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Thomas: *Being attacked & tackled by Ben*

*Record scratch* *Freeze frame*

Thomas: Yup, that's me. You're probably wondering how I wound up in this situation.

-✼-

For a moment, it was silent as the words sunk in. And then I began to laugh. It was like Thomas had only an hour prior— softly at first, and then increasing in volume until everyone was staring at me in confusion.

Dr. Christensen began to speak over my laughter. "The Final Candidate holds the missing piece to complete the data for the blueprint. But we had no way to tell until we monitored the patterns against the Variables. Vivisection will give us our final data, your systems functioning properly while we do it. Not that you'll feel any pain— we'll heavily sedate you..."

He trailed off, mouth puckering into a frown of displeasure when I didn't stop chuckling. He clearly liked when people listened to him speak, and since I was ignoring him, he wasn't happy.

"Dylan," Janson said, "what's so funny?"

"Of course," I managed to say once I'd sobered up enough to speak. Of course you need our brains. Because that's what we always were to you, right? Nothing more than Subjects, objects to be tested and prodded and poked until you found your precious cure. We won't live to see a world free of the Flare, but you will, all happy and without the regret that you'd terminated two teenagers to get you there."

Janson's mouth was pulled into a frown identical to Christensen's. Dr. Wright merely stared ahead.

"I know that this is quite a shock to you," Janson spoke up. "I need you two to understand that this is not a test. This is not a Variable and I'm not lying to you. We think we can complete the blueprint for the cure by analyzing your brain tissues and how, combined with the patterns we collected, its physical make up allows it to resist the Flare virus' power. The Trials were all created so we wouldn't have to just cut everyone open. Our whole aim was to save lives, not waste them."

"We've been collecting and analyzing the patterns for years, and you two have been the strongest by far in your reactions to the Variables," Dr. Wright explained. "And Dylan, like what Janson said earlier, your brain's ability to make itself Immune is essential to curing other people. "We've known for a long time — and it was the highest priority to keep this from the subjects — that in the end we'd have to choose the best candidate for the procedure. Or, as it comes down to it, the best candidates."

Dr. Christensen spoke next. "You have to be alive but not awake. We'll sedate you and numb the area of the incision, but there aren't any nerves in the brain so it's a relatively painless process. Unfortunately, you won't recover from our neural explorations— the procedure is fatal. But the results will be invaluable."

"And if it doesn't work?" Thomas asked, his voice sounding strangely disconnected from his body.

The man's eyes flickered with discomfort. "Then we'll keep... working at it. But we have every confidence—"

"But you don't, do you?" Thomas demanded. "You've been paying people to steal more immune... subjects so you can start all over again."

The two of us stared at the three adults with matching expressions of wrath. At first, nobody spoke for a long moment, and I raised an eyebrow. Janson was the one who ultimately replied, "We will do whatever it takes to find a cure. With as little loss of life as possible. Nothing else is to be said on the matter."

I quirked an eyebrow up. Nothing else to be said? I could think of a plethora of things to say.

"Why are we even talking?" Thomas continued. Part of me wondered if he was just stalling to gain time for the device to work, or if he was genuinely looking for answers. "Why not just grab us and tie us down, rip our brains out?"

"Because you're the Final Candidates," Dr. Christensen responded. If I heard those words one more time, I suspected I'd lose my mind. "Thomas, you were part of the bridge between our founders and the current staff. Dylan, you're a fundamental aspect of the cure. We're trying to show you two the respect you deserve. It's our hope that you'll make the choice yourselves."

Fundamental aspect of the cure. The choice might be available to Thomas, but certainly not to me.

"Do you need a minute?" Dr. Wright asked. "I know this is difficult, and I assure you we don't take it lightly. What we're asking is a huge sacrifice. Will you donate your brains to science? Will you allow us to put the final pieces of the puzzle together? Take another step toward a cure for the good of the human race?"

"Stop it," I spat, much to her surprise. Dr. Wright's mouth closed and she sat placidly in her seat. "You don't get to do that— to guilt us into giving you what you want. Like you said, it's our brains. Let us make the choice without you shaming us."

