So I had to update this chapter again, I really don't know what happened. But sorry about that.

CHAPTER ONE:

Conspiracies

There was a knock on the door as someone hit the wooden surface in impatience, almost angrily. Footsteps echoed through the floor below, the annoying clacking of Mrs Anderson's heels slipping into the ears of his sleeping son, who woke up with a groan. Slowly, his eyelids cracked open, and a pair of chocolate brown eyes glanced around the messy room, before the teenager rolled over to face the wall. Immediately, the soft breeze that creeped through the open window hit his bare back, and consequently, a cold shiver crawled up his spine. In spite of the fact that he was almost freezing under the vicious attack of the winterly breeze, he made no move to get up from the comfy mattress and simply ignored the glaring rays of the sun, that slid between the curtains, by covering his tired eyes with the back of his hand. He was beyond exhausted, for he had been playing the drums till dawn due to him having a competition the following Saturday. Unfortunately, the boy hadn't still found the formula to deal with his high school career and his music contests at the same time. So, unsurprisingly, the exertion and stress coming from that were draining his last bit of energy.

"Simon!"

As the high-pitched voice of his mother called him from downstairs, Simon could only sigh heavily and whine under his breath. Maybe if he just ignored her and went back to sleeping...

"Simon!"

No. It was pointless, and Simon knew it far too well. Thus, the boy rolled back to his previous position, then sat up and ran a hand through his tousled hair before rubbing his face, as if the sleep would go away just like that. Finally, the teenager placed his bare feet on the cold floor, dragged them across the room to head the door and began his descend down the wooden stairs. However, when he reached the bottom, no one was there. There was no sight of his mother; the woman had disappeared like smoke in the thin air, leaving a quiet hall and an open door behind. Arching an eyebrow, Simon shook his head and decided to have breakfast on his own. But, on his way to the kitchen, something caught his eye and made him stop. A photo was hanging on the wall; it showed two children, a boy and a girl. The girl had a big smile on her face as she clutched a wooden spoon on her tiny hand, and her eyes were locked on the boy next to her, who was glaring at the piece of chocolate that covered his nose.

Arleen.

The name floated in his mind for some seconds as Simon stared at the smiling face of the redhead, and the same pang of solitude crossed his heart, before he resumed his walk. It had been almost five years since Arleen had left, five years of wondering the reason why she did. He was eleven then, and as a kid, he had refused to believe she was gone. That was the reason why he had kept knocking on her door, and not even when her mother yelled at him not to come back again, did he stop. They had told him that time cured it all, and even though Simon knew the pain that squeezed his heart would never go away, time had showed him something very important: there was no use in denying the fact that Arleen had left him. So, gradually, he stopped looking for the girl, for it was only bringing depression to him. But, he still waited for the day they'd meet again; something they both had promised.

A loud bang echoed in the air, immediately stopping him dead in his tracks and putting his hair on end. Heart beating wildly against its cage, Simon rushed back to the front door and out of the house. The sight that greeted him drained the colour from his face, turned his legs into jelly and punched him in the gut, effectively bringing him to his knees.

His mother was lying on the grass, which was painted red with the blood that was seeping from her trembling body. One of her hands clutched her stomach, and the other one lay motionless by her side. Quickly, and after stumbling over more than once, Simon kneeled next to her. Shock and desperation shone in his brown eyes as he tried to comprehend what was happening.

"M-mum, wh-what—" he chocked out, tears already flooding his sight.

The woman hushed him and tried to lift her free hand to his wet cheek, only for it to drop limply on the grass as the last bit of life abandoned her body, and her eyes became dull. Instantly, panic exploded in his chest. Feeling more hopeless than ever, Simon started to shake her lifeless body in an useless attempt to make her eyes open again.

"Mum!" he cried out. "Mum!"

Footsteps approached him from the distance, but he paid them no attention and continued to call for his mother, desperate. It was only when someone stopped by his feet that he became aware of the people surrounding him, each of them dressed in long, white gowns.

