Chapter 6

229.02.02 / 9:10 p.m.

You and Newt had been spending more and more time together as if anticipation for the day he'd be taken away -- though you knew this wasn't what was going through his mind. He was prepared for you to go down with him, you had no doubt about it.

Months passed. Whenever you could, you'd sneak out to meet him at night, in little nooks with no cameras or guards, just to talk. You knew soon all you'd be able to do was watch him, so you were making up for it as much as you could, covering every topic you could think of.

"What is your father like?" he asked on one particular night, leaning against the metal wall with his arms crossed and long legs stretched out in front of him. This was one of your favorite spots to meet because there were no cameras in sight, and the guard's rotation lasted an hour, sometimes more before he came back around.

You laughed humorlessly and slid down the wall to sit. Newt did the same.

"Ya know, I'm not too sure. It's been years since I've seen him, I only have memories of my early childhood."

"What about those, then?"

You tilted your head back to stare at the dim lights hanging from the ceiling. "I remember going to the store with my mum, sometimes. It was right down the street from our house and she'd buy me an ice cream and carry me home if I was too tired to walk."

"I remember playing in the summer with Lizzy," he said, barely above a whisper, as if he spoke too loud the memory would slip through his fingers like smoke. "We'd run around in our swimsuits and jump through the sprinkler. I think we had a dog too, but it ran away once the bloody sun decided to scorch our planet."

"I don't know if this makes it better or worse," you said, a sudden feeling of overwhelming sadness washing over you. "Reminiscing like this. It only reminds me how nothing will ever go back to how it used to be. I'll probably never even get to see my father again."

Newt paused. "Well, who knows? Maybe in five years, we'll all be sitting fat and happy, talking about the good old days and how Rat Man had a heart attack because Minho pushed him over the edge. And we find a cure and don't have to worry about crazy Cranks running around and live happily ever after."

You laughed like it was the most ridiculous thing you'd ever heard. "Maybe," you mumbled, not believing a word of it, but relishing the talk of a possible future all the same.

It was hard to believe you had much of a future at WICKED at all. You'd lived there your entire life and you couldn't imagine being anywhere else. Even if they managed to find a cure and get rid of the Cranks, the world as you knew it was gone. Your mother was gone, probably your father as well. There was nothing for you out there.

"Hey," Newt said warmly, reaching over to take your hand as if he'd read your mind. "We'll all stick together, don't worry. You can't go through shit like we have and then all go your separate ways to lead your own bloody lives."

You smiled and closed your eyes, picturing the image of you and your friends, free from WICKED and daily blood tests and from the maze and work. Even sitting in a circle in the middle of nowhere appealed to you more than the cold metal halls you were crouched in now.

You glanced over at Newt, who also had his eyes closed, clutching your hand to him like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. You have him a squeeze and he smiled again without opening his eyes.

A few more months, was all you could think. To look at this face. Only a few more months.

229.02.05 / 5:47 p.m.

You could tell Thomas was equally as anxious for insertion day as you were, maybe more. He'd been there longer than you had, you knew, and when he was young he had to sneak out every night to see his friends; they meant to so much to him, and he was losing that for God knows how long.

Dr. Paige was another story. Her excitement only seemed to grow as the days closed in on you, ordering more tests and meetings in a nervous frenzy. It was apparent everyone in WICKED was scrambling to get everything finished in time, including you and Thomas, who'd both been woken up at the butt-crack of dawn to fix a last-minute programming problem.

Thomas stood at the big window of the computer room, staring out at the sky while you typed frantically at a keyboard, a glitching star still visible as the sun rose.

"Do you see anything?" you asked over your computer. Thomas shook his head wearily.

"Nope, nothing."

You let out a sigh of frustration and ducked back down. It was a good few minutes before anyone spoke again.

"Are you dreading these next few months as much as I am?" Thomas asked in a quiet voice. You stopped typing for a second.

"Yes, of course, Thomas. I keep imagining all our friends..." you stopped yourself from finishing.

"I'm sure WICKED will take good care of them," he assured you with a weak smile. "They just need to study enough brain activity to finish the killzone blueprint." It sounded like more of a promise to himself rather than you.

