Author's note ~ The final update, the last hurrah. I hope you enjoy.
The dank, musty smell of rusted metal swallowed him, causing his stomach to pinch and roll with nausea. The awful wailing rumble of the box as it descended down, down, down into the black depths made his ears ring and his head pound in harmony with the incessant clattering. Ever twenty or thirty feet the box would hit a flaw in the track, and the inevitable bobble and jerk sent a jolt through his back and shoulders, forced into an unnatural position by the restraints that locked him in place.
In short, the trip down was every bit as much fun as the trip up had been, and he remembered the majority of that with perfect clarity.
Hours passed in the perpetually moving darkness, his heart beating painfully fast in fearful anticipation of what lay at the bottom of the endless shaft. Eventually he closed his eyes and made himself go slack, his body sagging against the shackles as the box continued its downward journey. After what felt like a full lifetime the box screeched and came to a bone jarring stop, hydraulic pistons hissing angrily as all motion ceased.
He'd arrived.
Adrian stayed limp, keeping his eyes closed and playing dead, waiting for the distracting disorientation and vertigo that swirled in his head to ease. The sudden silence made his ears ring and ache but, as they cleared he could hear the low murmuring chatter of excited worker bees just on the other side of his mobile prison cell. He listened closely.
"I've never seen reactions like this – the patterns are totally unique."
"No death to date has ever echoed through the group like this – I wonder... if we enact a similar variable with group B, will we see results that are similar, or vastly different?"
"Re-enacting the variable would be incredibly difficult – perhaps impossible. We'd have to procure a comparable subject, with comparatively similar knowledge and expertise. The chances of that are incredibly slim. Pity we can't use this subject again, introduce him to group B, gather the resulting data."
A chorus of mutters and amused snorts left no doubt as to the group's feelings about that concept.
"You know why we can't. Besides, this one's achieved the full limits of his usefulness as an inserted agent – we've gathered every possible reaction, mapped the patterns, catalogued and entered the data. He's outlived his purpose in regards to the test groups; every pattern reached plateau and held steady until the recall was enacted. This variable has reached the expiration date – there's nothing left to gain from interactions between him and the other subjects."
"Any progress on acquiring the other potential testees? The other male, at the very least? We'd be unable to achieve any kind of accuracy in our results without direct comparison to a physiologically adequate control."
"Janson has a lead on that – with any luck, we'll have access to the subjects we need within the week."
A fluttering grumble of wordless complaint.
"I hate putting a project on hold. Ah well, I suppose we have no choice. In the grand scheme of things, really, what's one more week? Better get out of the way, the guards are here to collect him."
The voices faded out with the sound of many feet strolling away. Though his attention was intensely focused on the chatter in his desperation to pick up any further information, all he could make out was a half-hearted complaint about a boyfriend and an apathetic speculation about what the cafeteria would be serving for dinner that night. The voices dissipated completely before he heard the metal grate squeal as it was heaved open, and the almost cheerful clink of something hitting the floor of the box before the steady, echoing sound of boots thudded down a ladder and approached fearlessly. Fingers pressed into his throat, confirming his pulse. He heard a heavy sigh.
"He's out – faint'd on the trip down. I keep tellin' those sciencey sorts, four hours is plen'y, stretchin' it to six is pointless. And it's killin' my back. Gimme a hand 'ere, Greg."
It took considerable force of will not to react when he felt those hands on his head, forcing his face upward and peeling one eyelid up to check for a response. All he could see with his intentionally unfocused gaze was a blur of industrial lighting and the blocky shape of the guard who was manhandling him before his lid was released and he was once again blind. Another set of boot steps, followed by a somewhat nervous voice.
"You sure he's out, Marco? I saw the footage of when they finally took him down – I don't want to end up like those guys."
"Yeah, he's out."
"You're sure? I mean, we could get the med unit to drop off a tranq, hit him with it before we take the chains off. Just to, you know, play things safe."
"For God's sake, Greg," The first guard growled, exasperated. "Just get your ass over 'ere. The med wing's still up to their eyeballs dealin' with the aftermath from that damn outbreak, workin' pretty much 24-7 to catch up on the mandatory testin' order'd by Page. If we call for a tranq we'll be stuck babysittin' this poor bastard for hours until they send some twitchy intern over with the drugs. Or, you can stop bein' a baby, get over 'ere and help me haul his ass out, and we'll be off the clock in 'alf an hour. Do you know how long I been doin' this? I'm tellin' you, he's out. I ain't gonna waste my time watchin' him nap when I could be kickin' back with a beer in my hand."
"I just think..."
"You think? You think?! Wick'ds not payin' you to think!"
