Chapter 55. Warning

He looked blankly at Thomas. He —the stranger, whose eyes darted for a moment, looking for an escape. Thomas blocked the entrance of the little cave, waiting.

Resigned, the impersonator shrugged. "So that was all it took? A limp?"

There was no change to his appearance, or even his accent.

"Still, I had you fooled for a while."

Perhaps there was a change. That smugness distorted Newt's face and voice appallingly.

"No. I knew there was something off."

"And what did you do about that?"

"Shut up. Where's Newt?"

"He's fine. Same as you."

"Same as me? So he was also dropped into a Maze with a— He was! Wasn't he? He's in our Maze right now. With…"

With another actor, wearing Thomas' face. Stuck in the place he hated with a stranger —had he figured it out yet? And then there were the Grievers to think about. They must be out and about. What if he'd been hurt like Thomas? Would the impersonator help? Unless he was the one doing the hurting.

The flying monsters made their threatening noises, closer than before. The curtain of vines was thick, but would it be enough to conceal them? Was it 'them'? Were they on the same side of this danger? He hadn't considered his vulnerability until now, and felt his mouth dry.

The pretender rolled Newt's eyes. "Don't look so scared. I'm not gonna push you out. Shank."

Thomas drew his hands into fists. "You know what? I will jump out and pull you with me, unless you tell me who you are."

The stranger's grin grew wider.

Thomas grabbed him by the arm, showing he was serious.

There was a whisper in his head, a mumbled message.

"What?"

The smug look was broken for a moment, before the stranger replied. "Does it really matter that much? Just look at me."
"I already know you're not him. Now tell me."

"Tell me about the Glade. The simulation."

The stranger did something to flip the grip on his arm. Thomas tried to wrench free.

His expression changed, the stolen face looking almost like it should. Smiling brightly, he continued. "I can learn. We can go back to the house, and you can tell me about him. I can be him. We can be happy, away from the bats."

Another mumble in his head, words lost to the buzzing.

"We definitely can't," Thomas said with loathing. "Let go."

The smile was gone, exchanged for something that made Thomas shudder. The kind of darkness the Flare had brought out. A face of danger.

"I won't. Not until you see reason."

Why was his grip so strong? Thomas gritted his teeth trying to break loose, but it got tighter, starting to hurt.

A fear tingled in his spine, but he pushed it down. The need to get away was too panicked. He gathered his strength into one movement. Then he fell. Backwards, down into snow. It broke his fall. Freed suddenly, he pushed away from the stranger, who had been dragged down with him and lay surprised on the ground. Stumbling to his feet, slipping along the ice, Thomas ran. He knew where the exit was. The monsters weren't as close as he'd thought. He could make it if he could just run fast enough. And he did. Throat hurting, barely breathing it seemed, he pushed forward, never falling or slowing.

The sounds had returned. The bats would come to meet him their programming, it was not meant to assist him. Whatever his speed, they were machines in this new experiment. He had to believe he was needed alive. Maybe it was the fear they were testing again. The stress, the pain, something along those lines, because he knew they could catch him at any point, and WICKED knew of his awareness. As expected, he soon caught a glimpse of something. A blur as he looked behind in the maze. He stopped looking back. The bat was there, but so was the exit. He saw the abyss that he'd been shoved through. He could only assume that the spot was the same as in his maze, and that he wouldn't fall into the empty air. There was no time to check, only powdery snow within reach, and he didn't have time to throw snowballs at the hidden exit.

The sound was everywhere, the whirring mixing into the adrenaline. Winds blew behind him as the monsters reached out. Something scraped his neck, but only barely. No blood, no pain. If there was, it would be a problem for later.

With surprised hope he threw himself off the edge, knowing where to land, knowing he had made it.

A force slammed against his momentum. The door, he thought, but no. Something large and dark and evil. One of the bats, shrieking. He was falling. By instinct, he almost clutched the beast as they both tumbled down into nothingness. Instead he kicked, knowing the force could only send him falling faster. The fall was slow, oddly so perhaps, though it may just have felt that way, to drag out his seconds before death. Death by landing, or suffocation, or worse. Worse in the sense that he had more than a few seconds or minutes.

