The table was a mess, and so were the people around it. Papers were passed from one side to another, stocked up into piles, and some crumpled and tossed to the side of the room—forming its own pile of mess. In the eyes of a passer-by, the scene would be rather odd. Seven teens, alone around a table, were reading and re-reading papers like the information that they contained could save someone's life. However, there were no passer-bys the entire time, nor did Thomas and Newt return.
Despite their utter concentration, none in Group S could help peek over their papers to the door at times; all in hopes of seeing their friends coming back. Six months had passed since the last time they had been alone without the company of someone outside their group. Although, the much-expected sensation of loss never came to make its presence. They were concerned over their friends—that was it. They didn't need them around, much less want to involve them in what they were doing.
A second pile had begun to form on the table when a question ran through all seven soldiers' minds. Were they trying to protect their non-soldier friends, or had they given in to their soldier-training instincts? They had no answer to it, no matter how many times they thought about it. Only one thing was evident: as much as they loved their friends and family, letting go wouldn't be difficult. Some tears would fall, and days and weeks would pass before any could make a joke again, but they would get over it.
Their minds played different scenarios time and time again about what would happen the next day, when the Immunes were finally in their rightful place at the Safe Haven, and they stayed behind, caring for their in-the-road-to-Crank friends. The more dramatic it was, the best. It made it easier to get used to the idea of letting go—leaving to never return. They still had to decide where to go. After all, that would be the place where they would turn into Cranks, and, in time, be buried. It had to be special, like the Safe Haven, where they would coax Thomas into burying William's body.
In a desperate attempt to calm her beating heart and cool her heated-up cheeks, Mae took off her sweatshirt. She still had a shirt under it, but the sleeves ended just over the elbows, leaving her tattoo uncovered. Like a light to a moth, it lured all eyes to it. Their solitude hadn't been the only thing they had experienced all over again; the utter numbness was as odd as the sentiments had been six months ago.
"Soldier," mumbled Flor under her breath, a frown forming as she stared at Mae's right arm.
Mae tilted her head towards her, her lips pressing together before adding to Flor's statement with a heavy sigh. "Property of WICKED."
Property of WICKED—that part was the worst in their opinions. They could deal with being branded as soldiers. That they were. None doubted that their lives had never been like a normal kid's life. They had been taken by WICKED at a very young age, stripped away from everything they knew, given guns, and tossed into dangerous situations for the sake of an experiment. Perhaps it was selfish of them to think, but they were happy not to remember anything before their awakening in the Building. Even if they couldn't remember their families, friends, or previous lives.
What did it matter, anyway? Whoever they had been before their memory-wipe, or their training, had died on the way. Strangely, they didn't see much of that change in those outside their group. However, they were sure that, the first time they had pulled a trigger, whoever they were had died within the deafening gunfire. They could still remember the first kill after waking up without memories—their first mission—the numbness at staring at someone's dying eyes was scarier than anything they had done that day.
Mae rubbed her eyes tiredly, needing a much-deserved break from reading the never-ending pile of information that Lawrence's group, or gang, whatever it was, had recollected about the Last City. With her hands back on the table, she let her eyes trail back to the door. No Thomas. And, definitely, no Newt either. Thirty minutes had probably slipped away from their outstretched hands, and the two boys were nowhere to be found.
"Any luck?" she asked, detaching her eyes from the door to glance around the room.
More crumpled papers flew to the messy pile to the side of the room—an answer in itself. The collective sigh was another. Nobody had found any information regarding any cemetery within WICKED's control, nor any place of burial or hints of a crematory. They had their way in, a plan to retrieve Minho, and a way out, but no hints of William's body whereabouts—their plan was no better than Gally's.
"I hate this," grumbled George. "Why did he have to be right?"
Henry took a hand to George's back, rubbing it comfortingly as he frowned at his papers. "Not one darn mention of a body taken out of the building the day of his death, nor any freezer, crematory, or cemetery within the building. Just what is WICKED doing to him?" His lips pressed together tightly, refraining from shouting and attracting any undesirable attention to them. "He's dead. He's been dead for a darn month. Why can't they just let him rest in peace?"
