"Count from one to five. Promise me that you'll remember." A voice, different from all those he had heard so far, appeared out of the blue.
Somehow, it felt strangely comforting. More so when he could actually make out what the voice, a boy not older than twelve or thirteen, was saying. The tone did surprise him, too. Part of it made it seem like an order, though it felt too pain-filled to be anything but a plea.
He tried to answer, or rather, ask what the boy was talking about. However, his mouth wouldn't move. Nothing worked: moving, talking, making any kind of sounds. Whatever was happening, it was too different from his other nightmarish, strange dreams.
"Those are also the stages of Grief." His own voice now appeared, though not due to his own struggles.
It had just appeared like a spark.
There was no telling how young he was, since his voice was unnaturally high-pitched. But he had a strange feeling, as if his gut was answering him instead of his mind.
He was twelve.
"Well, the fifth's acceptance."
"I should change my number, then. How about the second?"
"Anger? You? Come on, Li, be serious."
"It's better than the fifth."
"Forget the stages." The boy huffed tiredly. "Just try not to blow WICKED up while I'm gone. The last thing I need is for you to get in trouble while I'm not around . . . And without my memories . . ."
"Hey, it's OK. I'll be here, waiting for you. I'll remind you about everything. Even if you don't believe me." There was a pause, accompanied by an unknown warmness on his right cheek. "I promise—"
A hand on his shoulder shook him awake, forcing William to gasp for air, which seemed like his lungs had been deprived of for a long time. His eyes rose to meet the person that had woken him up. George stood there, giving a quick glimpse to his right.
There was no time to question what was going on as another hand landed on his shoulder, only this time forcefully getting him up and moving.
"Do you want to die? Move!"
And so he ran.
George was next to him, following their team to the inside of a factory-like building. They didn't know what they were running from, nor did they have the time to check. The screech of tires coming to a sudden halt could be heard in the distance, followed by the very noticeable sounds of gunshots. All that added to the grunts, yells, and inhuman screams, William could only guess that there were Cranks around.
When the door closed behind them, they finally took a moment to breathe and take in their surroundings. The previous theory hadn't been too far-fetched. The so-called Sanctuary looked like nothing more than a factory. People walked around, transporting material from one point to another, and opening tall, metallic doors, which had panels at the side.
Mae rounded up everyone behind her, despite Rowan arguing to be with her. They concentrated their attention on their sides, as they weren't short of potential threats inside the building, with no way to run off or escape.
"Welcome to the Sanctuary," Janson said, gesturing to the massive space. "You may think of it as your home for the duration of your mission."
The group exchanged dubious glances. They doubted they would ever consider that installation a 'home'. Nothing about it felt protective or safe. It was an unfriendly place, nothing but wariness all around.
"All talk about your mission has been postponed until tomorrow," Janson declared, then pointed at a gigantic metal door with a panel at the far end of the room. "So, if you follow me, we'll get you all squared away."
As the itinerary instructed, the boys were guided to a different bathroom from the girls to have their showers. William realised how alike the three of them were, as none had dared to look at the tattoos since they had entered the showers. What once baffled them had become a reminder of their impotence before WICKED.
Like glue, the word 'property' was stuck in their minds. The implications of it were digging deeper into their minds. They weren't children to WICKED, not even humans who deserved respect. They were things. Soldiers forced to play a role imposed on them by orders they physically could not defy.
They sat down, rummaging through the clothes left behind for them to change into, trying to find anything that would fit them. The lack of colour diversity made William chuckle. In trousers, it was one thing, though it also didn't vary much from grey, black, and brown. However, the shirts and jumpers were barely any different from one another apart in their sizes.
"What colour will you guys choose? Blue, greenish blue, or greyish blue?" He asked, finding a pale blue jumper between the clothes that would fit him. "I prefer the blue option, though other blue options are awesome, of course."
George sniggered, picking a colour so similar to William's jumper that it would seem identical. "Well . . ."