The bat-monster went past him, gaining speed rapidly until it had disappeared between blinks. Now he knew the place of the end. Waiting for that sudden force to drag him down, Thomas shut his eyes, telling himself that it would be alright somehow. He would have peace. The others would figure something out. He told the panic those things, repeating them until they reigned over his senses. The forced calm became a relaxation, and he opened his eyes. There was nothing around him. Murky, light grey mist that gave nothing away, and the ledge was gone from his sight. He could barely feel the fall anymore, reaching a hand out to touch the mist that encased him. It felt cool, but still. Then it moved down. His hand, but not him, because he seemed to be rising. Slowly at first. Then a flash of wind blasted him upwards. It was worse than falling, and harder to explain. He curled up to keep his limbs still, so they wouldn't flap about in the air painfully, like they were going to break off.

Feeling the movement slow again, he turned up his head, and saw more than mist.

He was at the level of the ledge, where the pretender stood, staring at him, ruthless, with a pack of the monsters behind him.

Thomas stared back, too dazed to do anything else.

"So?" Asked the expectant voice in his head.

He knew it was just telepathy, but it filled his chest with panic. It felt like the first time it had happened in the Glade, with the same utter confusion.

Remembering that he could move, Thomas grappled around the heavy air, trying to seize hold of the exit. There had to be a frame somewhere. His movements were odd. Without anything to hold onto, he only managed to spin himself slowly through the air. He was stuck in that unexplained suspension, like breathable water that he could not swim through.

He gave up to spare himself some humiliation, glaring at the pretender across from him. He would not give a response.

"This is what happens when you run away from a basic conversation," the other continued, clearly hoping to initiate a response.

"So," he pressed on when he didn't get one, "you've figured it out, then. Tell me. They thought it would take longer for you."

Thomas didn't feel like responding. What had he figured out? Perhaps that was some ploy to get him to ask questions. The pretender was ever eager to make him speak. What did he want to know? He chided himself. Thomas didn't have any secrets that could be coaxed out like this. Ifn the stranger was looking for the location of his friends, this was not the most effective method, and why keep going with his play discovered? He wanted Thomas to speak, telepathically, like he had previously suspected. That was the new experiment, not one where the Cure could be made of his blood again. Now he was glad for all the times the telepathy hadn't worked. He hadn't experienced any problems getting across himself, though, but he would not participate any longer.

Of course, that refusal could prove problematic at this point, with him being stuck in place more or less, where he could be left to die from cold or thirst, whose nagging was already seeping into him now that the energy was wearing off.

The stranger nodded at him. "Yeah, you don't want to be stuck like that, do you? And there's no point to it — I can get you out of there, I just want to talk to you. Don't you want to discuss the situation? I'll tell you if you ask."

Thomas refused.

Angered, the stranger snapped: "Fine by me! You just wait there and see if I come back."

He walked away, but the monsters didn't follow. They edged closer, extending their wings. They flew at Thomas like one, stopping right in front of him, close enough to smell the rust on their limbs. They moved around, hissing, clacking, clouding his sight. They never touched him, still staying uncomfortably close, occasionally moving closer to snap at him, leaving Thomas to think each time they meant to bite, or slice, or stab. They did, but not close enough. The only pain he felt was in the expectation.

It was wearying, but he could hardly relax, nor could he think, or fantasise, with something to pull him from distractions every other minute. At least the momentary panics were warm, surging through his spine as they were.

He tried once more to shut his eyes, but he felt a sudden emptiness doing so. Opening them, he saw nothing. The sky was clear. The lazy air turned him slowly until he saw the maze again, and there was the pretender, back to taunt him, the monsters behind him as if they'd never left. It seemed all a dream, in the daze it had been, and Thomas had to tell himself sternly to trust in what he had perceived. If he started to distrust his own senses, he would lose whatever was coming for him, as no doubt the enemy knew.

