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JANUARY TEST DRIVE MEME
You awaken to godawful static overlaying a female voice that's too monotone to be anything but a recording. The static makes it difficult to understand the warning, but it's clearly a warning if your surroundings tell you anything...
You're buckled into a sturdy seat bolted to the wall behind you. Around you, there are dozens of others like you, some awake and others still unconscious, but it seems most of the seats lining the walls are occupied. The lights are dim, likely auxiliary lighting, leaving you mostly in the dark. You smell smoke and hear the sizzling crackle of electrical systems popping and shorting out. Some of the seats were jarred off the wall, leaving the occupants either wounded or dead. Count yourself lucky all you have is a headache and various aches accounted to whiplash.
You appear to be in a drop ship or an escape vessel of some form but the pilot is dead and the hull bears a massive gash where it buckled under the impact and sheered off. Through the door-sized opening, you can see vegetation. The air that wafts in is heavy with a humid heat, but it's obviously breathable.
Once you make your way outside, you'll see greenery: Trees, grass, and shrubs tangled with vines that grow wildly and suffocate the trees they climb. In the distance, behind the ship, you can make out a sandy desert that seems to stretch on endlessly. Forward through the trees, however, you may see a crumbling wall, but more importantly, you'll see signs of civilisation. Buildings and other structures seem contained within those decrepit walls. Maybe the natives can fill you in on what's going on, because the last thing you remember isn't being in an escape shuttle. As a matter of fact, you don't remember much about your arrival or where you are. But it's going to be a bit of a hike, better get moving. Though you might want to grab the backpack of supplies under your seat before you go.
With that, the power dies, leaving the drop ship in the dark, crackling and groaning as the hull cools from its catastrophic re-entry.
I didn't know how else to convey my extreme emotions
I know we've known each other our whole memorable lives, but you can manage without me for a day. WICKED won't let us stay apart too long, and like shuck I'm dying.
[Newt's being strange, clingier than he'd ever been while they were in the Maze and Runners were going out into the Maze every day. Minho had been locked in that Maze for a night, even, and Newt hadn't seemed so... sad. If anything, he'd been pissed and worried. This is totally different.]
You're not making any goddamned sense. I thought maybe we'd lose time between Trials, but you're acting like I've been gone longer than that.
cuuute
Turn around.
[ He doesn't give Minho a chance to question him before he's manhandling him a bit to turn him around and try to get to the back of his neck, tugging at the back of his shirt, sorry, Tommy's probably done this already but... what he sees makes his stomach sink.
He's the weird one, not Thomas. It's a relief, but it's also not. From what he's heard from Thomas, the differences from what he remembers. It also means that he's the freak. Maybe none of it was real. Maybe he was jacked in the head...
Does he lie? Does he tell the truth? ]
My head's messed up, I think I hit it during the crash. [ The words pour out before he can even think not to say them. ] I'm just having trouble remembering things clearly. [ Maybe??? He doesn't know... Is it even really a lie?]
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He takes a step back, knowing what Newt is looking for but not why. Thomas had done the same thing when they'd run into each other in the jungle, but he'd chalked that up to nerves about whether Minho was really himself. Newt should know who he is, but he gives in when he gets wrestled around.]
It's there, Newt, goddammit. Why's everyone checking for that shucking tattoo?
[The words hit and he tenses, thoughts flashing through his mind of all the things those WICKED bastards could have done to him. More memories erased? Or maybe replaced with false ones this time?
He retakes the step he'd made earlier, this time towards Newt.] Those shuckfaced idiots probably messed you up, the way they did Theresa. But as long as you're not trying to kill us, it doesn't matter. [He gives Newt a gentle punch in the arm.] You're still Newt, right? They've jacked up our heads before, but at least you're still you.
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Because.
[ Minho takes a step towards him and he can't help but freeze, swallowing hard before allowing his oldest friend to try to reassure him. ] I'm not so buggin' sure about that any more. [ Newt wets his lips before turning around and doing his best to tug his own shirt collar down for Minho - no tattoo - nothing, just pale skin. He gives it a moment for Minho to allow what he's seeing to sink in before turning back around to him. ]
I don't know what's goin' on anymore. Everything I remember is different from what Tommy remembers. I don't have one of those marks - I don't remember ever havin' one. There's something invisible there instead that says I'm their property but it's hidden. I think, at least. [ This is probably the most he's said to anyone since they've landed in this stupid jungle.
It scares him, all the different information Thomas has given him, and he's trying so hard not to be scared by it. ] I remember being in the maze with you. I remember Alby. [ Something in his tone sharpens a bit, like it's still raw at the thought of Alby. ] and Chuck... [ And all of the other boys that he couldn't help save. ] Tommy said they can control us, what if I'm -- [ A variable to mess them up? To hurt them? ]
I don't know, Minho. All I know is I'm bloody scared and Tommy - the shuckface - keeps lookin' at me like I don't belong when he thinks I don't notice.
[ He's never this open with his problems, normally he prefers to bottle them up and deal with them in silence, or ignore them until they go away. But he needs someone to look at him like he's still him, and the guilt that's wrapped around his heart due to Minho having been taken, well, it's still settled heavy. Even if the memories are false. He needs to feel like there's at least someone on his side. Sure, Thomas protects him, but it's different. ]
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When he sees the expanse of pale skin, he frowns and reaches out to brush his fingers over it like maybe he'll uncover the ink that should have been there. It plants a seed of doubt, just a tiny one, but enough to make his stomach clench.]
