"Mae?"
The voice snapped Mae's attention back to reality. Thomas was right in front of her, hands carefully caressing her shoulders as he tried to get her to concentrate on him. Although Mae's thoughts could only focus on her surroundings at the moment. She couldn't remember how or when she had made it to the rooftop. Only a minute ago, or what felt like such, she was talking with her friends, planning their betrayal. And now she was in front of a highly worried Thomas, while Newt sat at the edge of the roof, looking back at them with an expression she couldn't quite understand—something between delight and melancholy.
"Hmm?" was all the reply she could muster.
"Are you OK?" asked Thomas, lowering his hands from her shoulders to her wrists, which twitched, as if surprised at the sudden touch.
Her eyes didn't budge from his own. They were their usual brown colour, but that didn't mean they were any less concerning. Her expression was completely blank, like any thoughts that she had been going over had vanished from her mind. Not even the soft pressure around her hands distracted her, much less made her look anywhere else that wasn't his eyes.
"Mm-hmm," again, that was her only reply, which didn't relieve Thomas in the slightest.
"Come here." Thomas took a light hold of her hands, not having to do much to pull her along to the edge of the roof. "Sit with us. You look like you need some fresh air."
Mae's unfocused eyes landed on Newt's uncovered arm as they sat down, Thomas in between her and Newt. "It's not as bad as I thought it would be."
A soft chuckle left Newt's lips as he rolled his right sleeve further up, letting her have a good look at the purple veins that were starting to eat up his arm all the way to his shoulder. "No pep talk?"
Like her mind had cleared, or she had finally managed to focus completely on her friends, Mae shrugged her shoulders. "I'm pretty sure Thomas already gave you one."
"He did." Newt nodded.
"As much as it pains me to say it, he was probably right, too." Mae squeezed Thomas's hand without realising, an action Thomas copied unintentionally. "I'm guessing it was along the lines, 'we can do something about it', right? Well, he's right… um, maybe not us, but Teresa can."
"Teresa?" Newt repeated. "You really think it's a good idea to trust Teresa after what she did?"
"Well, we have to trust her regardless," replied Mae. "And even if we don't, she's the closest person we have to a doctor that can make a Bliss for you." Her hand left Thomas's to scratch under her ear. "That's what William would—"
"Liam's dead!" Newt snapped, turning his head to meet his friends. "He jumped off the bloody wall, alright? He's dead," he repeated, this time calmer. "If only I could've… If only it hadn't been the buggin' wall."
"What do you mean?" asked Thomas, more concerned about Newt than any potential explanation behind his words.
"Did I ever tell you about when I broke my leg?" Newt shook his head slightly before either Thomas or Mae could answer. "No, I don't think I did." He took in a deep breath and continued. "Way back in the Maze, I had just appeared with the first batch in the middle of the Glade. Didn't know where I was, didn't know who I was, you know?"
"Hmm," Thomas replied simply, while Mae could only nod.
"Even though all my memories were gone, I could still feel… that something was missing… You know? I felt empty. And I—I just couldn't handle that. Couldn't take it." The frown that had overtaken Newt's expression for a while disappeared as soon as he looked away, staring at the sunset like there was something he was searching for in it. "So one morning, during my round in the maze, when I knew all the other Runners were far away from me, I went and found the tallest wall I could… I climbed up there and… I jumped off it."
Thomas and Mae remained silent, trying to process the new information. It made no sense to them that Newt, their friend, their glue, could have ever tried to end his own life. Although, the similarity between his situation and William's did confuse Mae. After an entire month of reluctant acceptance and grief, she finally acknowledged the irrationality of William's actions.
It didn't matter if she tried to ignore it, or blame it on WICKED's intervention, the video replayed time and time again in her mind until she found the problem with it. William's way to take his own life, even if poetically similar to his lover's, was an unnecessary risk. The chances of failure were great, and being caught by the Griever even more. There was no way that the William she knew, the one she had seen surface in the first few months in the Glade, wouldn't have known that. In any case, slitting one's throat would be the best option—even if it were painful, the chances of survival or being caught by the Griever were close to none.