Henry laughed as the three stared at each other. "We could be triplets."
"Let's get dressed quickly and go see if the girls had better luck with their clothes," said George, while picking a pair of boots to put on.
"I'd be insulted if they had more colours than us. I like green and purple, man. Where are my green and purple shirts?" Henry whined.
"Ask Janson, not us." William chuckled, zipping up his boots before getting up from his seat. He walked a few steps, making sure they were the right size and didn't bother him, then turned back to his friends. "Not bad. It could be worse."
"Like what? Being forced into participating in a suicidal mission? Or realising someone can control your brain? Man, those would really be the worst," Henry commented mockingly, while George and William simply rolled their eyes jokingly, smiles present on their faces.
"Come on, let's go before we get more people with guns thrown at us." George opened the door for the rest, going out to a white hallway where a guard was waiting for them and the girls, who were still in their bathroom.
The three sat down with their backs against the wall and stared at the door, waiting in utter silence for the girls to come out. Their next visit would be the cafeteria, where they would eat dinner, and then go to their assigned room.
They didn't mind their current schedule. What worried them was the one for the following day. They could only guess what they would be told. Go out again. Risk their lives for a reason so vague that it would be difficult not to try to give up.
As afraid as they were internally, no one could wait for another second to get it over with.
When the girls were out of the bathroom, the entire group was taken to the cafeteria, where they got their trays of food and sat down at a table by the centre. To Henry's delight, the boys weren't the only ones with close to no choices in their wardrobe, since most of the girls were dressed the same way as well.
"What do we do now?" Flor asked no one in specific.
Mae took her fork, clutching it as she pressed it against her lips. "I guess we listen and play our part."
"I don't like the sound of that," Leen mumbled, scratching the back of her neck nervously.
"Me neither," said Henry.
"We can't do anything about it," Rowan pointed out, taking her fork to her mouth, but not feeling like taking a bite out of the food.
"Not as long as they can control us." Bea ran her fingers through her hair, undoing her pigtail, only to redo it seconds later.
"What if they couldn't?" William asked while playing around with his fork, trying not to give out his situation. "What if we could ignore the orders?"
Mae gave him a pitiful look, supposing his words were nothing but hopeful thoughts. "I guess we could escape. But I'm pretty sure they would kill us before we tried."
Giving up on eating another bite of his food, William pushed his tray to the centre of the table and scratched the back of his neck. His left hand traced a pattern over his right arm's sleeve.
He knew Mae was right. Could that be what being labelled as 'DEFECTIVE' could mean? But, if it were, why did Janson keep him with the rest of the group? Why not kill him? What could he, a soldier who could go against orders, be needed for?
"Count from one to five. Promise me that you'll remember." The recent addition to the countless voices he had to keep track of got replayed in his mind.
Would that really work?
One. He took a deep breath. Two. His hand stopped tracing the pattern. Three. His hand lowered to the table. Four. His eyes focused back on the rest of the team. Five. He exhaled.
It worked. And he had no name or face to thank him for, just a soft kid's voice.
"Hey." George patted William's back. "Don't worry about it. We'll do this one last mission, and we'll be free. Think about it, we could go anywhere. Do anything we want."
"Shall I remind you we need supplies to do any of that?" Rowan commented mockingly.
"We could farm." Henry backed George up. "We could grow our own food. Make our own houses. Live for ourselves."
"Well, that sounds tempting." Bea chuckled.
"It is." Flor nodded. "But how are we even going to farm, geniuses? We barely know how to cook, and it's not like we've even had the chance to try to do much."
"Practice makes perfect." Both boys answered together, which made the girls and William look at them with perplexed looks.
"No, it doesn't." They argued.
Their new bedroom was just as spacious and cold as the previous two they had been in. At first, the guards had tried to separate them by gender — the girls all together in one room while the boys stayed in another — but they had all outright refused.
It even got to the point that Janson had to be the one to break up the fight between them and the guards.