"I have a lot of time on my hands, you know," the pretender said.

It seemed he could not reach Thomas' head at the moment, or had given up trying. He wondered if he could control when it happened, somehow choose who to let into his thoughts. Would it be telling WICKED something n that case? They probably knew better than he did, but if even his resistance could be telling to their experiment, he wasn't sure what to do anymore. Should he just pay along instead? No, that was doubt seeping in, and he couldn't have that.

"I don't even know why you're doing this. There's literally no reason to stay like that."

Thomas didn't even change his expression. Maybe he could pretend to be unwell after the ordeal with the monsters or the fall, and make someone step in to ensure his brain was still working. He couldn't well be used for research if he was catatonic. That may have been his best chance.

The stranger left again, and the bats approached him. They flew closer to him this time, if that had been possible, brushing his skin with their metallic arms. Finally, one of them moved a little too close and scratched his hand. Thomas winced, surprised at the sudden sting. He turned his hand and saw a drop of blood forming at the bottom of a thin line. They grew bolder after that, as if they had realised it was acceptable to hurt him. He covered his face with his hands as they went on, leaving little cuts all over him. So this was the next part. They had tried trickery, convincing, boredom, fear. Now it was on to pain. And how long could that be resisted, if they really tried? This was hard enough, being trapped and never knowing when the next slice would come. But if they went deeper, used more force, came for his eyes… Even if they couldn't kill him, they could hurt him. That was what they always did, breaking down his defiance. He didn't gain anything through outright resistance. He made a new plan.

The next time the pretender came, it was clearly night. Thomas gasped as the bats were gone again, moving so unnaturally fast and discreetly.

"Stop being stupid. You're not the only immune they use for their studies."

"I am now," Thomas responded.

A triumphant glint shone in the pretender's eyes, which Thomas tried to ignore for the sake of his own pride.

As the other was going to respond, Thomas tried to consciously close his mind.

If it could be done deliberately, it worked. There was no sound at all.

"Did you say something?" Thomas asked, trying not to sound smug. In fact, he tried to make as little sound as possible, nearly whispering, which seemed to work.

The other scowled. "You're not the only one, not even now."

Thomas kept the same poor quality of his telepathic speech. "My friends made it out." And Newt was cured, but not an immune, though he didn't want to bring him up.

"You and your friends… Well, you weren't the only ones."

Thomas raised an eyebrow.

"You weren't. And here I remember them calling you the smart ones."

"Don't be so harsh on yourself," Thomas said, mocking him.

"That's how it was. You were special, we were not. Not as special." He shook his head. "Funny that we are the ones who knew to be loyal."

"Maybe we were too busy being tormented."

"I've heard enough about that." The bats were inching closer. "As if you were the only ones… at least you got to be heroes."

"Does that mean you got to be villains?" Thomas wasn't sure who these others were, though he knew WICKED had collected immunes for their workforce. Maybe Brenda would have recognised whoever this was.

"We were backup." The stranger spat in Thomas' direction, but luckily stood far away. "We worked for them, with the world collapsing around us, waiting to see if they needed to replace someone in the trials. Even if that had happened, nobody would remember us. So how does that feel?"

Thomas wasn't surprised, but he was annoyed. "Next time, I'll tell them you can take my place. Tell them to take me out, and they can put you in whatever this is." He gestured at the void around him.

The stranger scoffed. "No, because its still all about you. I fought for my place, and this is the best I can do —someone inconsequential and replaceable. A test-partner for someone important."

"Green?" Thomas guessed. "That's who you are?"

The other swore. Not out loud, but in Thomas' mind. He'd turned away, which was enough to hide that anything had happened. Thomas had to try harder to shut his mind to him. Green. That made sense. Who was better for this experiment if they wanted someone who would report the progress reliably. They'd need at least one person who was reliable, because Thomas was very much intent on sabotage.

