"WAIT A SECOND," Teresa interjected, "Is this going to take away whatever's in there that lets you control us, too?"

Rat Man affirmed the said statement, "Correct."

Murmurs broke once again throughout the room. Over them, Teresa continued with a louder voice, "And what about..."

She faltered and looked at Thomas.

"Everything's going to be out of there," Rat Man nodded, "Except the tiny device that allows us to map your killzone patterns. And you didn't have to say what you're thinking because I can see it in your eyes —no, you and Thomas and Aris won't be able to do your little trick anymore. You'll have your long-term memory restored, and we won't be able to manipulate your minds. It's a package deal, I'm afraid. Take it or leave it."

"That's a no-brainer," Frypan suddenly said, "Get it? No-brainer?"

The only response he got was a groan or two.

"If you don't want to remove the Swipe, don't do it. You can stand by and watch the others."

Rat Man stepped away off the stage and walked towards the door at the back of the room. When he reached it, he turned to face the group again. "You really want to spend the rest of your lives having no memory of your parents? Your family and friends? You really want to lose the chance to hold on to at least the few good memories you may have had before all this began? Fine with me. But you might never have this opportunity again."

Then he dramatically exited the auditorium, like a proud attorney delivering his triumphant finale to convince the jury.

Thomas leaned in close to Minho and Newt so only his friends could hear him. "There's no way we do this. No way."

Minho squeezed Thomas' shoulder, "Amen. Even if I did trust those shanks, why would I want to remember? Look what it did to Ben and Alby."

Newt nodded, "We need to make a bloody move soon. And when we do, I'm going to knock a few heads to make myself feel better. Frank?"

Frankie considered her decision. The offer seemed like an incredibly generous deal. Remembering the first fourteen years of her life (perhaps her family, if she had one) and preventing WICKED from using her against her will again. Those constellations of stars exploding in her vision as agonizing pain took over her every sense, back when she was presumably killed by Grievers and when she wanted to save Thomas. Words she didn't want to say but did —she wouldn't feel those things again.

She looked at Reggie and found him looking right back at her. He was probably thinking about those particular moments, too.

"I want to do it."

Frankie looked at the three boys and saw them blanching at her in disbelief.

"What?!" Minho yell-whispered, "Are you shucking jacked in the head? Frankie, think about it."

"It's a pretty good deal."

"Bloody hell," Newt spatted before she could defended her opinion. His words were full of malice and hatred, Frankie couldn't trust her ears and eyes for a few seconds. "I can't believe I used to look up to your dong opinions."

The blonde boy stood up and left the room hastily. Thomas gave her a weary look before following after him.

"Minho—"

"Did you lose your senses? You're letting WICKED play around with your shucking brain."

"It was really painful, Minho."

Minho frowned. He was silent for a a few seconds as his mind recollected how crazy the Gladers were when they were stung, how Gally killed Chuck, but then he continued, "I don't trust WICKED. They're going to mess up our brain cells, I'm sure of it."

Apparently Rat Man was waiting outside the auditorium. He reopened the door and poked his head in again, "I'll show you where we're going to do the operation."

"We'll talk about this later, slinthead." Minho stood up and stuck his hands into his pants' pockets.

From the twitch of his eyebrows, the deep lines on his forehead, and his obvious scowl, anyone could tell that he was furious. Until Frankie ended up with the same decision as his, he wouldn't go down without one hell of a fight.

He walked as madly as Newt did until he reached the end of the aisle, but then he turned around and offered her his hand.

"Well? Aren't you coming?"

〰️

THEY WERE LED through several metal doors with restricted personnel access until they reached a big room with several beds lined against the back wall, each with a menacing, foreign-looking contraption of shiny metal and plastic tubes in the shape of a mask hanging over it.

"This is how we're going to remove the Swipe from your brains," Rat Man announced, "Don't worry, I know these devices look frightening, but the procedure won't hurt nearly as much as you might think."

"Nearly as much?" Reggie inquired, "I don't like the sound of that."

Frypan nodded, "So it does hurt, is what you're saying."

"Of course you'll experience minor discomfort. It is a surgery, after all."

He walked over to the closest bed, then reached up and put a hand on the odd metallic device, "This is something we're very proud of here. This is a Retractor. It'll be placed on your face, and I promise you'll still look just as pretty when everything is done. Small wires will descend and enter your ear canals. From there they will remove the machinery in your brain. Our doctors and nurses will give you sedative to calm your nerves and something to dull the discomfort.

"You will fall into a trancelike state as the nerves repair themselves and your memories return, similar to what some of you went through during the Changing. But not nearly as bad, I promise."

The assistant director blabbered on about more medical and technical stuff, laced with as much persuasion.

Frankie was lost on her own decision making through most of it.

When she snapped back, Rat Man was clasping his hands behind his back, his expression suddenly grave. "Some of you are immune to the Flare. But some of you aren't. I'm going to go through the list. Please do your best to take it calmly."

The room lapsed into silence, broken only by the hum of machinery and a very faint beeping sound.

Frankie knew that she was not immune.

WICKED had repeated the fact enough for her to remember until her old age —if she was able to reach it. Reggie as well.

A forlorn thought tugged her soul silently.

She used to look forward to the day she would turn into a being like Barkley and Woody. Now she wished she could be sane long enough to make some more memories with her friends.

It was too sad now that she wanted to live.

Then something else tugged her towards a much more frightening thought. What if her best friends were not immune?

"For an experiment to provide accurate results, one needs a control group. We did our best to keep the virus from you as long as we could. But it's airborne and highly contagious."

Rat Man paused, taking in everyone's gazes.

"Just bloody get on with it," Newt said, "We all figured we had the buggin' disease anyway. You're not breaking our hearts."

"Yeah," Sonya added, "Cut the drama and tell us already."

Rat Man cleared his throat, "Okay, then. Most of you are immune and have helped us gather invaluable data. Only some of you are considered Candidates now, but we'll go into that later. The following people are not immune."

Frankie's heart stopped.

Her left hand raised to rub her nape while her right fingers were clenched around a crease on her jeans.

"Newt."

A/N:
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I'm sorry...