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[When Brenda and Thomas are split from the gang in TST]

Jorge: I have total faith in you guys!

Jorge: There's like a 30% chance they'll both die.

-✼-

We were surrounded.

That was what Lawrence said. The interval of time between us driving out of the sea of Cranks and reaching a garage that immediately closed as soon as we made it inside was a short one, so short that I was still dazed and my veins were continuously filled with adrenaline. All I could hear was Thomas' heavy breathing from somewhere beside me and my own blood rushing in my head. Fear was starting to grip my senses as I realized what was outside- darkness.

"Who's out there?" Brenda questioned.

"The boss' guards," Lawrence replied in a whisper. "They know this is one of their vans, but they won't approach us until we get out and show ourselves. They need to confirm who we are— I'd guess we have about twenty weapons aimed at us right now."

Thomas' breathing was starting to become more steady as the seconds ticked by, though his voice was still edged with worry. "So what do we do?"

"We get out, nice and slow. They'll recognize me soon enough."

'Soon enough,' didn't ease my nerves at all, but I knew we couldn't wait in the van forever- it was better to just get the confrontation over with. I slipped the handgun into my waistband and gripped onto the back seat, using it to propel myself over the bench and into the middle compartment. Once there was enough room, Thomas did the same.

"Who wants to go first?" I asked, eyes scanning my other three companions. None of them looked eager.

"I will, of course," Lawrence sighed. "Wait until I knock on the window to get out. Ready?"

"I guess." Thomas shrugged.

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"It would really suck," Brenda began, "if we went through all that just to have them shoot at us. I'm sure I look like a Crank about now."

"It's not like any of us look any better," I grumbled, examining their faces. Brenda's hair was half-falling out of its ponytail, small cuts on her face from broken glass. Thomas appeared almost the same.

Lawrence eased himself out slowly and surely with his hands in the air. It was an agonizing few seconds that the three of us waited in a tense silence for his signal. Thomas jumped when it sounded, our guide rapping his knuckles on the frame of the windshield.

Brenda soundlessly opened the passenger door. My brother and I shared a reassuring nod before doing the same and climbing out of the side. I felt my foot hit the ground, but there was nothing to see except complete darkness that clenched my throat.

There was a click as blinding light suddenly invaded my sight, causing me to snap my eyes closed. I quickly copied Lawrence's action of putting my arms over my head. Then, as my eyes adjusted to the brightness, I blinked them open to discover about twelve figures surrounding us in a wide circle, all with various weapons in their hands. The source of the light was the biggest spotlight I'd ever seen, aimed at us by two more silhouettes.

"Lawrence, is that you?" a man's voice called out. Due to the fact all of the people were behind the spotlight, I couldn't make out any faces. My gaze swept left and right in an attempt to discover who'd spoken. My cheeks began to throb from scrunching my face so much.

"Yeah, it's me," our guide answered.

"What happened to our van, and who are these people?" He sounded vaguely threatening, like he was ready to pounce on us with one wrong word or action. "Tell me you didn't bring infecteds in here."

Infecteds? These people had all sorts of nicknames.

"We got jumped by a huge group of Cranks down the alley a ways. And these guys are Munies— they forced me to bring them to you. They want to see the boss."

"Why?"

"They said—"

"No," the disembodied voice cut him off. "I want to hear it from them. State your names, why you forced our man to come here and destroy one of the few vehicles we have left. And it better be a good reason."

Thomas, Brenda, and I shared a look. She nodded toward my brother to speak.

He cleared his throat. "I'm Thomas, and this is my sister, Dylan. That's Brenda. We know Gally— we were at W.I.C.K.E.D and he told us about the Right Arm and what you guys are doing a few days ago. We were on board to help, but not like this. We just want to know what you're planning, why you're kidnapping immune people and locking them up. I thought that was W.I.C.K.E.D kind of stuff."

The man started to chuckle. My eyes once again searched for the source; my best guess was the figure to the right of the spotlight. "I think I'll let you see the boss just so you get the damn idea out of your head that we'd ever do anything like W.I.C.K.E.D."

Thomas nodded. "Fine."

The figure's head jerked toward the people around him. "Check them for weapons."

"Shit," I mumbled beneath my breath, feeling ice flood to my veins. The handgun in my waistband suddenly felt like it was burning— ironically, a smoking gun. The thing that might unintentionally condemn us all.

"What?" Brenda asked me with an edge of fear in her voice.

A man was already beginning to pat Lawrence down. Another came toward Thomas, who appeared unbothered but also impatient. A blonde-haired woman with a square face walked in my direction. She had a shotgun strapped to her back.

"Just so you think I'm not hiding anything, there's a handgun in my jeans," I spoke up, wondering if it would help us any if I told them first instead of letting them find it. If I'd done that, it may seem like I was trying to hide it.

"Why the hell didn't you put that thing away?" Lawrence hissed.

The blonde woman tilted her head at me and strode forward, shoulders back and confidence radiating from her. She came behind me and yanked up the hem of my shirt. I felt the gun being slipped from my waistband, the skin that had been touching it now cold.

"What were you planning on doing with that?" the faceless man from before demanded harshly. His voice was commanding, forcing me to answer truthfully.