Green was edging back, looking at the corridor behind him. He'd said too much, it seemed, and now he wanted to leave.

"Wait!" Thomas called out, unnecessarily loudly to make Green flinch. "I'm talking now, like you wanted. Now, and not later."

Hesitantly, Green changed his mind, walking up to Thomas with his arms crossed. "Fine, but stop messing around. The signal is off, and it wasn't before."

"Maybe you just need to try harder. I am," Thomas said innocently.

What followed was essentially the same as the previous tests, repeating words and phrases through the telepathic connection. Thomas learned that he could shut the other's voice out if he wanted to, without trying too hard. He let it in sometimes, though, to keep it going, and to hide that he was obstructing their progress, slowing things down and repeating issues of volume and clarity. To be fair, Green was not as good at using telepathy at him, so he was merely joining his level.

Time flew past, and the sun came up. The bats sat inactive and dead-looking. Thomas' head was not as strained as it used to be, though granted he was putting in very little effort.

Green, on the other hand, was becoming visibly exhausted. "We have to do better," he said, leaning against the wall as if he were close to collapse.

"Aren't we doing that through practice?"

"No." There was fear in his eyes, now, and Thomas relented a little, letting his voice through. "We have to do it quicker."

Looking at him, Thomas felt pity. Perhaps because he still wore the appearance of his friend. Thomas had asked him to get rid of the disguise, but it was apparently not possible, nor would Green say how it had been done in the first place.

"If we don't get better faster," he continued, "they will have to make us more motivated."

He kept looking to his right, and now he was rubbing at his ear. Thomas wondered if he was hearing another voice than his, though he saw no earpiece.

The alarm on his face was mildly disconcerting, but Thomas would not be so easily fooled. It was hard to tell what was and wasn't sincere. Most of his expressions looked odd on Newt's face. Still, there may have been something real in the increased fearfulness.

The bats had kept crawling closer to Green, even as he'd moved closer to the ledge. Suddenly he gasped. One of the bats had taken hold of his arm with a hooked hand.

"I'm serious," Green said, perhaps seriously acting. The monster put its horrible face next to Green's ear and hissed loudly. The others hissed back and clicked with their wings.

Thomas made a small movement with his shoulder which had him revolve in the air, turning him away. It wasn't too obvious, he hoped. He didn't want to see.

More machine-monster noises, a body thudding against a wall, a groan of anguish.

"Keep going. No more mistakes," Green implored, but Thomas had no clue what to say.

He had come full circle, and saw Green hovering in the air, held aloft by a bat. His cheek was bleeding. One of the monsters made a cackling sound that seemed directed at Thomas. A droplet of blood fell from one of its talons, making a tiny flower in the snow.

Green cried out as the bats began clawing at his legs. "Stop it! It does no good!"

Thomas wanted to help. Almost.

"I didn't agree to— ow!"

It seemed the bats were equipped with teeth.

Thomas heard buzzing in his head. This certainly wasn't making communication easier. If Green was playing a trick, wouldn't he still be able to use telepathy right?

Instead he shouted. "Thomas! The exit! To your right, and up."

Before he could say more, the bats flung him down.

Thomas tried uselessly to move. There was nothing to push against. Was it for the best? Why would Green want him to escape? He probably just wanted to get away from the monsters, so it wasn't much of an escape for Thomas. Not that he enjoyed watching Green curled up on the ground. He closed his eyes. When he did, it was just Green that lay there. He could pity him, but if he saw his friend's body attacked by the bats for much longer, his own inaction would drive him mad.

Then, in a blur, Green got up, stumbling forward half-crawling half-standing. He lurched towards Thomas, just gaining some balance right before he jumped. He flew past Thomas, disappearing.

The bats were left, dumbfounded, but creeping towards him. He'd been ditched.

