Burnt; TDC ➵ Thomas [DISCONTINUED]

A18

[...]

NOT RUNNING was Thomas' biggest regret at that moment. A pack of bodies blocked the door. Thomas was stunned as he watched the two men wrestle to gain some advantage over the other, like asserting some type of dominance. Despite the current commotion, he assumed he was perfectly fine. He was immune. Everyone in the cafe panicked as the virus was nearby, probably one of them had caught it.

The man in the red shirt had pinned the man to the ground. Thomas' attention was ripped from the two men when someone pounded on the window, he turned to see Brenda motioning frantically for him to run. He knew it was a better option to listen to his friends out on the sidewalk but his will to stay overpowered his common sense. He, other than the two other men, was the only one left in the cafe.

The infected man let out a sob. Red Shirt glanced at Thomas. "Why are you still here? If you want to stick around, find my gun."

Thomas nodded, listening to the instruction given. He went to the counter and got onto his knees. He reached out underneath, curling his fingers around the handle of it. He passed it to Red Shirt who didn't offer a thank-you in reply. Red Shirt jumped back on his feet and pointed the barrel of the gun towards the infected man, he mumbled something about the Bliss. Thomas let out a gasp.

"You knew it was the Bliss yet you didn't acknowledge it!" The teen stuttered in attempt to answer the guard, shocked by the anger. In the corner of his eye, the infected man curled into a ball, still sobbing but quieter than earlier. Red Shirt turned the gun at Thomas and ordered him to sit down.

"I'm immune," Thomas let out. He plopped into a chair behind him. Glancing at the door, Minho. Brenda and Jorge were watching with concern. He signaled to them not to intervene. Red Shirt snorted. It was clear he did not believe Thomas' claim. Ignoring the people at the door, his concentration was fully on the teenager before him. He hoped that the guard had seen the sincerity in his eyes, his heart pounded against his chest as Red Shirt holstered his gun and took out an unknown device.

"Look into it, eyes open. It'll only be a few seconds." Red Shirt leaned forward to put it on Thomas' face. He did was he was told. He saw similar flashes of light like the ones at the gate. The feeling of the puff of air and a prick in his neck. Red Shirt looked into the readings on a small screen. He scoffed at the results but believed the claims that now appeared to be truths. "Care to explain how you're in Denver, your knowledge on the Bliss or how you know a user?"

Thomas explained he worked for WICKED, wincing at the thought of being the same side as his enemies. Red Shirt looked at him, shaking his head with a chuckle. "Stay put or I will put a bullet through your head."

Help had arrived as they were having their little chat. There were four people dressed head to toe in the same thick green plastic with big goggles. Thomas' heart started pounding again as he searched his mind for the familiarity. The gear was the same as the strangers on the Berg while he was in the Scorch. Red Shirt informed his colleages that the sobbing man was the infected, Thomas was a munie who wanted to watch the show.

He watched, frozen and shocked of the scene before him. The four worked to get the infected's legs stretched but he refused. He fought back. It was clear that it was getting irritating for the strangers. The lack of compassion was painfully obvious. Soon, his body was rigid. Thomas made eye-contact with Red Shirt. "Hope you enjoy the show because you are coming with me when this is over."

[Written 5 November 2019]