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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.
wildcard
They'd made those grievers, they'd watched them all that time, who knows what else they could do. Maybe Tommy had his memories back, maybe they'd turned him back against them... But they why would he be there with the others...? He couldn't keep watching his friends die, that hadn't changed had it?
He's so deep in thought, he hadn't noticed that they'd stopped walking, his legs following the same pace as Tommy's, and now he's... blinking because Tommy's looking at him like he's said something - shit... Blinking once, then twice, Newt stares back at his "friend." He opens his mouth to say something and then closes it, wetting his lips before he finally speaks. ]
I'm not gonna lie, Tommy, if you said something I wasn't payin' attention.
[ Honesty is a good policy, right? The knife hanging by his hip doesn't make him feel any more safe, if anything it makes him feel like the chances of conflict have gone up - maybe he should just give it to the other boy, let him murder him out in the middle of the forest if he wants. ]
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and beyond that, nothing seems to line up, aside from the fact WICKED is still as much of a problem for what newt remembers as thomas does. or, as much as it had been. but even still, it's differences that don't really make sense. why bother trying to follow him with something this obvious? is he supposed to be thinking that there's a better future out there somewhere? have some hope for it that can get crushed later?
and he always comes back to the same point - any time he thinks he knows what WICKED is trying to do, any time he tries to go against it, he ends up doing exactly what they wanted him to. just stop thinking about it. stop. ]
I said-- [ he pipes up, not sure he really wants to ask this question, but he'd already committed to it. may as well. ]
Chuck. Is he alive for you?
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One of his hands twitches like he wants to move it, but ultimately it stays where it is, instead of going to the shoulder of the person he'd considered his friend not hours ago. No, he doesn't know what's going on with Thomas; Newt doesn't know what's going on anymore. When his hand does raise, it's to rub over his lips and chin, trying to figure out the easiest way to deliver the news. There isn't one, so he lets it fall back to his side, loosely. ]
No. Gally tried to shoot you... He moved in the way; he saved your life, he did.
[ The hesitance seems to disappear as he decides to step forward towards Thomas, his arm finding the shoulder that it had wanted to. ] You got him out of the maze, and he was thankful for it.
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but that seems like an empty rationalization. if chuck had a choice, he'd want to live. thomas knows that, and he knows what happened to him wasn't any kind of mercy. he was a tool, and directly after it falls from newt's lips "he moved in the way, he saved your life, he did", thomas snaps to add on. ]
WICKED moved him. The knife was never meant to hit me.
[ there's vitriol and anger and, deeper down, guilt. it also isn't lost on him that newt said "shoot". but either way, even with the uncertainty and the suspicion, newt's hand on his shoulder is a comforting weight, and he lifts his chin enough to flash him a tight, sad half-smile. ] Was worth hoping for, at least. Sorry.
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However, that response causes Newt's brow to furrow in confusion, and something chilling and sickening works its way through his stomach to make it churn and wraps around his heart, making it pound a little faster. ] What do you mean they "moved him?" [ Who even knows what he means by that, after finding out what kind of sick things they've been up to, Newt isn't sure what to think. ]
Tommy, he moved in the way, no one was around to push him, other than us, and you know we wouldn't do that. And what do you mean knife? [ They've come to the conclusion that there were various differences between their memories at least, it seems like another sick game, and the way Tommy looks at him, makes him feel like he's losing his mind. It scares him a little, not sure which one of them is actually wrong, or if Tommy's even telling the truth. No, he can't talk like that, fears like that destroy people, and while the other is scaring him to some extent with how different he's behaving, he knows for certain that he wants to trust him.
The topic at hand inspires a thought. As if to prove it, more to himself than anything, his hand slides from the other Glader's shoulder, moving to unfasten the knife sheath from his belt loop, at first it may seem a little sketchy, him turning his attention to the knife in such close proximity, but then he holds it out to Thomas, still in its sheath, handle towards him. They've gotta trust each other. ] You plan on hunting, this will probably help. [ It's not giving up, it's having hope. ]
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[ which is really the worst part. no knowing if they could flip a switch and have him start strangling his best friend. hell, he'd nearly killed minho just when the killswitch activated to keep them from removing it. that'd been terrifying - being inside his head and helpless to stop himself from hurting his friend. but it's gone now, at least. ]
They made Gally throw the knife, made Chuck dive in front of it. It was a knife for use, not a gun. [ made teresa kiss him. he's not going into that one. ] Not that I don't think Chuck wanted to save me, but... They didn't really give him a choice. Just another shuck Variable.