The impatient man in front of him lashed out unexpectedly, back handing him across the face so hard it rocked his head to the side. Despite the shock and the pain Adrian kept his muscles slack and let his body roll with the blow, focusing on keeping his breathing slow and even. He knew he'd only get one shot, and it would take more than a little pain for him blow it.
Even if he could feel the fiery burn of a split lip and the lazy, thick flow of blood that dripped from it.
When the prisoner didn't respond Marco slapped him again, then a third time, even standing with a grunt and planting a couple of good solid kicks to Adrian's mid section, an act all but guaranteed to bring on a retch in a conscious man. Marco turned to speak with his partner.
"Still think he's gonna jump up and bite you?" Marco sneered, kicking Adrian's scuffed boot gently in a mocking way, obviously not pleased to have his edict questioned. "Let's get 'er done."
Without waiting for a response Marco reached down and unbuckled the leather strap around Adrian's neck, his head flopping lifelessly onto his chest without the support. Working together the guards removed the stiff metal cuffs and hoisted the limp man up the ladder, grunting and cursing at his dead weight. They dropped him in a heap on the cold concrete floor above, Greg standing by nervously with a foot planted on his back while Marco went to retrieve a rolling stretcher, bringing it over and efficiently undoing the many straps and restraints that crossed the hard, lumpy cushion. Satisfied, he bent down and hauled the man up by the armpits; Greg scrambled to get the legs but had only lifted them a few inches before he released his grip and stepped away.
"You missed half the damn straps." He muttered, disgusted at the sloppy effort, rounding the stretcher to unfasten the rest himself.
"What does it matter? He won't be wakin' up any time soon." Marco shot back, rolling his eyes as he shifted his grip on Adrian, pulling one floppy arm around his neck for support, unwilling to put the effort in to haul him up off the floor again. "Hurry up, will you, this guy's no 80 pound kid."
"Give a minute, dammit."
"At least he didn't piss hisself on the way down." Marco snickered cruelly, shifting on his feet a little. "Though it's kinda funny to see all those stupid kids – "
With the guards separated and both distracted, this was exactly the moment Adrian had been waiting – and hoping – for.
Adrian's arm closed like a vise over Marco's throat, instantly cutting off both his ugly words and his air supply. Planting his feet firmly beneath him, he silenced Marco permanently with one quick wrench of his hands, snapping the guard's neck. Running a hand down the side of the body, he quickly located and liberated a standard issue side arm – not the best, but workable. He dropped the body at his feet and turned to face the second guard.
"F-f-f-freeze." Greg stuttered, his hands shaking, his launcher pointed directly at Adrian. He had a crop of carrot orange hair, a face full of pale golden freckles, and probably hadn't seen his 20th birthday yet. Looking at him, his face still chubby with baby fat, Adrian couldn't find it in himself to kill the poor boy.
"You don't want to do this, Greg."
He kept his voice calm and reasonable but the boy jerked back as if he'd been struck, his gun jiggling back and forth erratically. Adrian was pretty sure the chances of the kid actually hitting him if he squeezed the trigger were iffy at best.
"You've got orders, I get that. But I'm afraid I won't be going quietly; I can't let you take me. And I'd really rather not hurt you. Do us both a favor here. Drop your weapon."
No response, save for the chattering of Greg's teeth and the knocking of his knees. Adrian tried again.
"If you fire at me, if you try to stop me, I'll have no choice but to kill you where you stand. This little pistol is more than up to the task, and I'm an excellent shot. Don't make me kill you, kid. Drop the launcher and I'll walk away, we both will. You have my word."
Greg stared at him, raw fear rolling off him in waves, indecision in his eyes. Adrian was steeling himself to the idea that he'd have no choice but to fire when the young guard flung his weapon away, dropping to his knees and gripping his head in his hands.
"D-don't k-kill me!" He all but sobbed, shaking like a leaf as Adrian quickly stepped around behind him.
"Easy there Greg, I'm not going to kill you." Adrian assured, swiftly lifting his gun and bringing it down with exquisite control on the back of the boy's head, knocking him unconscious. "But you are going to have one hell of a headache when you wake up. Sorry 'bout that."
Adrian took the time to retrieve Greg's launcher from where it had flown, knowing it would come in handy, before stepping over the body of the older guard and making for the nearest hallway. Slinking along as best he could, he encountered and killed three more stray guards that had the bad luck of stumbling across him alone, adding a second launcher and two combat knives to his growing collection.
He felt no guilt over their deaths – given the chance, any one of them would put him down, cart him away and lock him up so that the powers that be could get their jollies through torturing him.
No, he had no intentions of being taken alive.
