A/N: Last chapter! I'll add a little note at the end.
"Flint?" Trace murmured, unable to quite believe what she was seeing, suddenly wondering if she, herself, was still alive. "You- you're supposed to be dead! You were dead!"
Flint looked at her sadly. He was dressed in a white uniform with a lanyard around his neck, his I.D. card attached. Of course. He worked for WICKED.
"I'm not dead," he said.
"I can see that," Trace snarked back, suddenly mad at him. "Trying to pull the ultimate prank, were we? Well, solid attempt. You fooled me. Wicked prank, Flint. Rose and I had a great time in those tunnels, by the way."
"I'm sorry, Ava."
"No, you're not. You're not sorry, Flint. If you really were sorry you wouldn't be here right now. What are you going to do to me?"
"I'm going to help you, okay?" he muttered, leaning in so that nobody monitoring their conversation could hear them. "But first, you need to play along. You're going to need to be strong for a bit. Endure this. It's just another trial."
"Just another trial? Are you serious? Just another trial?"
He sighed. "Just hang in there." He reached out and started checking over the wires attached to her, making sure they were secure.
Trace frowned at him. "That was your voice coming through the speaker, wasn't it?"
Flint nodded.
"So who's my 'supervisor', then? And when are they getting here?"
He sighed. "Soon."
"I hate that word."
"I'm sorry."
"I hate those words too."
Flint was silent. He pressed a few buttons on the machine and seemed satisfied with that. Apparently it was working.
"What is that?"
"You'll find out soon. Be patient."
Trace scoffed. "If I get told to be patient one more time I'll scream. Loudly. The ear-piercing kind. You'll go deaf. As in, you won't be able to hear. Ever again. That's what 'deaf' is."
"I know what 'deaf' means."
"Then you'll understand the level of my threat."
At that moment, the door creaked open. There was muttering from outside. It looked like a hallway, but Trace couldn't see anyone there. Just a hand on the door.
"Come in," she crooned, sarcastically. There was a sigh from outside, followed by a quiet 'we'll talk later'.
Then Ratman stepped into the room.
"Oh hell no," Trace groaned. "Get out. You're stinking the place out. Flint, who said to let in a sewer rat?"
"To be fair, you did say 'come in'," Flint argued.
"Hello, Ava," Ratman smirked.
"No. No way. Do not talk to me. Get out. Security!"
Someone opened the door and stepped in. They were dressed in a dark blue and sported a small logo on their chest. Trace held back a laugh when she realised who they were; she'd just called security on Ratman.
"Seriously, Doug? You'll hear my voice calling if your help is needed. Stand by the door," Ratman sighed and rolled his eyes.
Trace sniggered as Doug left. "Thanks, Doug!" she laughed. Once he'd left, she smiled at Ratman. "Apparently you sound like a 16 year old girl."
"Very funny. You won't be laughing soon," he said, his signature smirk gone.
Trace gulped and looked to Flint for help. He turned to the machine, pretending to be busy with that.
"You're my supervisor?" she asked, glaring up at Ratman. It was hard to be intimidating while reclined on a chair.
"Yes. I'll be supervising this part of the experiments. Not just for you, but for the other subjects as well."
"I'm not a subject."
"In the traditional sense, I guess not. We didn't exactly choose you, but you've proven to be very useful so far."
"So far? I'm done, rodent-face. Finished. That was it. No more."
He laughed, and Trace wished her hands were free to punch him in the face. Suddenly she understood the reason behind her restraints.
"No, Ava," he said. The smirk had returned to his face. "We have to spend a little more time together first. Get acquainted. Of course, you should probably get reacquainted with yourself first."
Something was wrong. "What do you mean?"
Ratman walked over to the wall and found a button beside the whiteboard. Trace hadn't even seen it until then. He pressed it, and the whiteboard shimmered for a second, before turning a dark silver, then becoming entirely reflective. A mirror.
But, it didn't make sense for it to be a mirror. Everything was in place except for one thing. There, opposite her chair, was a girl, sitting in the same chair as she was, staring back at her.
Only she had a shaved head. It left room for ten or so wires to be taped on.
Trace had never seen her reflection before, but she remembered having hair. Definitely. She definitely had hair. She turned her head to the side, craning to spot her hair where it usually sat at her shoulders.
Gone.
Her head felt lighter too. She was cold.
That confirmed it. The girl in the mirror was her. If it weren't for the lack of hair, she'd say she was doing pretty well for herself. They'd definitely cleaned her up after the endless list of injuries and lapse in self-hygiene.
"How do you like the new look?" Ratman asked. "It made for easy access with the wires."
Trace couldn't look away from the mirror. It was strange, she thought, to see yourself for the first time, knowing you'd looked entirely different only a day earlier.
"I still look better than you ever will," she replied. Minho was going to freak out when he saw her. She'd receive sympathy from him for the rest of her life. That thought brought her back to their last conversation. The last conversation she'd had before waking up here. She wondered what he'd meant by what he said. Who was the girl he was flirting with?
"Enjoy that confidence while it lasts," Ratman warned. "Because we're about to find out just how long it will last."
Flint was suspiciously quiet, and Trace could sense he didn't like what was about to happen. It filled her with dread.
Ratman flicked another button on the board and it shimmered grey again before revealing an image.
It was Newt, strapped to a chair, just like she was. He couldn't see her; he was facing the wall to her right, confused and frightened.
"What is this?" Trace asked, her voice barely more than a whimper.
"This," Ratman announced, "is Phase Three."
A/N: Uh-oh. Trace is not going to have a fun time. Neither is Newt by the look of things.
Thank you to all of you who've read this from the beginning (of this book and of The Fangirl). It makes me so happy to read all your comments and know you're enjoying this little journey as much as I am.
In saying that, I probably won't be starting the next one until Uni finishes in October, but I may work on imagines or preferences in the meantime, so if you have any requests head over to those books. The same goes for The Musical, if you have any song requests. Otherwise, I guess you'll just have to read this all over again (darn it, how inconvenient).
You're all amazing. Thank you for loving Trace as much as I do <3
Remember: we can be Thomases.