"Indications show the neighbours got into a fight, and this woman tried to stop them," said one of them, scanning the place with analysing eyes as he spoke. "It looks like Mr. Reynolds was keeping a gun and decided to use it today, taking his own wife with him."

"What do we do, then?"

"Follow the orders given to us; we came for the boy, and he's here."

Then, before Simon could process their words, something cold and sharp punctured his neck, and the world around him melted into darkness.

—·—

Simon was gone, dead.

As much as he tried to get the words into his head, the more he repeated them, the less he believed them. It was plainly stupid; it made no sense at all. Ever since he had woken up in that white room, dressed in what seemed to be blue pyjamas, he had heard nothing but those words. However, seeing as he had refused to understand them —as those bloody men had literally said—, he had been forced to remain there with nothing that could get his mind off the dead eyes of his mother. Day after day, someone had come up to him, only to leave right away after realizing he was still stubborn enough to ignore them. The boy had no clue as to why it seemed to be so important to them that he spoke those words, but after what felt long weeks, he couldn't take it anymore.

"Simon is gone, dead."

He couldn't bring himself to talk back as the scrutinizing stare of the man before him scanned his face. Dr. Norman, was it? To be honest, he didn't care who that man was, nor did he plan on asking him about it. A metal table stood between them, so clean the boy could see his reflection on it. Dull eyes stared back at him when he fixed his gaze on it, and he immediately noticed the dark bags that had formed under them due to the lack of sleep and consecutive exhaustion that invaded his body. He was a mess; there was no denying it.

Finally, the boy repeated the words, and his voice sounded croaked and drained of energy. However, if Dr. Norman noticed it, he ignored it and smiled, obviously pleased.

"Good, I must say I was starting to run out of patience with you." He used two fingers to push his glasses up, before his gaze fell upon the documents scattered in front of him. "Now, there are only two rules you cannot break," he stated, looking up to cast the boy a knowing glanced, before he went back to reading the documents.

Dr. Norman hummed and nodded twice, as though he was having a conversation with the paper. After a minute or so, he took his glasses off and placed them on the table, next to the documents. Then, his hawk-like-gaze drifted to the blond, who sat opposite to him.

"I don't think it's necessary to show you what happens to the ones who break them." The boy caught the threat behind his words and shook his head. "Well, look at that! We think alike, after all. Good, good." The man clapped his hands mockingly, which earned him a glare that he decided not to notice. "Rule one: do as told, no questions and no complaints. I really hate it when some of you cry; it's distracting. And, rule two: don't talk about the past." Dr. Norman leaned forward slightly and added, "Simon's dead, remember?"

The boy could only nod, even though he wanted nothing more than to kick Dr. Norman where the sun didn't shine and get the hell out of that place. What stopped him from doing so wasn't something moral, but the realization that there was no one waiting for him in case he escaped. And that scared him more than he would ever admit.

Dr. Norman took something from his pocket and tossed it at him from across the table, causing the blond to quickly slam a hand on it to prevent its fall. It was a small paper, like a sticker, and something was written on it.

"Subject A-5," he read out loud, frowned and looked back at the man. "What does this mean?"

"Put that on that shirt, right over your chest." Dr. Norman ignored his confusion and began to pick up his belongings. "Someone will lead you to where the rest of the subjects are."

He got up and started to make his way towards the closed door, but before he crossed it, he lifted a hand, as though he had forgotten something. Swiftly, he turned to where the boy still sat.

"You go by Newt now."

With that, he was out, and two different people, dressed in white gowns, walked in. Not daring to speak a word, Newt let them take him away from the room.

The corridor was illuminated by artificial light; no windows let the rays of the sun percolate through the thick walls. Now that he thought about it, Newt didn't recall seeing one in the room he'd been staying in, either. The curious fact awoke a question in his mind, and he was about to open his mouth, when Dr. Norman's words crossed his head.

No questions.

Newt pursed his lips into an annoyed frown, but other than that, remained silent and calm as he followed the strange people down the corridor. He had glued the stick to his chest, just like he had been told, and it seemed to shine under the intense light provided by the lamps above him. Nothing made sense to Newt ever since he had woken up in that room —even the white sneakers covering his feet looked out of place. However, he knew nothing good would come to him if he decided to retort their rules.

