A/N:
Yes, Gally.
I didn't make the Maze Runner one in the Tough Series —in fact, when I first started Tough Love, I was gonna end it at Frankie's 'death'. But I enjoyed writing about her so much and I was over the moon with your responses that I decided to continue HEHE
The Maze Runner plot is exactly the same with the book. I hope any references to it won't confuse you guys.
Anyway, here's another chapter. I'm going to update a lot today :)
Have a nice day, everyone!
〰️
FRANKIE KEPT HER eyes trained at Newt's back, moving along to his steady intakes of breath and his low snores.
She didn't expect the pace of his Flare's infiltration. It was too quick.
One moment he was her old friend Newt, and the next he turned into someone she didn't know. With every second passed, he became more distant, withdrawn, unsociable, grumpy, emotional, jumpy.
Rat Man did say that stressful situation caused the Flare's growth rate to soar astronomically.
He had to be frustrated with himself, didn't he?
Befriending all those uncontrollable feelings he had within himself.
And being locked in here wasn't exactly a happy situation as well.
Frankie had to make use of this abundance of free time to keep him around —to grab any sliver of his attention and old self with her fingers, at least until Minho return.
When this nap's over, she told herself.
I have to try, she told herself, I have to.
〰️
MINHO SCOWLED, "GALLY?"
Thomas faced Brenda and Jorge, about to explain who Gally was, then realized from their gazes that they had been working for WICKED enough to know the whole story. Then he looked at Reggie—
"I knew the sticks," Reggie said, "And I remember you telling Frances that he was possessed and killed a boy on your way out."
"You knew Gally?" Minho asked in a mixture of disbelief and confusion.
Reggie sighed, "I'll tell you later."
"It can't possibly be him," Brenda said.
"Why not?" Thomas asked, "What happened to him after we were taken away? Did he..."
"Die? No. He spent a week or so in the infirmary, recovering from a broken cheekbone. But that was nothing compared to the psychological damage. They used him to kill Chuck because the Psychs thought the patterns would be valuable. It was all planned. They forced Chuck to move in front of you."
Minho looked away. He remembered the Gally who talked casually about Frewt over breakfast, who made the Homestead's architectural design, and came out of the Box with snot all over his upper lip. But he also still remembered the Gally who acted like a total slinthead —the shank deserved to be his first punching bag in the Glade.
Minho tried to read Thomas' expression. He was personally connected to the whole Chuck-Gally thing, but he just sucked in breath and ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Nothing surprises me anymore."
"Gally's mind couldn't handle what he had done," Brenda continued, "He went completely nuts and they had to send him away. I'm sure they figured no one would ever believe his story. He was trying to eat chairs and spitting and yelling and ripping his own hair out."
"I saw him, too," Jorge added, "He got past the guards one day. He ran through the halls naked, screaming at the top of his lungs about beetles in his veins."
Minho cleared his throat, "What's the Right Arm? Do you know about it?"
"There are rumors about them all over the place," Jorge answered, "It's supposed to be an underground group bent on taking down WICKED."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Reggie said, "They're on our side, right? At least we should drop by and say hi."
Brenda furrowed her eyebrows, showing that she was doubtful. "I really think we should find Hans before anything else. Newt and Frances are waiting, remember?"
"What if this is some kind of trap?"
"No," Thomas shook his head, "We can't try to outguess them anymore. Sometimes they do things just to make me do the opposite of what they think I think they think I want to do."
"Huh?" The four of them asked at the same time, confused.
"From now on I do what feels right," Thomas explained, "He's a connection to the Glade and he has every reason in the world to be on our side. Any objections?"
Minho and the others stared at him with blank faces. His mind couldn't come up with further arguments, and he suspected the others were too.
"Good that. I'll take those looks as yeses. I'm glad to see you all agree with me. This is just a little detour, Frankie and Newt will be fine for another day. Now, how're we gonna get there?"
