Notes: 'Mother is God' is compliant from Book 1 through 3, and completely AU for the Series prequel for the theme it tells. SPOILERS for all three main books!
Quotes are all from the Maze Runner Books, in between '-', and property of James Dashner. Go read and buy his books if you can, you'll devour them and lend them, promise. Work is not beta'ed, if anyone would be willing to, I'd me most grateful.
Mother is God
I. Float.
'For the first time, he felt something for Chuck that made him so angry he wanted to kill somebody. The boy should be in school, in a home, playing with neighborhood kids. He deserved to go home at night to a family who loved him, worried about him.
A mom who made him take a shower every day and a dad who helped him with homework.'
Unknown to Thomas, his own mother thought so too.
.
.
II. Catch.
"Your trials have only just begun, unfortunately."
He would be all dirty and physically tired, she knew. The children along him would be too, breathing harsh, wounded, seeing all the chaos behind her. All staged, all lies.
For the sake of the world.
"We are known as the World in Catastrophe: Killzone Experiment Department. Not everyone agrees with our methods."
She had been seated behind the screens, every day, every minute she could, and watched them fight and evolve for the sake of an idea. Watched them grow and bleed for what seemed after all this time a mere dream, a breathe of a promise never spoken. In that perspective, she mused, The Glader's, as they call themselves, and WICKED were not so different.
Both wanted liberation, one from the Maze, and one from their mistakes.
Well, she thought, freedom is freedom, after all.
"But remember," Always remember. "WICKED is good"
.
.
III. Bleed.
"Chancellor, they await you"
What made a mother – a mother?
Chancellor Ava Paige wondered as her heels echoed on the tiled, pristine floor. Her dirty lab coat being discarded along the way, while a fellow Creator gave her a handkerchief.
"Thank you" She gently pressed it to her temple, where fake blood still ran down her face, and gave in to the sensation to simply close her eyes for a moment.
She remembered. His little face, full of baby fat, smiling and coming to hug her. How he would always insist to ran on the porch, on the streets, and crawl over trees.
She remembered. How he loved to pet ponies more than ride them, and how he always asked for one as birthday present. She would laugh, and her husband would mess up his hair, and give him a new puzzle or book instead. He always was starved for knowledge and challenge.
A mother always remembers.
How he had difficulties making friends for his intelligence, how it seemed to most times isolate him, make him different. How he seemed to do better, be more open –if not silent-, with Deedee by his side.
And then The Flare happened, they made it happen, and promptly messed up.
She messed up, and it was her duty and will to make it right.
Discarding the filthy handkerchief, she rounded on the chair and promptly looked to Janson and her colleagues. Despair, hope and love consumed her, leaving her breathless and fierce.
"Well, I think it's safe to say The Maze Trials were a complete success. I wasn't expecting so many survivors, but, the more the merrier. Thomas continues to surprise and impress…"
She had made her decision. Determined, she looked to the organization in front of her and thought, this makes a mother—
Mum.
.
.
IV. Death.
Ava hang up the phone and sighed. She shook her head.
The in vitro experiments were inconclusive, again, while the new animal and human tests seemed to just end up in failure. The immune gene to the flare was carried by an individual, but could not be instigated to express on the body by artificial means yet, even with the half obtained data by Phase 1.
"Dammit." Bit out near tears one associate, and silence reigned in the room. She couldn't remember when was the last time they went wild with encouragement and desperation.
(Now we are beyond that)
The video feed in one of the giant screens showed humans with the Flare in different stages. One Crank was having a seizure, and all the while their deviated eyes looked sideways and up at the camera, staring at her, accusing her, judging her decisions.
She stared back.
"Chancellor."
Said Maria softly at her side, one of her trusted friends even before this madness began, and pointed at the little screen suspended on the table. One of the cameras hidden inside the Glade had different figures moving in the dim light.
She schooled her features in a semblance of calm that would not alert anyone to the images in front of them. A sense of indignation, worry and sadness threatened to paralyze her, and she let the emotions come, and then let them go, as if they were old acquaintances that were better left alone.
"It's the Slammer for him, Ava."
Thomas has been scorned by his peers. He has been chased, frightened and hurt by Grievers. He didn't have any memories, for God's sake, and yet, nothing made her blink, freeze, and hold her breathe like this moment.
He was alone in the dark.
She remembered a little boy that had always been scared of the dark. Thomas, with clear displeasure on his face, but no fear whatsoever, made her smile.
"He'll be alright, Maria. He is our best chance, after all."
.
.
V. Stiff.
.
(What makes a mother – mum?)
"It's time now to begin Phase 2."
.
VI. Push.
She had been losing hours of her day. Her thoughts were starting to become more irrational, her appetite was changing, and she had an episode of high Hysteria yesterday morning.
She had shot Maria, who had begged her as Newt had begged Thomas the other day. It seemed she'll meet her husband again quite soon. He'll be so angry with her, she mused, and laughed out loud.
"I have faith in you."
Ava Paige sighed as the last bug travelled back from the Flat-Plane, back from The Paradise, far away from the munnies, far away from the last image of her son.
The power shut down. The screens went black. Janson lied dead at her feet, and while she doomed the whole world for the sake of her son, she put the gun to her head. There was no need to pretend anymore.
(For I am a mother, born through the eyes of my child)
She had no right to cry.
Stephen was Thomas now, after all. And Thomas was not scared of the dark.
"You see, my son, WICKED was good."
Ava smiled.