Simon was dead.

Dr. Norman had made it clear for him to understand the meaning behind those words. His past life was forgotten, and Newt almost wished for it to be actually true. Maybe, things would be easier that way; not having the dead eyes of his mother following him everywhere, or the rosy face of Arleen smiling sadly at him whenever he looked at her house... But, something told him he wasn't going to be near that house in very long.

Newt sighed. As if that would ever be enough for her remembrance to disappear from his mind. No, it wouldn't. And, for some reason, the thought lightened his heart. Of course, Newt couldn't deny the fact that it still hurt him to think about her, but deep inside, he didn't want to forget. The moments he had shared with her were way too precious for him to allow something so horrible to happen.

"This is where we leave you."

The monotonous voice of the man snapped him out of his thoughts, and Newt did his best not to snort. Instead, his brown eyes flickered to the closed doors that stood before him. His ears immediately caught the sound of people talking, even laughing. Curiously, the sound brought a smile to his lips; it had been so long since he had heard something as genuine as laughter.

"Go in," the woman urged, obviously not having the patience to deal with him anymore.

Newt placed both hands on the doors and pushed lightly. However, he put more force than necessary, and the doors flew open. Soon enough, a loud sound echoed through the room behind them as they slammed against the wall. Immediately, silence replaced the animated conversations that had been taking place before, and every pair of eyes turned to where he stood. It was a spacious room, where tons of boys and girls were sitting at tables, and it didn't take him long to realize none of them was much older than him, even though he did see some who still held the innocent look of a twelve-year-old child.

Minutes passed by, and Newt was starting to hate the attention he was attracting. Thankfully, an Asian boy approached him.

"Yo, name's Minho," he said as he offered him a hand to shake, which Newt accepted after a second of hesitation.

"Hey, look, he's subject A-5!" another boy shouted when he was close enough, then patted Minho's back as an amused grin spread across his face. "That means he's probably more important than you," he pressed as he pointed to his shirt.

With an annoyed frown on his face, Minho swatted his hand away, thus revealing the words Subject A-7 behind.

"That means shit, Frypan," he snapped. "Besides, you're A-9."

Frypan merely shrugged.

"So, what don't we take subject A-5 with us before he decides to aim his anger at something more fragile than a door, like me, for example?" He began to walk back to the table he'd been sitting before and was soon followed by a grumpy Minho.

"Will you quit calling me that?" Newt argued, finally snapping out of his short stupor, and ran to catch up with Minho. "I have a bloody name."

"Which is?"

"S—" Newt stopped dead in his tracks before he made a huge mistake and, after noticing the knowing look he was receiving from Minho, cleared his throat. "Newt."

-#-

Newt had been sitting on the same chair, at the same table, in the same bloody room, for hours. Honestly, he was starting to grow bored out of his mind. Yet, he knew he was better there than alone in the white room. He had talked to some of the boys and girls, the ones who had approached him to introduce themselves, and shared some words with Minho and Frypan. However, not being able to talk about oneself was resulting to be more complicated than anticipated, and having a conversation that lasted more than five seconds was an impossible mission.

"Don't worry, it happened to me when I got here, too," Frypan said, trying to enlighten his mood.

At that, Newt perked up.

"When was that?"

Frypan hummed, as though he were pondering his answer.

"I actually have no idea," he confessed. "But I've been here long; I know everyone and have talked to them twice at least."

Beside him, Minho snorted in amusement.

"Except for Riley," he commented nonchalantly.

Frypan just rolled his eyes and shrank back into his seat.

"That's because she's not here most of the time."

Newt, who didn't know almost anyone there, was curious about the new name. However, before he had the chance to ask about it, the doors opened and Dr. Norman walked in.

"Subject B-13," he called out, and Newt could've sworn there was a maniac smirk on his lips, but it was gone before he could look closely.

"And there she goes," Minho spoke again as he let out a sigh. "Was wondering how long they'd take to get her."