Like a chain reaction, everyone closed their eyes tightly and shook their heads, trying to get the memory of that devastating day to dissipate. Alarms replayed in their heads, like a loud warning that they continued fighting to ignore. It didn't matter, nothing did—William was dead. What could some nitpicking change? Did it matter that they still didn't know the sender of the Maze's backups, or that William seemed particularly odd that day, or that the clip ended before they could see him lie on the ground, dead? No, he had still jumped off the wall. In any case, the sender had done them a favour by keeping them from watching William let out his last breath in the solitude of the Maze.
"I guess for the same reason they sent him to the maze," said Leen, keeping her fists in her trouser's pockets to hide the constant tremble they were in. "WICKED doesn't care. He was a property, not a kid—not a human." Her eyes narrowed, making bottled-up tears blur her sight. "… I can't anymore."
"Leen…" Bea tried to pull her closer, but Leen jerked out of the grasp, her trembling hands now out of her pockets for everyone to see.
"I want to kill them. Every single one of them," Leen continued, letting a couple of tears roll down her cheeks. "I want to make them pay. But what can we do? We're kids. We're stupid and powerless kids. What can we do, huh? We can hardly come up with a plan to get my brother back! We can't even find William's body! It's useless!" Her mouth fell agape for a moment, realising what she had just admitted. "…it's a lost cause. I miss William, I really do, and if we could do anything to get him back, I would take it without thinking twice… but we can't… we can't do anything… and I don't want to lose any of you."
Bea's hands landed on Leen's with a delicacy nobody had ever seen her have. She didn't say a thing, nor that she had any idea what to say. Seconds passed before Leen threw her arms around Bea's waist, bringing her closer to cry on her chest, which Bea didn't mind at all as she caressed and kissed Leen's head fondly.
A wave of discouragement was present on everyone's faces. They understood Leen's thoughts perfectly and even shared her worry and exhaustion, but her question, which had been apparently harmless, exploded in their minds like a bomb. What could they do? Not in their fantasies, or their best hopes, where everything went smoothly, but in real life. They were seven teenagers, fugitives of the most important figure in the entire city, with the self-given mission to save one alive boy, and a corpse, with the probable addition of the other Immunes in hold, which they in no way could ever leave behind. Indeed, what could they do?
"I'm scared," said Henry, turning all attention to him, even Leen's and Bea's. "Well, I don't think I've ever not been scared, have I?" he added, with a bitter chuckle, but immediately regained his previous sincere tone. "It's just… I want to quit. I want to get away from here and don't mind if the others get themselves killed on this suicide mission. But I can't… I'm so scared, and I feel so helpless, but the thought of leaving them makes me want to puke. It's torture, and I don't know how to handle it."
Like a lightning had struck her, Mae was left speechless as she blinked powerlessly in surprise. It was the first time Henry and Leen, or anybody for that matter, gave up. Not out of anger or a change of heart, but due to fear. Just like her, the rest lowered their heads for a minute, letting the thought run wild in their minds. Fear to them was a momentary thing—like when Henry and George didn't want to be left alone in the dark, or Leen mumbled Bea's name in her sleep if she left her side—but it had never been that paralysing. The crippling kind of fear that stuck them in their positions and numbed their brains, not letting any hope infiltrate as they obsessed with their task at hand, was relatively new to them.
"I'm scared, too."
One by one, Rowan, George, Bea, and Flor acknowledged their helplessness out loud, waiting for Mae to follow their example or make an attempt at a pep talk. Their leader, however, did neither. She clutched the table's side as one would to a raft in an angry sea, but her eyes weren't on the papers or the table. Mae glanced at her friends and allies one by one, taking in their features and, most importantly, the fear now present in their eyes.
"I don't want to quit," she let out a sigh, rubbing her neck with one hand as the other kept her grip on the table, "but I'm also scared. This isn't like our missions. We don't have a clue of how to carry this out by ourselves, and we have more questions than answers."
"But?" Rowan asked as she leaned against the wall.
"No buts." Mae shook her head swiftly, forcing her lips into a soft smile to show her sincerity to her friends. "I don't want any of you to die either, and out there, there's a high chance that we will die. So, whoever doesn't want to, doesn't need to. Just because WICKED dumped the title 'soldiers' onto us doesn't mean we have to take it. We're still kids. It's alright to be scared."
