Chapter 56. Water

The water was viciously viscous. It was a film over his eyes, faint colors flickering with no sense of reason. His words were lost, fallen to his feet.

The water was furiously thin. It rushed through his ears, demanding an answer to its roaring. He fell, flew, fumbled through the unrelenting storm.

There were no questions left in that sea. There was no point to questioning reality if he wasn't in it. What was there to ask a mystery? He didn't have a location, because he lived in a state of mind. However, he couldn't confirm this state was constant enough to categorise; like water he was swept past this blur and that static by a gravitational force. He didn't really want to stay in that river, though there wasn't anywhere else he could think of that would be better. Places and people were frequent enough in the water, enough in the sense that wondering about them wasn't a pressing matter. The people he loved and hated were walking along the shore. Sometimes they would talk to him, and sometimes he responded.

The main thing Thomas could conclude was that the water was so unreal there was no choice but to accept it as existence.

The water was less murky at the moment. Less brown or green and more blue. Nothing as concrete as a concrete floor, and few things as cold. He huddled in the empty corner, reducing the size of his aches. Whenever a vivid landscape unfolded, the pain accompanied it. He knew there was an essentially constant ache in his brain, but this cell brought it out the most. Something was wanted from him, and the cell was relevant. Whether it was a more advanced test, a less advanced one, a punishment, rest, it was among the more frequent places he recognised. And it was almost the only place his leg hurt, too. The searing cold or his throbbing head were not as predictable, though that didn't mean there was any significance to that. He'd tried to see patterns before, and they were broken with mocking efficiency.

The cruel floor was white as snow with flecks of dust that whirled around his feet. Walking hurt his leg, but there was a sound from outside the cell. Thomas walked around the square of the room, listening for the source. Pain mattered fairly little, but he played along with the scene, leaning against the walls for support. The smooth stone was undisrupted and silent. He'd expected little else.

Free from a new task, he sat back down, closing his eyes. The pain subsided. Some rattling noises that he didn't have to do anything about played a lullaby to his senses.

"Thomas!"

And so he'd been mistaken. Another test was upon him.

Rat Man stood before him, arms crossed indignantly. "Get up. We don't have much time left."

Thomas shrugged, wondering what this was for.

Rat Man frowned. "No protests from you today? How refreshing."

Thomas stood up silently.

"Good. There's no time for the whole explanation. Keep up."

Thomas followed him from the cell. There was apparently a door to it.

"I know of your current state, but rest assured you won't make it out of the building unless you're prepared to run."

How odd. The scenarios were usually less elaborate, especially ones this absurd. There had been a few 'escapes' before, of course, so it was not too far-fetched.

As they neared another cell, Thomas figured their walk was coming to a close, a relief to his leg, which hurt more by the minute. As the unlocked door swung open, he got in without protest. Closing his eyes, he sank to the floor.

"What are you doing?" Rat Man hissed. "We're in a hurry!"

Sighing, Thomas let a reaching hand help him up. Apparently it wasn't over yet.

The hand, though… Warm and familiar…

He stepped back, head snapping up to see Newt's wide eyes scanning him.

Without warning, Newt turned to Rat Man and shoved him.

The baffled man staggered backwards. "Ungrateful little brat! I'm trying to help you."

"How bloody convincing. Why?"

Rat Man shook his head. "Let's just say philosophical differences and you'll get the long story later. Come on, boys."

Thomas followed him out into the corridor with Newt closely behind.

"You trust this shank?" Newt whispered.

Thomas shrugged.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Thomas wondered if staying silent would make things worse. Normally he'd play along, but he was too tired now.

"Tommy? You alright?"

Relenting, Thomas nodded.

Of everyone he could have encountered, why did it have to be Newt?

Thomas moved as fast as he could bear, and Newt kept his distance, thankfully.

Rat Man looked back at them for a second, brow furrowed in concentration.

"They won't be around here, but best move quietly," he said in a hushed voice. "We'll be by the exit soon enough."

The scene was made complete by the setting. Some of the lights were out, casting shadows over the dingy floors but doing nothing to dampen the smell of metal in the air. The air was thick with that scent, an insistent ghost telling them about what had happened there before. The truth about the splatters of rust on all surfaces.