"You know," Reggie scratched his head, "You remind me of this doctor from WICKED. You don't let us say a word at all."
Brenda let out an exaggerated sigh and snatched the paper from Thomas' hand, "Ever heard of a cab?"
〰️
AFTER A QUICK meal of sandwich in the mall, they caught a cab to drive them into the city.
Minho sat by the door. He kept his eyes glued to the window and the passing scenery outside, making sure to tell Frankie and Newt all about this when he return to the Berg later.
Unmanned, weaponized police vehicles were hovering around. Brilliant displays of holographic advertising appeared throughout the square, each one inviting him to get out of the cab and join the crowd. Countless people walking, crossing streets, climbing stairs, talking on their own gadgets. Huge buildings that seemed like a hundred floors up.
He wondered if he had lived in a city like this before.
"It's sad, isn't it?" Reggie muttered from his left.
"Huh?"
"What the Flare did to people."
After that sentence, he began to notice. His initial thought that the world wasn't so bad off went down the drain, replaced by unsettling details that he didn't saw earlier.
Everyone seemed to be avoiding each other —and not just to be polite. They seemed to take obvious measures to stay clear of anyone else. Many wore masks or held rags that covered their mouth and nose as they walked.
Posters and signs about the Flare littered the walls of the buildings, some torn or obscured with spray paint. About its definition, spelled out precautions, dangers of leaving the city, and what to do if you came across an infected person.
There were terrifying pictures of Cranks way past the Gone.
The farther they got from the outside barrier wall, the dirtier the streets became. Trash was everywhere, windows were broken, and graffiti decorated almost every wall.
The cab turned into an alley, and pulled up to a stop at a cement building that rose at least twenty stories high. Jorge handed the driver a card and he swiped it through a plastic slot.
When Jorge got out, Minho followed suit.
The place was far from inviting.
Nope. As dirty as the Glade could get, this was a whole other level. He didn't think he could ever live comfortably in this place.
Once they were all out and the cab had driven away, Jorge pointed to the closest staircase. "Number 2792 is right there, on the second floor."
Minho whistled, "Looks real homey."
Brenda gave Thomas a push from behind, clearly uncomfortable with the situation as well. "Your idea, you lead."
Thomas swallowed hard but didn't say anything. He just walked over to the stairs and slowly climbed them with the other four falling in behind.
The cracked and warped wooden door of apartment 2792 looked like it had been put there a thousand years ago. Only a few scant remnants of faded green paint remained.
"This is crazy," Reggie whispered, "This is completely crazy."
"Tell me about it," Jorge added.
Minho snorted, "Thomas kicked the klunk out of him once, he can do it again."
"Unless he comes out with guns blazing."
"Would you guys shut up?" Thomas said, clearly shaken. Without another word, he reached out and knocked on the door.
It opened a few agonizing seconds later.
The thin white lines of scars, noticeable crooked nose, and weeks of being apart made Minho momentarily forget who he was seeing right now.
But it really was Gally.
Sandy haired, crazy eyebrows, tantalizing gaze.
"Glad you came," Gally said in his familiar but raspier voice, "Because the end of the world is upon us."
〰️
FRANKIE LINKED HER arm with Newt's, "I want to take a tour around the Berg."
"So?" Newt raised his eyebrows, "Do it yourself. I don't want to."
She mustered up the most pitiful look she could form without losing her remaining dignity and pouted, "But I can't walk for too long without support. I need your help to get around."
Newt sighed, clearly annoyed, "I'm so bloody tired, Frankie."
"Walking around is good, Newton," Frankie said, standing up. She tugged on his arm, "Come on."
Under all the hysteria and viral infection, she believed that he was still Newt. He was still her considerate best friend.
And the Glade's Newt would never let her go around by herself, especially if she played the cripple card.
Gah. The things she did for him.
Pouting and asking for help was really, really not her thing.
Newt sighed in submission, "Alright."
But if it could distract him and slowed the crankiness down, it was worth it.