A deep-piercing chill ran down Group S's spines the moment they encountered their friends' figures, all dressed up in guard suits. Confusion took over their minds for a split second, trying to make sense of how quickly they had all appeared when Gally's plan wasn't such. Then, as the realisation kicked in, a mix of anger and worry crept up until it overpowered their sympathy. They hadn't been told Gally's true plan to make sure they wouldn't try to delay the rest any further, to make sure they wouldn't carry out the plan without them.
The Immunes had just started to carry the passed-out guards into the cells and tie them down when Mae stomped across the room to Thomas. She was furious, demanding an explanation as to why he was there, with Newt and Chuck of all people. Thomas explained right away, transforming what looked like a threatening situation into a continuous exchange of "No, I want to protect you"from the two participants. Unsurprisingly, both were oblivious to that fact, though nobody else was as blind or deaf as they were.
Thomas, however, saw something nobody else did. It could be due to the closeness, or, since he always ended up staring into Mae's eyes, he knew them by heart, but the two black dots she currently had for eyes were nothing like their usual colour. It worried him sick; something he could not admit in front of her. Not for his own pride, but for how she would take in the news in her state. If she had snapped at his presence alone in WICKED's building, what could be her reaction knowing that nobody had had to tell him about her plan this time? That he had figured it out by himself. All because of how worried he was about her. Because he knew that, as long as it meant keeping everyone safe, the S's would do anything, even if it meant lying, killing, or dying. They could delude themselves as much as they wanted, but he had seen it multiple times. None would leave anybody behind, even if their lives depended on it.
"You two," called Abraham. "Here. Now."
While Thomas complied right away, Mae didn't. She stayed in her place, eyes flaring with worry now more than rage. Abraham didn't wait for her, though. Instead, he raised his voice enough for everyone in Sublevel three to listen to him and gave the bad news. Minho had been transported to the general laboratories on the other side of the building, while all guards had been notified of William's disappearance, and branded him dangerous. Apparently, Doctor Earl's timed check-up in the Tests Room had become the discovery of his corpse.
"You guys knew my kid the longest." Abraham turned to look at Group S. "Does he have a favourite place? Somewhere he usually went when he was angry or just wanted to isolate himself from everyone."
The five S's stopped to think, glancing among themselves as they tried to recollect the entire month they had been together with William before the Right Arm's adaptation mission threw everything into chaos. Had he ever done anything out of the ordinary? In fact, what would be ordinary for him to do? Whenever they weren't in their quarters, they were eating in the cafeteria, outside looking for the Right Arm or killing Cranks. Were there any recurrent patterns in such a chaotic schedule?
George's eyes widened for a split second. "He did."
"The bathroom," Flor added, receiving odd looks from those outside Group S. "After his nightmares, he would go to the bathroom to put his head under the sink. Not one time he stayed in his bed or tried to go back to sleep."
"Sometimes he even took a while to turn on the lights," Leen concluded.
Either the explanation had surprised Teresa and Abraham enough to ignore them, or they knew something the others clearly did not. With the screens still flickering and the cameras malfunctioning, they put all their attention on a place in particular, but the cameras didn't show whatever they were expecting.
"That should be it," Teresa mumbled.
"What should?" inquired Mae, her previous anger dissipating as her worry shifted from the A's to his friend.
"Solitary Confinement," replied Abraham, turning around to face both groups' leaders. "A punishment of sorts. He stayed there in complete darkness like, what?" he looked over at Teresa. "Four or five months before his memories were erased?"
Rowan blinked in surprise. "I'm sorry, I'd better not have heard you correctly. WICKED did what to William?"
"Locked in a pitch-black room?" George repeated, as baffled by the news as he was furious towards WICKED. "For four months, no less! And now they blame him for what he's done to Earl-whatever? That shank deserved that and far worse!"
"Both of you," said Mae, "calm down. It's not the time to get worked up over it. For now, Rowan, you carry the Bliss, and help George and Gally get the Immunes to the buses. Come back when that's done. I have the feeling that we'll need some more soldiers around here."
Silence reigned over Sublevel Three once again, only it no longer carried the threatening aura, nor the initial confusion at the sudden appearances. Mae proceeded with her job in a way not many expected, since she double-checked her plan with Abraham, Teresa, and Thomas, just in case any came up with something that could mean fewer chances of loss. So far, Newt's survival was practically guaranteed unless things went haywire, but they still had to worry about finding William alive and getting Minho out unscratched. All of that without forgetting that any of them could get hurt at any point. After all, most guards carried two guns: the shock one, and the real one. A single slip-up could get someone shot.
"What about Chuck?" Flor asked, keeping her brother close to her, as if the moment she let go he would disappear.
"He sneaked into the darn car to get here. I don't think he'll listen to me or anybody now, Flor," replied Mae, giving Chuck a harsh look as she added. "But you better stay close to Flor, Chuck, or I swear I'll get George and Rowan to come back and drag you to Bea's bus. Your puppy eyes won't work on her like they did with Brenda."
