EUNEIROPHRENIA:
•the peaceful state of mind that comes after waking up from a pleasant dream.
after they finally found their way out, they were met with yet another danger: the scorch. will they survive and get to the safe place?
TMR, MINHO
-STATU...
"I just wanna, i just wanna know if you're gonna, if you're gonna stay"
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IT WAS SIX MONTHS SINCE WICKED had attacked us. Six months since they tore away everything I had left to hold onto, and nothing had been the same ever since. They took Minho, they took Cloe, they took Aris, and they left me in pieces. Since they ripped apart the life I had struggled so hard to cling to, leaving me hollow. Each day without them felt like I was walking through a waking nightmare, a haze of fear and anger that never seemed to end.
I joined the Right Arm after that, still hoping – praying – that we could do some good. That we could hit back, find our friends, and tear down the very system that had broken us in the first place. But six months later, nothing felt different – no closer to saving the ones I loved, no closer to finding Minho or Cloe or even Aris. We've tried, God, we've tried everything. But in all reality, it starts to set in – there might not even be a way to get them out from the clutches of WICKED. At least, not alive.
Every day with the Right Arm felt like a gamble. Vince, the leader, had us running from one hideout to another, trying to save whoever we could. We freed a few people who'd endured the same torturous experiments that we had. But none of them were who I was looking for. And each time that we saved a different set, my heart would leap with this crazy hope that somehow, somehow it would be Minho. I'd see Cloe's face, or Aris's eyes. Never did it happen.
And then there was Sonya, the girl taken from Aris's Glen. I hadn't spoken to her much before everything went to hell, but I remembered that Aris thought she is a great person. I think he cared for her. Maybe even loved her, in the strange, fractured way any of us could still manage love in this broken world. WICKED took her too. They took all of them.
I missed Aris, not only because he was my friend but most of all because he had been one of the very few persons to believe in what we were doing. He had agreed when nobody else did, at a time when right and wrong were so confused. I missed the little moments of solidarity we shared when we were in the WICKED facility, in which late-night talks would ensue because the way things were then felt like the walls were closing in on us, like we'd never break through. We didn't need words to understand each other then. Now, I feared I'd never see him again.
They told us it wasn't WICKED. That this "new group" was going to help us.
"We can trust them, they saved us. They'll help us," they said. Help us? My ass.
They did nothing. They gave us empty promises and false hope while WICKED continued its experiments, continued ripping people apart in the name of their so-called "greater good."
Sometimes, I tried remembering my family, the family I never really knew. I had been taken so young that I had no memories of them, not really. But just impressions only, a warmth that wasn't really describable, a hankering for something I'd never really known. Yet even though I had never met them, I felt a deep pang of loss – as if they were out there somewhere, and WICKED had stolen them from me before I even had a chance to know them.
