Mokita (TST FF)

Chapter 9

I blinked slowly, swaying lightly from side to side as I watched Janson rock back on his seat.

"Fall, fall, fall." I chanted quietly to myself, and I swear to god, if Chuck was standing beside me, he would be laughing along, a genuine smile flashing across his unforgettable face. I missed him more than anything. Has it been 24 hours yet? It must've been. More even. I've lost track of time. It was as if it had stopped. Even then, it was inevitable. Chuck was only ever going to be in my memories, and I had to except that, despite my memories being the most uncertain thing in my life right now.

"Listen carefully, Emma dear, for I would rather only repeat this once." Janson spat out in his nasally tone of his, that everyone in this room seemed to despise. Minho, who was standing to the right of me, crossed his arms over his broad chest, and clenched his jaw defiantly.

"Please refrain from calling me darling, mate." I sarcastically replied, wanting to hurl at the mere thought of referring to this monster of a man as my friend.

Rat Man just rolled his eyes. "You're all still here because of an uncanny will to survive despite the odds, among...other reasons. About sixty people – not including Emma because she's such a special case – were sent to live in the Glade. Well, your Glade, anyway. Another sixty in Group B, but for now we'll forget them."

Janson's eyes flickered over to Aris, who fidgeted uncomfortably in corner of the room, hurt flashing threw his pretty blue eyes. Finally, Janson returned to scanning the crowd, the strange look he wore for a moment disappearing. He acted as if he knew Aris, which I guess isn't really surprising, considering he seemed to know everyone in this room. This seemed different for some reason, though.

Janson continued raving on about kill zones, and variables, the words striking something in my mind, but never truly revealing their meanings to me. He spoke about us saving mankind, and the speech was very familiar to me, after the memories that I have actually recalled.

"This dude's shucked in the head," Minho whispered. "How would escaping a freaking maze save the human race?"

Rat Man continued on about the organization he worked for, aka, Wicked, and how they are the richest, most powerful organization in our messed up world. As we had found out, they could control our minds and bodies into doing and thinking things. The bodies hanging from the ceiling weren't even real. They just made us think they were. What else wasn't real? The Grievers? What about the Gladers? Were some of them fake us well?

Janson's eyes slowly scanned us, as if waiting for some form of reaction. I just stood silently, not able to really concentrate that much on what he was saying, but able to understand the important parts.

"The Maze was a part of the Trials. Not one Variable was thrown at you that didn't serve a purpose for our collection of killzone patterns. Your escape was part of the Trials. Your battle against the Grievers. The murder of the boy Chuck. The supposed rescue and subsequent trip in the bus. All of it. Part of the Trials."

My head snapped up and I took an intake of breath in an attempt to control my emotions. "Chuck was not a variable."

Janson smirked, shrugging. "How can you be so sure, Emma? You all reacted differently to Chuck's death, so why wouldn't we use him?"

I clenched my fist beside me, and before I could respond, Newt grabbed my other hand and squeezed it. I turned towards him, my eyebrows furrowed. "He wasn't a variable, Newt."

Newt's eyes softened and he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me close to his chest. "No. He wasn't."

Janson groaned loudly, annoyed by our show of affection. Without any notice, he stood up abruptly, sending his chair flying back into the wall behind him. Slamming his hands onto the table, he leant forward. "All of it has been part of the Trials, you understand? Phase One, to be exact. And we are still dangerously short of what we need. So we've had to up the wager, and now it's time for Phase Two. It's time for things to get difficult."

As if things weren't difficult enough? Does he realize how many people have died to get us this far? I've tried to kill people multiple times, so I would assume things have been pretty difficult so far. But nah, now we have to have another test? I don't think so.

Janson went on to explain stuff that I understood, sure, but didn't really care for. It was only when Janson had admitted that we had all caught the flare, was when I really started to listen. I wasn't the only one apparently, as almost everyone started to stress, voices echoing louder than my thoughts.

"Now, now! No need to worry—the Flare takes a while to set in and show symptoms. But at the end of these Trials, the cure will be your reward, and you'll never see the ... debilitating effects. Not many can afford the cure, you know."

I glared at Janson. If Wicked had a cure, then you'd think they'd give it to everyone with the flare in order to save the human race, but no. Instead, they send teenagers into a maze in an attempt to help save the world. It didn't make sense. It probably never would.

I watched as Thomas' hand went to his throat, as if he could finally notice something strange happening to his body. It had to be an instinct. Like when you talk about lice, and your head gets itchy. Janson spoke about a disease, so Thomas got paranoid. That had to be it, right?

"But enough of this history lesson and time-wasting," Janson continued. "We know you now. All of you. It doesn't matter what I say or what's behind the mission of WICKED. You'll all do whatever it takes. Of this we have no doubt. And by doing what we ask, you'll save yourselves by getting the very cure so many people desperately want."

We used to be rats in a maze. Now we were out, but there was no we were still rats. Now, we're just in a much, much bigger maze. One filled with sun flares and disease.

Minho groaned beside me, and I internally agreed. Same, Minho.

"Phase Two. The Scorch Trials. It officially begins tomorrow morning at six o'clock. You'll enter this room, and in the wall behind me you will find a Flat Trans. To your eyes the Flat Trans will appear as a shimmering wall of gray. Each of you must step through it by five minutes after the hour. So again, it opens at six o'clock and closes five minutes after that. Do you understand?"

A Flat Trans? What, they couldn't find a better name for a teleporter?

"At that point, the Scorch Trials will have begun. The rules are very simple. Find your way to open air, then head due north for one hundred miles. Make it to the safe haven within two weeks' time and you'll have completed Phase Two. At that point, and only at that point, you'll be cured of the Flare. That's exactly two weeks—starting the second you step through the Trans. If you don't make it, eventually you'll end up dead."

For some reason, the consequences didn't seem too bad to me.