Time for our favourite sarcastic character! ;)
9. Minho
Falling asleep was easy, but lately, Minho had been getting dreams.
When he had told Thomas about them, his friend had looked mortified. Like someone just found a dead body in the Town Hall. Then, the younger boy told him they weren't dreams - they were memories, and Thomas had been having them since the Scorch.
So it turned out that the Swipe wasn't foolproof, and when the Right Arm blew WICKED's mainframe to pieces, that probably weakened the little device in Minho's head even more. Thomas probably had started getting memories earlier because of the Changing.
The dreams were bad enough, but now that Minho knew they were memories, they were even worse. He didn't want to sleep anymore - no matter how much fatigue tugged at his eyelids, or how lulling the stars were, or how cozy it felt to share the bed.
Sleep came for him, though. Just like it came for everybody else.
He is six years old, and he lives with his family in the same house he grew up in, even though it's been three years since the sun flares scorched the Earth and two years since the Flare became rampant. They live in a city close to Mount Baker, so the elevation helps keep things relatively normal.
Until his older brother is assailed on his way home from work and taken away for being infected with the Flare.
Alex's infected status spurs investigation into the rest of the family. Now, the little boy sits on a couch with his parents in their living room as the two men in green suits explain the process that determines your status. Infected, uninfected, or immune. The words are muffled nonsense for him, though. Nothing matters if Alex isn't around.
"Because your older son has the Flare, it's very likely all of you do as well," one of the men says. "If that's the case, we'll need the names and contact info of all of the people with whom you have interacted in the last month."
His father nods, a solemn look on his face. "Please, let's get on with this," he says tiredly. "I have already lost a son. Don't make me lose my patience, as well."
The other man nods slowly and says, "Right. The first resident we will be testing is Kim, Eric."
He feels a jab in his side as his mother gently pushes him to get off the couch. "Don't be scared," she whispers in Korean. He knows the language like he knows the back of his hand, but he cannot find the courage to reply.
He walks over to the men and they place the metal contraption over his face. He tries to ignore the tension in the room and the surprising puff of air in his face.
"Immune," the first man says with a hint of surprise.
"Next: Kim, Dennis."
They test his father and mother, and the result is the same for both of them: immune.
The men seem surprised, and they whisper hurriedly to each other as they put away their tools. Finally, when everything is packed away, one of them turns to the family.
"You should know that there is a lot of hostility towards Immunes," he says. "Fistfights, knife fights, muggings, burglary. It's horrifying. Especially since we can't catch all of the Cran - er, infected people. The ones past the Gone are more likely to act out. You are actually in a lot of danger. All of you."
"We can offer protection for your son, though," the other man says. "Only your son."
His parents look at each other and in a split second, there is an understanding. He feels the queasiness long before the two words leave his father's mouth.
"Take him."
Minho woke up with a gasp and a jolt. Sitting up, he looked around the room frantically, his heart rate slowing down as he took in the familiar surroundings. The wooden walls. The clothes strewn all over the place. The breathing lump next to him.
It was just a dream. A memory. He had nothing to worry about anymore. Not really, anyways.
"Go to sleep already, you damn stick."
"Ela," Minho called.
"Stop calling me that," Dora grumbled in reply.
"I'll let you call me by my real name," he suggested.
With a heavy sigh, Dora rolled onto her back and looked up at Minho.
"I already call you Minnie," she said. "I thought we decided that fit you brilliantly."
"You decided," Minho corrected. "Eric. That's my real name."
Dora wrinkled her nose and looked around the room in faux deep thought. "No, I think I prefer Minnie," she finally said as she returned her gaze to him. "So, how do you feel?"
"About remembering?"
"Yeah."
"Shucking horrible."
Dora remained silent, examining him with a small frown on her face. He could tell she was trying to figure out if he was playing down his emotions or being honest.
He was playing them down. And she saw right through it.
"You were right to not get your Swipe removed," Dora said. "Worst decision of my life."
"Guess I'm getting my memories back no matter what, though, so I might as well have let WICKED take it out back then," Minho grumbled.
"Yeah, but... at least now they're coming back slowly," she said quietly. "If you got your Swipe removed, all of your memories would have hit you like an avalanche, and then after a few minutes, you have the whole story. It's... shocking. It feels like you're being repeatedly dunked in ice water."
"I remembered my parents," he muttered.
No reply came, and Minho almost thought she was rolling her eyes at him, until he felt her arm drape across his shoulders. Dora squeezed him close to her and wrapped the other arm around his torso.
"That's always the worst memory," she replied softly.
I always figured Minho was born in a pretty normal family. Don't know why :P
Sneak peek of next chapter, featuring an OC:
She tries to steady her breathing and tune out everything until all she hears is the lub-dub of her heart and all she sees is the target in front of her. She pulls back the bow, arrow poised, squints at her target, and - bullseye.
A long screech of the whistle goes off, and she drops the bow in her hands, crumples to the ground, and finally lets out a groan of pain.
