Tired of Running

75|| the test and the outcome

// the screams all
sound the same \\

      •

     Minho opened lay on his back.  He breathed slowly, feeling grass under him.  It was bright behind his closed eyelids.  The air smelled fresh, felt comfortable around him.  Finally, he opened his eyes, squinted against the sunlight.  Panic and confusion clouded his thoughts.  He was...  He was back...  In the glade.  No... No no no no- 
A small boy ran past him, waking him up, making him jump to his feet.  "Hey-"  The kid disappeared.  He rounded a corner, following the boy into the map room.   Minho blinked, rubbing his eyes in the dark room.  Light flooded his eyes when he opened them again.  He was in WICKED...   "How-"  The lights flickered, making him jump.  "Hello-"  He cursed himself silently that his voice shook.  The hallway went dark, Minho's hear rate jumping up an alarming rate.  He clenched his fists, standing straighter.  The lights turned back on.  But they were met with a haunting sound.  Something from his past.  A low, mechanical moan. 

    Harper was jerked from her sleep at his scream.  She jumped out of her bed and ran to her door.  Minho was screaming.  Screaming.  They were doing something horrible to him.  In her already rapidly crumbling state, she slammed her fists against the glass window.  It had been weeks.  She hadn't been fed but a few times a day, she had lost all her muscling and strength.  Yet this monstrous, evil disease gave her a terrifying strength.  She screamed out furiously, repeatedly slamming herself against her door.  Harper didn't even hesitate when she felt her shoulder dislocate from the repeated impact.  She had to get to him...  The crank was going to rescue the immune.  Harper didn't care if she died trying- didn't care if she was shot down for getting out.  A week straight of his screams.  A week straight of her best friend-  her Minho- being tortured.  All for a shucking variable-  all for a cure that would never exist...  A cure that would never save her. 

   The thick glass in the door shattered, blood and glass embedded and dripping from her arm.  Harper let out a low growl, inconvenienced by the sharp shrapnel in her limb.  She grunted as she looked it over, shrugged it off.  Harper gave the door a final body slam, breaking the latch the rest of the way.  The door opened violently, hitting the wall it swung towards.  Harper's eyes flashed.  A dangerous new madness behind them.  They hurt him... They hurt him for the last time...  The voices in her head had grown louder, now chanting and pleading with her to make the people responsible pay.  Harper shook her head, smacked it a few times, trying to dislodge her sanity once more. 

   Two women in lab coats were walking towards her, both with their faces in electronic devices.  Harper cleared her throat, crossing her arms.  Both women froze, letting two sharp gasps escape.  Harper smirked, staring them down as the hatred and anger bubbled inside her.  "Where," she had to take a deep breath to stop herself from shaking with anger, "is he."  It wasn't a question- they had about three seconds to live...  The woman on the right-  a brunette with a bun so tight it made her forehead three times bigger than it should have been- reached for something in her pocket.  But being a runner- and a glader- had made Harper faster.  She tackled the woman flat on her back, eyes still burning.  A thrill overtook her- she felt something once again.  "Where is he," she spoke calmly, despite her murderous stare.  The woman gasped for air, panic clearly in her expression.  The remaining woman turned to run, rushing away from the crazed, murderous crank.  Harper lost complete control-  the disease reminding her just how much it had taken root in her.  The woman tried screaming, but with one last panicked wheeze, she was gone.

   The old Harper would have cried for the soul she didn't know- no life was worth losing for science.  But she had killed her.  She had killed her and she felt nothing.  Harper rose to her feet, starting off at a quick pace towards the direction the screams had been coming from.  They were embedded in her mind.  They played like clockwork.  A soundtrack on repeat in her mind.