So, we didn't escape apparently.
I still barely know what's going on, but I know more now:
W.I.C.K.E.D. is a real pain in the ass, walking through sand dunes should be considered a sport, and searching for a mysterious rebel group is like searchin...
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"WELL...THAT SUCKED." I whined pitifully, clutching my sore arms dotted with bandaids and bruises.
"I'll never understand how you can take a stab wound but can't deal with a couple needles." Newt chortled softly, nudging his hip against mine.
I scoffed, shooting him a look, "They missed my vein like four times. I feel like a pin-cushion."
We trotted along another concrete tunnel, an array of silver hues meshing together into one somber labyrinth with pipes lining the ceilings and paint chipping off the walls. All of the hallways appeared as if they were copy and pasted to look alike—I can't help but wonder if there's ever going to be a time I didn't see concrete.
Another soldier shadowed us along the endless corridor, supposedly our guide back to the cafeteria despite the both of us knowing our way.
Our adventure to the Medwing was mediocre at best. I was glad to have Newt there. Especially when I get to hold his hand when I'm poked and prodded at like an experiment—though, I think he mainly held my hand to keep me from clocking out the nurse as the man pierced my skin for the third time.
But Newt also had a calm presence to my chaotic one. He seemed to even out my jagged and reckless self like glue to shattered glass—he kept me together.
Which was very much needed when the doctors kept puncturing needle after needle into my arm, filling a multitude of vials up with my blood before injecting me with a handful of tedious vaccines. I felt tender and raw from the examination, on top of the already excruciating aches from the events of the past week.
"Well, now you're done. No more needles." Newt soothed, his lips upturned with amusement.
"Don't jinx it." I grumbled.
Our conversation was then disrupted by the dull thunks of heavy footsteps steadily approaching. Peering up ahead, my gaze landed on another soldier treading the hall—marching in the exact opposite direction we were.
The soldier barely regarded Newt or I, but his stony gaze instead fell upon the soldier behind us, instantly grinning at the sight of our guide.
"Yo, Lopez." The soldier nodded, the man's tanned face lighting up.
Newt and I shared a confused glance before turning to the man behind us.
The bland guard peered up from the floor with piqued interest, before mimicking the other soldier's grin—both of their shoulders falling with ease.
"Evans, how've ya been?" He beamed at his friend.
Newt and I slowed as the soldiers stopped to talk to each other, excitably muttering about each other's day, both of their stony facades and soldier etiquette completely faltering as they interacted. It was like when you see your favourite coworker at work or your best friend in the school hallways.