Due to their stubbornness, they were allowed to stay in the same room. Being sincere, the group did not understand why, after four months together, WICKED would want to separate them. There had never been a problem or an incident between them. In fact, everyone was so focused on survival, there was barely any time to think about anything that could be expected from teenagers.
"Did any of us even think about another in that way?" Henry wondered out loud, something he received inquiring looks for. "I mean, it's almost sad. If we were . . . well, normal, I would be worried about one of you girls liking me, or George or William. What I mean is . . . we were always so afraid that we couldn't even think about it. We couldn't worry about love—"
"Love is only good to get you killed." Mae interrupted.
Flor took a strand of her hair, twirling it around her finger as she said, "that's his point, isn't it, Henry?" She took a second to arrange her thoughts, her brow furrowing. "'Love is beautiful. Love is all you need.' That stuff is probably what we should be saying. Not worrying about it getting us killed. Or the fact that we can even get killed because of loving someone in the first place."
For the first time since William had met them, he saw Leen and Bea stepping away from one another. It was subtle, yet surprising, due to their usual closeness. They were letting go of each other's grasp, almost embarrassed.
As much as he wanted to stand up to defend them, it was not his position to do so. Much less when he believed Flor and Mae to be partially right.
"But love can also make you stronger," he muttered, getting everyone's attention on him. "Let's be real. None of us would be here if we didn't at least want to have the hope to love. And it doesn't have to be romantic love. Are you all so sure we're alone here? Janson said it himself. Those kidnapped kids have part of their families in other groups. We could, too."
"How does that make us stronger?" Rowan asked tiredly.
"It gives you a reason to fight," said George, which made Bea and Leen nod along to his words. "It gives you hope. And hope keeps you alive, or well, it keeps you doing all kinds of crazy things to survive."
Leen clenched her hands together, giving one quick glance at Bea's face, before adding to George's statement. "It's also dangerous. If it gets to the point where it's either you or them . . . you'll choose their safety first. Always."
Without a word, Mae got up to walk towards the ladder to a top bunk. "Well, I have to say that I'm envious of anyone that can feel such strong emotions to give up on life like that."
Flor chuckled bitterly, which made William widen his eyes slightly. "As if you hadn't risked your life protecting any of us. Mae, stop trying to be so noble, my goodness. We all care for and love one another here."
"What then? You want a love confession, Flor?" asked Mae cockily, going up the ladder to her bed. "I have no problem with that, but I'd prefer not to experience rejection when we're so close to starting a darn mission that we don't even know how we'll have to execute it. It might make me do crazy stuff that could get me killed, you know?"
"And did you know that you're talking a lot like Rowan and Henry?" Bea pointed out with a smirk. "Janson might be right on one thing. We've spent a lot of time together. Poor holy souls like Flor and Mae are already corrupted, and I'm worried William will go down that path, too."
"Just go to sleep before you birdies get any stupid ideas that could get us killed." Mae lay down on her bed, staring down as the rest went to their respective bunk beds.
George shared once again with William, who, with Flor, were the only ones happy to sleep on the bottom bunks. The bed closest to the light switch, Bea's and Leen's, was appointed to turn off the lights once everyone was in their beds, and then it was only a matter of how early sleep would come to them.
Hours passed, which William could only spend staring at the ceiling. When he got bored after tracing the same patterns with his eyes, and turned around on the bed, meeting Flor's eyes.
She was in the bottom bunk right next to his, also awake, looking at him with a tired look in her eyes. Not the usual physical tiredness, but the emotional and mental one. No doubt that all the information that had been dumped on them in such a short time would trouble anyone. Although, not Bea and Henry, since they slept peacefully and even snored softly.
The peaceful sounds from their friends' deep sleep brought a smile to Flor's face, which was contagious, as William found himself smiling as well.
Another hour passed. William had forced himself to close his eyes and try to sleep. Whatever happened from the next day on would not wait for him to be rested and ready, so he had to force himself to be prepared for it. Surprisingly, he fell asleep.