"Nothing," I replied. When a tense silence pulsed, signaling he didn't believe me, I continued, "Unless I had to use it. Look, like Lawrence said, we just got out of a battle with Cranks—"

"Let 'em in, Charles," a new, deeper voice sounded from outside of the circle. Whoever it was had just appeared, and was obscured by the lack of light.

"Come on, Brent," the man - Charles - argued. "They're not lookin' too trustworthy right now."

Thomas' head swiveled toward me, his eyes equally as wide as mine and full of questioning. They were asking if I had the same thought that he did. And it was extremely likely.

"What?" Brenda whispered, narrowed eyes darting between the two of us. "Why are you looking at each other like that?"

The man came forward, and Brent Arson stepped into the light. My old trainer's outward appearance was mostly the same— short-sleeved shirt showing off the many tattoos on his muscled arms, a bit of sweat dotting his dark skin, a permanent scowl etched onto his face. A new feature was the goatee he sported along his chin. And the glint of, dare I say it, amusement in his brown eyes.

"Are those orders from the boss?" the blonde woman questioned in a crisp voice, not bothering with pleasantries.

"They're orders from me, which are pretty much the same thing." Brent still had that same take-no-shit attitude as always, then. "Trish, step away from the girl. She's harmless...for the most part."

My lips turned into a frown. Harmless. He knew I was nothing but.

"How the hell—"

"I don't know."

"Can someone please tell me what's going on?"

The hushed conversation between Brenda, Thomas, and I was cut short by a sigh from Charles. "Fine, Arson. But if I get in trouble for lettin' them in, you're the one who's—"

"Gonna pay, yeah, I got it," Brent finished almost boredly. His expression was impassive to the threat, merely letting it bounce off of him. "Trust me, you can trust them." His eyes swept over our small group, then he nodded his head in the direction I presumed he came from. "Come on."

As we hurried up to follow the ex-W.I.C.K.E.D employee, Brenda continued to ask Thomas and I questions. We tailed Brent loosely so I could respond.

I explained as much as I could in a concise manner, not wanting to be overheard. It made sense the more I thought about it. Someone had carried me from my procedure to the Berg. Someone strong enough to do so without trouble. He'd said I was something they'd never seen before. What if he intended to save me from the organization because he knew something?

"We're here," Brent announced as we stopped at a nondescript door. The stairs we'd just climbed up were rickety, wallpaper peeling from every wall and bare lightbulbs hanging from the ceiling.

Some headquarters.

He twisted the handle and pushed the door open. Maybe once upon a time, it had led to a conference room where people held meetings, but now it was home to a large, scarred table and plastic chairs scattered around.

Two people sat at the head. One of them was Gally, who, to my complete and utter surprise, gave us a nod and the smallest smile he could manage due to his swollen and bruised face. His nose was marred to the point where I wasn't sure it would ever heal properly. One eye was blackened and sealed shut. But it was definitely him. The other man was large, but not in the way Brent was. While my old trainer was all muscle, this man wasn't. He could barely fit in the plastic chair he sat in.

"This is the headquarters of the Right Arm?" Brenda wondered wryly, voicing my thoughts from earlier. "Consider me a little discouraged."

Gally's smile was gone. "We've moved around more times than we can count. But thank you for the compliment."

"So which one of you is the boss?" Thomas asked.

Gally nodded at the man beside him. "Don't be a slinthead— Vince is in charge. And show some respect. He's risked his life just because he believes that things should be made right in the world."

I raised my hands in defense, noticing the anger mounting in his voice. "No harm intended." I shot Brenda a pointed look. "To Thomas' credit, Gally, you do look tough."

"Tough's one way to put it," Gally grumbled. "But I'm not in charge. Vince is."

"Does Vince know how to talk?" Brenda questioned.

"Shut it, brownie," Brent commanded sharply, crossing his arms over his chest. The gap between his front teeth was more prominent now that I was closer. "Like Gally said- show some respect."

Vince nodded in thanks. "Our city is overrun with Cranks— I don't have time to sit here and listen to childish spats. What do you people want?"

"Just one thing," Thomas answered. "We want to know why you captured us. Why you're kidnapping people for W.I.C.K.E.D. Gally gave us a lot of hope— we thought we were on the same side. Imagine our surprise when we found out the Right Arm was just as bad as the people they're supposedly fighting against. How much money were you going to make selling humans?"

Vince's drooping eyes flickered toward Brent. Then, he said, "Gally."

"Yeah?"

"You trust these two?"

Gally avoided our gazes. "Yeah. We can."

Vince leaned forward and rested his arms on the table. "Then we can't waste any time. Boy, this is a look-alike operation and we didn't plan on making a single dime off of anybody. We're collecting Immunes to mimic W.I.C.K.E.D."

My eyes narrowed. "Why?"

Gally's mouth twitched, as if he'd been counting down how long it'd take me to open my mouth.

The boss didn't notice. "We're going to use them to get inside their headquarters."

gif is thomas speaking to vince and gally

———

i was hoping to get this up sooner, but due to a lack of motivation, it's a little late. sorry! but i do mean it when i say that comments motivate me

i can just imagine anthony mackie taking nobody's shit wow i actually love brent

questions:

-were you expecting brent to be a part of the right arm?

-how do you feel about him now?

-did anyone catch the jessica jones reference i slipped in?

-do you think gally will continue to hate dylan, or has he forgiven her?

lol why are james dashner's chapters so short this next one is like two pages what

-kristyn