wanted him to hurry to the point. "What thread?"

"Curious one," he noted.

"Maybe," she said.

"I'll remember that," Janson hummed.

"Oh, yeah?"

Janson glanced at Thomas when he spoke up, and he cleared his throat. There was a tense moment of silence and the man avoided three barrels, nearly falling. Was he intimidated by a kid? Amusing.

"The fact that you kids can survive the flare virus..." he went on to explain, "...makes you the best chance of humanity's continued survival. Unfortunately, it also makes you a target." Janson made a poor joke, "As no doubt, by now, you've noticed." Again, his words were met with a dead silence, but it didn't bother him. He took out the keycard from his pocket as they approached a door, scanning it smoothly, and they saw it flash green and blink twice. "Beyond this door, lies the beginning of your new lives." Janson told them. And when he pressed button, the door slid up from the bottom, and the kids were face with a long hall. Another damn hallway? Would their mazes ever end?

"First things first. Let's do something about that smell."

————

   Showers.

   Real showers.

   Actual showers; not the crappy lake they would bathe in, when they had the chance. Real showers!

   Kennedy had been borderline ecstatic when she saw them. She had nearly shrieked in joy and jumped in fully clothed, not caring to take off even her socks until Teresa pulled her back.

   Her skin suddenly felt incredibly filthy, too grubby and mucky. It was a mixture of dirt and sweat, and she knew her hair was greasy and clinging down on her head. She didn't know when she last got to step into a shower, before the maze. She couldn't remember. But Kennedy did know that it had been almost three years and she was long overdue another one.

   Very long.

   She had been excited. The most excited they had seen her, in a while. Kennedy hadn't been particularly overjoyed about the food, or the fact they had new clothes waiting for them, but showering? It was like they had granted all of her wishes.

   Being cleanly was a gift.

   A privilege, almost. Thomas and Teresa had gotten dirty, but it wasn't the same dirty as the rest of them. The better question was the last time they had been clean. Food was the key to a hungry kid but being clean? That might have been the key to Kennedy. Maybe they had got her, there. Maybe, for a moment, she had given into a bliss she had never felt in her life. Perhaps she let down her walls in a split moment of weakness, because she wanted to be clean. That wasn't so bad, was it? She wanted to be clean, so what? Shoot her! If that made her a bad person, a hypocrite, then so be it. What kinda world didn't allow children access to showers? It was cruel, and she had lived that life for far too long. So, perhaps Kennedy did allow a few minutes of joy to overcome her as she stepped under the water and started to scrub at her grimy skin.

   She got her karma.

   Quickly.

   As she ducked her head under the faucet, she shut her eyes. All the boys were in the cubicles on her left, and Teresa had gone into the one on her right.

   She could hear them all shouting, laughing, singing.

    "Woah!"

    "This feel so great!"

    "Best bloody feeling, ever!"

    "Shuck yeah!"

    "How's it feel, Fry?"

   Kennedy let out an airy laugh, giggling at their antics. They had been almost as excited as she had, and it totally warmed her heart.

   She hadn't heard Thomas, but decided he was taking his time in the showers to have a moment with his thoughts. Regather himself and breathe. Teresa hadn't been very verbal either, only giggling in synchronicity with Kennedy when the boys said something funny a few stalls away.

   The water feel good on her aching bones. Now the adrenaline'd started to fully wear off, and she had time to think, Kennedy made herself aware of how sore her hips were. They were begging for it to stop, for her to have a sit down, and she wondered whether they would be letting her stand upright if she hadn't been sat inside the helicopter for so long, as well as when they had eaten. She debated sitting down in the shower, but decided her hair would be difficult to wash that way, so opted for hanging on a while longer. Kennedy knew there would be more time for sitting down, soon. It wasn't as if she was in the worst pain ever — her hips had been worse, more painful than this. Collapsing in the maze a year ago was one prime example. That had been agony. As long as she didn't go for runs in the near future — she didn't plan to — she would be fine.

   Kennedy pushed her hands through her hair.

   Head tilted back, the girl hummed and ran her fingers through the knots and tangled mats.

   Her nail got caught and she cursed, yanking at the hair in hope of releasing it. She hissed when it ripped and brought it up to her lips, sucking her throbbing finger and opening her eyes to inspect.