[ all he was to them. all any of them have been. it makes him sick to his stomach, thomas's lips curling for a moment, before he notices newt rummaging at his side. for a brief moment, he sees him grab the knife, and it's an odd feeling - like he should be alarmed, on guard, but he just... isn't. it's newt. he can't look at him and think ill of him. maybe that makes him the perfect choice for this sort of thing, but how many times has trying to figure out what WICKED's doing just made it all that much worse? what do they always expect him to do? fight it. and that's what he's always done.
but newt? as he's putting the knife into his hand, an obvious statement of trust, despite the unspoken suspicion between them, thomas looks from it, up to his friend, and it's just such a newt thing to do. could they know him that well, to fake that much? maybe. but he's tired of suspecting his friend. being pulled between the want to explode with relief to see him alive and whole, and the constant restraint and fear that it's a lie. a small smile touches his lips, and his hand wraps over the handle, tucking the knife close to his chest. ] Thanks, Newt. I'm sorry. I wish I had a better answer for all this klunk.
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The thoughts make him even more sure that giving Thomas the knife was the right choice, maybe it was safer for both of them with him. ] You can't always have the answers to everything. This is probably another one of their tests. [ He's fairly certain however, that he wants off this ride - he's so tired of being a lab rat for a bunch of assholes. ] They can make us do stuff? Get into our heads? [ The thought makes him feel utterly violated to his core.
For all he's learning, he really wishes Thomas would just stop talking but morbid curiosity keeps him from voicing that - or maybe it's WCKD keeping him from voicing it? Already he's trying to reassess everything he's ever done before, decide if it was him or not. If they could control him and make him do things... He wonders about Alby, and about climbing that ivy, about everything he'd done.
God, he needs to sit, or walk, or. He needs air, even though he's surrounded by it. He'd been so adamant about getting information that now that he has it he's not sure it was a good idea to ask for it. He's moving without really thinking about it, stepping away and past Thomas, not really sure where he's going, just. Pulling himself away from this for a moment. He's not trying to escape from Tommy as much as find a comfortable place to sit down, give his leg a break, drink some water. The teenager just needs a moment to think without more information being dumped on him.
What he doesn't expect is for one of the bushes he passes to rustle far too animatedly and then something to reach out and snag onto his ankle, sending him to the ground with a loud "oomph." When he sees what's got him, he lets out a worried cry of "oh" and tries to yank his ankle free from the death grip on it. Unfortunately for him, the thing that once resembled a human is using the grip to pull itself towards him, mouth hanging open like it's planning on making him a main course.
Its skin was far too pale and painted with thick dark veins and what looked like healing injuries. Its lips seemed to have been worn away, causing an unending stream of saliva to pour down its face and give Newt too much of a view of its teeth.
Fear wells up in him as he kicks at it with his free foot, boot hitting the thing's face but seeming to do nothing other than give it something else to grab onto to pull itself towards him. It's emaciated, but far stronger than Newt thinks it should be, maybe it's because it's not reacting to pain, kicking it in the face should have done something. Bloodshot eyes stay on him and do nothing to stop him from trying to squirm backwards and away.
Already, he's looking for a rock or something to attack it with, but before he can even try that course of action, it lunges forward with a surprising jolt of energy, like it's fully awakened from whatever cat nap it was taking and is on top of Newt before he can do anything other than shove an arm up to keep it from leaning down and biting into him.
No, no, no. He saw what happened to Winston. The drool that dribbles down from it onto the front of his already disgusting shirt makes his fear shift into complete terror. Why wouldn't there be cranks around? ]
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[ a depressing thought that automatically sours him, thomas’s features scrunching, like he’s tasted something rank. no, he doesn’t want to start doubting that. he can’t. he told himself - he’d trust newt and minho only, from now on. they’re his best friends, they’ve been everything to him. if he can’t trust them, he’s going to lose his damn mind. even if it’s something WICKED built into his head, it’s all he has right now. so he has to hold to it. ] We can’t know one way or the other, not ‘til we find some answers. So we stick with what we know, okay?