That attracted Newt's gaze, which left Dr. Norman's face. His heart almost stopped then and there. His eyes widened out of shock, and his jaw went slack at the unexpected sight. A girl had stood from one of the seats, some feet away from him, and was now walking towards the man. Her red locks swung around her slender figure as she moved, and Newt couldn't help but be amazed by her confidence. There was no denying it; she was attractive —even dressed in the same blue uniform everyone else was wearing. Her lips were pulled into a thin line, and her annoyance was evident. In all her resolution, she passed by their table, and that was when Newt noticed something strange, yet familiar, about her. Unconsciously, he leaned forward in an attempt to watch her more closely.

A yelp escaped his mouth when Minho's elbow connected with his stomach, and Newt sent him a shocked stare.

"Dude, you obviously don't know the meaning of dissimulating," the boy hissed and rolled his eyes, before suddenly, a smirk spread across his lips. "Well, you got her attention, at least."

And it was true. She hadn't stopped, but the girl was certainly giving Newt a disapproving glance from the corner of her eye. Nevertheless, when his brown gaze clashed with her green one, the two teens inhaled a sharp breath. The evident surprise caused her to flatter a little, but she quickly averted her eyes from him, and soon enough, her figure disappeared behind the doors.

"I say Newt here is her type."

"I don't know, it looked more like she was repulsed by him."

"Like when you tried to approach her?"

"She definitely was disgusted then."

The table burst into laughter, but Newt wasn't listening to none of them. His eyes were still locked on the closed doors, and his mind replayed the short encounter with Riley. Something inside him fluttered with hope... and something else he decided not to speak about at the moment being. There was only one thing he was sure of: he knew that girl. But she went by other name -as did he- when they met so many years ago.

There was no Riley then, but Arleen.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, the blond turned towards Frypan, who was chuckling at something Minho had said.

"You said she's not here most of the time," he began, catching not only his attention, but the rest as well. "Why's that?"

One of the boys pointed at him with his big hand.

"See? You're already wrapped around her finger," he shouted accusatively, which earned him a glare from Minho that effectively silenced him.

"Don't know, brother," Frypan admitted, easily ignoring the jab at Newt. "They just seem to have taken a liking to her."

"I asked Sonya about that, but she doesn't know much," Minho added as his eyes wandered to a girl with long, blonde hair, who was sitting next to the now vacant seat in which Riley had been some seconds ago. "Just that Rachel kind of made a deal with them."

A frown crossed Newt's features as Frypan shrugged casually.

"I'd tell you to ask her yourself, but if Sonya doesn't know, you won't get anything out of it."

"Probably a punch in the face," someone commented and snickered, and the rest began to laugh again at some inside joke Newt obviously didn't understand. "I bet Gally's eye is still black!"

Minho, noticing his obvious confusion, decided to explain it to him.

"She's not much of a talker. Honestly, I don't give a fuck about it. But some people here tried to stick their noses into her affairs, constantly asking about the same thing you're wondering about," he said and placed a hand under his chin as his lips turned slightly upwards into an amused smirk. "Guess what? She's not tolerant either."

To say that Newt was stunned by the revelation would be an understatement. Back when they were just kids, the boy knew her to be friendly and caring; besides, she loathed violence. Whenever someone fought or argued in front of her, she would jump in to attempt to stop them. That was why Newt was having a hard time accepting that new, unfamiliar side of her. Then again, they hadn't seen each other for years, and she wasn't the little girl he remembered her to be.

On the other hand, he couldn't help but wonder what could have pushed her to make a deal with those people, and his concerns increased when the boys told him about the awful state she came out in every time she was called.

-#-

Her heart beat in worry as Riley made her way down the illuminated corridor, following Dr. Norman. The man hadn't even spared her a glance, for he knew she wouldn't dare to ask him any question about the new boy. Needless to say, the relationship between the two teens was well known by WICKED; the documents explained it with no fault. Therefore, Dr. Norman had no doubt the girl's mind was spinning nonstop, looking for something that could explain the inexplicable. He knew it'd be a matter of time before the confusion she felt turned into rage, and he couldn't wait for that to happen. There were many people working there that enjoyed seeing Rachel in pain, and Dr. Norman was one of them. Ever since the girl had managed to get to their Chancellor to try to talk her into making a deal, he had done what was in his hands to make her suffer. To think that a child had dared to break the rules and had gotten out of it without much more punishment than an insignificant rebuke- it was indignant.

