Antidote | A3

c h a p t e r . t w o

"I think I need a minute," Newt decided finally. He stood up, and everyone stared. "What? There's food over there, and all these other shanks have been tuckin' in. Plus, it's all buggin' nuts."

He wandered away to the side of the room, where the spread of food was. We all watched him go, and I couldn't help but think his limp looked worse than I'd ever seen it.

"Well, if he's going..." Aris started, getting lazily to his feet. "I'm having seconds."

As he began to walk away, my eyes were drawn to a weird black mark on the back of his neck. It seemed a lot bigger than what I could see, the majority of it hidden under his shirt. Staring harder, I realised they must be words.

"Aris," I called out uncertainly. He stopped and turned around.

Look at his neck, I said to Leo.

I felt his confusion in my head, like a bunch of question marks without him really saying any words, but he made no attempt to move.

Go look at it, I ordered, insistent.

Finally, Leo got to his feet, wandered over to Aris and yanked him back to the table.

"What are you doing?" he complained as Leo pulled back the hem of his shirt.

"It's a tattoo," Leo said, aloud.

"What's going on?" Newt asked, coming back to the table with a plate in his hand. It was piled high with steaming food, and I heard my stomach growl at the sight of it.

"What the hell are you lookin' at, shank?" Minho asked.

"Property of WICKED," Leo read out. "Group B, Subject B1. The Partner."

"What?" Aris said, reaching his arms back as if to grab at the branding, to tear it off his skin. "I swear that wasn't there last night."

"Property of WICKED?" Newt repeated, like he didn't quite believe what he heard. "So... Tommy could be right. We haven't escaped them. Or, you too. Whatever."

"And why does it call you The Partner?" Minho said.

"I have no clue. But there's no way I had this before today." He turned to Leo. "You would have noticed! Someone back in the Maze would have."

"You're telling me they tattooed you in the middle of the night? Without you noticing?" Minho scoffed. "Come on, dude."

"I'm not lying!" Aris insisted. "Is it... is it only me?"

I noticed lots of the other Gladers had started to gather around. A couple were standing behind each other already, pulling at shirt collars. Thomas was suddenly standing beside me, yanking back Minho's shirt, staring wide-eyed at the back of his neck.

"What the hell are you lookin' at, Thomas?" Minho said, almost as if he was warning Thomas to tell him it was nothing.

"It's right there," Thomas scoffed in disbelief. "Same thing, except..."

"What, dude?" Minho yelled at him.

"Property of WICKED. Group A, Subject A7. The Leader."

"You're kiddin' me, man," Minho said, standing up.

Suddenly, the frenzy started. Gladers around me were yelling out their own tattoos, grabbing at each other. Plates of food were abandoned as everyone was on their feet, spinning each other round, yanking at t-shirt hems, pointing, shouting. The noise in the cafeteria grew almost uncomfortably loud as Gladers realised that every single one of them sported these same bizarre tattoos.