George felt no need to listen any further. He planted his hands on the table, claiming his friends' attention, who stared expectantly at his unwavering expression. "Gally really pissed me off when he said that getting William's body back was an optional plan. At that moment, I didn't know how Newt didn't crank up at that. Now… I kinda get it. It's a mad plan. This—" he pointed at the papers in front of him — "is bonkers. Absolutely crazy. Probably suicide." The right corner of his mouth curved up into a barely noticeable smile, which he tried to contain so as not to seem heartless when one of his friends had only just stopped crying. "But those kinds of plans usually work out for us. And even if it doesn't, I'll die peacefully knowing that at least I tried." He stepped back, letting his hands fall back to his sides as he glanced at his friends. "I'm in."
Out of the three that hadn't voiced their full thoughts yet, Bea was the only one nobody expected to hear talk. She still had her arms around Leen, who she had been soothing with sweet nothings. At least, until her eyes rose to meet Mae's, and her expression hardened to the point of being unreadable.
"Can we do this, Mae?" Bea asked in a surprisingly serious tone. "Not the kind-hearted Mae that tries to appease Thomas's recklessness, or the Mae that now lets pity intervene in her planning. I want an answer from the cold-hearted and logical Mae. The one we appointed as our leader."
All eyes fell on their leader. The weight of the situation fell entirely on Mae's shoulders, with no support available. She was the leader—the one to lead and decide, even if her thoughts or plans didn't sit right with everyone, not the one to be led and pulled into a death trap because she didn't want the person to go alone. Things were different. Thomas wasn't there, and he wouldn't be any longer in her life. She would better forget whatever made her heart flutter and make peace with reality—Thomas was an Immune destined to live in the Safe Haven and carry the hope for humanity's survival. Even if he wanted to, she would never let him tag along, only for him to watch them all die one by one to the Flare.
I'm sorry, William. Mae thought, her hand lowering from her irritated neck to land over her heart. I can't believe I let you feel like this. You were suffering this much at the thought of leaving us all, and the only thing I could think of was my possible family… I hope you can forgive me.
"The…" her voice caught in her throat, leaving her with no other option but to force it out, which turned into a shaky tone that, to her, didn't carry her past leader-typical feel to it. "The others are more hindrance than help." She gulped her feelings and straightened her position. Bea was right. As far as planning went, she needed to go back to her past self. No feelings could come across their task, more so when it was already a sentimental mission. "We can do this… I can't guarantee that we'll all make it out alive, but we can use Gally's plan to our advantage. If we go ahead of time and get everybody out, we'll be ready to go right away. Newt won't Crank up any further. Thomas won't do something stupid that could endanger someone's life again. And, well, Lawrence won't get what he supposedly wants, but by the time he realises that, we'll be long gone."
Contrary to the reaction Mae was expecting, her group seemed keener on accepting the suicidal plan than before. There was something about her that had resurfaced as she talked. It wasn't exactly the power that it gave her, which in itself also brought overwhelming responsibilities, but it had something to do with it. She felt in control, like something finally was making sense. Much like the mastermind of a game, Mae found herself back in possession of her most valuable tools; a crushing frivolity and a grounded tenacity.
"And, in case we're desperate for a way out, we can use what we know of Gally's plan to make a distraction," she added. "WICKED has the entire Last City looking for Thomas. It would be easy to use him as bait."
"Wow," mumbled Rowan, the hint of a smile present on her face as she leaned against the wall with her arms folded. "You would do that to poor Tommy?"
"Momentarily," replied Mae. "It's not like he'll ever get caught. He's too lucky for that."
"And if he isn't?" asked Flor, raising a questioning eyebrow at the leader.
"Then I'll make another distraction." Mae shrugged. "I probably won't even have to do anything. Lawrence wants control over WICKED's building, right? Do you think he'll be satisfied with only bringing WICKED's building down? The people living in the Last City, as innocent as they are, have given up on everyone outside the walls. Everyone here probably hates them. Once they're inside, they'll wreak havoc."
With his hands scratching the inner fabric in his pockets, though showing a somewhat believable smile, Henry sat down on a chair and rested his head on the wall. "This is nuts, and I hate the fact that it's starting to make sense to me."
George walked over to Henry, placing a hand on his shoulder to comfort him. "We've survived worse."
Henry couldn't contain a chuckle as he shook his head. "Let me doubt that."