After some time he found a smallish conference room with no additional windows or exits and slipped inside, figuring it was as good a place as any for his last stand, and quickly secured it by barricading the door with furniture. Making himself comfortable in the furthest corner, the knives in his belt and the launchers within easy reach, he held the small firearm loosely in his lap. Pulling out his music player he plugged one ear in, leaving the other free in case anyone decided to come knocking. He ran his thumb over the familiar, worn metal of the little device; his most prized possession, his constant companion.
His oldest friend.
He closed his eyes and hit the play button, the song he'd already queued up quietly coming to life.
.
All around me are familiar faces
Worn out places, worn out faces
Bright and early for their daily races
Going nowhere, going nowhere
Their tears are filling up their glasses
No expression, no expression
Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow
No tomorrow, no tomorrow
.
He thought of his family, his friends.
All the gladers.
Alby.
Newt.
He lifted the gun.
.
And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad
The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had
I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take
When people run in circles it's a very very
Mad world
Mad world
.
He took several deep breaths, calming his mind, trying to relax his body.
This is it, he thought peacefully, I've won.
"I'd rethink that, if I were you."
A cool, sleazy voice oozed through the built in intercom speakers. Adrian knew full well that his movements had been caught by the security cameras, and now understood that the establishment had a visual on him even now. He knew his window of opportunity would be extremely brief. Still, he couldn't stop himself from responding.
"Or?" He said archly, pressing the cold metal barrel against his temple. "Any particular reason you'd think I'd hang around and play your twisted little game?"
A different voice played over the speaker now; an achingly familiar voice, made young by fear and horror.
"A-Adrian?! Adrian!"
Adrian's blood turned to ice; he felt the pain of it right down to the marrow of his bones.
Oh God, oh God, oh God! They were supposed to send her into the maze! Why the hell didn't they send her into the maze?!
"Goddamn it Janson! I swear I'll find you and pull your guts out through your nose if you touch her!"
The voice started screaming, high, soul tearing wails of fear and pain. Realizing he needed a different tactic, Adrian cocked the trigger of the gun and pressed it more firmly into his skin.
"You want what's in my head? Good luck piecing it together from the smears on the wall!"
The screams cut off suddenly, leaving a throbbing silence in their place. For ten full seconds they stood at an impasse, then Janson's voice once again flowed slyly through the room.
"If you die, who's here to protect her? And why would we kill her, when she can still be so useful to us? Thinking about it though, it's her brain patterns that are most valuable; she doesn't really need her toes. Or her fingers, her eyes. Her legs. As long as her heart's beating and her synapses firing, everything else is just window dressing, isn't it?"
"I swear Janson, I'll – "
"You'll what? I find it terribly difficult to take a dead man's threats seriously."
The barricade over the door rattled violently, the piled furniture shivering as the sound of crashing blows resonated through the small space, voices raised as the guards on the other side started breaking their way in. He had two minutes – at most – to decide the best course of action.
"If you want her to stay in one piece, you'll have to give me something in return." Janson crooned. "An eye for an eye, so to speak – surrender, come quietly, and I'll let her keep hers. Otherwise...I doubt they'll be able to fill an ice cream bucket with what's left of her before I'm done."
Adrian grit his teeth, struggling not to scream out the string of obscenities that danced on his tongue. With his face a mask of the blackest rage he pushed to his feet, stepping away from the launchers on the floor. He pulled the knives out of his belt, tossing them angrily into the corner of the room. Left with only the small gun in his hand, he knew there was no way he could defend himself against however many guards waited outside the door for him.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Toss the gun – we both know you don't really have the guts to use it anyway."
Adrian thought of the rest of his family, of the people depending on him.
He thought of Maddy.
He tossed the gun.
"Good boy. Now, put your hands on your head."
Adrian complied bitterly, watching as his hastily built block collapsed, chairs and tables flying in every direction. Unarmed, cornered, trapped by his own burning need to protect the one he loved most, he was completely defenseless. The guards flooding into the room, having followed the path of bodies he'd left behind, left nothing to chance this time. The first one through the door hit him center mass with a paralyzing bolt from his launcher, electricity snapping around his body and burning like a lava flow.
Unable to control his muscles, blinded by the pain, he crumpled helplessly to the ground.
The rest of the guards, heavily armored and sporting an impressive array of weapons, surrounded him with their launchers drawn. They stayed just far enough back to avoid touching his twitching body, seasoned enough to wait for the blue-white wisps of electrical current to dissipate before attempting to restrain him.
When the shock began to ease and Adrian lay panting, he forced himself to speak through a rigidly clenched jaw.
"Was that strictly speaking necessary?"
"Oh, no, not at all." One of his captors replied in a dangerously cheerful voice before aiming his own weapon at the immobile figure on the floor and discharging another round, making Adrian's body writhe and twitch erratically to a chorus of laughter from the other guards. "Consider it a little gift, courtesy of the men you left dead on the floor outside."