Chuck straightened his pose and saluted, like a soldier towards his superior. "Sure will!"
Mae shook her head with a soft laugh. "Good that."
There was an old saying that his mother was very fond of back when he and his brother still lived with their parents—back when they were free from WICKED. Dreams come true, their mother repeated from time to time. Both he and Aris had always thought of it as a good thing. If dreams could come true, they could find a cure to the Flare, save their mother, and live happily ever after together. There was just one thing their mother forgot to tell them.
Nightmares were also dreams.
Inside the tiny pitch-black room, William felt calmer than what he had been for the past six months. He didn't particularly like the dark. It was cold and difficult to move around. He had never been much of a runner, but the constant sitting around, doing nothing, could get to anybody, even him. His usual spot was in the right corner, across from the door, where he always sat, awaiting his meals to come just so he could get twenty minutes of light with them.
That time, it was different. He wasn't waiting for anybody, since there were just three people he cared for alive, and neither did he want the light. Darkness was exactly what he needed at the moment. He wanted to think things through, hide his face in his arms without having the slightest peak of his tattoo or the dried blood creeping out of the stolen jacket cuffs. If he could, he would stay there for hours, ignoring the rest of the world until someone actually came to get him, or he found the strength to face his friends.
What would he tell Teresa? And Minho or Dennis? He was in charge of protecting their sisters, that's what he had promised. But the three of them were dead. Not to mention Thomas, who would affect all three in different ways. He knew, of course, that none would blame him directly, but, if he could read minds, he was sure he would hear them wishing he had died instead of their siblings and friends.
Even William himself wished it could have been like that. But it was all too late. He hadn't been granted the time to say proper goodbyes to his loved ones. Not Newt, Lizzy, and definitely not Aris. If only he knew back then what would happen, he wouldn't have got mad with his brother. He wouldn't have lashed out at him without saying what he had been dying to hear from him for so long—'It's OK. I'm here now. I missed you'.
His fingers tapped his sleeve at the rhythm of his whistling, an old habit he was giving into once again. Solitary Confinement had that name for a reason. He wasn't just alone, the entire place was isolated from WICKED's usual busy rounds. Hardly any guards passed by that place, much less doctors. And, since the microphones had been taken out and cameras would be pointless, no amount of faint sounds would attract any attention there.
Something, or someone, could be eagerly trying to prove him wrong. The moment William relaxed, once he closed his eyes and recited the tune his mind had never let him forget, loud and quick footsteps appeared right outside. He quickly stood up, grabbing the gun with both hands to make sure his surprise wouldn't downgrade his aim.
"Liam!" A joy-filled voice that he should have never heard again shouted his name. "I heard his whistling! He's in here!"
Confused and terrified, William kept his grip on the gun, pointing at the door as he waited for the ghost to make its presence. Chuck walked in right after, throwing the door open without care; not for the blinding light that was flashing into the room, nor for the gun that was currently pointed directly at his head. The young boy looked older compared to William's last memories of him, though his grin remained unchanged. It still crossed his face, travelling from one ear to another.
"You're alive!" Chuck exclaimed. "You're really alive."
"Chuck?" William's whisper was hardly audible over his raging heart.
What was Chuck doing there? Wasn't he dead? He had to be dead. His name was crossed in the Maze wall and The Commander hadn't mentioned him among the survivors. Only Minho, Dennis, and Teresa were alive. Nobody else. So why was he there?
"Yeah, I…"
A simulation, that was it. William had never left the Tests Room. It was all part of the simulation; Dennis's appearance, the foolish hopefulness that maybe some of the people he cared about were still alive, The Commander's death, his peace, his freedom. None of it was true. At any moment, an order would appear in his mind, and he would have to kill Chuck for about the tenth time that night.
William didn't want to, but what other choice was there? He was alone, completely under The Commander's and WICKED's mercy, and his last reason to keep going had disappeared right in front of his eyes. He was way too tired to keep trying. WICKED always won. Nothing would change. He would always lose to them; his innocence, his family, his friends, his lover.
As long as WICKED existed, nothing he cherished would last. At some point, when he least expected it, he would lose everything all over again. He would watch it disappear, unmoving, like a puppet without a puppeteer. Then, with a gun in his hands and new orders, he would be expected to patch up the void in his heart and move forward. Like he had always done, but was far too tired to keep doing.
"No, you're not." William's dull voice highlighted his claim, the certainty over his words clear in his every being. "Chuck's dead. You're just another simulation. You're not him."
"No, Liam, it's OK. I—" Chuck's simulation made the mistake of taking a step closer, setting off William's alarms.
"Stay away from me!" William shouted. "This is just a simulation. Chuck's dead! He's dead…he died…because of me."