In unison, the attention fell on Leen, who had managed to calm down with Bea's help, and had her full attention on cleaning her tear-stained cheeks and stopping her running nose with her sleeves. She was the first to break down. The one who had detonated the insecurity bomb and still suffered from its consequences. Although, a couple of sniffs later, Leen's eyes—as red and irritated as they were—didn't show her previous fear and insecurity.
"Can we make room in that plan of yours and use Lawrence's stupidity to take down WICKED ourselves?" she asked in an anger-driven tone, though not to Mae or anybody in the room. It was a special type of anger reserved only for WICKED.
"Maybe not take them down," replied Mae, straightening her expression to match Leen's. "But we can wreak some havoc ourselves. And even kill Janson. Teresa will know about his rounds. We can use that to track him and kill him. Although, sadly, only one of us should do it to make it easier to get away. They can always explain it in detail. It's not the same as watching Janson's eyes dim, but it's the second-best option."
There was a silent collective acceptance. The thought of killing Janson was making it easier for everyone to grow fonder of the plan. In Gally's plan, killing was only accepted in a life-or-death situation. If they left their positions to find Janson, they would get stuck inside a crumbling-down city all by themselves. Ironically, Mae's plan was based on fulfilling emotion-driven needs like vengeance or grief, yet it seemed more logically structured, contrary to Gally's, which had a couple of points that left more than one person defenceless.
"Alright." Flor pulled her hair up, trying to secure it the best she could with a hair tie. "Let's finish what we started." With her hair up, her hands travelled to the table, which she leaned on to grab a hold of a guard's helmet. "Not finishing missions is kinda nerve-wracking. Let's do what WICKED wanted us to do—let's be betrayers."
"And then?" Mae asked this time, raising an eyebrow at her friend in anticipation.
"Then let's wreak havoc. As much as we can, even if the Immunes and Minho are already safe. If we can, I want Janson to see all of our faces before he dies. Make him pay for what he did to William." She tossed the helmet to Mae, who caught it without a problem. "But I do want to kill Ava Paige by myself. Thomas was right. If it weren't for William, Chuck would be dead right now. Let me repay the favour."
"Phase One of WICKED's Trials is about to begin," concluded Rowan.
Dear Birdies,
This is one of the first letters I've ever written, or at least I think so. I've never had much of a reason to write one, and after this, I still have another left to write. I guess this isn't much of a sentimental beginning, but I sincerely have no idea how to start.
You all know what this letter is about. First off, because I'm not there with you. Second, because I know you just as much as you know me. After cranking up, there was no way Vince would let me stay, and Brenda simply confirmed my suspicions. I'm only sorry that it feels like I told you about your families because I wanted you to stay. I genuinely didn't remember anything about that until I woke up in the medical tent.
None of you are Immune, so don't copy Thomas and stay put. You're safe now. That's all we wanted. Don't spoil it by going out looking for me. We all know I'll be better off alone with Brenda than anywhere else. It's not like there are many options either. I don't want to die in WICKED's hands, and if Vince killed me, you could never fully trust him.
So I better disappear for everybody's sake.
Don't ever blame yourselves, because I know you'll try to. This past month has probably been the best of my entire life, and I remember some of it, so I'm not just guessing. Actually, I prefer it like this. If you were with me, you would probably end up killing me or watching me take my own life—and those are two options that I want to save you all from. I don't want any of you to be the ones to kill me. It's finally time you let the label 'soldiers' die and start being normal teenagers. Joke around, have fun, fall in love, and do it all wholeheartedly. It won't kill you now, and I can guarantee that love it's the most beautifully cruel thing I've ever experienced.
I'd like to be remembered like that, too, please. Not like a comrade or a fellow soldier, but a friend. That's all I want to be—a reckless teenager who fell in love at what may be the worst of times and still found joy in it. Leave all 'DEFECTIVE' and 'Soldier S5' out of it. I just want to be 'William'. Nothing less, nothing more.
Death doesn't really scare me. If there's nothing beyond that, then I won't have a conscience to care, but if there is, I'll get to see my parents again after so many years. Just promise it'll take far longer for me to meet you birdies. I may not have much time left, but you still have a long life ahead of you. Enjoy it, alright? For me and yourselves.
I'll miss you 'shanks'.
— William