So why had he done it? Even if WICKED had momentarily got into his brain and forced him, he was 'The DEFECTIVE soldier' after all. He could go against the orders. As soon as his hands had grabbed onto the vines, he should have been able to snap out of mind control, taken the knife that he had just used moments before, and ended it all quickly. But he hadn't.
"Why?" Mae mumbled to herself in such a tiny whisper that neither of the two boys heard.
"Of course I got completely tangled up in all the ivy," continued Newt in a lighter tone, oblivious to Mae's dumbfounded expression. "Snapped my leg in three different places like a proper shank."
At his comment, Thomas couldn't help but let out a breathy chuckle, which Newt shared, but Mae was too concentrated to join in. If Newt had fallen from a similar height as William, yet had only broken his leg, did that mean that William had ended up in the same way? Did that mean that, against his last wish, the Griever was the one thing to kill him? Had she failed him to that extent? Not only had he died alone inside a maze created by WICKED, but also by WICKED's own creatures?
Her hand clasped over her mouth, shaking to its core, as tears threatened to leave her eyes. William's last moments alive replayed in her mind like torture. She would believe it was William himself blaming her for everything, but the tiny rationality she had left knew perfectly well that her friend would never do that. He would be trying to calm her down—tell her that everything would be fine—but he would be wrong. Nothing would be fine until she got revenge.
Do we even need to keep Teresa alive to carry out the mission? The thought appeared in her mind before she could even process it.
They didn't need Teresa alive, that was for sure. However, what would William say if they ended up killing her? What if Teresa had been forced with mind control to betray them? Who could assure them that only Group S was under its influence? And then it landed on her. Teresa could have been as much of a victim as Minho and William were. Wasn't her position the one Group S was supposed to take originally? Wasn't the betrayal something they had been ordered to carry out? Something they would have done without a question if it weren't for William?
Regardless of her overflowing questions, time didn't stop, and neither did Newt's explanation. "Landed hard on the floor." The seriousness reappeared as Newt looked down at his hands. "I thought that was it. Then Minho found me. Somehow. He picked me up and took me back to the Glade, and we never told anyone the truth of what happened." Newt's eyes locked on Thomas, who didn't dare to budge. "He saved me. He gave me a second chance. And now he needs us. So if there's even the slightest chance that we can save him, that we can get him out of there, then we have to take that."
"Newt—" Thomas began, but got interrupted.
"No matter what the cost." Newt didn't take his eyes off Thomas, trying to dig holes in his friend's skull if it was necessary to get his point across.
"And what about William?" Mae blurted out without thinking, forcing her to calm herself down and come up with something else to say before Newt could take her words as a direct attack. "What about his last wishes? You living for him… you're gonna ignore that? Minho gave you a second chance, and now you're going to waste it? I know trusting Teresa right now is… well, difficult, but we need her help, and she's our best bet. Not only to get inside WICKED's building, but also to get you the Bliss."
"And if it fails?" was Newt's reply.
"Then I'll promise to respect your decision." She rubbed her eyes, faking to be tired, only to wash away the tears that had almost rolled down her cheeks, which, in her opinion, would have made her look pathetic. "But you also have to remember that you have a lot of people waiting for you. Newt, you have Sonya. You have your friends worried out of their darn minds for you… and you have William watching over you. You better not give up just yet."
A brief silence settled among them, dragging on what Mae believed to be her last chance at convincing her friend. Although, as Newt nodded with a soft smile present on his face, she couldn't help but copy him.
"And what about Vince?" said Newt. "He won't let me go to the Safe Haven now."
Mae didn't have time to utter a single word as Thomas spoke. "He doesn't have to know. We can convince Mary. Or take Teresa with us. As long as you keep getting the Bliss, it will be fine."
"I'm not sure if that's how it works," Mae began, showing Thomas an encouraging smile, "but we can try."
And just when it all seemed as if it would be fine, a chill ran down her spine, like a warning. She turned around, yet found nobody, nor was there any breeze that could make such a thing happen. It was William—that was what she told herself. William was looking over them, and he had just sent her a warning.
It was up to her to figure out what exactly he was warning her about.
His finger pressed the trigger without a thought, killing Aris for the twelfth time that week. Was it real? Was he dreaming? Could it be a simulation? He couldn't really tell. Only in the few moments of lucidity, he managed to test it out, placing his weight on his bad leg—if it hurt, he was awake. If it didn't, it could be a dream or a full-fledged simulation. And that time, it hurt.
