This chapter is sort of a filler, but sort of not a filler. I'm just putting everything in place now for the big showdown. Which decides whether Newt lives or dies. I'm not sure whether I can fit everything into the next chapter, so it may be split into two chapters. Anyway, I provided a Prototype-canon insight into Janson's mind at the end of this chapter, but it's very poorly done. I didn't get to do much research into the mind of a psychopath…
There were two guests, so I'll just display your reviews so that you can identify which is your reply. Hope you don't mind!
Response to reviews:
Guest: This is such a good story line I've loved reading it so far. Also like what you've done with gallys character can't wait to see how this is gonna pan out! :)
Reply: Thank you! I've always pictured Gally as the tough love kind of guy, but isn't exactly a hero-he wants to live, and he doesn't care how he does it, so he's not above pleading and mucking around someone's feet either. Despite what he may want them to think, he still cares, and regrets what he did to Chuck, even though he didn't really have any choice.
Guest: mg this is getting so tense i actually can't wait for the next chapter! Where do you get all these amazing ideas from!? Xx
Reply: I…don't really know either XD The idea started out as Newt having prototypes being tested on him, so on a whim I wrote the prologue, then I read Bittersweet and started to have a clearer idea of how I wanted the story to go, so I just went off writing, adding in little plot bunnies here and there, fleshing out the story. Thanks for your praise!
Maze Runner Junkie: Hey there! Did I really put that much suspense into each chapter? I hope not…reading is supposed to be relaxing, after all XD Sorry for the late update, but I hope this chapter can make up for it!
Those we love don't go away. They walk beside us everyday…unseen, unheard, but always near. Still loved, still missed, and very dear.
Prototype
Chapter Nine
The door slid open with a hiss, and Newt whirled, trying to keep his balance with the razor pointed towards the intruder. Only now did he realize how pathetic he looked, as he caught a sideways glance of himself in the mirror. A shaking boy, pale as a sheet of paper, holding out a tiny razor in front of him. WICKED would come with guns and strong, fit men.
But he would not go down with a fight, Newt decided, craning his head to get a better view of the intruder.
"Newt." Dr. Hong called softly, and it startled him. He didn't drop the razor, afraid that her friendliness was just another WICKED manipulation, another farce.
"Newt!" More urgently, and he heard footsteps coming towards the bathroom. "We have to go. Just come with me. I'll try to get you out of here."
Newt remained frozen in his position, unsure of whether he could trust her. Dr. Hong found him before he could decide, and gave a visible wince as her eyes settled on him. He was dimly aware that blood has started to trickle from his nose again, and he was actually starting to get used to that sensation.
"Put that razor down, okay? Trust me. Luke…Dr. Callestan asked me to get you out of here. Janson is crazy, Newt. Subject B7-Joanne. She died from Prototype-63. Janson still wants to test it on you, so we have to get you out now. Just follow me, out of WICKED. Then you can stop trusting me, go our separate ways. But please. There's no time."
Newt wasn't good at making split second decisions, not ever since they had started feeding him weird things. All that thinking just made him hurt more, and he'd figured that the bleeding was caused by thinking too much. Every time he attempted to use his brain, he would feel dizzy, and if he did that for too long, then he would get a nosebleed. It was frustrating him, and he dimly wondered whether nosebleeds were sufficient to kill a person.
So this time, he let his instincts make the decision, and his instincts trusted Dr. Hong.
He gave a brief nod, and put the razor into the small backpack he had fashioned out of his bedsheets.
"Good." Dr. Hong said, handing him a pill. "Adrenaline pill. Lasts for thirty minutes. Let's go."
Dr. Hong opened the door, and Newt swallowed the pill. She started to run, and Newt had little difficulty keeping up with her, partly because she was so obviously out of shape, and partly because she was acutely aware of the state his body was in, pausing every now and then to look around the corner and to allow him a brief respite. Newt used the edge of the bedsheet to try to mop away the blood coming from his nose, which had slowed a little, so that it wouldn't dot the floor and leave a trail for someone else to follow.
It was all going well, at least until they reached the Berg hangar.
"Ah, no." Dr. Hong breathed, looking at the WICKED guards which congregated in front of each Berg. "They didn't bother with capturing us inside the building. They just blocked off the exit."
"What now?" Newt panted, leaning against the wall, head tilted upwards, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood.
Dr. Hong seemed to struggle with something for a moment, before finally coming to a decision.
