After Newt has picked Thomas up from the floor, we make our way to the stairs, where Frypan and Aris are about to go up with Brenda.
"Guys!" Fry says with relief. "Man, I thought we'd never see you again. What happened to him?"
"Who, Thomas?" Brenda slurs. She lets out a cackling, drunken laugh. "Couldn't handle the party."
"Brenda, what did you drink?" I ask, walking towards her and grabbing a hold of her arms so she doesn't fall.
"Just some weird green juice," she giggles. As quickly as she began laughing earlier, her mood changes to a cold seriousness. "I'm going to die."
I look to the others in alarm. Aris shakes his head, as if trying to piece it all together. "She's probably just drunk, she doesn't know what she's talking about," he concludes. "We should go upstairs... Jorge will be waiting."
So we all move up the stairs, trying to stop Brenda from stumbling downwards while carrying Thomas at the same time. When we reach the third floor, Newt and Minho are both out of breath from carrying Thomas, and Brenda is muttering to herself in such a harrowing way that it makes me shiver.
The music from downstairs is a dull, humming vibration, just quiet enough to hear a series of loud, agonised groans coming from a room down the hall. Cautiously, I walk towards the room, and peer around the door frame.
Jorge towers over a man in a red velvet waistcoat, crumpled on the ground with blood running down the side of his face.
"You tell me what you know!" Jorge screams. He raises his fist into the air and smashes it down onto the man's face, blood spraying onto the carpet.
"Jorge!" I call out, rushing into the room. "What are you doing?!"
Jorge's head perks up. "Brenda? Where is she?" he asks urgently.
Brenda stumbles into the room, her eyelids drooping ever so slightly and expression vague. Jorge pulls her into a tight hug, but she just ends up collapsing into his chest. He scoops her up and puts her down on a sofa, seemingly calm, until he faces me and I see his worried expression.
"What happened to her? Did she drink anything?" he asks quickly.
"W-Well, yeah, she said she drank some green liquid," I reply. "Why, what is it?"
Jorge lets out a sigh of relief. "Nothing we need to worry about. If it were the white liquid I'd be worried. And the boy, Thomas, did he drink it too?"
As if on cue, the boys carry Thomas through into the room. "Ah," Jorge says. "Just... lay him down on a sofa. I have some business I need to attend to with our little friend over here." He strides towards the man in the waistcoat again, who crouches limply on the floor. Jorge kicks him down again, the man letting out a cry. I turn away, biting my bottom lip anxiously as I hear the man groan. I suddenly feel very exposed and vulnerable in my tiny skirt and strappy red top, and decide to go change.
***
One very long hour passes of Jorge's interrogation, but nothing. No new information, or people. Minho gets in a few punches too, but no one else wants anything to do with it.
I sit at the back corner of the room, beside a window. I look out across the city, its looming skyscrapers shining in the light, and beyond that, an ocean of golden sand dunes. It could almost be beautiful. Almost.
I flinch when I hear another punch. The man – Marcus – has been tied up in a chair, and now sits upright, with the blood dripping down onto his lap from his face. Jorge hits again. I grit my teeth together and force myself to look away again, to look at the sandy city beneath me.
I think about how Newt was fully prepared to risk his safety to punch that man. I shudder as I remember how he groped me, how his hands trailed over every inch of my exposed skin. My arms, my chest... I recall the pain as his fingers sank into my skin, as his big hands squeezed mercilessly at my...
I shake my head, shutting my eyes and praying the memory to go away.
Teresa sits beside Thomas on the sofa, looking intently at his face as he twitches in his sleep. I think about earlier, when she seemed bitter about Thomas choosing to go with Brenda... could she have feelings for him? I shake my head. She just met him, she couldn't have developed feelings that quickly.
Brenda woke up about ten minutes ago, and now sits with her arms folded and an exhausted scowl set on her face. She told us about how her and Thomas went through the underground tunnels to get here, and had to pass through a few Cranks, but she doesn't elaborate. I notice a peculiar tension between her and Thomas - she keeps glancing his way with a hurt expression, then directing her eyeline onto her hands, fumbling with her fingers. I decide to go over and see if she's okay.
"Hey," I say, giving her a warm smile. She smiles back tiredly, the smile not meeting her eyes.
"Hey, (y/n), isn't it?"
I nod, sitting down next to her. "That's me. It's nice to properly meet you, by the way. Are you okay?"
She sighs, resting her head atop her knees and rubbing her ankle. "Yeah, I guess. Been worse."
