I look up at her, blink, and look back down at the screen. The word doesn't change: clear. Dr. Whitman smiles as she places the machine back to its place. She then goes down my side and opens the privacy curtain. She hangs her white coat on a hanger and signs me to a chair in front of her desk. I do as she directs. I sit on the chair as she takes her place by the desk and does some paper work. I rethink of it all during the time.

Is it possible that all I had been through wasn't true? Is it possible it all was another WICKED's trial? Is it possible we never actually had left WICKED? I can't believe after all the bloody hell we've been through that we never had left their shucking experiment. But, all that I've been through said that I was a crank. I was jacked, and I flared so many times. I almost shot my friend! You think a sane would do that? Did WICKED find a cure? Do my friends have anything to do with it? What price did they have to pay?

"Talking to yourself, Newt. Aren't you?" asks me Dr. Whitman as she signs the last paper. She raises her head, looks at me, and adds, "It's a trait that runs through geniuses. Mind you share what you're thinking?"

"I want to know-"

"I have few answers before you ask," she replies while enclosing her papers in a portfolio and placing her glasses on top of them. "No, this is not WICKED," she starts. "All that happened to you: Your escape from WICKED on the Berg, your Flare infection, and most of your incidence with Thomas on the street; they all had been real. There were no trials going on you during that, according to our knowledge in the least. Finally, you have been unconscious for three days after you were picked up.  Other questions?"

"Yes," I answer as I look up . She waves her hand, so I proceed. "First, if this isn't WICKED, what's this place? Who are you? Second, where are my friends? You mentioned Thomas, and you know my name, so you must know us. Are they here? Has anything been done on them? Also, what do you mean by that most of Tommy's incident was real? Finally, if you say all was real and I have been a crank, how am I not now?"

"I'll answer all your questions due to my knowledge," she answers. "There's nothing to hide among us, and I hope you'll be honest too... good that? This is how you, shanks, used to say it, right?"

She laughs when saying the last phrase. I stay serious. Dr. Whitman sighs, and then she rises and stands by the window, watching outside. I keep my eyes on her.

"Like I said, this isn't WICKED. It's... a small organization. We admit we once used to work for WICKED, but after an incident that happened, one I'd rather not recall, I broke from them, and soon, I had few followers. We hid from WICKED, and that wasn't easy. We couldn't hold WICKED's policies, for even if a cure was present, that wasn't the way to find it. That doctor in Denver whom Thomas visited was in association with me. In fact, he is quite the one who called me about you, Newt, and you're here thanks to him.

'Shortly after we picked you after your encounter with Thomas, an organization rioting against WICKED called The Right Arm bombed their place, and that was WICKED's wicked end."

"They got what they deserve," I whisper under my breath. I feel shocked for the news, but I get a tinge of delight. She frowns. "And what about my friends?" I ask.

"According to what is being said, Thomas, Teresa, Minho, and everyone else, had been part of The Right Arm. The explosion was a ball of fire. People said it was like the Flares had hit Earth again. It lighted the night sky like it was day. There were almost no survivors."

"And my friends?" I ask, feeling tears rising. Dr. Whitman presses her lips and turns to me. "I don't know, Newt. I truly don't. This is how far what's said goes. I wished to go and look by myself, but your situation was critical, and I couldn't leave you." She then comes to sit on the opposing chair and looks into my red eyes. "Newt, don't criticize for what you don't know. It pains me as much it does you, if not more. I have known each one of you, and you specially. If that memory swipe hasn't been in your brain, you, of all people, would've known."

I don't answer and look away.

"As for what happened with you and Thomas on the street, like I said, most of it was real. To be precise, until the trigger part. In that part, the credit is to one of our new technologies here. It's a long process. For summary, we used a form of mind-control that's independent of the machines in your heads to give Thomas the memory of pulling the trigger before actually doing it. Thus, Thomas never pulled the trigger, Newt. The only trigger pulled was that of  our tranquilizer to get you here."

Thomas never pulled the trigger.

The words ring in my ear. I feel my eyes tearing. "So Thomas now thinks he has killed me?" the question slips from me. She tightens her lips. I feel myself flaring inside.

"As for your last question," she finally sighs. "You're alive because of something that happened before WICKED, Newt, and no one knows about it except for me. It's a miracle of biology and a mercy from above. Newt, you are... Superstes."

Hope you've liked this chapter. If you did, please, consider voting, and I'd dearly appreciate your feedback. Thanks for reading so far. It means a lot. <3

GM.