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The interior of the jet hummed with an omnipresent silence. The blue light of the control panels cast gentle shadows on Florence and her team, their armor slick and impervious under the fluorescent lights. Outside the windows, the world rushed past—a desolate stretch of shattered ground and shattered buildings, the leftovers of a world that had been devastated long before Florence could ever recall.
They were near.
Miles tightened his gun strap, shrugging his shoulders backwards to relieve the growing tension. "Thought they'd have given up by now."
"They should have," Ren said. He was leaning against the back of the jet, drumming fingers on his knee. "WCKD's given them enough opportunities. They don't need a cure, they need to see the world burn."
Nellie, quiet until now, exhaled slowly, her eyes still on the ground. "They don't trust us."
Florence frowned. "Why would they? We follow them, bust up their stashes, make them obey."
Ren gave her a reproving look. "We're saving lives."
"We're saving the ones WCKD wants to save," Billie said under her breath.
There was a silence that fell between them. It didn't last long, but Florence felt the anxiety that was brimming inside everyone's chest.
She shifted, leaning forward slightly. "Because they want us to," she said in a flat voice. "They control everything. Make us question ourselves. But we know the truth. They're interfering with people getting cured. They're against the cure, against WCKD, against us—and for what? A world where people will just keep dying?"
Billie exhaled through her nose, nodding slightly. "Yeah. I know. It's just—"
"Don't let them get inside your head," Florence interrupted, her voice firmer now. "We're doing the right thing. We have to be."
It was the only option.
Billie wasn't so certain, but she didn't say so. The silence drew out again, broken only by the gentle whine of the jet engines. Then the red light above the exit door started flashing.
They were close.
Florence grasped her rifle more firmly, bracing herself as the jet went into landing mode. They had their mission—protect the Right Arm crew, take as many into custody as possible, take out the threats if necessary. She would not hesitate.
The doors opened, and Florence stepped out into chaos.
There was shooting in the darkness. The Right Arm was already in disarray, their soldiers racing between flaming vehicles and blazing tents. Some remained where they were, guns raised in defense, but most just stood paralyzed, their faces twisted in fear as WCKD's forces closed in.