"No future in here, I tell you," he heard Rat Man mumble as they pushed through.

They paused briefly as the assistant director went to survey their surroundings more carefully. Although he wasn't that anymore —assistant director. He remembered being told as much. It made sense looking at the man, for once plainly dressed in dark clothes. Maybe the white suit has suffered the same fate as these corridors.

The floor they'd just walked over had been particularly bad. An object of some organic nature had been left behind in one stain, smelling of rot. He turned to look at it more closely, but caught himself halfway. Newt was standing behind him. He felt eyes on the back of his head, waiting to look at his. Whatever it was behind Thomas' eyes that WICKED wanted to get at, he would normally have given to them, but now he felt... not really defiant, but just too exhausted and pained to surrender any energy for their research, whatever that was at the moment.

Rat Man came back, chewing at his lip. "More than I expected… and it's already… but we don't have a choice. Thomas, Newt, we're almost out, but it will be a close call. Be quiet and ready to run."

They continued at a slower pace, listening as the evidence of life grew louder. The guards didn't speak to each other, but they were walking around. Thomas felt anxious in spite of knowing they wouldn't actually get out.

So anxious that he forgot where he was walking.

His shoe squeaked in protest when it couldn't find balance in one of the sticky puddles.

"Careful," he heard from behind as hands moved to steady him.

He should have accepted the help. He did not. Leaning away, he lost even more balance and slammed his elbows into linoleum. Struggling to his feet, he knew the fall had cost them their secrecy.

Rat Man looked ready to murder him as a guard called out.

Thomas felt slightly offended. If WICKED had wanted him to fall and ruin the so-called escape attempt, it was hardly his fault.

They weren't lost yet, though. While Thomas had resigned himself to fate, waiting for the guard to come into view, Newt hid himself by the corner in front of them.

"Hello?" The voice was nervous. A superstitious man, perhaps. Or maybe the corridors really were haunted. Haunted by something, at least. If they pretended to be cranks, they might have stood a better chance at scaring the guard away.

Their part of the passage was fine in terms of the lighting, but the beam of a flashlight stood out regardless, giving the exact distance of the guard away.

A figure turned the corner and the next second Newt had pounced.

Before the guard could cry out, Newt slammed him into the wall, knocking the unprotected head against it twice until the guard was unconscious. They were lucky he hadn't worn a helmet. Though Thomas wasn't surprised. He wouldn't have been, however things turned out.

A feeling of deja vu struck Thomas as Newt took the guard's gun from its sheath.

"They heard!" Rat Man hissed at them, and true enough there were more people coming. They were still far away, but wouldn't be for much longer.

"Now we run." He bolted around the corner.

Newt gestured at Thomas. "Come on, Tommy!"

Thomas didn't move. He'd had enough. If they wanted to push him through fake scenarios, they would have to try another one. His leg wanted to buckle. His head wanted nothing more than sleep. But there he stood. The person he didn't want to see. He was always there, more frequent than any other person in his sea of visions. His eyes were calculating. His voice was cold. The worst thing about it was that he always looked like he did now. There was nothing false in his face. Nothing cold or cunning. Only afterwards did he know it, but in the moment there was nothing to be done against belief. If he held Thomas with strong hands or pushed him away with anger, he knew they were cold, but only on a partial level.

Newt pulled at him with pleading eyes. He'd never looked so real, but didn't he think that every time? Didn't he think it was the truth that time he held a gun pointed at Thomas and pressed the trigger? Like every time, Thomas was defeated. He let Newt grab him by the arm and followed him into a sprint. The door was closer than he'd thought, and it gaped open. Heavy steps got louder around them.

They were out, and the door shut behind them. Through the night's darkness, Thomas saw Rat Man put something on the door handle.

"We're not in the clear yet," the man said. "Hurry."

Out in the chilly air, his voice was different. It wasn't lowered and it didn't echo around the claustrophobic walls. They were free for a while. Thomas let himself enjoy a few breaths of it as they continued down a path.

An engine hummed, and Thomas assumed that was the end, but was disproven again. There was a car, but the lights were off as it drove up to them. Thomas and Newt were hurried into the backseat, and just like that they were off.