They took us. [He said it as a fact, because he remembers it and because that has to be something WICKED would do no matter what other memories might be different.] I don't remember what happened between there and here, but it wouldn't be hard for them to change you, right? They gave us these tattoos without us even knowing it or feeling it. They could take them away. They could shuck with your head.
[He's trying to explain it for Newt's benefit as much as his own, because the thought of Newt somehow not being Newt, not being his Newt, was hard to stomach. If he was something sent to hurt them, Minho would find a way to fix him and hurt WICKED a hundred times over. They'd done it with Theresa, but maybe she wasn't enough, maybe breaking Thomas' heart hadn't been the end of it.
All the possibilities are filling up his head, but he focuses back in on Newt when he starts talking about Thomas.] Next time he does, you punch the look right off his ugly face. Even if they did something to you, you're Newt. [An unspoken "I'm not giving up on you" fills his words. Maybe he'd been sent to trip them up, or was somehow different, but he was still Newt and Minho wasn't going to throw that aside for "maybe."]
Thomas... he hasn't known us as long. Sometimes he doesn't get it. [The bond that builds between people forced together in the shittiest of conditions and told to survive together. Thomas called them his friends, but he barely knew them. True, he didn't know anything else, but it wasn't the same. It didn't take as much to make him distrust Newt as it would for Minho. He wasn't about to call Newt a hopeless case until he was holding a knife to his throat.]
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I thought I wasn't going to see you again. When we got separated. I didn't know what to do, I thought that was it.
He'd given up on another lost friend because that's all that happened to him now, somehow he managed to outlive his friends. He blinks a couple times, trying to figure things out in his head. ] He already looks at me like I'm jacked in the head, punchin' him for no reason isn't gonna win him over. [ Though it might be oddly therapeutic. But the sentiment that Minho has behind his words strikes deep, causing some of the tenseness in his shoulders to leave. ]
And sometimes he gets things we miss. [ He speaks the words, despite how much they make his stomach churn in worry an in fear. He likes to think if he were some kind of problem for them, he'd know it, or have an inkling, or maybe not even be telling them he's not on the same page as them. He likes to think it, but it could be something more.
If this is what life is going to continue to be like, he's not sure it's worth it. ] I wouldn't forgive myself if I hurt one of you shanks. [ If that's his intention, the one WCKD has created for him, well there are plenty of ways he could keep that from happening here.
He knows he shouldn't have told Minho any of this, shouldn't have opened up to him. They've known each other longer, this hurts him more than it hurts Tommy, probably. But somehow, knowing that it might come from Tommy's mouth instead of his makes him feel sick. It makes him scared that if he hides it, Minho will stop trusting him.
Then again, maybe Minho shouldn't trust him. Could step one of whatever WCKD has planned be to earn their trust so he could betray them? He brings his hand up, ready to start chewing on nails again but instead scratches blunt nails and fingers against the side of his throat in thought. No one should be this caught up in their head, he's gonna lose his mind at this rate. ]
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If he outlived his friends, at least it meant he was still alive and that would always be enough for Minho. As long as they weren't under WICKED's thumb then all of their friends hadn't died for nothing, even if just one of them made it out alive. Clapping his hand to the back of Newt's neck, he held on and walked back around to look at him dead in the eye.] They took me, but I'm here. You, me, and Saint Thomas. He gets things we miss and he gets us into trouble and we all get out together.
[Sometimes, the way Minho talks about Thomas, he knows it sounds like he doesn't like him much. He has a deep respect for Thomas and his intelligence, the fact that he notices things that others take for granted and is able to view the world from a different angle. But he was still an idiot most of the time, and asked so many questions that it made Minho's head hurt. And the way Minho figures, Thomas can't fully trust Newt because he's too busy thinking about that different angle to realize it doesn't matter because Newt is their friend. And Minho will defend that even if it means going against Thomas.]
You know you won't. You can't get the drop on me. [He says it with a grin, smacking Newt on the back of the neck again and then ruffling his hair as he pulls away.] We watch each other's backs. For all we know, you're fine and it's me and Thomas who got shucked.
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The thoughts of uncertainty are no-where near gone, but he knows the words to speak to pull suspicion off his own problems, he always does and he knows when to speak them too. ] You're probably right, it's Wicked shucking with us again. Would be shucky if you two were the jacked up ones, then again, I guess there's nothing new with that concept. [ A grin graces his face and his hand pats at Minho's shoulder. He feels a bit bad, playing along, but going against the grain with Minho would only upset him - at least on this matter.
At least he's not looking at Newt with that odd look that Thomas does, the one that makes him feel completely alien, like he's done something wrong that no apology will ever make right. ] It's kinda unfortunate if you ask me. [ It's said on a very serious note. ] You'd think with all their tools, if they took ya, they'd fix your shuck hair.
[ A soft huff of a laugh escapes Newt. His eyes look up to the hair in question, as if to check that it was still just as fluffy. ] Other than that, how are ya getting on?
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It'll be an ongoing war of him versus Newt's thoughts, but he's content to win this single battle for now. When Newt smiles, he knows it doesn't reach his eyes, but he's content enough to let him get away with it for the sake of some normalcy.] Ah, insulting me already? There's the shank I know and love! Don't get all sour just because I still look good even after fighting a bunch of Cranks.
[Insults and denial, just another day in the Glade. He shrugs at the question, not really sure what there is to say.] Different day, same klunk.