"Do you mind visiting the Maze again?"
"I hope you realize what your selfish actions cost humanity." Janson said coldly, advancing on Dr. Callestan, who was in the grip of two of WICKED's guards, a triumphant look on his face despite his bedraggled situation. "If not for my quick thinking in blocking the exits, we would have lost a precious experimental subject, the only one remaining."
"And one you were determined to kill." Dr. Callestan replied coolly. "You were prepared to test a prototype that was confirmed potent enough to take Subject B7's life on Subject A5. We had no choice."
"No choice but to shut down the entire security system and have your partner remove him somewhere else? No choice but to delete all the data we have, that we built entirely from scratch?! No choice but to destroy all the hope that humanity has left?!" Janson was practically frothing at the mouth.
"Chancellor Paige has copies of those data, Dr. Janson." Dr. Callestan's eyes bore into him. "Contact her and have her give you a copy. You can do that, can't you?"
Dr. Callestan had caught him. Calling Ava Paige now, would be admitting weakness. It would mean reopening communications. It would mean halting the process of taking over, and if someone used the reopened channels to inform Ava Paige, Janson's career would be shot to hell. But without the data, any attempt at a prototype would just be a shot in the dark. Whatever chance he had of finding the Cure before Ava Paige was close to zero.
Check.
Janson's breathing was heavy as he slapped Dr. Callestan in the face. Dr. Callestan winced, but said nothing. He had won.
Then Janson's breathing steadied, and a mad glint appeared in his eyes. Dr. Callestan took a sharp breath. He turned to the skittish scientist behind him who looked ready to bolt at any second.
"Rivera." His voice was cool and calm. "Deliver a message to the labs. Ask them to come up with every last combination of prototypes they can. We are going to have one last shot at this. Maybe it'll bring back hope."
"What are you planning to do?" Dr. Callestan had a horrible feeling dawning on him.
Janson's grin was almost feral as he turned back to his prey, Dr. Rivera fleeing out of the room behind him. "Why, I'm going to recapture Subject A5. And test all of the prototypes left on him."
Janson was going to go down with a fight, at the very least. Maybe he would be lucky, and hit upon the Cure with a lucky guess, instead of those built on data and inferences. But Dr. Callestan knew what that would mean for Newt.
More testing. More lethal chemicals. No proper care, no regard for his health. And in Janson's madly driven rush for a last minute Cure, to manage it before Dr. Paige found out, Newt would most likely be dead.
Get him out in time. Dr. Callestan prayed, to the God of his younger days, to the God who had delivered a Cure for his cancer in response to his parents' prayers, but had done nothing about the Flare. Please, get him out in time.
Or kill him if they get their hands on him.
"Stop it, shank, you're making me nervous." Minho said from his perch by the window. Thomas stopped fiddling with the gun, and put it down slowly. Vince was still asleep, and Thomas didn't plan on waking him for another three hours, when they would almost be there. He didn't feel like sleeping any time soon, having been sorting through all those bittersweet memories of him and Teresa's younger days.
"Have you ever wondered what happened to Teresa and Aris?" He asked slowly, not daring to look at Minho. He knew that Minho hated them just as much as he did, probably even more, but it was because of how they hurt Thomas that he hated them. However, Thomas felt that Minho's hate was a bit too directed, not giving them a chance to explain, but if he voiced those thoughts…
"Why do you even care what happened to those shuck faced pieces of klunk?" Minho asked distastefully. "They were probably all cozy with WICKED already, maybe even oohing and aahing over our brain patterns together. I hope Newt doesn't have to see them while he's there, or he might just go crazy right then and there."
…that's what would happen. Thomas sighed internally, but Minho caught his slight slump of the shoulders with a sharp eye.
"You aren't seriously sympathizing with them, are you?" His voice was hard, grating. Thomas winced.
"No. No! I was just wondering if we could pull them over to our side, you know, have a little extra help. They both knew Newt, they might be compelled into helping-"
Truth to be told, he wasn't sure what he wanted to think of Teresa, and Aris who had been her accomplice, but the feeling of the need to defend her whenever Minho made one of his cutting remarks about her was there, and it told him that no matter how much he may want to, his heart wasn't letting go of Teresa any time soon.
Minho snorted. "If they really wanted to help Newt, they wouldn't have stuffed us all into that Maze in the first place. They probably knew what it was going to do to him, with all of those klunk-" He stopped abruptly.
Thomas froze, digging around in his half formed memories for a reference.