They appeared to be on the open road. Maybe an easygoing highway. Other cars were around them, some swerving off in different directions. There were trees nearby and stars in the black sky.

"They must have gotten through the lock by now," Rat Man said from the front.

"We got a good head start on them, though," said the driver. He recognized her.

"Joan?"

"Hello, Thomas. Newt. I'm assuming you both got out in one piece."

"Yeah. I think so." Thomas wondered how long the farce would go on. Hopefully long enough for him to get some rest.

"What about the other cars?" Newt demanded.

"Ours," Joan explained. "To make sure they don't all follow us."

"And what about him?"

Rat Man sighed. "That hurts. We knew each other for months before you met Joan, and you trust her right away?"

"I don't think knowing you helped," Joan said bemusedly.

"I won't argue with that. And I did promise the long story."

"Good. We've got a long road ahead of us."

Rat Man cleared his throat. "Alrighty then. You boys better not fall asleep."

There was no risk of that. The adrenaline was still rushing through Thomas as he looked through the window for danger. And of course he hadn't eliminated the fearful expectation from within the car either. Stupid belief.

The man sure knew how to drag out the pace, though. As Rat Man summarised his life before the Flare, the details were drawn out far too much for good storytelling. Still, the descriptions of his life and his education were intriguing by their normalcy. The wistful story of the boringness that Thomas had been denied culminated in the disasters. Fires narrowly avoided and the whisper of a virus carried on the hot winds. The flare to burn higher than even the solar flares, and take the name association for itself.

"And so the research department sent me off to WICKED with their highest recommendations. There was quite the competition back then, you see. Even I, with all my credentials, was nearly turned away. But you, Thomas —well, the chancellor and you— saw the value of my drive. Do you remember?"

Thomas couldn't answer in the half-trance state of his mind.

"'Course he doesn't," Newt said, nudging Thomas. The spark of fear made him inch closer to his window.

"Unfortunate. Well, the chancellor just wanted your affirmation. She placed a lot of value in the bright kid you were, and I saw no reason to doubt it, especially not when you were arguing in my favour. I wasn't one for humility, either. My losses were no greater than those of others, nor were the threats against what I had left, but I never saw myself faltering like others would." He chuckled forlornly. "I may be a monster —a rat man, as you like to call me— for remembering that time with fondness. Development and innovation on a grander scale than I had ever dared to dream… The ultimate and pure purpose of saving our species. I would have felt the same even knowing the time it would take, though of course I thought I would solve it all before long."

"You weren't lying about the lack of humility," Newt mumbled.

"Indeed, I was two steps away from hubris," Rat Man admitted. "But that turned out to be the ideal distance. We developers may appear as one to you, but I guarantee that my personal contributions were felt."

"As pain, I expect," Newt said.

"Being cured must have hurt, that is true enough. Would you prefer being a Crank?"

Newt rolled his eyes. "I'd prefer my friends not be bloody dead." He looked at Thomas, expecting support perhaps. Thomas didn't know why he'd been staring at Newt in the first place, but looked away immediately.

Rat Man cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Yeah, we know what ya did, Rat Man."

Joan's fingers clutched the steering wheel harder.

Thomas wondered how this situation might escalate. Backstory or no, the man garnered very little sympathy relative to the pre-existing dislike. Alby's name was hovering in the air just outside the car. Thomas considered letting it in. Maybe there would be a fight, a crash, and then the end of this sequence. It had gone for long enough, and they would be running out of details. No use going against their plans… But this unreality felt genuine and refreshing, now that his aches had been softened by the lonely road.

"What then?" Thomas asked, boldly steering the scenario in spite of himself. "Why were you demoted?"
Rat Man scoffed. "Like I said earlier, it was an ideological difference. The Cure was one thing —a fine thing, and the purpose of WICKED. And then we had that, the compounds of the solution within our grasp, proved effective. Formulas for replication and the correct syntheses were all that remained from mass-production. Only, the chancellor decided we weren't in such a hurry after all." He shook his head in disgust.

Joan sighed. "You could say things took a turn for the unethically dictatorial."

Thomas contained a laugh.

"The what?" Newt asked, less amused but no more believing.

