"THERE ARE TOO many words of escape, left, and behind in the story today."

Minho told Frankie how he was held at gunpoint after they refused to undergo the Swipe surgery, only to be forced to do it the next day. Brenda was one of the nurses, hence her scrub attire, and she led the small scaled rebellion towards the hangar herself.

Brenda had been helping with her physical therapy, so the news didn't hit Frankie quite as hard, but Reggie needed some time to perceive that the two Crank leaders who taught him to fight were actually a nurse and a pilot.

"It would make much more sense if they work as guards or securities here," he remarked, "But nurse. And pilot."

Frankie (well, Reggie did most of the talking actually) told Minho how she woke up in a hospital room with Reggie for some additional tests because their brains were two of a kind.

"WICKED's not even sure if we're totally Immune. They thought we're Half-Cranks."

"You're what?" Newt asked, afraid that he was losing the ability to hear properly already.

"Half-Cranks," Reggie repeated.

Minho glanced at Frankie, and she sent him a small comforting smile.

"But we're considered Immunes now."

"Found them!" Jorge suddenly announced. He jumped out of the cockpit theatrically and repeated, "Found them!"

"You're leaving the wheels unattended?" Newt queried.

"Come on. I'm way smarter than you think," Jorge bragged. He made his way towards them and sat down, joining the circle, "Denver."

"Denver?"

"The other Berg, with your friends. They went to a city called Denver. Just landed, actually. Got it from their tracking system."

"Where's that? And how is the real world..." Reggie faltered and looked at the hispanic man, now clad in a WICKED uniform. "It's not all like the Scorch, is it?"

"No," Jorge replied. "Only the regions between the Tropics are a wasteland. Everywhere else has extreme swings of climate. There are a few cities we could go to. With most of us being immune, we could probably find jobs pretty easily."

"Jobs..." Frankie said after they were engulfed in a moment of silence. The word sounded foreign in her mouth.

Right. If they were truly going to escape into the real world, they had to start living like real people. That would mean having jobs, settling for rent, paying for food.

"Denver's in the Rocky Mountains. One of the obvious choices for a quarantine zone because the weather's recovered pretty quickly there since the sun flares. As good as a place as any to go," Jorge continued, "Now, aren't your Swipes still in your ugly heads?"

Minho sighed bitterly, "What? You gonna force us to take 'em off, too?"

"Of course!" Jorge frowned, "You do know that WICKED can track your position and control you with that device. They can manipulate you, make you do things."

"And why should I believe you? That label there said you're a shucking member of WICKED, too."

"I'm here now, aren't I?" Jorge scoffed, "The moment I left the hatch with you, I'm better off dead to them. That thing in your head can lead them to us, hermano, then to our deaths. All of us."

Minho went quiet at that.

"Brenda and I have an old friend there. Hans. He was a doctor who worked for WICKED, until he had a disagreement with the higher-ups a few years back, got real angry about protocols and what not, then he escaped —bottomline, he's smart and he's on our side. He can take them out or at least shut them off."

"What about her?" Newt pointed at Brenda, who was dozing off with Thomas on the beds. The electric shock took quite a toll on them.

"She's a nurse. She needs the Retractor," Jorge shrugged, "Hans can do it. And you can look for your runaway friends. It's a win-win situation, right?"

"A bloody nice kind of friends they are," Newt declared in a very sarcastic manner.

Jorge looked at him with a judging look, "They broke out, which means they're on our side. I think we should give them the benefit of the doubt. Besides, you're the dumb bunch of snivelling wuss with bad, emotional choices."

"You know, we don't really appreciate insults here," Minho cut in dryly, but Jorge kept on rambling without minding his words. "That Teresa chick is actually quite smart, unlike you five."

Reggie cut in, "Hey! Frances and I got ours off."

"Ah! Good choice, hermano. What's your name?"

"...Reggie."

"Come on, you know it's not. Mine's Jorge."

"No shit," Reggie slapped his hand away, "Just go back to—"

"It's William," Frankie interposed, grinning.

"YOU TRAITOR!" Reggie bellowed accusingly, "She's Marla!"

"Call him Will from now on, Jorge."

"Her name is weird!"

Minho watched how Frankie laughed and he wondered if he had made the right choice, refusing the operation. Though it was possible that the Swipe removal had nothing to do with her change, she did seem happier and easier, compared to her rigid self in the Maze.

Listening to their interaction made him wonder if the Hans shank could give him his forgotten memories back.

He wanted to know his real name.

That was all. Not his family, not his background —he didn't have enough space in his heart and mind to think about other people than this bunch. Just knowing his real, birth given name was more than enough.

"Better take a shut eye, hermana," Jorge said to Frankie as he stood up after all the joking around was done, "You all should. Denver, no objection, right?"

"You said they test people when they enter? What about me and Frances," Reggie looked around the group, "And Newt?"

"We'll talk more when those two wake up."

"Are they going to be okay?"

"Of course," Jorge said, "The thing was made to paralyze, not kill."

〰️

NEWT WAS TOO tired of being lost in his own thoughts and emotions that the second his head hit the couch of his own choice, he withdrew himself from reality.

Reggie, too.

Frankie laid her head on Minho's arm as they laid side to side on one of the wider ottomans.

After only four hours of sleep and a long way of escaping, she almost fell into the peaceful abyss of unconsciousness.

Until Minho spoke up —more like whispered, actually. "So, you got your memories back?"

She was too tired, so she just hummed in response.

"WICKED didn't do anything other than that?"

She hummed again.

"Good that."

The blackness began to swallow her senses once more as she succumbed to her exhaustion.

But then Minho whispered again, "How is it?"

"What?" This time, she mumbled back.

"Remembering."

"Wearying," she said, rolling until she was on her stomach. She placed her cheek on his broad shoulder and he placed his hand around her back. "But worth it."

"Really?"

"Yes. Now, sleep."

Despite knowing that they both hadn't taken their showers and they were both battered from the excessive physical activities of trying to stay alive, laying close to him brought Frankie comfort. His steady breaths in the ruffles of her hair and his steady heartbeats combined was a better lullaby than her brother's acoustic rendition of Twinkle, Twinkle.

"It's Marla, isn't it? Your real name?"

Frankie frowned, even with her eyes still shut close, "Yes. Aren't you tired, Minho?"

They were both slurring their words now.

"I am."

"Why are you still awake?"

"Just saying... it suits you. Your name."

She smiled, "Thank you. Yours, too."

Then she finally fell asleep.