They hit him again, and again, laughing, cheering as the agony ripped through him until he mercifully blacked out.
He woke feeling like he'd had a two ton truck parked on his chest for a week. Barely swallowing a groan, he rolled off his back and pushed himself up to his hands and knees. He was wearing a loose linen shirt and pants and, while they were clean, he detested knowing that some stranger had been handling his body when he was unconscious. He looked around at his surroundings, taking in the stark white of the room, the spongy floor and obviously padded walls. There wasn't a right angle or a hard surface anywhere in sight.
He knew exactly where he was.
"Welcome back."
Adrian painfully tucked a leg underneath himself and flopped gracelessly into a heap on the soft floor, looking over at the previously unoccupied corner of the room. Sitting calmly in a plain wooden chair was none other than Janson himself.
He wanted so badly to rush over, to take the foul creature by the neck and squeeze the life out of him, to permanently wipe that greasy smirk off his face.
Unfortunately, he'd played this game once before; there was no way that Janson would ever risk sitting in such a vulnerable position in the presence of a hostile prisoner. If he charged at the weasel now, best case scenario was that he would run face first into a transparent barrier; an invisible wall made of pure force. He'd be damned if he'd give Janson the satisfaction.
"Love what you've done with the place." He muttered drily, watching his tormentor, knowing full well how to play the game.
Janson ignored the comment, letting the silence stretch out for several minutes in a bid to establish his dominance. Adrian was having none of it and went through the motions of stifling a yawn before speaking again, boredom in his voice.
"Could you make this quick? I'd really like to get a nap in before the festivities start."
Janson's nostrils flared at the remark but he tried for a winning smile, pasting what might pass as camaraderie and respect on his face before speaking.
"I must say, you've performed magnificently, far better than we could have hoped. Your cooperation in this has been really quite illuminating. Now, I know some of the the others are still holding a grudge over the many, many guards you've...disabled, both before and after your time in the maze."
Adrian watched him without comment. Janson held both hands up in a what-can-you-do kind of gesture.
"What's a dozen lives between friends, eh? I'm sure we can find some kind of compromise, some way to make amends and let bygones be bygones. Say, if you were to give me the information I need, why, we'd really have no further need for you, would we? I could even explore the possibility of getting you out of here, setting you free. Isn't that what you want, to go back to your family? I can only imagine how worried they must be right about now."
Adrian let out a huff of breath, bringing his knees up towards his chest and lying back, tucking his hands under his head.
"If you're going to keep beating that old drum, maybe I'll take that nap after all."
Janson's face twitched, his voice turning ugly.
"Of course, there's always other ways of getting the information we seek. If you're not in a sharing kind of mood, if you decide to ignore common sense and refuse to tell us what we want to know, perhaps young Madison – "
"If you look at her, touch her again, I'll bite off my own tongue." Adrian said quietly, calm and deadly serious. "Even if you get the medics here in time and by some miracle I don't bleed out...I'll find a way, sooner or later. You know how resourceful I am. You might as well kill me now, Janson, and get it over with. You'll never get what you want."
"Really?" The sly faced man said softly, pulling a mini holo projector out of his pocket and holding it out. When he clicked it on, a small transparent image of Adrian flickering to life.
"Hey guys. Long time no see. I have to believe you'll find this message, sooner or later. I wish I could be there in person, but things...went a little astray. And I don't have much time. I wish I could just tell you what I found myself, say it all out loud, but just in case this ends up in the wrong hands..."
Adrian closed his eyes, his body tensed. He didn't need to look over to see the message that showed clear as day on the recording.
.
0?! :x9 7 3x?!3/
5*Uq1 x6 qxqxU*9.
91!k! 91!/ 7k! 733
.97U20U: 0U 7 kx-
.
He listened to his own voice playing back, trying not to react.
"If you know me, you'll know how to crack the code. Follow the directions, and you'll find the piece we've been missing. I love you. Goodbye."
Janson clicked off the projector with a self satisfied flick of his thumb, tossing it in the air and catching it, again and again until Adrian addressed him.
"So you found it. Obviously you're already working on cracking it. If you have that, what do you need me for?"
"As I said, you have information that we would find valuable. Including the key to the little message you've written here, and perhaps a little clarification."
Adrian snorted.
"If you can't crack a code it took me ten minutes to write...Well, then again, I've seen your little experiment first hand. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that you've stooped to such ridiculous lows in the name of research, if the best you can find are these cretins. You've had me for what, twenty four hours? Maybe as long as thirty six? And they haven't broken it yet? Where the hell did you dig up these neanderthals?"
"You'll give me the key." Janson snapped, out of patience. "Do it now, willingly, or I'll see to it that they pry it out of you." Adrian just laughed hollowly at the desperate threat.
