The Defective Soldier || Newt

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑𝟐

𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℝ𝕖𝕟𝕖𝕨𝕖𝕕 𝔹𝕖𝕥𝕣𝕒𝕪𝕒𝕝 ℙ𝕝𝕒𝕟

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The table was a mess, and so were the people around it. Papers were passed from one side to another, stocked up into piles, and some crumpled and tossed to the side of the room—forming its own pile of mess. In the eyes of a passer-by, the scene would be rather odd. Seven teens, alone around a table, were reading and re-reading papers like the information that they contained could save someone's life. However, there were no passer-bys the entire time, nor did Thomas and Newt return.

Despite their utter concentration, none in Group S could help peek over their papers to the door at times; all in hopes of seeing their friends coming back. Six months had passed since the last time they had been alone without the company of someone outside their group. Although, the much-expected sensation of loss never came to make its presence. They were concerned over their friends—that was it. They didn't need them around, much less want to involve them in what they were doing.

A second pile had begun to form on the table when a question ran through all seven soldiers' minds. Were they trying to protect their non-soldier friends, or had they given in to their soldier-training instincts? They had no answer to it, no matter how many times they thought about it. Only one thing was evident: as much as they loved their friends and family, letting go wouldn't be difficult. Some tears would fall, and days and weeks would pass before any could make a joke again, but they would get over it.

Their minds played different scenarios time and time again about what would happen the next day, when the Immunes were finally in their rightful place at the Safe Haven, and they stayed behind, caring for their in-the-road-to-Crank friends. The more dramatic it was, the best. It made it easier to get used to the idea of letting go—leaving to never return. They still had to decide where to go. After all, that would be the place where they would turn into Cranks, and, in time, be buried. It had to be special, like the Safe Haven, where they would coax Thomas into burying William's body.

In a desperate attempt to calm her beating heart and cool her heated-up cheeks, Mae took off her sweatshirt. She still had a shirt under it, but the sleeves ended just over the elbows, leaving her tattoo uncovered. Like a light to a moth, it lured all eyes to it. Their solitude hadn't been the only thing they had experienced all over again; the utter numbness was as odd as the sentiments had been six months ago.

"Soldier," mumbled Flor under her breath, a frown forming as she stared at Mae's right arm.

Mae tilted her head towards her, her lips pressing together before adding to Flor's statement with a heavy sigh. "Property of WICKED."

Property of WICKED—that part was the worst in their opinions. They could deal with being branded as soldiers. That they were. None doubted that their lives had never been like a normal kid's life. They had been taken by WICKED at a very young age, stripped away from everything they knew, given guns, and tossed into dangerous situations for the sake of an experiment. Perhaps it was selfish of them to think, but they were happy not to remember anything before their awakening in the Building. Even if they couldn't remember their families, friends, or previous lives.

What did it matter, anyway? Whoever they had been before their memory-wipe, or their training, had died on the way. Strangely, they didn't see much of that change in those outside their group. However, they were sure that, the first time they had pulled a trigger, whoever they were had died within the deafening gunfire. They could still remember the first kill after waking up without memories—their first mission—the numbness at staring at someone's dying eyes was scarier than anything they had done that day.