"Oh, my—"

She wished she didn't.

The water was running red.

Bright scarlet flooding the bottom of the shower, swirling about in puddles and sliding slowly towards the drain.

There was a lot of it. A scary amount.

So much, it had her trembling. Not because that was her blood; it had nowhere to come from. Her finger wasn't bloody, and she was only covered in small cuts and scrapes. Kennedy knew it wasn't her blood because she had no open wounds. Kennedy wasn't bleeding.

Chuck.

Her breathing started to quicken as she watched it filter away, a glugging sound coming from the drain. Kennedy rubbed her hair, watching the same pink colour stream down her hands. There was a lot of it, or maybe the water made it look much more, but it gave her chills regardless. Kennedy whimpered, rubbing harder, but she couldn't seem to get the water to run clear. Her eyes snapped shut; trying to take deep breaths.

It didn't work.

All she could see was Chuck.

His smile, his curly hair, his freckles. Kennedy could see him on his first day, a scared little greenie who klunked his pants, and that first smile he gave her.

She could see him giving her the bracelet she had placed aside while showering, giving it a rinse before putting it in the corner to make sure she could see it, and she remembered what he said. It's so you don't forget me, or nothin'. I'll never forget you, Ken.

   Her lower lip trembled, she missed him.

   Kennedy missed him more than she had ever missed anyone. So much more than she missed her memories, her old life, and those parents she knew she must have had. She missed him so much she wondered if her heart could take the pain. How could Kennedy go on without Chuck? How could they live without him? Chuck had been a good kid. He never did anyone any harm. Chuck deserved to get out of there more than any of them; he was just a kid. How could they put a kid, in there? They were sick. So sick. When Ken got her hands on WICKED, she'd made them pay. They'd feel the pain she felt, losing him.

   The pain he felt, dying.

   Dying. Shuck— that reminded her of Gally. Him aiming the gun at Thomas, the darkness in his eyes, the gunshot ringing out. They were suddenly back in the compound, and the boys' giggles turned into shouts and screams, and then sobs and cries. Her hands sticky, and when she looked down, they were red.

   It felt like she was losing him, all over again.

   Kennedy sobbed, the sound mixed with a gasp for air, and soon she fell against the tiles as her knees wobbled. She shrieked, and it echoed throughout the showers, jarring everyone to a still.

    "Kennedy?" Teresa.

    "Ken?"

    "You all good, she-bean?"

    "Kennedy?"

   She slowly slid down the wall, landing on her bottom. Kennedy tugged her knees to her chest and cradled them, hugging her legs, a tight grip on her skin. Rocking back and forth, she cried. Pained and sorrowful cries, smothered slightly by her lips; pressed against her kneecap. Kennedy had watched Chuck die, and she then Gally die, and she wondered how many more they would lose. Were they safe, here? Were they really safe? She had lost so many.

   Losing more wasn't a risk Kennedy was willing to take.

   Until they knew this place, her guards were up. No more smiles when food was in their bellies, or letting herself enjoy the luxuries of showering and clean clothes. No— that was over. Kennedy was certain there was something wrong with this place. It gave her this weird feeling that she couldn't describe, and she was going to find out what it was. Kennedy was going to get to the bottom of it, and until she found out, she wasn't going to trust them. Losing more of her gladers wasn't an option — they couldn't lose anyone else. No more losing the people she cared about, not if she could help it, not after Chuck, and Alby, and Gally, and Jeff. Until Kennedy knew she could trust this place and these people, then she was going to build up her walls so high that nobody could climb to the top. They may have begun to claw their way into the others, but not Kennedy. She couldn't let them fool her.

   For Chuck.

   Soon enough, her tears stopped falling.

   Kennedy pulled herself together and wiped her face. With her towel wrapped around her, she slid her bracelet back on her wrist and stepped out of the shower cubicle.

   Everyone was waiting for her, wrapped in towels, hair wet and stuck to their faces. If they noticed her puffy eyes and red cheeks, they didn't say anything. Rather, they let her walk past them with her head held high, and her shoulders squared. Kennedy nodded.

    "Fun's over," she said.

   They nodded.

    "Get dressed, we meet in ten. It's time for us to see what these people are really doing, in here."

━━━━━━━☆☆━━━━━━━

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