"Liam, please," Thomas begged, which didn't help him in the slightest as in less than he could blink, a bullet intruded his chest.
Why was he so compliant? Because deep down he knew that those he was killing were, in fact, not real? No, even if he knew, watching his friends and loved ones bleed out at his feet was the last thing he wanted. But he couldn't help it. It was rare the moment when he could process the situation in time, and, even when he did, he wasn't in control of his own body to stop it. He was always one step too late, watching his loved ones dying one by one while he could hardly understand the action he had committed.
"Liam," said Chuck, appearing like a walking ghost around the pile of corpses. Although, this time, there was a significant change. Chuck was already bleeding, both hands over his stomach as he bled out. "Why? Why didn't you save me? You watched me die. You did nothing. It's your fault! I'm dead because of you!"
Per custom, by the time William had processed the boy's words, it was already too late. Chuck fell to his knees, crying and pleading to be spared, even if his wound was fatal. And what did he do? Speed up the process. His hands raised the gun and pulled the trigger in a heartbeat, causing more blood to splatter all over the wall.
"You're a monster," said Newt, appearing behind Chuck's dead body. His eyes flared with rage and disgust, the only detail William could catch on time, making his heart drop at the realisation of what his next moves, even if against his will, would be. "How could I ever think that someone like you could ever feel any emotions? You're no better than a killing machine." William's hand raised the gun to aim at Newt's heart, which didn't produce the usual effect. Newt didn't cry, nor plead. He stared directly into William's eyes, the same disgust from before present as he continued. "I just want to know. Did you ever love me? Even if it was only a little?"
Yes—that was what William wanted to answer. How could he not? Newt had always been his rock, the one to listen to his rambles, no matter what they were about: his nightmares, missions, losses. To his younger self, alone and scared in the heartlessness of WICKED's new experiment, Newt was an anchor to reality and life itself.
He missed those times desperately, back when they were kids, sneaking into each other's group's quarters, like a pair of helpless lovers. They were nothing more than naïve children, of course, but, at that point, they thought they knew it all—that nothing would change.
Then, one day, Group A was told that their Trials would start soon, and their little and perfect world got destroyed. To make things worse, Group S would be out on a mission by the time the first batch was sent to the maze, making their private goodbyes all the worse.
William could still recall the last words Newt had ever said to him, "Just remember that I love you". And what had he replied? Nothing. He froze in place and watched the boy he loved being dragged out of Group S's room without even knowing that he reciprocated his feelings.
Now, it was too late. Newt was dead—had been for about two years, ever since he jumped off the maze wall. Even if he found strength within himself and answered his lover's simulation truthfully, what would that change? Newt would never get to know. He was dead. No amount of 'I've always loved you' would change that.
"No." The dreadful word forced its way out of his mouth like venom, and it wasn't alone, poisoning his already decayed insides. "I'm a soldier. Everything I said and did was only part of my mission." After so many days of torture, William finally had enough. He wanted to cry and beg his Commander to stop the simulation, even if it meant that a bullet would find its home in his body—he just wanted to end his useless suffering. "I've never loved you."
Newt's face fell, like the words had deeply hurt him. Though, as his brow furrowed, he muttered. "I always thought so, but I didn't want to accept it." His eyes rose to meet William's, a single tear escaping his eye. "I was a fool thinking that you, a bloody soldier, would ever find a space in that ice-cold heart of yours for me." His hands fell to his side, as if he had given up. "Come on, do it. Kill me, William."
And so he did.
Outside the room, Teresa, who had the misfortune to watch the entire experiment, clasped a hand over her mouth as she forced bottled-up tears to remain hidden. She was right next to Doctor Earl, who couldn't wash the smug grin off his face as he stared at his creation—the perfect mindless soldier.
She couldn't quite believe it. William, her friend, the reason the experiment even existed, was being controlled like a puppet. Not once had he shown any resistance—not even the slightest tremble or odd pause. It all happened per Doctor Earl's orders, which she doubted William could even feel at that point. His eyes looked lost, like reality was a blurry concept to him. Although, taking into account what reality was for him, any delusion or dream would be very much preferred over it.
