Finality | The Maze Runner / Newt ³ ✓

{2.3}

Disclaimer:

Minho at some point, probably: I'M A BAD BITCH YOU CAN'T KILL ME

-✼-

Thomas and I shared a heavy glance at those words. The Right Arm's intentions weren't to take over, but to destroy W.I.C.K.E.D. As much as I wanted to see the organization go, I couldn't help but think of all the technology, all of the resources that were in the complex. They could be used for a different purpose. They could help the remaining Immunes in the world or provide more comfort to those waiting until they reached the Gone. But, it seemed that they had been waiting for this moment for so long that they only considered themselves.

I realized, at that moment, that W.I.C.K.E.D and the Right Arm were two very different sides of a spectrum. The rest of us were in the middle.

"You're doing a lot of heavy thinking in those noggins of yours," Willa mused.

I shook my head to clear it; the world came into focus around me. I came to the sudden conclusion that things were moving fast and my brother and I had a job to do. "Sorry."

"When do you think they're going to set off the explosives?" Thomas questioned. While I could detect the apprehension in his voice, nobody else could.

"Pretty soon, I suppose," the woman replied casually. "They've been planting for hours. They want them all to detonate at the same time, but I'm guessing we aren't quite that skilled."

It didn't make me feel better whatsoever. Anxiety churned my gut. There wasn't even a certainty that we could get the Immunes — and ourselves — our in time if we didn't know exactly when the explosives would go off.

"What about all those people inside?" Thomas asked. "What about the ones we came to rescue?"

Alessandro and Willa looked at each other, shrugging. "Vince hopes to get everyone out."

"Hopes," I repeated incredulously, then scoffed.

Brent noticed my displeasure and folded his massive arms across his chest. "Thing is, only Vince knows what's truly goin' on. He calls all the shots, tells everyone what to do, and if you don't do it, you mean jack-shit to him."

Thomas swallowed. "So, what does that mean?"

"It means I mean jack-shit to him." Brent grabbed the two of us by our sleeves and pulled us inside the building, balancing perfectly on the rubble. "Come on, twerps."

As soon as we stepped onto flat, level ground, he released us and allowed us to walk on our own. His purposeful strides were a bit hard to keep up with; even though he wasn't overly tall, his years in W.I.C.K.E.D had placed a natural urgency in the way he moved.

"Where are you taking us?" Thomas questioned as he fell into step with the older man. "Ava gave us a map—"

Brent shushed him. "Kid, keep your voice down. And I'm taking you to Vince. There's something I need you to see."

We followed him to a seemingly nondescript room, the door of which was propped open. He walked in with his hands up even though nobody was carrying any weapons. Thomas and I copied his actions anyway as we went inside after him.