He felt his body become drowsy, and then everything fell into darkness.
"—iam, hang on," said a voice, neither from the shadow, the boy, or the girl. "Ph— One will end s—. We'll g— you ou–."
"Wait! Who are you?" He shouted, but the voice only got further and further away. "Tell me your name! What will end?"
"I'm Tommy." The voice resounded in the darkness. "You need to wake up."
Through ragged breaths, William sat up on his bed, one hand over his heart and the other pulling his sweat-drenched hair back.
Tommy? What kind of name is that? He thought, taking in deep breaths to calm down his anxiety.
His mind went crazy at the sound of the name. It pounded and ached, as if something wanted to come forward, but couldn't. Was the boy part of his erased memories? Had he known that Tommy before being sent to the building?
'Liam.' Tommy's voice found its way into his brain.
Directly into his brain.
No one in the room had spoken. He would know since his anxiety had made him oversensitive to any sound, movement, or person. Tommy wasn't there. In fact, he doubted anyone was awake or would have the need to play a prank on him.
'Liam.'
What? William thought, receiving no reply.
'I know it's difficult, but try to send your thoughts to me. If you're trying to talk to me, I can't hear you.'
I don't even know who you are! He exclaimed in his head. OK, just breathe. And . . . focus?
'Who are you?'
'Hey! You did it!'
'Man, your name.'
'Ah, yeah, sorry. Well, you used to call me Tommy.'
The replies directly sent to his head forced William to lean his back against the wall, hugging his pillow to relieve his stress. Even though the interaction was weird, he felt comfortable with it. As if the boy, Tommy, was right next to him. Just like he knew George was sleeping on the bed over his head, he knew Tommy was there, somewhere, listening to him.
'That doesn't answer my question.'
'Name's Thomas. Happy?'
'Not really. I'm talking to someone in my head. Am . . . am I going crazy?'
'You're not, relax.'
'Relax! Man, I'm talking to you in my head. How can I relax?'
Hugging his pillow closer to his chest, William waited for a reply, which was taking a long time to come. He could still feel the boy's presence. He knew Thomas was there. What he didn't know was why they were talking, or even how.
'Liam, just listen. I convinced Chancellor Paige to alter the Trials.'
'Trials? What Trials?'
'Give me a second to explain. Look, I know it's different for your group than it is for the rest. But I need you to keep everyone's attention on the Right Arm's search.'
'How do you—'
'Just trust me. Please.'
William exhaled through his nose, hitting the back of his head against the wall repeatedly.
What to do?
Part of his mind still thought he was dreaming, and Thomas' voice was only part of it, or perhaps a hallucination. But, if it wasn't, how in the world could he trust some boy he didn't know, remember, or was even near him to make sure he was real?
The strange thing was, the other part of his mind believed and trusted Thomas.
'What exactly do you bloody want and why?'
'I need Chancellor Paige and Janson to be so focused on the search for the Right Arm that she won't notice what I have to do.'
'What do you have to do?'
'I'm going to contact the Right Arm.'
Something about Thomas' tone made him seem almost desperate. William could sympathise with him, but didn't know how the boy required his assistance, or why he would even want to trade his possible freedom for Thomas' plan.
'And why would I help you with that?'
'Because I know who your family is. Just like I know who in your group has family and where they are. If my plan works, it would mean their freedom from being tested and killed like lab rats.'
A bitter chuckle left his lips before William could process what he was doing. He leaned forward, one arm hugging his knees instead of the pillow, while his free hand clasped his mouth.
'OK, so what's the plan? 'Cause you have a plan, right?'
'Yeah, well, I don't know yet.'
'Thomas! You can't just tell me to do all this crazy stuff and then have no bloody plan.'
'Just give me time. I'll talk to you later. And don't tell anyone about me or your telepathic abilities.'
'Wait. One sec—'
As if he had walked out of the room, Thomas was no longer there to listen to his complaint.
I'm gonna kill him. William thought, burying his face in the space between his knees and his chest.
