Author's Note:Thank you so, so much to everyone who has reviewed. It means a lot to me and really helps with motivation to write.
The little boy's name was Newt but he knew it hadn't always been.
It could be hard to remember clearly what came before this place with its white walls, and its white coat wearing scientists, and the white noise of new, replacement information they were constantly feeding him and the other kids.
New names.
New lessons.
New tests.
New mottos like "Wicked is good".
New, new, new…Newt.
He wanted to remember though.
Not because he thought there was any hope of getting back to what came before, he knew enough to know that life was over.
But just because he couldn't go back didn't mean he was willing to just forget.
He had to remember so he could get out of there someday, find someplace safe for him and the people he cared about.
Be whoever the hell he wanted.
So he recited the same things to himself every night, staring up at the blank ceiling above his bunk.
My name was Jack.
My sister's name was Lizzy.
Our parents are dead.
We were taken.
Wicked is not good.