A/N:
Feeling happy today so early and double update for everyone!
〰️
REGRET.
MINHO'S THIRD Trial was regret.
He was one of the few test subjects who were held captive longer than the others. Eight days to be exact.
He remembered being instructed to lay bare chest on a weird bed under dim blue light.
Old memories of painful moments in his life were stimulated over and over again.
At first it came like it first did —a dull ache pulsating within his chest, asking why didn't he turn around to stop Nick from doing something so shockingly stupid. Why didn't he ask if his Runners were doing okay in the morning. Why didn't he check if the Griever was really dead. Why didn't he keep a good eye on Ben. Why didn't he stop Alby from sacrificing himself when it was pretty clear that it was a useless attempt.
And then the memory rewound again, then again, then again, and with each play it morphed bit by bit into something much more terrible.
Nick asked him if he should do it, and he still ran.
Frankie's food poisoning prevented her from returning in time, and she died a gruesome death in the Maze.
The Council was very reluctant to pay the dead Griever a visit, and he insisted until Alby agreed to accompany him.
Ben told him that they should get rid of Thomas before the attack, and he just brushed him off.
He held Alby's arm to stop him from stepping out as bait —he had him in his grasp, but when the older boy nodded with a smile, he shucking let go.
Day by day, the regret snowballed into something unbearable. Even during breaks, when he could feel the cold puff of air conditioner along with the pricks of numerous needles, different coloured liquids, and electric sensors on his bare skin instead of those haunting memories, the guilt overtook everything else.
His blank mind was spinning from fatigue, and yet regret was all he could sense.
"Good morning, Minho," Rat Man said with a stiff nod. He was the first face Minho saw when the drug finally wore off.
"You shuckface."
It was probably the first non-screaming sound he made in days, and his voice came out like a croak.
"This is all for a noble purpose," Rat Man explained briefly, "You just completed Phase Three of the Trials. You may return to your residence and wait for further notices."
"Wow, noble? What kind of dumb klunk are you sprouting about?" Minho said between his heavy breaths, "I was wrong. You're the shuckiest shuckfaced shuck in the whole shucking world, not Thomas."
Rat Man sighed, like he had went through this scenario numerous time already.
"I know we've lied to you. Often. We've done some awful things to you and your friends. But it was all part of a greater plan that I'm about to tell you, only if you keep your mouth shut."
Minho scoffed, "Are you seriously expecting me to shucking believe you right now?"
"As you wish," Rat Man scratched his nose and shifted in his seat. He began tidying up his stuffs as if he was about to go. "I'm telling everyone this, by the way. You can ask Frances to tell you herself. She was extremely quiet and attentive, unlike you."
〰️
"AS YOU WERE informed in your one-on-ones," Rat Man cleared his throat, "The Trials as you've known them are over. Once your memories are restored, I think you'll believe me and we can move on. You've all been briefed on the Flare and the reasons for the Trials. The things we need to further refine what we have will be better served by your full cooperation and unaltered minds. Removing the Swipe will give you back your long term memories. So, congratulations."
Minho sneered from his seat, "I ought to come up there and break your shuck nose. I'm sick of you acting like everything is peachy. Like more than half of our friends didn't die."
His voice was terrifyingly calm considering the threat in his words.
Hidden from view, he had his fingers intertwined with Frankie's. He was squeezing her hand tightly, trying to keep his anger at bay.
"I'd love to see that rat nose smashed!" Newt snapped angrily.
Rat Man rolled —he shucking dared to roll his eyes, and sighed. "First of all, each of you has been warned of the consequences should you try to harm me. And rest assured, you're all still being watched. Second, I'm sorry for those you've lost, but in the end it'll have been worth it."
Minho sucked in a breath as if to begin a rant, but he stopped short and closed his mouth.
"What concerns me, though, is that it seems that nothing I say is going to wake you people up to the stakes here. We're talking about the survival of the human race."
"Let's all just slim it," Thomas spoke evenly, "Let's hear him out first."
"WICKED is good," Teresa said out of the blue, as if talking to herself.
"What?" Frypan asked in a high-pitched tone.
Frankie turned to look at the girl. From where she was sitting, all she could see was her black wavy hair and a glimpse of pale pink tee.
Then Teresa turned around to meet the others' gazes, giving everyone a good look on her hard, blue eyes, full of determination and desperation.
"Of all the things I could've written on my arm when I first woke up from my come, I chose those three words. I keep thinking about it, and there has to be a reason for that. I say we just shut up and do what the man says. We can only understand this with our memories back."
〰️
SELF-HATRED.
FRANKIE'S THIRD Trial was self-hatred.
It was the first day she tried walking without others' assistance. Dr. Lebeau finally declared her healthy enough to proceed with the Third Trial.
She remembered laying down on a weird bed with wires and needles poking her skin. A metallic apparatus was placed firmly on her head. The room was empty, cold, with a row of pale blue lamps as its only source of light.
She remembered closing her eyes and she was back in the Glade. It felt so real... The sunshine, the grass, the wind, the smell of dirt and something cooking in the kitchen.
Old memories of insecure moments in her life were stimulated over and over again.
At first it came like it first did —a small voice whispering to her ears, asking why did she have to be born as someone weak-hearted. Why wasn't she smart enough to crack the Maze's code. Why the other Gladers never approached her first or want her as friends. Why did she do what she just did. Why did she say that.
From what she could remember, there had been too many trivial moments that she had overthought during these last three years. And for five days, those moments were replayed like a broken cassette.
Day by day, the self-loathe snowballed into something unbearable. The condemning voices weren't whispering now. They were screaming loud nothing, and its echoes ricocheted louder within her skull.
WICKED didn't even need to modify much. Her insecurities did all the work itself.
Her blank mind was spinning from fatigue, and yet condemnation was all she could sense.
"Good morning, Frances," Rat Man said with a stiff nod. He was the first face Frankie saw when the drug finally wore off.
She casted him a curt side glance and looked back at the ceiling. Her head was already hurting as it was.
"You just completed Phase Three of the Trials," Rat Man explained, "You may return to your room and wait for further notices. You're healthy enough now to return to your friends."
Rat Man paused, waiting for any response from the girl. He scratched his nose awkwardly when she didn't even twitch a finger.
"I'll continue, then. You are obviously well aware that we have a horrible disease eating the minds of humans worldwide.
"Everything we've done up till now has been calculated for one purpose and one purpose only: to analyze your brain patterns and build a blueprint from them. The goal is to use this blueprint to develop a cure for the Flare. The lives lost, the pain and suffering —you knew the stakes when this began. We all did. It was all done to ensure the survival of the human race.
"And we're very close. Very, very close."
She still had no reply.
"I'm just here to tell you that everything is set and our data is almost complete. We're on the cusp of something great. Soon you'll remember everything."
Rat Man sighed and stood up from his seat, "That's all. If you have no question whatsoever, you may rest now."