The XX Protocol

Chapter One

One big A/N, and you'll pretty much never hear from me again:

I'm 35, married with a kid, and work in construction (hence, a terrible pottymouth). Why am I writing this?

Short answer: Because idgaf.

Long(er) answer: Because I've got a thing for Korean dudes, an obsession with reverse harems, a yen to fight the Power, and, damnit, girls are great.

A few notes about the story: Chapters are generally at least 5,000 words a piece, so settle in and enjoy.

This is an alternate timeline (of an alternate timeline-ooh, trippy). It takes place one month after Thomas' arrival. Alby has already survived the Changing (which does not return memories in my story), and Thomas is already elected a Runner. I have taken a few liberties with the orientation of things in the Glade, kind of an amalgamation of the book and the movie, and it's no longer underground (I like the drama real elements impart).

And I have also removed the mind-control element from WICKED because it always felt counter-intuitive to me that a scientist would want to limit the abilities of her subjects. I could expound on this forever and wax scientific, but you don't care. Whatever, I do what I want!

On a less dramatic note, there be swearing and smut in these thar pages. These are teenagers we're talking about, and I'm a grown-ass woman-damnit! Earmuffs and blindfolds are available at the beginning of any extra naughty chapters if you feel compelled to skip (aka, I'll let you know).

Oh, and each chapter banner lists a song that inspired at least one moment in that chapter (lyrics often have nothing to do with it, be forewarned), so if you're feeling inclined, go listen (though most of the songs are in Korean because, after a decade, it borders on an obsession for me). Finally, thanks for reading!

Chapter One

She awoke to the persistent hiss of wind and to a papery rustling she couldn't quite place, like the edge of a memory of a memory. There was a buzz, too, or rather a hum, a murmur, closer but still unfamiliar. She pinched her eyes tighter shut and, with a long inhale, stretched from fingertip to toe, enjoying the tingles that traveled up and down her body as they awakened long-dormant limbs.

More murmuring, louder now and closer, too.

"Slim it, you slintheads," growled a deep voice staked with unquestionable authority. The hum subsided.

Was that even English? Wait, was she thinking in English? Things were fuzzy, like trying to listen to a conversation underwater or opening her eyes in a pool full of chlorine. Everything was muddled, from the scratchy fabric chafing the small of her back to the humid air that pressed like a weight onto her chest.

She opened her eyes. A ring of masculine faces, dirty and rugged, hovered over her like she was a specimen on an exam table. Eyes of every hue and shape peered down at her, with each emotion on the spectrum represented: fear, curiosity, annoyance, lust, hope. Suspicion. So much suspicion in the eyes of the chocolate-skinned man whose face took precedence over them all.

Above them, a thatched ceiling tapered upward, the weave so tight she couldn't see beyond it, but light filtered in from somewhere as muted orange warmed each smudged visage.

Where was she?

Who was she?

The realization, or rather the lack of, came as swiftly as her response to it. She had forgotten her identity, but she had not forgotten how to run.

A heartbeat. Two. By the third, she was thundering through the crowd, and by the fourth, she burst into a world of light and color. Color, so much color. Green overwhelmed her. She was engulfed by it, a thousand different shades of it--pear, mint, moss, pine, lime, olive. The only things she had of her past life were yellows and browns and grays and blacks on the perimeter of her memory.