What is going on? Thomas asked Aris, meeting his friend's eyes in the chaos.

No idea. I can't reach Rachel or Teresa. Something's blocking us. With all the noise it was pointless to try to talk normally.

Gladers were running around, pointing at the windows and screaming.

Against his better judgement, Thomas stared out of the window nearest him, Aris had turned to stare at the wall with determination.

The glass was broken, jagged shards leaning against crisscrossed steel bars. A man stood on the other side, gripping the bars with bloody hands. His eyes were wide and bloodshot, filled with madness. Sores and scars covered his thin, sunburnt face. He had no hair, only diseased splotches of what looked like greenish moss. A vicious slit stretched across his right cheek; Thomas could see teeth through the raw, festering wound. Pink saliva dribbled in swaying lines from the man's chin.

"I'm a Crank!" the horror of a man yelled. "I'm a bloody Crank!"
And then he started screaming two words over and over and over, spit flying with every shriek.
"Kill me! Kill me! Kill me! ..."

The 'cranks' were everywhere, staring and screaming at the Gladers through all the windows. All of which had bars, meaning that the rescuers had known they were a threat. Where were those people anyway?

"Everyone slim it!" Newt yelled from the centre of the room. Most of the boys stopped their screaming, desperately looking at Newt to tell them what to do.

"We need to get out of here, find the girls, have a Gathering. All this noise is driving nails through my skull." That, Thomas thought, was at least sensible. Finding Teresa and Rachel was first on his list of priorities.

the Gladers gathered around the green-painted door that led to the common area where they'd eaten pizza the night before. Minho was jerking on the round brass handle to no avail. Locked.

The only other door was to a shower and locker room, from which no other exits existed. There was that, and the windows. All with those metal bars. Thank goodness. Each one had raging lunatics screaming and yelling on the other side.

Even though worry ate at him like spilled acid in his veins, Thomas gave up momentarily on trying to contact Teresa and joined the other Gladers. Newt was having a go at the door, with the same useless result.

"It's locked," he muttered when he finally gave up, his arms falling weakly to his sides.

"Really, genius?" Minho said, his powerful arms folded and tensed, veins bulging all over the place. Thomas thought for a split second he could actually see the blood pumping through them. "No wonder you were named after Isaac Newton―such an amazing ability to think."

A boy found a fire extinguisher, and Newt used it to break the handle off.

"Wait," Frypan called out. "We sure we wanna go out there? Maybe that door was locked for a reason."

Thomas couldn't help but agree; something felt wrong about this.
Minho stepped up to stand right next to Newt; he looked back at Frypan, then made eye contact with Thomas. "What else're we gonna do? Sit here and wait for those loonies to get in? Come on."

"Those freaks aren't breaking through the window bars anytime soon," Frypan retorted. "Let's just think for a second"

"Time for thinking's done," Minho said. He kicked out with his foot and the door swung completely open; if anything, it seemed to grow even darker on the other side. "Plus, you should've spoken up before we blasted the lock to bits, slinthead. Too late now."

"I hate when you're right," Frypan grumbled under his breath.

Newt pushed the door open into blackness.

Immediately the voices of girls could be heard, even though he didn't recognise Rachel or Teresa, Thomas was filled with relief.

"Someone find the shucking lightswitch." Harriet commanded, that got the boys looking for it too, banging into tables and things hanging from the ceiling. The room smelt awful.

Eventually someone found the lights, and the true horror of the scene could be realised.

Boys and girls stood on opposite sides of the room, dormitory doors still open, all of them staring at the bodies of their rescuers hanging from the ceiling.

They'd all been strung up by the neck, the ropes twisted and trenched into purple, bloated skin. The stiff bodies swung to and fro ever so slightly, pale pink tongues lolling out of their white-lipped mouths. All of them had eyes open, though glazed over with certain death.

The staring only lasted a moment before the two groups collided, friends hugging each other. Thomas and Aris found Teresa and Rachel, embraced them, the telepathy had been cut off, but they were still all together.

"Are there cranks at your windows too?" Rachel asked, once they were all stood facing each other.

"Yes, woke up to pandemonium." Thomas answered her, the doors to the bedrooms had been slammed and the screaming had faded.

"What's that on the side of your neck?" Teresa pulled down Rachel's shirt collar. "A tattoo, words."

Rachel looked very confused.

"That wasn't there last night, what does it say?" She ran her hand over the skin, staring at her fingers as if expecting something to have rubbed off on them.

"Property of WICKED, Subject B2, The Sacrifice." Teresa read.

Sacrifice. The word filled Thomas's thoughts, he remembered how Rachel had nearly been killed by Beth's knife as Gally had killed Chuck. Sacrifice, WICKED had been willing to sacrifice her for a variable. WICKED had somehow found them, killed their rescuers and regained control.