"Beat me, burn me, break my body; it doesn't matter, I'll never give you what you ask. Good luck getting there on your own. With your current resources it might take you a year or two, but I'm sure you'll get there. Eventually."
"Is that your final answer?" Janson hissed. "Is there nothing you want, nothing that could...persuade you to work with us?"
There was only one thing he wanted, one thing that mattered. Adrian thought for a long moment, contemplating the best route to achieve it. In the end, he decided to take the simplest – and most effective – path. He challenged Janson's ego.
"What do you say to a little wager?"
"What do you have in mind?"
"Two weeks. Give me your best shot for two weeks. Anytime I fold, any punishment I can't take, I'll give you part of the key. If I make it to the end of two weeks without giving you the full key, you send Maddy..." He swallowed quietly, his throat burning. He forced the words out. "You send Maddy into the maze to join the others in group B."
"And why should I send her up, agree to your terms?"
"If I win, I'll...I'll complete the key when I've seen proof that she's been inserted. If I don't...you'll still have both of us. There's no win-win here." He said bitterly. "You'll be getting your prize either way."
Janson considered this, tilting his head from side to side as he thought about the potential gain.
"Alright. Say I take your bet. If my men haven't completed the key – or decoded the message – in two weeks, I send your little sister up. I'll even be generous enough to let you see her start her journey. How do I know you'll hold up your end of the deal?"
"You have my word. It's something I rarely give, and have never broken."
Janson made a skeptical noise deep down in his throat, but the pot was too sweet to resist.
"You're on. Two weeks, starting today."
Adrian bit back a triumphant smile, a smirk coming across in his voice.
"Good luck, Janson. Do your worst."
Janson smiled as if he didn't have a care in the world, his image shimmering and disappearing from the room, his last sentiment leaving a malicious smear on the air.
"It'll be my pleasure."
Four days into the bet and Adrian still hadn't yielded a since piece of the key. They'd beaten him savagely for hours, splintered his ribs, cracked his eye socket. He'd kept his silence for the most part, the only sound escaping his lips was his wheezing gasps for air as they pummeled his body. He'd swallowed back the cries of pain when they crushed all of the fingers on his right hand, weakening only enough to let out a low keening moan as hard boots destroyed his dominant appendage. Every night after working on him they would toss his damaged body back into the padded room and leave him in complete solitude until they came for him again.
They withheld all food, sending in only small amounts of water to keep him from total dehydration. His lips cracked and bled, his head spun dizzily, but he did not yield.
After a fifth day, after what had felt like years of being chained to a frame and whipped until the skin on his back hung in bloody shreds, they once again dropped him on the floor of his cell. Once a pure snowy white, it was now painted with streaks and splotches of rusty red. Before the guards could exit, he looked up to the security camera and smiled through bloody teeth.
"You know, if I die from starvation I'll end up winning the bet by default."
That night, magically, a soft plastic tray with a small portion of bland gruel was pushed through the slot in the door.
More days passed. To keep them from blurring together he counted the mealtimes, using them to keep track of how many more days he had to endure. Every couple of hours, they would try a new method.
He was burned with red hot branding irons. He was hit with electrical shocks, the wands leaving charred, blackened circles on his skin. He was waterboarded, his lungs crumpling like old paper bags as they strained against his splintered ribs in a desperate attempt for air.
Twice his system tried to shut down and a medical crew that stood on standby had to rush in to restart his heart, to pump adrenaline into his veins to keep his body from succumbing to shock. They would perform enough medical magic to put his shattered form back together, with the only intention being that he could live to suffer another day.
And still, he did not yield.
Even with his body in tatters his mind remained remarkably clear. He noticed that he could see a little through the slot that admitted his nightly meal, and was quickly able to determine that the same hand fed him every night. A pale, slightly freckled hand, smallish in size. Unlined, no visible scars.
Young.
After a miserable day of being shackled in a room full of monstrous, slimy grievers, their blades whirring and clicking, the serrated edges touching him just enough to tear his skin to shreds, he sat painfully and waited for his meal. When the slot clinked up and the tray appeared, he croaked out a greeting.
"Hey Greg. How's the head?"
The hand jerked, dropping the tray so that it slid drunkenly across the floor. He heard a gasp from the other side of the door and very nearly smiled.
He'd thought that hand looked familiar.
He took to talking to the young guard in the evenings, breezily holding a one-sided conversations with the unseen boy, never receiving a response. Still, it made him feel less alone, and as he was careful to never share anything other than banal small talk there was no harm in it.
More beatings. More shock treatment. They seemed to be running out of ideas.
Until they bolted him to a rough stand in a room with dingy red lighting and closed him in with five very large, very angry guards. He heard the jungle of a buckle being undone and closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth as a large sweaty hand gripped the waistband of his pants.