"I wanted you to have a look for yourself," said Doctor Earl. "The cure's research isn't going too well, from what I've been told. I wonder how long it'll take for the people to ask me to free my perfect creation outside the walls. Two weeks? No. Less. Maybe one. A few days if your little test subjects react as badly as that poor little girl. Shai Lun, wasn't it? I saw her Crank up. What a pitiful child. You all gave her all those baseless hopes, and look where that's left her."
"They weren't baseless hopes," Teresa spat, not controlling her harsh tone in the slightest as her eyes left William's unsteady silhouette to concentrate on the man.
"Do you really think so?" Doctor Earl turned to face her with a serious expression. "Just a means to an end, for the greater good—I've been told that you appreciate such noble nonsense. I guess it must be right."
"I've had time in these past six months to reflect on it," she replied in the same tone from before.
"Better if you didn't," said Doctor Earl in a light tone, almost as if the situation amused him. "You wouldn't want to get your memories altered again. Now, would you?"
"What?" Teresa's eyes widened in surprise, which only seemed to entertain him even more.
"I think the question you should be asking yourself is, 'Why?'." Doctor Earl took his eyes off Teresa to look back at William, who stood idly at the centre of the Tests Room, staring at the gun in his hands. "I'll be honest, when Paige asked for Group S's participation in their little trials, I gave in right away. Almost ten years of putting that kid through hell, and nothing. No change. The devices only got corrupted faster and faster. Of course, I warned Paige about S5, but she didn't listen. Erasing A2's and B2's memories was a last-moment measure to control the collective reaction. But you and B1? That was my doing. Sadly, it seems that the resistance against mind control runs down in the family. B1 didn't react once. You, however, did." A satisfied smile played across his face, though an out-of-the-blue split-second frown forced Teresa's attention to William, who remained unchanged, staring at the gun with a blank expression. "I altered your memories and provided the doctors in the Sanctuary with my best mind control implant, which they clearly used. Tell me, how does it feel—acting against your wishes? How is it to say and do things you despise, no matter how much you try not to?"
"I think you already know the answer to that." Teresa frowned, but not out of confusion. She was enraged. With whom? Herself? WICKED? Doctor Earl? She didn't really know. Perhaps all of them at the same time. "Why are you telling me this? What's the point?"
Doctor Earl intertwined his hands behind his back, standing like a soldier—like she had seen William and those in Group S do a million times, even if it was subconsciously. "Take it as the warning of a friend. The cure's research is going nowhere, and I want everybody to know that. I want you to destroy it. Leave them with no hope for a peaceful future."
Teresa was slowly, but surely, running out of patience. "And why would I do that?"
"Well, I'd say that, if Paige or Janson got to know that you cured S5 from the Flare—somehow—any hell I've put him through would be little compared to what they'd put you two through until you sold out whoever cured him." He took a brief pause to analyse her expression, which she contained admirably, just in case he was bluffing, which he wasn't. "Did you know that S5 tried to make a deal with me? It was so touching to listen to him ask for A7's freedom at the expense of being tested and experimented on as a Crank." His smile widened in a quick, mocking motion. "Needless to say, I never accepted, nor was there a motive for me to do so. Look at him, all healthy and acting like everything's fine. His leg must be killing him, but I don't think that he can feel anything anymore. I made sure to turn him into a perfect mindless soldier this time."
"Seek professional help," said Teresa, her tone vivid with hatred. "You might be infected, judging by the absolute nonsense you're spewing."
"I'll give you 'till tomorrow to think of an answer. The longer you take, the longer William will be here undergoing his experiments," said Doctor Earl, unfazed by her comments. "Oh, and, Teresa, you might want to know that WICKED purposely provided me with some of the Non-Immune children that came along with you Munies." He waited patiently for her response, which didn't disappoint as her eyes widened without her consent. "You didn't think they all just appeared on my doorstep, did you? Most in Group S came here to be control subjects for the mazes. And they ended up becoming soldiers." A sly smile played across his face as he added before leaving, "Your sister is no different."
Teresa stood there, alone, for long confusing minutes—the words replaying in her mind dangerously. "My sister?"