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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.
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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.