"Oh, just a plan to make WICKED the centre of global governance," Rat Man said sarcastically. "Win support with the Cure, pressure other leaders with it to hand over the reins. And of course they'll set up shop right next to the cure-distribution with a 'vital new piece of technology' to keep rebels at bay."

"You're serious?" Newt sounded completely baffled.

"Unfortunately," Joan said. "Janson was assistant director long enough to hear the essential bits."

"Unfortunately," Rat Man continued, "I spoke up when the idea of spying on and controlling people came up. And here we are."

"That's… ridiculous," Newt said. "Is this another one of your bloody tricks? Of course it is." He sighed.

"Ridiculous, yes, but this is no trick."

"Well, that checks. Let's believe this shank then. Right, Tommy?"

Thomas just shook his head.

"No need to be sarcastic," Rat Man chided. "I've got plenty to prove my earnestness. Like when the lot of you were escaping, and they were going to control your movements to hand back the cures. Do you think that just stopped working for no reason? Ask Teresa when you see her —she knows everything. The Cure would never have left the facility, nor would you or several of your friends. Paige would have exactly what she wanted: a Cure to be developed slowly, and subjects for her newer research, without unnecessary people who took up space and posed a threat. All that would have happened if not for me, and why would I have done any of it for no reason? I even busted you out of jail to stop the research. I could have killed you just as easily, so bear that in mind."

"So why didn't you?" Newt pressed. "Sounds less risky for you than to escape with us."

"I won't deny my ulterior motives. I want to keep working on the Cure until the whole job is done. So much for the better that WICKED doesn't have it anymore."

Newt scoffed. "You hearing this, Tommy? He wants to work with us now."

"You said Paige wants to control people," Thomas said, looking at the window. "You mean in the same way as you controlled us?"

"Something very much like that," Rat Man confirmed.

"Like people would let her put anything in their brains," Newt said critically. "Short of blackmail…"

"Better than that," Rat Man said, bitter. "Necessity. A new means of communication, instrumental in the absence of regulated access to previous devices, especially with the future programs to rebuild society in all sorts of different places. With this image of ambition and adaptation to a better world, who wouldn't want to take that step? It would become common practice before long, as far as she figures, and people won't know exactly what goes into their heads."

It sounded comically insane, but it stirred up a sense of terror. Thomas didn't know what things were like in the world, so how could he judge this plan as impossible to carry out? But he was forgetting himself —the state he was in. His belief in disbelief was wavering, but he didn't need more false hope. He had to test the limits a bit more.

"And that's what the telepathy is for? This excuse?"
"It's more than an excuse. A tool for communication on the surface, and below that a means of detecting rebellious talk. You know for yourselves that it's not created for private communication. All that's missing for a global scale is a monitoring system, but it won't take long. No organised rebellions, and no surprise assassinations. Of course the suicide rate will rise somewhat, or so it will appear. But they will probably give another explanation for that." Rat Man paused, before his tone turned more positive. But naturally, none of that will be possible without you. There's a mix of technology, immunity, and luck involved in the ability, and your group contains just the right combinations in several cases. With you gone, it will take much longer to replicate it anew. And the risk that they could retrieve a cure from you is equally removed."

"So saving us fits your purpose already," Newt concluded.

"Of course."

"Then we don't owe ya —not that we did in any case. So forget about weaselling your way into our research."

"Don't be foolish. You need me if you hope to work out the Cure anytime soon. I have experience, skill, and the research documents from WICKED's lab."

"Just give us the bloody documents and leave, if you care so much. We won't work with you."

"It's not an easy decision," Joan said mildly,"but if you can't fix the Cure quickly, WICKED will find you and take it back. Are you willing to risk that?"

"We'll see," Newt said, disgruntled. "Tommy?"

Thomas hummed his agreement. They would see.

The trees were sparse now, allowing the fading moon to gaze at them. Another car was visible not too far off, on another road, but it was one of their own, as Joan had assured them. It should have been over by now, this insane drive. Had there ever been such an implausible scenario? It felt too real and too absurd at once to be another trick. But there had been real and absurd things aplenty, short or long. And so many times —what made this time different? Best not to overthink it and take the respite.

He let himself sink into sleep, waiting to see whether he would wake up in water.