Memories (Newt X Reader)

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

228.09.12 / 10:15 a.m.

You knew the day the maze would be finished was drawing closer. You could feel it, in the workers, both groups A and B, every technician you'd worked with in the programming booth. It was like a ticking time bomb. Everyone was secretly excited to see the end result, but common sense told them it couldn't be good, no matter what it turned out to be.

Currently, you were sitting in history class, your head to your desk, fidgeting with the loose eraser on your pencil. Minho sat behind you, and every once-in-awhile a paper football would smack you in the back of the head.

Mr. Glanville, the old history teacher, who had crazy eyebrows but not an inch of hair on his head, was at the front, droning on about FIRE and PFC, which he'd written on the board before him in big, stocky letters.

"P...F...C. That stands for Post Flares Coalition, which was a direct result of FIRE," he told the class. "Once WICKED had heard from as many countries as possible, gathered representatives and so forth, they could start dealing with the spectacular disaster caused by the sun flares. While FIRE figured out the full ramifications of the sun flares and who had been affected, the PFC tried to start fixing things."

Your eyes drooped, only to snap back open at the call of your name.

"I'm sorry, am I boring you, miss (Y/N)?" Mr. Glanville asked tensely. You sat up, rubbing your eyes, willing yourself to stay awake.

"No, no sir," you managed. "Sorry."

With a huff, he turned back to the board, and Minho snickered behind you. You just turned to him and made a show of rolling your eyes.

Alby sat to your right and was obediently copying down the notes, pencil scribbling furiously. Minho aimed his next piece of paper at him, and you muffled your laughter into your hand as Mr. Glanville shot you two another glare.

228.09.12 / 1:32 p.m.

That afternoon you found yourself being escorted to a private conference meeting to discuss something about the maze, which had definitely rendered you surprised, to say the least. Almost always it was only Thomas and Teresa who were invited to these meetings with Dr. Paige. They were the important ones. The special ones she always so carefully favored, so why did she need to talk to you?

The room was already full when you arrived. Chancellor Kevin Anderson at the head of the table, Katie McVoy by his side. Dr. Paige on the other side, flanked by Thomas and Teresa, as well as Aris and Rachel. Psychs, doctors, technicians. Randall and Ramirez and Leavitt. It seemed every important person at WICKED was gathered together.

The guard behind you pulled out a chair for you and you sat down quietly, glancing around and making confused eye contact with Thomas, then Teresa, and you all knew you were in the same boat.

"I suppose you five at the very least, are a tad confused on what this meeting is about," Chancellor Anderson started, rifling through some papers. "I'd like to start out by saying what assets you all have been in this long project -- we're all very, very proud of you, and would like to thank you for all of your hard work and dedication." The room erupted into polite applause. Thomas's face burned.

"Now, as you all know, it's been ten years since the first inkling of WICKED was conceived by John Michael, and we've come a long way in our research since we began gathering those who are immune to the Flare. The progress in those first years was slow, of course. Trying to understand the disease itself, testing our subjects to ensure that they were actually immune, learning about the virus and how it interacts with your bodies and your brains. Slow but steady. Not a year has passed when we didn't have some kind of significant achievement, and I'd say that's better than anyone could have hoped for."