"Good," I reply, then cringe. "Well, not good, but... it's good that you're okay right now." Awkward silence settles; I'm not quite sure what to say to this girl. She seems so different from all of us, accustomed to the world, sure of what she's doing. It's honestly intimidating.
"So," she begins to say, "what's the deal with you guys? You came from WICKED, but I don't get the impression that you worked for them, huh?"
I nod, smiling. "Definitely not. We, um, actually came from a Maze. It was part of this trial they were doing, assessing our brains to see what makes us different from everyone else."
"You're Immune?"
"Most likely. Although... we've already lost one boy to the Cranks. Winston."
"Jeez... sorry, that sucks. I know what it's like to lose people to the Flare." When she speaks, her brown eyes narrow, and I can see that she's thinking clearly about what she's going to say before she speaks. She asks, "So, what were you guys doing in the maze? Other than being WICKED's lab rats."
I chuckle at her word choice. Lab rats. That sounds about right. "Trying to survive, mainly. I mean, I was only there for like three days, actually. The others were there a... little longer. And we didn't all come from the same Maze; Aris and Teresa were from two separate mazes. There were these monsters - Grievers - in the Maze walls. Getting out wasn't too easy."
She nods in response, furrowing her eyebrows. "That's intense. What were you doing before the Maze?"
"Well..." I begin to chuckle. "We actually can't remember. They took our memories away; everyone who came to the Maze woke up with no memory of who they were, who their families were, where they're from..." I drift off as the pain of having no memory slaps my chest, weighing down on my heart and preventing me from uttering a single more word.
She breathes out deeply. "Wow, that's awful. I mean... I can't even imagine. Sorry you guys had to go through that..." she ponders. "Still, I don't mean this in an insensitive nature, but I guess it might be easier that way, in this world... not remembering the people you've lost, not reliving those memories..."
Her voice aches with a sorrow I can only imagine is concurrent with grief she's endured. Family she's lost, friends she's lost... it almost makes me happy I don't have to remember; after enduring the deaths of Chuck and Winston, I wonder how many others I've lost before the Maze. How much pain I've unwillingly buried.
A loud punching noise interrupts my thoughts, followed by a series of agonised groans. Just before Jorge hits Marcus again, Thomas stirs in his sleep. I look towards Teresa, who's stare is fixated on Thomas' face. I see his eyes flutter open, and get up to walk to him. Newt and Minho also go to his side.
"Hey," Teresa murmurs. "How are you feeling?"
"Welcome back, you ugly shank," Minho grins.
Thomas looks bad. His eyelids are a pale shade of red, his skin is drained of all colour and his dark hair is plastered onto his forehead. He sits up, rubbing his temple. I see him look towards Brenda, who's eyes drift to the floor.
"TALK!" I hear Jorge erupt. Everyone jumps as Jorge punches Marcus again.
"I'm not... telling... you... a-anything," Marcus rasps, his head slumping.
"Where's the Right Arm, Marcus?" Jorge presses.
Thomas stands up. "Wait, this... is Marcus?"
Marcus laughs madly. "That kid catches on real quick. Are you the brains behind this mission?"
Jorge clutches Marcus' grey hair, forcing his head back. "I know you know where they're hiding. So you'll tell me."
Marcus tilts his head. "And... what if... I don't?"
Jorge thinks for a minute. "I'll make you a deal, then."
"I... make my own deals," Marcus retorts weakly. "You're the one who taught me... never miss an opportunity..." he snickers, closing his eyes.
Newt narrows his eyebrows curiously. "What's he talking about?"
"I'm talking about," Marcus continues, "supply... and demand. WICKED wants all the Munies they can get...and I help to provide that for them."
My breath catches in my throat. I see the others tense beside me as they listen to what the mad man is saying.
"So I let them in here, they get drunk, have a good time... and then... later, WICKED collects them. Just like... they will... with you."
Jorge laughs under his breath. "No, not this time, hermano."
With all of his force, Jorge kicks Marcus flat in the chest. His chair topples, and he falls back against the ground with a loud thud. Jorge whips out a pistol, and holds it over the man's head. I clutch onto Newt's arm quickly, holding my breath.
"Talk!" Jorge roars, grasping the man's throat, strangling him.
"O-Okay, okay!" Marcus chokes out. Jorge loosens his grip. "I'm not making any promises, but they... they have a base, in the mountains. But it's a long trip, you'd never make it. If WICKED doesn't get you, the Cranks will."
Jorge swiftly puts the chair back in an upright position, chuckling to Marcus. "Where's Bertha?"