In hour five of the rape even his enviable control had frayed to shreds, and he couldn't stop the hoarse screams that pain tore from his throat.
After two full days of being violently violated he cracked. He screamed the first piece of the key, giving them one letter to put into the code.
Encouraged, the workers inserted it into the gibberish of the message. Unfortunately, it only kept company with one other letter they'd managed to discern – no where near enough for them to start taking educated guesses at what the message might say.
Delighted by the success, Janson was quick to pat himself on the back for finally finding a method that loosened the man's incredibly stubborn tongue. Until a guard swaggered into Adrian's room to retrieve him for another day in the red room – and hopefully another piece of the puzzle – only to find him unconscious on the floor, his last meal untouched, his body burning with fever.
The medics had to put in many long hours to stabilize him as his body threatened to shut down for good, septic shock rampaging in his system. When they were satisfied that he'd survive they tossed him back in his cell, erring on the side of caution and giving him the rest of the night off in hopes that his strength would return while they worked on a new tactic.
Surfacing in agony, his muddled mind tried to take inventory of his battered body.
The pain was obscene, so constant now that it was difficult to discern exactly where one injury ended and the next began. And he was weak, very, very weak, his muscles shriveling from lack of use and proper nutrition.
The worst of it, though, was that he couldn't remember if he had to survive for another four days or five.
When the slot in the door opened to deliver his evening meal he wasn't physically able to walk over and get it. Forced to crawl, he made it to within three feet of the door before he collapsed in a heap. Nausea churned in his stomach; if there'd been anything left in it, he was sure he'd have lost it all over the floor. Shaking, barely clinging to consciousness, he forced a whisper through broken and aching teeth.
"Sorry Greg, I don't...I don't think I can muster up an appetite tonight."
As always, there was no reply from the other side of the door. Adrian closed his eyes, cold sweat beading on his forehead.
"I doubt I could even swallow anything right now. I might be able to manage little jello, might, but that's not on the menu. Thanks anyways."
The slot scraped open again, the pale hand darting in fearfully and snagging the untouched tray, quickly dragging it out of the room. Unable to move, and with one bit of the floor being as comfortable as any other, he fell into a fitful, haunted sleep.
Nightmares plagued him, as they had every night since his return from the glade. His waking mind accepted it, even as his slumbering self trembled and tensed and fought the painful images. An indeterminate amount of time later he was pulled from the ugly dreams by the familiar clank of the food slot opening. A small plastic container was hastily stuffed through the opening. Confused, still half caught between asleep and awake, he reached out a hand and pulled the object close enough for his eyes to focus on.
It was an individual lime jello cup, complete with a floppy disposable spoon. Even the weak chuckle hurt, pain cascading through his ribs and abdomen, but it was the first real laugh he'd had, the first real speck of kindness he'd seen since the box had brought him down.
"Much gratitude, Greg. Really. Thank you." He whispered, peeling the plastic lid off the container and bringing the spoon to his mouth with a wobbly hand. It took him almost half an hour to eat the tiny portion of jello but, thankfully, the lightly sweeted gelatin helped to settle his queasy gut. He dutifully placed the refuse close to the slot and painfully tried to shuffle back a little so the guard could retrieve it, which he did with a lightning quick grab.
"You don't have to be afraid of me." Adrian asserted wiggling and shifting, trying to find a mostly bearable position. He squirmed and shifted before finally giving up, laying spread eagle on the spongy surface.
He knew Greg always left swiftly after delivering his meals and assumed that tonight was no different; while he hadn't heard the young guard's departure, he chalked it up to the fog of pain and exhaustion that danced in his head. Weary, bereft, tired to the bone, he closed his eyes. Believing himself to be fully alone he let the hot, bitter tears come, covering his face with an arm in a bid for some small measure of privacy. His breathing thickened and he sniffled once or twice but otherwise he made no sound, not wanting to give those in charge of monitoring his room the satisfaction of seeing his misery. The words came out so quietly they were more a thought than speech, and far too quiet to register on the recording equipment.
"Christ I wish I could just cut my throat and be done with it."
Another pair of ears heard his earnest, broken words.
Greg had no idea why he felt anything other than contempt for the prisoner, especially considering the sizable goose egg he'd nursed for days after the man's attempted escape. Yet over the last week as he watched the once strong figure erode he'd felt only a great stirring of pity, and found he had a nagging urge to offer the man some small bit of comfort. Even if it was only something as simple as running down to the cafeteria and stealing a cheap dessert when the man couldn't handle real food. While he feared what the directors might do should they discover his minor divergence, if he were honest, he could admit to himself that he'd most probably do it again. After he'd collected the garbage and stuffed it in a pocket of his uniform he noticed the unusual silence from his charge; usually after a meal the man tried to strike up a conversation, trying night after night despite his audience's continued refusal to participate. His found his curiosity piqued and couldn't bring himself to walk away.