Something smacked his arm. A hand reached out from empty space. Thomas grabbed it, using it to pull himself closer to the exit. A second hand was there to help. With a snarl, the bats unfurled their wings. He heard them coming for him. The void was like syrup, refusing to relinquish him, and the hands were gone. He grasped at metal, bracing for impact, because he didn't have enough time. Then a hand shot out, pushing his shoulder. He was spun around, facing the flying enemies. Then two hands grasped him by the head, jerking it back, slamming it into something.

Thomas gasped, suffocated by the air around him, confusedly wondering if he was dying. He blinked to make sense of it all, and saw the water. He knew where he was now. Again.

For a brief moment he considered letting the water into his lungs, but he just waited until the chamber opened. The water poured out, leaving him shuddering. As he got out, he realised, despite the gaping pit of anger, that he wasn't in pain. Well, obviously. He couldn't have been hurt by bats that weren't real. He should have realised it was another one of WICKED's illusions.

Looking around, he found one other person, turned away in a chair next to a second chamber that was opened and dryer. And the person who had been in there was Newt, if what he saw of other person was any indication. Newt, or Green, or someone else. So he approached with caution.

He cleared his throat, reconciling with the fact that he could speak again. "Who are you?" He said hoarsely.

The face that turned to look at him was unmistakeable.

"Did they give ya amnesia again, Tommy?" Newt asked.

"Are you actually you this time?"

"So they did that to you, too. Bloody creepy, wasn't it?"

Thomas relaxed slightly as he nodded. "What now? Do they know we're out?"

"That's—"

"A dumb question. Of course they know. But is someone on their way here?"

Newt shrugged "How would I know?"

"Good point. Is that door locked?"

Newt shook his head. "Though I've no idea why."

They decided to leave. Not out of some stupid hope of escape —just because they could.

The corridors were empty around them, shining like nobody had ever walked there and all dust was incinerated by the harsh lighting. It was strangely warm there. It was tiring, too, and they didn't speak. Just continued. Thomas wondered when someone would come to lock them away to continue the research. After a few minutes he wondered if they were being tested somehow, led around the corridors by some trick to see how long it took before they were driven insane or gave up.

"In here," Newt said, going around a corner.

The passage was short and had a door at the end.

"There it is." Newt gave the door a shove and it slowly opened.

Thomas stepped back from the blast of heat, shutting his eyes against the painful colors. Blinking, he approached. "What is that?"

"The world," Newt responded solemnly.

Thomas looked through the door-frame. The air was a grey, thick veil before a blazing sun. Thomas coughed as floating cinders attacked his lungs. Fires laughed at the deadly dance around them. They had the Flare, that much was clear. Twisted faces with shining eyes stuck out from the tangled limbs locked in combat. Their screams overtook the fire.

"When did this…?" Thomas looked at Newt, who was silent.

He didn't seem surprised, though.

Thomas was starting to wonder if the earlier blow to his head was involved in this.

Then it was dark and cold. The sun was almost gone, and so were the fires. The crackling flames became ice that spread on the ground like a carpet. The ash turned to snow. The infected were looking at him.

"We have to… close the door," Thomas said, confused. "Yeah, close it!"

The broken crowd rushed at them. Newt closed the door and locked it. Fists beat faintly against the metal.

"Come on," Newt said, walking away.

"Where are we going?"

"Not out there."

Thomas stayed in place. "Why are you so shuck calm?"

Newt looked at him blankly. "Did you think you were actually awake?"

Dread hit Thomas like a wave. He didn't know what he'd thought.

"But you saw what was out there. Really, it's not at our door, but not as far away as you think. The world is harsh, and they are coming. We lost the Cure, remember?"

"And who are you? I don't think you're Green again, and you're definitely not my friend."

"I am a friend. I'm your warning. You're not stupid, Thomas. You told me to close the door, because you're safe in here. But you have to earn your place."

"And if I don't? Will you kick me out?"

"I won't do anything to you. I'm not real. Nothing is. You decide. It's time for you to go into the next phase."

With that, Thomas felt faint. He sank against the wall, down to the floor, only to realise there was nothing there.

He awoke yet again, surrounded by water.