Newt. Subject A5. Janson talking casually about his psychological analysis, possible brain patterns to be harvested once the Gladers lost their Glue-
"You all right there, shank?" Minho leaned forward. Thomas leaned backward, away from him, fighting the urge to run away as flashes and images forced themselves upon him.
A falling figure. Desperately dragging out the time the Doors closed, precious seconds obtained by doing everything short of jamming the controls. Blood. So much blood and tears, a leg that wouldn't ever be the same-
"No." He said hoarsely. "No. Oh, God. Newt."
Minho's expression turned cold with realization. "You were watching."
Thomas buried his face in his hands. "I watched!" His yell was a broken whisper. "We knew! What it would do to him, what the Maze would do to all of you!"
The reminder that Thomas had been one of the Creators, one of those people who had put them in the Maze, suggested the Scorch Trials, inspired Janson to create the Third Trials. That he had been one of the causes for Newt's death wish.
"Did you know?" Minho grabbed Thomas by the collar of his shirt, slamming him against the control board. At least he was careful to not press any buttons. "Before the Maze?"
"Yes. They had these tests-looking for signs of who would break first. A5 scored highest. They wanted to see what reactions would take place." Thomas was almost crying. "What patterns we could get. We needed the patterns!"
It was quickly becoming something always on the tip of his tongue, ready to be used as an excuse for something terrible he had done.
"I don't care for your shuck patterns!" Minho screamed, bringing a fist down on Thomas's face. His nose broke with a crack and a sharp bolt of pain shot through it. He accepted the pain, his penance.
"I'm sorry." Thomas gasped.
"Sorry doesn't cut it! You didn't see Newt, you didn't see Alby, you weren't there when Alby broke down while the Medjacks talked about bringing Winston in to help saw off Newt's leg if it came to that, when Newt woke up halfway and screamed the entire Homestead to hell while they were resetting his leg!" Minho paused for breath, his grip tightening on Thomas' shirt. His gaze softened. "You didn't see how he scolded us to quit arguing minutes after he came up. He was the first Greenie, you know. You didn't see him when I took him into the Maze for the first time. You didn't watch him plan the first campfire we ever had in the Glade. When he took the next Greenie under his wing. You never saw his smile, heard his laugh, hugged him tight! You watched, but you didn't see!"
Minho was right. Thomas never saw. He only had a very basic impression of Newt, from classes, from Dr. Hong's decision to call him the Glue. He saw potential patterns to be collected from the Control. He watched the Control, making friends, taking charge, climbing to reach his death. But he never saw Newt for the person he was.
Until he entered the Maze. Memories wiped, a clean, blank slate, without WICKED to poison him this time. To see humans instead of subjects, see personalities instead of brain patterns.
"I'm sorry, I really am…sorry…" Thomas heaved through sobs, and Minho let go of him, anger abating at the pitiful sight of Thomas crying his heart out on the floor. Saying nothing, he turned and left.
Thomas remained on the floor, curling into a ball, his task to watch over the Berg forgotten.
He didn't want to be Thomas any more.
Hope.
Janson felt that these days, he was the only one who could fully understand the significance of that tiny, four lettered word.
Didn't they see how precious hope was? Maybe even more than a Cure, for as long as there was hope, they would continue on, plowing away relentlessly at the labs, finding new possibilities, new ways, and eventually, by the law of statistics, they would be sure to find a Cure. Hope would keep them going, keep them alive.
So why was it that everyone was so insistent on him giving up his quest for hope?
Ava Paige hindered him, setting minor obstacles in his way, but hope would find a way to overcome that, and Janson had used it, using the Chancellor's naïve hope that Janson would listen to take control of his WICKED base.
Jorge and Brenda, Thomas and Minho had sent a huge wave to drown hope, but it was no matter-he had his boat ready, the Prototypes were lifesavers.
Then Subject B7 died. It was a waste, a pity, but Prototype 61 had proved that she had far lesser reactions to the prototypes compared to Subject A5. Their greatest asset yet. Janson wondered why he hadn't thought of using him sooner.
But the greatest blow towards hope was when Dr. Hong and Dr. Callestan had gone mad and decided to snatch humanity's last ray of hope away from him.
It was preposterous. Hope was vital towards survival.
But hope would not be defeated easily, and Janson was hope's conductor, almost like a prophet.
He would get Subject A5 back. And with him, rekindle humanity's dwindling hope.
All that stood in his way shall die.