"But two years, can you imagine? Two years without our friends -- minimum. Will the world even last that much longer without a cure before we're overrun with bloodthirsty Cranks?"

"Gee, try to be a little more pessimistic." He smiled again and left his spot at the window to lean beside you as you worked. "We'll find a cure. We've worked too long and hard not to."

"The sun didn't care how long and hard we worked here on Earth before destroying it," you pointed out.

Thomas let his head drop and resumed his spot at the window.

"It's a little dimmer," he said, pointing to the star, sounding hopeful despite the whole situation.

More silence.

"So... I supposed you don't wanna talk about Newt either?"

You froze and stared at your fingers, not daring to meet his eyes.

"What did you mean?" you asked, feigning the evenness in your voice.

Thomas laughed. "Oh, come on, you think we haven't noticed? You guys are closer than Minho wants to be with that female guard in the cafeteria, practically joined at the hip."

"He's my friend."

"Friend? Friends don't hold hands everywhere they go and give each other little kisses on the cheek." he laughed, linking his hands together mockingly.

You sighed again. "Look, I care a lot about Newt, he's a sweet guy, but now's hardly the time to worry about that kind of thing, especially when he's so close to insertion. I've got work and classes and so does he, and in a few months he'll be gone anyway."

Thomas blinked at you. You knew he was as heartbroken as you about the whole thing, and understanding clouded his eyes.

"I know," he muttered, glancing back out the window. "It's sad because someone like you could do him a lot of good." The last part was so quiet you barely caught it.

"How's he doing though?" you asked in an effort to lift the mood. "Ya know, with his sister and everything?"

Thomas shrugged. "As well as anyone, I guess. He's pretty terrified to leave her behind. But... I don't think he knows me and Teresa won't be down there with him, and I haven't said anything like the brainwashed coward that I am. WICKED would be proud."

"I haven't told him either," you said. "He thinks I'm going to be down there with him, but I won't. It's eating me alive, Thomas."

Though it didn't help the guilt, just saying the words lifted the tiniest bit of weight off your chest.

"He's not dumb though, he knows we're different. I'm sure he's had his suspicions."

"You're lucky you'll still have Teresa up here with you," was all you said.

"And Newt's one bloody lucky idiot to have someone like you," he said warmly, mocking Newt's accent. You chuckled. "And I know he knows it. He just needs to man up and make a move."

You shook your head a smiled to yourself, entering a few last keys onto your screen.

"He's had seven years," you said with a laugh.

"(Y/N), Newt wouldn't know if a girl liked him if it smacked him in the face, and he'd more likely catch the Flare than do anything about it."

"Imagine how much of a heyday Paige would have if she found out? WICKED so enjoys separating people as painfully as possible, it would be Christmas come early!"

Thomas laughed, but you both knew it to be true. Those were the kind of things the psychs lived for -- them and their dumb brain blueprints. They would take sick enjoyment in taking Newt away from you -- it would be easier for everyone if that didn't have to happen.

"It sucks the world has to be like it is."

"Thomas! I think you've just had a revelation! Quick, write it down before you forget! You could publish a book!"

Thomas rolled his eyes and leaned back toward the window. "It sounds stupid, I know, but just think what our lives would be like if none of this had happened?"

"That's not gonna help anything," you grumbled.

"Do you think if he didn't have the impending doom of being stuck in a hole for two years, Newt would have the balls to ask you out?" Thomas snorted.

"Shut up!" you groaned, wishing he was close enough to smack.

After another ten minutes of work, the star was gone, and you stood up and stretched, sending Thomas a grateful glance. An hour of joking around did wonders in a place like that, and both of you were silently thankful for it. Thomas held the heavy metal door open for you, bowing as you walked out like a valet, and the two of you giggled like children all the way down the hallway, attracting a few weird looks from passing guards.

"(Y/N), if it helps," Thomas said as you neared the barracks, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "I might be able to talk some sense into him."

You shook your head, unable to fight back a smile. "That's okay Thomas. Every part of me is saying it isn't a good idea. I have a feeling I should listen."

Thomas winked as he strode away from your door. "Don't say I didn't try."