A Group B fanfiction following Group B's Keeper of the Runners (Minho's equivalent), Rogue. Read the Scorch Trials through the perspective of Group B.
'Every time she closed her eyes, she saw them-her friends and their bodies. She saw Rachel and Ada...
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ROGUE WIPED DOWN the grimy mirror in the changing room with the hem of her shirt, clearing just enough space to see her reflection. As the smudges faded, the words etched into her skin became visible, stark against her neck:
Property of WICKED. Group B, Subject B7. The Chariot.
She stared at it, confused and angry and upset, knowing that spot of skin would never be hers again. 'Property,' she muttered. 'We're their goddamn prized possessions.' She spat slightly as she spoke, a flicker of bitterness laced between her words.
Hashslinger leaned closer to the mirror, her fingers tracing the ink on her own skin before brushing lightly over Rogue's. 'Yeah, well, at least they didn't slap a barcode on us...' She rubbed her neck. 'Come on,' she said, her voice dry. 'Let's head back before they give us a sleeve.'
Rogue snorted, shaking her head. She hid her anger well. 'Maybe we could request something nice next time—dragons, flowers...'
With a final glance at their reflections, Rogue turned away from the mirror, the implications of The Chariot clashing in her mind. As they walked back through the changing room, Rogue tightened her pack on her shoulders, the weight a welcome distraction.
They pushed through the door and into the hall, stepping into the corridor once more. As they approached the gymnasium, the murmur of voices grew louder. Harriet had gathered all the girls in one place now, and Teresa stood beside them, her face completely blank. Seemingly, she had made her introductions.
Rogue looked around, her eyes catching on Alejandra and Diana, who were checking each other's necks. Not far off, Wally was on her tiptoes, inspecting Miyoko's collar, her fingers hovering over the the mark with the same shock Hashslinger had shown five minutes prior. Everywhere, girls were muttering, reading each other's skin, realisation dawning on every face she saw.
They all had the tattoos. Each and every one of them bore the same words. Property of WICKED.
Rogue looked at Harriet and Sonya at the front, who appeared rather puzzled. She walked right up to Sonya and motioned for her to turn around. Sonya flashed her a confused look but did so anyway. Rogue stood close, pulling down the back of Sonya's shirt.
'Crikey, take me out to dinner first,' Sonya joked, but Rogue didn't laugh. She read the words aloud: 'Property of WICKED. Group B, Subject B5. The Sun.'
Sonya turned back around and nodded. 'Yeah, I know,' she said. 'You know?' Rogue asked. Harriet sighed. 'Mhm. Caught them just after yous headed back in. Why, what's yours say?'
'B7, The Chariot,' Rogue said. 'You?' 'B3, The King,' Harriet replied.
Rogue could help but find it fitting—both Harriet's and Sonya's titles seemed to suit them well. She considered the possibility that the designations reflected something deeper about them, a hidden quality or test. But the thought quickly slipped away as she noticed the strange expressions still etched on their features.