He put his back to the wall beside the door and sat, using a finger to crack the delivery slot just a hair so that he could better hear what was going on.
He heard the crying. Heard the near silent lament, the unspoken plea wrapped in desolation. Though the words were not meant for him, this time he couldn't stop himself from replying. Looking back and forth to make sure the coast was clear, he crossed his arms on his knees so that the surveillance cameras couldn't see him speak.
"Why haven't you?' He whispered, sure the man wouldn't be able to hear him.
"They have my sister. I can't...I can't leave her to them. They'll...I can't let that happen." Again, so incredibly quiet that it wouldn't register in the system.
The answer stunned the young guard – all this time, he'd never stopped to consider that there may be a tangible reason that Adrian had fought so hard. When he was given orders, his superiors didn't waste time giving him details or background; they told him where he was expected to be, and he went.
"Why did...why didn't you kill me?"
"I find no pleasure in taking lives. I avoid it if I can. You're young, healthy. You have nothing but time left ahead of you. I looked at you and I saw so much fear, so much potential. So much hope."
"They're going to do worse than kill you, you know." Greg found himself saying, not really sure why the words left his lips. "The science sorts are already talking – they all know you're not immune. I heard some of them talking in the cafeteria the other day; something about infecting you, observing as the flare takes you, and dissecting whatever's left. You'd be better off taking that knife."
"I can't. Not yet. I have to make...make sure she's...safe first."
A long pause as Greg tried to absorb that, as he tried to understand how one person could endure so much, withstand so much pain to protect another. He felt a welling in his own eyes at the thought.
"How...how many...days have I...been here?" The question was broken, starting to slur.
"Twelve since you...ran from the box. Eleven in this room."
"Three...more days. I can...make it...three more...days."
Marveling at the determination in the scratchy, barely audible voice, Greg sat in the silence that fell and did some long, hard thinking.
Aware that his body was at the limit, the guards switched their tactics, moving away from physical to torture and exploring other options. When they came to retrieve him the next day they handled him far more gently, shackling him into a chair and restrained his head and taping his eyes open. They forced him to watch hour upon hour of the most horrific video footage they could find, trying to find a way to shatter his spirit. When that failed to elicit a response they showed him looping feed from the cameras in the glade, playing Newt's jump from the walls over and over again, complete with the vocal recordings.
Tears ran from his eyes and his heart, but he refused to let the images break him.
Over the next two days they continued to hit him harder and harder, alternately showing him videos of the most heinous, unthinkable acts committed by those lost to the Flare and blasting him with a high pitched intermittent audio assault that drove an ice pick of pain into his skull. As the two weeks finally crawled to an excruciating close, his ears were bleeding and every inch of his body was agony, but he'd only yielded one letter of the key to his message.
Janson was forced to admit defeat.
His best minds had only deciphered two additional letters of the message, which now read;
.
0?! :x9 A Lx?!L/
5*UC1 x6 CxCxU*9.
91!k! 91!/ Ak! ALL
.97U20U: 0U A kx-
.
He begrudgingly ordered the prep team to take the steps necessary to insert Madison into the maze with test group B, demanding that they have her ready to go by that very evening and sending the workers into a mad scramble in an attempt to comply. He was determined to get the completed key before the day was out, certain that the information would be worth the loss of leverage against the man.
After all, he wasn't immune. Once they'd extracted the information, there was no further need for his brain. Well, not the way it currently was, anyhow.
A small contingent of guards arrived at Adrian's cell that evening to escort him to the observation room; he was to observe Madison's insertion, just as Janson had promised. It took two of them to haul him upright and support his weight, as his legs no longer had the strength to hold him up. The guard on his right was unfamiliar, just one more anonymous face in the ill tempered crowd. He hissed when the man roughly grabbed his broken hand to pull him up.
The guard on his left was Greg. Pale and sickly looking, there was a tiny light of...something in his eyes. Greg's hands were far more gentle, one arm going around Adrian's wasted form lightly as the other drew the man's hand upward to loop it around his neck...
Adrian felt the distinctive shape of a small pistol tucked under Greg's belt and concealed by his shirt; the boy intentionally allowed the man's fingers to brush up against it as he pulled the weak arm up and around his shoulders. Adrian let his head loll slightly towards the young guard, and Greg managed a tiny whisper into his ear before he nudged him away.
"Whenever you're ready."
A great welling of relief washed into the man, and a burning gratitude.
One way or another, things ended today.
