ADRONITIS (II) : tmr minho

45: I could be Leonardo

Leo 45

"It's hard to explain," Thomas is standing. He still looks sickly, but he holds himself together. I wonder if he notices how much we've changed. Even Newt, who keeps glancing at me across the circle, can barely hold himself together.

"I can't really tell you all of it. It was like hundreds of pictures, flashing past me in a whirlwind. I've forgotten a lot of it now already." Thomas tips on his feet, looking at the empty chairs. He knows Gally is dead, and I don't know how well he knew Zart. They couldn't have been too close since Thomas is so new. "Basically, this is a test. We aren't supposed to solve the Maze, we are supposed to break out. The Creators want the winners, or I guess the survivors, to move on to the next task."

This is only the beginning?

"What are you on about?" Minho asks. He looks exhausted. For all I know, he slept through all of yesterday's commotion, and still has bags under his eyes. The other Keepers had to drag him out of bed this morning to get him in here.

"Let me explain," Thomas shakes his head, looking back and forth. "Something really awful happened. I don't know what, but like, apocalypse bad. The Creators took us from our families and put us in a sort of special school until they could build the Maze. They figured out we had above average intelligence, or something. These aren't even our real names, it's just klunk they made up. Newt, for Issac Newton, Alby for Albert Einsten. And Thomas, Edison."

Newt stiffens. His eyes crease. Alby maintains his hard stare. I find myself tucking my hands into my lap to keep them still.

This isn't my name? What they've been calling me, this whole time? Even that was taken? So, this is all some joke to those guys? They stole us from our families and our identities and send us right in here. To die. So many Gladers have suffered, and now there are half a dozen dead.

I am Leo, after Leonardo Da Vinci. That's what my name means. It's not some stupid thing my parents gave me because they wanted me to be brave like the lion. It has never been about bravery.

Leonardo Da Vinci, Donatello, Michaelangelo, Raphael. Leo, Dawn, Michelle, and Ella

"These aren't really our names?" Alby asks.

"I doubt we'll ever know them," Thomas adds.

That thought makes my stomach sink.

"So, were just a bunch of orphans stolen by scientists?" Fry-pan adds.

Thomas nods. His spirit weighs down the whole room. It doesn't bother me that this is an experiment. Since I've gotten here, I've always felt as though I was being watched. It bothers me that none of this matters. Everything is for nothing. Once we get out of here, all the pain was unimportant. The stress of Ben and Dawn and Minho is all gone, and was irrelevant to what's about to happen. Michelle's violence will be but a memory of the past. My whole existence hasn't mattered.

Why are we even sitting here? Why are we in charge? It doesn't matter that Clint is the best Med-jack, or that Fry-pan is the best cook. We're all in the same boat.

"It's all to see who survives," Thomas adds. "They are monitoring our brains. Some of ours have been altered."

Altered. "What do you mean?" I demand. "Are you talking about Ella?"

He shakes his head. "I don't know what her deal is. I don't really understand the brain altering."

That's less than comforting. Maybe there is actually something wrong with Ella. She could just be an epileptic, and we would never have known. What was she trying to cut out of her neck then?