While dragging her feet along the slippery floor, she followed the man until they stopped in front of a white door. There was no need to tell her about what would be coming next; she knew it too well. However, what she wasn't expecting —and Dr. Norman definitely didn't, either— was for a woman to greet her when they walked in. She had short, blond hair and a kind smile plastered on her pale face. As soon as the door opened, she had approached them with a notebook in her arms.

"Thank you for bringing her in, Dr. Norman." Her voice was cold as she spoke, and she held the man's gaze with her hard one. "Chancellor Paige has assigned today's procedure to me, so you won't be needed here."

His eyes were narrowed into slits as he glared at the short woman. His discontent was evident, yet Riley felt the luckiest girl in the world. Well, maybe not the luckiest, but she definitely was relieved. She knew that woman, Dr. Neah Wallace; out of all the people who worked there, Riley had managed to find someone like her. Neah was a kind woman, who cared for all the children brought by WICKED, and had helped her whenever the girl had been in trouble; something that wasn't common to see among the scientists there.

"Very well," Dr. Norman grunted, obviously not pleased in the slightest. "I'll get her after an hour."

"That won't be necessary," Neah said curtly. "I myself will take her to the dorms."

Dr. Norman was about to say something, but his pocket suddenly shook as the bleeper inside went off. Without much of a goodbye, the man stormed out and slammed the door shut behind him. Almost instantly, Riley let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"Come on, the sooner we start this, the sooner you'll be out," Neah urged as she walked over to the single bed, which was located in the middle of the room.

Reluctantly, Riley followed her and lay down on it. Neah was already working on the tubes and other things the girl would rather not see. Then, she moved to the bed and punctured her arm with a thin needle.

"We don't have much time, and I know you have questions," she spoke lowly and winced, as though it was her arm the one being punctured.

"Why is he here? I made a deal with Paige so this wouldn't happen," Riley quickly attacked, her green eyes narrowed as she stared up at the ceiling.

Neah sighed heavily but didn't flatter. She moved away to write something on the computer before going back to the girl's side.

"Riley, you couldn't really expect that deal to work. WICKED doesn't need your approval to work on your body," she said sternly, but Riley could hear the fatigue in her voice. "The only thing you achieved by commiting such rebellious act was to anger some important people."

Silence fell within the room as Rachel swallowed the words, and it didn't take her long to realize the doctor was, indeed, right. However, the fact that they had been using her for their own enjoyment, toying with her, as though she were a doll, caused her blood to boil in utter rage.

"I know you're angry; I sometimes don't understand their actions, either," Neah admitted, before the sound of her blood being drained from her body began to echo throughout the room. "But there's nothing I can do."

"I know," Riley mumbled weakly; dizziness was starting to roll down her veins, and her eyelids became heavier by seconds. "But I need to talk to him about this. He needs to know."

"Riley... That'd be pointless. The trials are about to start, and your memories will be removed," the woman pointed out, reminding her of the inevitable. "Don't do something reckless—don't give me that look, I know you well enough. But listen to me this time; don't give them another reason to hurt you. Or him. The trials alone are already hard enough, and you don't need to be put in more danger. Your survival won't be guaranteed if you make more enemies."

The girl let her eyelids close. Her breaths began to become heavy and laboured, but she used her remaining strength to ask for one last favour.

"Send—send us together at least," she pleaded and fluttered her eyes open to give the woman an imploring look. "I'm aware of the risks... but I'm willing to take them." The last words came out as a puff of air.

As the girl slipped into slumber, and Neah quickly stopped the machine, consequently stopping the blood from being drained, silence flooded the place once again. When the woman had made sure Riley breathed calmly and had checked out her vitals, she sat down on the chair beside the bed. A frown had worked its way to her forehead, and she bit her lip as she thought her plea over. If she did so, Neah would have to be ready to accept her fate —her death.