The guards kept a tight circle around him even after they'd deposited him in a chair in the observation room, Janson standing well back and out of range. He smirked triumphantly at the battered husk that was all that remained of the rebellious man.
"Well Adrian? Here we are, just as you've asked. Your sister is being inserted as we speak."
"Looks like I won." Adrian coughed, a whisper of a grin on his face.
"Yes, yes, well done. How valiant, how courageous of you. Etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseam. But there's one small thing you still owe me – the key to your little puzzle. As you can see, I'm a man of my word; I've kept up my end of the bargain. Give me the key."
Adrian stared at the screens, eyes glued to the shivering form of his youngest sibling as she curled into a ball in the corner of the box. He thought painfully of the boys he'd left behind in the glade.
"Get me a pen and paper. As long as I get to see her reception, it's yours."
He was given writing supplies and, slowly, with great difficulty, scratched out a shaky list with his left hand before passing it over his shoulder to the all but impatiently waiting man. Janson carried it out of the room himself, running in his haste, his desperate need to know. Adrian knew he had only ten or fifteen minutes until the man returned and, mustering his strength, pushed himself up with trembling arms and staggered drunkenly to his feet. He clumsily put one foot in front of the other in an attempt to lurch closer to the screens, nearly falling when his legs gave out.
The guards simultaneously drew their weapons – all except Greg, who stepped in and caught Adrian around the midsection before he could fall. He slung his left arm around the young guard's waist for support and, never taking his eyes off the screen, gently placed his shattered right hand on the one that showed the best image of his beloved sister, reaching out to touch her face one last time.
"I'm sorry Maddy. This is the best I could do. I'm sorry."
Despite the uncaring audience, despite the damage to his throat that had all but destroyed his voice, despite her inability to hear him, this would be his only chance to say goodbye. He softly sang a few bars of her favorite song, hoping it she would somehow know and that it would be able to comfort her, one last time..
.
You and me we've seen everything to see
From Bangkok to Calgary and the soles of your shoes
Are all worn down
The time for sleep is now
But it's nothing to cry about
'Cause we'll hold each other soon
In the blackest of rooms
.
If heaven and hell decide that they both are satisfied
And illuminate the no's on their vacancy signs
If there's no one beside you when your soul embarks
Then I'll follow you into the dark
.
I'll follow you into the dark
.
Janson burst back into the room, absolutely livid, his face flushed red.
"What the hell is the meaning of this? What is this garbage?!" He screamed, his voice almost high enough to shatter glass. Adrian lowered his head until his lank, greasy bangs covered his eyes, a grin working its way across his face. He took one last deep breath, satisfaction sweet on his tongue.
"Oh, I think you can figure it out."
With everything he had left, pouring every last drop of strength into speed, he gripped the handle of the pistol in his left hand and elbowed Greg hard enough to send him crashing to the floor. Quick as a flash, he stuck the barrel in his mouth. Time stopped, milliseconds stretching to hours like a piece of softened taffy, his last thoughts blessedly clear.
You want to study my brain? By all means, be my guest.
He pulled the trigger. An explosion of gore and grey matter coated the video monitors, the stunned guards, Janson. Adrian's body fell, the pistol tumbling from his lifeless fingers and clattering to the floor, sliding through the gruesome mess before coming to a rest beside the piece of paper that had slipped from Janson's hands in shock. A red stain bloomed and spread on the sheet that held both Adrian's key and a scribbled copy of the decoded message.
IVE GOT A LOVELY
BUNCH OF COCONUTS
THERE THEY ARE ALL
STANDING IN A ROW
Even in death Adrian had found a way to have the final word.
In the lush green grass of a thriving field a badly limping blonde boy on a crude set of wooden crutches stumbled, his good leg abruptly giving out on him. If it weren't for the sturdy friend beside him, he would have ended up on his face.
"What? What's wrong?" Alby demanded, his strong hands steadying the suddenly pale boy.
"No, it's nothing." Newt assured, swiping at the sudden dew of sweat on his face. "Just...just felt a little sick for a minute there. Really, it's nothing. I'm fine now."
Alby eyed Newt coolly for a minute before shrugging it off and carrying on, Newt quickly falling into step beside him. They continued on their way, both putting the fleeting moment out of their minds.
With so many depending on them, they had more important things to worry about.
Author's note ~
Songs in order of appearance;
Mad World by Gary Jules
I'll Follow You Into The Dark by Death Cab For Cutie
I've Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts originally by Fred Heatherton
Whew! I've been working on this story for a full year; this is the longest project I've ever attempted, and today it finally comes to an end. Endless hours of writing, revising, editing and nitpicking, lost sleep and tension headaches, and it all boils down to this.
To anyone who's been with me from the beginning, and to everyone who saw me to the end; thank you, from the bottom of my heart.
~Ruby