"Earth to Thomas." Teresa waved a hand in front of his face. "C'mon, we should go tell Newt and them about this." She turned around, throwing all of her hair over one shoulder.

That allowed Thomas to see it, the thick black printed letters that had never been there before.

"Wait, you've got one too." Thomas, Rachel and Aris gathered around Teresa, staring at the words.

Property of WICKED

Subject A1

The Betrayer

Aris read the words aloud. "What does it mean?" He asked them all, they were yet to try the telepathy again, no one had any answers.

"Someone check me." Thomas said, he had a sinking feeling that every Glader had a tattoo.

"Property of WICKED, Subject A2, The Runner." Teresa read, Rachel did the same for Aris.

"Property of WICKED, Subject B1, The Partner."

"Newt." Thomas tapped the boy's arm, he was deep in conversation with Sonya and Harriet.

"What Tommy?"

"Us, ya know me, Teresa, Rachel, Aris." The three leaders were nodding, aggravated, as if they knew he would say that. "We found these tattoos, on the sides of our necks, they say property of WICKED, that we're subjects."

That really did get their attention.

"Show me." Harriet demanded, with all the authority Alby had once had. Thomas turned obediently, felt their breath on his skin, Sonya read the words aloud.

"Holy shuck." Newt whispered. "D'ya think everyone has one of these?"

"Quite sure."

A lot of Gladers were listening now, and the next few moments were a frenzy of people checking each other's necks, shouting out subject numbers. Few had the special designations, which Thomas took care to remember, they were shouted louder than anything else.

Harriet was B4: The Warrior. Newt was A5: The Glue. Sonya B5: The Survivor.

Minho and Miyoko joined them after a moment. They were The Leader, and The Counterweight, A7 and B7.

"So all the girls are B and all the boys are A. So what's with those two?" Miyoko gestured to Aris and Teresa. Teresa was A1, but all the other As were boys, Aris was B1 but all the other Bs were girls, it didn't make any sense.

Harriet went around for a moment with a notepad and pencil, Newt shouting information to her. Thomas remembered she had taken them from the Glade, she seemed to be keeping track of who was still alive.

"Look here." Harriet instructed, pointing at a page where she had written twelve names, with some other information.

A1, Teresa, The Betrayer.

B1, Aris, The Partner.

A2, Thomas, The Runner.

B2, Rachel, The Sacrifice.

The number three was skipped other entirely, whoever they were they must be dead.

B4, Harriet, The Warrior. Thomas presumed Alby would have been A4.

A5, Newt, The Glue.

B5, Sonya, The Survivor.

B6, Beth, The Repentant. Gally must have been A6, a part of Thomas hoped he was dead.

A7, Minho, The Leader.

B7, Miyoko, The Counterweight.

B8, Mary, The Remnant.

There was no A8, and no more names.

"No one else has anything other than property of WICKED, and a number, Frypan and Jane are nine."

"Who's Mary?" Teresa asked, it was the only unfamiliar name but it did ring a bell somewhere in Thomas's mind.

"Weird stick, her partner was George, he was the first one to die. Griever sting, messed her right up." Sonya explained.

Thomas remembered how Chuck had once pointed out a strange girl who kept to herself, he had never spoken to her, but the title seemed to make sense. Most of them did.

Newt was the glue because he held everyone together. Thomas knew full well he was a runner. WICKED had been ready to sacrifice Rachel for a variable. Miyoko was the counterweight to Minho's anger. There was no question that Harriet was a warrior and Sonya was a survivor. Minho had the potential to be a leader.

It made perfect sense that Beth would be sorry for what she had done, hadn't she tried to express that sentiment the night before. Aris always worked with Rachel or Teresa, never alone.

Teresa as The Betrayer. That was the only one that didn't make sense. She had never betrayed anyone, Thomas couldn't imagine she ever would.

Thomas quickly told them all of it, Harriet scribbling down every word.

An alarm began to sound. The same one heard in the Glade when Teresa and Aris had arrived, it had no discernible source.

Then the alarm stopped as suddenly as it had come, and all the bodies hanging from the ceiling were gone.

"What the…" Sonya was staring around in disbelief. "That can't have been real."

"It must have been like the Cliff." Newt suggested.

"But we could feel the bodies." She continued, all around the room Gladers were staring in similar confusion. Stretching out their hands to touch air that had been solid moments before.

The removal of the bodies was pleasant but troubling. How could such a thing happen under their noses, when the only exit was a door chained tight?

That wasn't all that had changed, the beds were remade, dressers stocked. Most noticeably, a brick wall had appeared, outside every window, and the cranks were gone.

It was utterly impossible, so how were they experiencing it?