A much heavier pair of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Just like Chuck's, it was accompanied by a voice William was sure he would never hear again. "William! It's real! We're real, I swear!"
Flor dashed into the room, letting William have a split-second glance at her bright-red mess of hair before she pulled him into a hug. Even though William had always been proud of his quick reactions, he could never beat Flor. She had always been faster than everyone in their group, even their own leader.
"I've missed you so, so much." Flor tightened her grip around his neck, forcing him to bend down somewhat.
The astonishment was enough to knock the gun out of his grasp. His face was buried in Flor's jacket collar. Until that very moment, he would have deemed that alone impossible. But there they were. He could feel her warmth. Even get pulled down by her trembling arms, keeping a loose hold of his jacket. Only one thing was left to convince himself that she was real, not just another simulation.
As if she was a porcelain figure, William's hands shifted from their outstretched and quivering position to grow closer and closer to her back. His index finger was the first to reach her jacket, stopping there, not going through, nor making an odd coldness creep up his hands. Bit by bit, his arms wrapped themselves around Flor's waist, pulling her closer. At least, until she ceased to be a porcelain figure.
"Eight," William mumbled, a couple of tears leaving his eyes as he raised his head to look at his once friend. "You're alive, you're really alive… that means." His eyes left Flor's to look over her head, meeting Chuck's unchanged grin. "Chuck, you too…"
"You're one suspicious shank," said Chuck, copying his sister to force William to lower his head, so his arms could reach the back of William's neck, smooth and missing the purple veins that it once carried. "Trust me, that you're alive is also a surprise to us."
Surprises weren't over just yet. A cough appeared by the Solitary Confinement's door, snapping the three friends out of their touching moment. William froze at the sight of a guard standing there, idly, as if they were about to mock the encounter. Or worse, make Flor and Chuck disappear only to tell William that it all had only been another simulation, and he had to go back to the Tests Room.
"So, um, William." The guard took off their helmet, astounding William further, while they rubbed the back of their neck nervously. "I am, eh… your father… Abraham." Abraham let out a shaky chuckle. "It sounds like a film, doesn't it? Well, I—I can't really remember. WICKED erased my memories. Teresa had to tell me all about it. I'm not like you or your brother, you know? I'm ordinary in that whole memory-control aspect."
Before his father could keep on rambling about WICKED, or how alike he would have to be with his mother to be an out-of-the-ordinary Non–Immune, William let go of Flor and Chuck to bring him into a hug. There were no tears this time. Not from either of them. The strong clutches of each other's jackets, like at some point the other would dissipate into nothingness, were equal to any tear they could shed.
"This better be real," William whispered. "If it's a simulation, I swear I'll go nuts. I'll shoot at anything that moves. I don't care."
"It's real," Abraham assured, rubbing his son's back as if encouraging him to cry. "I'm very much real, just like your friends."
William's eyes widened in a split second, the same amount of time it took him to detach himself from the hug and stare at his father's face. "What about Aris? And Newt? Sonya? Thomas? Ma—"
"Hey, hey, calm." Abraham placed his hands on William's shoulders, showing his son a soft smile as he added. "I don't know that many names, son. I just know that seven from your group are alive, and you have one of those right behind you. Apart from that, Teresa, Thomas, that boy named Newt, and another two guys are alive. Chuck too, of course. Right behind you as well."
"We're only eight soldiers left alive?" William asked, more to himself than towards his father. He turned to Flor, the only one who would know for sure if his father was right, or if there was something he had misinterpreted. However, her face answered that question without him having to ask. They were indeed only eight left. "Please tell me that Thirteen, Twenty-Three, and Twenty-Four are alive."
Flor narrowed her eyes. "Why are you calling them by their numbers? You called me Eight too. What's up with that?"
"We," began William, unsure as to why Flor would be asking that, "we swore not to use each other's names. You know, after Nine…"
"Well, that doesn't apply anymore," Flor stated. "You are William, not Five. I'm Flor, not Eight. And Rowan, Leen, and Bea are very much alive and still themselves, not their numbers either."
"Oh," that was all the reply William could give to an increasingly angrier Flor.
"Why would we even…? It doesn't make sense. I mean, we lost people in The Building too, but we never stopped calling each other by our names. Who would want to be referred to by a number? Are we sheep? Toys?"
"Sorry, Eight," said William, realising his mistake all too late.
"Flor!" she exclaimed. "I want to hear you say it, William. F–L–O–R. Flor. Go on."
"Flor." He let out a soft chuckle. "Happy?"
"For now." She sighed dramatically.
Sirens roaring through the speakers cut the peaceful time short. Soon accompanied by the ominous orange warning lights flashing on the ceiling. Something was going wrong. Very wrong, judging by Flor's and Chuck's faces alone.
"We have to go," said Abraham. "Come on, come on, nobody stays behind. We have to find Teresa."