[ like the glade all over again. newt had told him, then, that it doesn’t matter what already happened. just what they do from here out. so that’s what he’ll do. he’ll look out for his friend and he’ll try to get them both to a safe place, and that’s all that matters. it’s all that can matter right now. all his sanity has room for. when newt goes to take a break, thomas is still bustling with nerves and tension, so he stands, pacing some, as he turns the knife around in his hands, thinking. ] Yeah. Got a killswitch on it too. Makes you go whacker if someone tries to take it out. Nearly stabbed Minho where the sun don’t shine when we removed mine. It was like being trapped inside my own body, watching my hands do stuff I couldn’t stop.
[ and that’s when he hears the clunk and oomph, the familiar sound of a teenage boy landing flat on his face. he’s halfway to asking him what the shuck he’s doing when the thing from the bushes comes crawling out, leaping at his friend.
crank is the first thing that screams to his mind, and thomas’s arm is moving before he even thinks about it, the knife thrown like gally had, like thomas have back in the compound and thunking perfectly into the side of the crank’s head.
but that’s not all, because thomas has been terrified of this since the second he saw newt alive and well again. the flare, cranks, and of it touching him. having to watch him decline all over again. having to… having to send him to a more peaceful death, again. he’s running, and a shoe connects in a hard kick to the ribs, sending it flying a couple yards to the side, and thomas looks straight up murderous, twisted in with such fear. he follows the body, already limp, and grips the knife to pull it free, just before stabbing it at least two more time, another in the head, and one in the chest. don’t effing touch his friend, okay?
his hands are shaking, eyes wide, when he turns back to newt, about to lurch towards him, before realizing there’s blood on his hands. more fresh than all that’s dried on his clothes. ] Are you okay? Did it scratch you? Bite you? Did you breathe in?
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He sees the almost movement in Thomas's muscles but then he looks down at his hands, and Newt follows his gaze, and oh. Both gross and worrisome, honestly. ] Yeah, thanks, Tommy. Uh - No, I don't think it scratched or bit me. Drooled all over me. Breathing kind of comes with the territory of bein' alive though. [ What kinda shuck question is that? Was he not supposed to breathe? He understood the fist line of questioning, but not that one.
Moving to sit up, he pulls his backpack off his shoulders and into his lap, fishing out his water bottle, and without giving Thomas time to really complain, Newt moves closer to spill some of his water onto Thomas's hands to help wash them off. ] After Winston, we don't know who's immune to this stuff and who's not, or how we get it, and I'll be shucked if I'm losin' ya. I don't know if we're wrong, or we're right with what we remember, so let's just both play it safe. [ Being alone in this situation without the others, without Minho, Tommy, Alby... Any of the Gladers alive or lost. It's a sickening thought.
Hell, even that Aris kid might make him feel a bit more comfortable... No, probably not. His gaze finds the dead body again, and lingers, and he can't help the words that spill past his lips, knowing Minho spoke similar ones about being in Wicked's clutches. ] I hope that never happens to me. I won't let it. [ Okay, so Minho had basically asked Thomas to make sure that nothing Wicked-y ever happened to him; this isn't that, this is Newt saying he'll figure something out. A bullet to the brain, probably.
A pause. ]
And if ya run in to Teresa, don't trust her, I know she was your girlfriend, but we all trusted her and it got us in a load of trouble. [ He knows the other boy probably doesn't want to hear that, so his gaze falls to the lid that he's screwing back onto his water bottle. Then his expression shifts, and he look sad, almost unbearably so. Not only might he never see Minho again, but there's another question bugging him. ] That shucking thing that tried to make you stab Minho, ya think I've got one? Do ya think it's made me do stuff? [ This isn't the time or place for this, but he's gotta ask, and that's obvious with the way his eyes seek Thomas's. These are all his feelings right? Everything he's felt? ]