Her tired eyes drifted to Riley, before a sad smile crept to her lips. She couldn't believe she was willing to give up her own life for that girl.

"I'm afraid that I won't be able to protect you this time, little one," she said, using the nickname she had given her so many time ago, when Riley was nothing but an innocent kid.

-#-

During five long days, Riley had repeated the plan Neah had designed in her head as much as she had been able to. And, while she did, she had made sure not to cross paths with Simon—Newt. The boy had tried to approach her more than once, but every time he had stood from his seat, Minho or Frypan had managed to stop him. Riley had seen it, the way his eyes followed her everywhere, longing and hurt. But the girl had ignored him and her aching heart the best she could.

Of course, there was nothing she wished more than to talk to him. But Neah had been clear: if they wanted the plan to work, Riley had to act like she didn't know him. The woman had literally said: "that will keep him out of the spotlight" and "you just have to make sure he won't go with the rest when he's called."

To be honest, Riley was still trying to get to that part. How could she accomplish such thing without having him question her actions?

"Thank God, he's been called." Sonya's voice snapped her out of her trail of thoughts, and she looked up to see that, indeed, Newt was standing up from his seat. "He wouldn't stop staring at you; it was seriously staring to get on my nerves."

But Riley wasn't listening to her anymore, because more boys began to empty their respective seats and walk towards the doors, where a man was calling for them. Today was the day, and Rachel had to spring into action.

"...and Subject A-17," concluded the man. Then, without waiting for everyone to reach the doors, he walked away.

Immediately, Riley jumped to her feet. Her eyes were fixed on Newt as he walked along with Minho. Ignoring the bewildered gaze of Sonya, she rushed to them. Without them noticing, she located herself next to Minho and whispered, "Keep walking."

Fortunately for her, Minho was so shocked he didn't find it in himself to make a comment about it, especially after seeing the serious look on the redhead's face. Thus, he nodded shortly and continued making his way to the doors. That was how Riley found herself staring into the brown eyes of her childhood friend, the one who still kept her heart in his hands. Shock and confusion were written all over his face as he observed her, and she took just one second to look him over.

He surely had grown into a young man—a handsome, young man. His features had sharpened, and his body had literally evolved like a damned Pokemon. Only his eyes remained the same; they held the same kindness they shone with back when they were nothing but kids. She watched them as they wandered over her face, then her body before finally going back to stare into her green gaze. Quickly, she casted a glance over her shoulder to see that Minho was leaving the room. Her insides churned out of anxiety; she was running out of time.

Knowing that knocking him out to stop him from following the rest of the boys would be too extreme, she placed her hands on both sides of his face and pulled him towards her. Their lips met in rushed, desperate motion and didn't move as they savoured the short, emotional moment.

"Stay here," she suddenly whispered, her breath hitting his mouth.

Newt could only stare, dumbfound, at the redhead as she ran out of the room without casting a single glance at him.

-#-

They had been sent; the first ones. Riley had gone with them, replacing her good friend. But she wouldn't remember any of that when she woke up, and Neah could only hope her life wouldn't be as difficult as it had been during her years in WICKED quarters. It was a naïve hope, but it was all the woman could do for her now: pray for her and for the rest of them.

Slowly, she took off the mask, threw it into a bag and began to follow the rest of the doctors out. From that moment on, they'd watch the boys and girls through a screen, unable to do anything but that: observing. When she was about to step out, a voice stopped her.

"Dr. Wallace, you're required by Dr. Janson."

She merely nodded and resumed her walk. It didn't matter; she had already braced her fate. A small, sad smile spread across her face as she stepped into the room Dr. Janson was waiting in.

"Good luck, little one."

Soon enough, the thunderous sound of a gun going off echoed through the entire building.

Thanks to everyone who read, followed and favourited. And a special thank you to amillipede, Green30, mockingjaybrandybuck, thechildofmischief and softball007 for reviewing!

Don't forget to review! I really don't know why this isn't getting as much readers and such as my other story, but if you see something you don't like please tell me.

Next chapter will take place in the Glade at last!