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SAMSON WAS SO EXHAUSTED HE COULD BARELY STAND. He felt light on his feet as he stumbled onto the bus with his friends, following Newt into one of the seats in the back. He took the window seat. Samson didn't protest, too tired to ask Newt if he could have it. He crashed down into the seat and sighed loudly. His eyes flickered over the seats ahead of him. Thomas and Teresa sat together near the front, talking to a woman who cradled a sizeable gun in her arms. Frypan sat across from him, staring blankly at the front of the bus. Leo had leaned over his seat to poke Thomas on the shoulder, the spot next to him left empty. Samson's heart clenched in his chest. There were so many empty seats.
"Sammy?" Newt rested his hand on Samson's knee gently. He turned back to him, frowning.
"I'm so sorry, Newt. Everything I said..." he started to say, but his exhaustion won in the end. His eyelids grew heavy, his speech began to slur and Samson wasn't able to make out what Newt had said to him before he fell asleep.
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"It was you! I know it was!" The tall, bald, man spat in Samson's face.
Samson knew this man. It was Anderson, the same man that had ordered his detention after his outburst in the lab with Thomas and Teresa. The same man that had taunted him as he was carried away, the same man whose life he'd threatened. But this scenario seemed different. It was definitely hostile, but Samson wasn't cuffed to the table. He wasn't a threat to anyone, at least not yet. This was a memory, but this had happened long before Samson was apprehended by Anderson.
Samson raised his eyebrows at Anderson, who clearly seemed annoyed with him. While he had his back turned to him, Samson exchanged a worried glance with Thomas, who sat next to him.
"You and Thomas, you're plotting something," the man hissed, flipping back around. He slammed his hand down on the table. "One of you better start talking, or there will be consequences."
Thomas cleared his throat, his face turning beet red as he did. He was a terrible liar, Samson knew that. In fact, anyone could tell just by looking at him."Chancellor Anderson, Samson and I don't know what you're talking about. We don't even work on the same floor. The only reason I know him is through Teresa."
The Chancellor's head shot upward "Of course, Teresa!" he turned to the door. An older woman stood in the entryway, clutching a clipboard tightly. Her expression turned distraught at the mention of Teresa. "Find her," he commanded.
The woman straightened her posture. "Chancellor Anderson, Teresa would never--"
Anderson's hand shot up and the woman's eyes widened. She stopped mid-sentence.
"I thought after we'd told them they'd realize that WICKED is doing the right thing. After everything we've shown them to prove to them that disobeying orders would cost them, they'd listen." he paused and sighed. "But, they are teenagers now. And it seems teenagers are always trying to rebel, hm?" Anderson smiled at the woman. "Even the ones we'd always thought we could count on."