"Let us be alone," Thomas croaked out immediately after I finished. "Please. We need to think."

"Fair enough," Janson complied as he stood from his desk. "We'll accompany you to the medical facilities and get you in private rooms for a while. Though we need to get things started soon."

My hands started shaking as we stood and began following the doctors through a zigzag of turns. Though my mind wanted to wander, I forced myself to keep track of every movement. Right, right, left, right, left. If we had to make a quick escape, at least I'd remember where to go.

"Thomas, your room is up here on the left," Janson said, pointing to a nondescript door ahead. "Dylan, yours is across the hall. I put typing pads in there in case you'd like to leave messages to your friends. I'll figure out some way to deliver them."

Alone. It didn't register until now, and already my heart was clawing at my chest as if it meant to escape through my mouth. The fear that struck me was so intense that I could barely comprehend Dr. Wright saying we'd be getting food. Then, before I knew it, the door was shutting behind me.

For a moment, I stood. There wasn't a sound except for the silence that rung in the room. It was small and modestly furnished, with a glass table pushed against the left wall and a desk chair in front of it. Janson, true to his word this time, had indeed left an electronic device waiting on the surface. Other than that, there wasn't anything important in the room.

My heart was thudding against my rib cage. I forced myself to remain as calm as possible as I strode toward the table. The chair rolled easily against the tiled floor, my body sinking into a comfortable leather material as I sat. My hands rested on the edge of the table. A blank document was open, cursor blinking as it awaited my command.

This may be it, I thought. This is really happening.

I couldn't possibly stall any longer without them getting suspicious. Hopefully, Gally and the rest of the Right Arm would be arriving shortly. How long had we been inside the facility? Twenty minutes?

My veins began to fill with dread, weighing them down and causing my fingers to tremble even more. I balled them into fists and scooted the chair closer to the desk so I was sitting as straight as I could. My hands hovered over the keyboard, hesitating. I was typing before I realized it. The words poured out seemingly without thought, my fingers moving so quickly I couldn't read what I'd written until I finished.

Minho,

If you're reading this, we failed. I'm sorry that you put so much faith into two brainless shanks like Thomas and I. Getting here was almost more hellish than anything we've encountered, and I'm sure you would have loved the sheer thrill of it all, but I'm glad you're back with the others.

I'm sorry for all of the dumb things we fought about. I'm sorry I got myself killed. I'm sorry you won't have a butt-kicking buddy around anymore.

Dylan

I hesitated again, wondering if I had enough time to write messages to everyone. Only sending one to Minho seemed absurd; there were so many things I wanted to say. But, in the end, I sent only one more message.

Jorge,

Take care of them for me. Don't let Minho destroy himself. Tell Garret what happened to Theo. Tell Teresa I'm helping them with their cure. Give Brenda my thanks for keeping Thomas alive in the Scorch because I never thought to express my gratitude.

Keep them safe somehow.

Dylan

Minutes later, before the fear could grip me in its claws again, a knock came at the door.

"Dylan?" Janson's voice drifted through it. "We're ready for you."

"Yeah," I replied thickly, glancing at the letters I'd written. It still seemed so sparse. "I'm coming."

The unsaid words that drifted in my head were shoved aside as I opened the door. Janson was alone, Thomas nowhere to be seen.

"I already collected Thomas," he explained upon seeing the confusion on my face. "He's being prepped for anesthesia."

I nodded, suddenly finding myself unable to speak. My mouth had gone dry. I forced my mind to become a blank slate; if I began to think about what was happening, I'd have a panic attack.

We were moving. I tried to trace our steps, but it was no use. Hope was draining from me slowly but surely. The Right Arm would get to us only after the procedures started— maybe before they were finished.

I was going to die.

"It's only another few turns," Janson explained calmly, seeming to notice how my legs were shaking. My knees were beginning to lock.

My brain began to realize that it didn't want to die.

I contemplated all of the ways I could knock him out from here. I could render him unconscious before he knew what was happening, find Thomas, and get the hell out of here. But even as the thoughts crossed my mind, I knew they weren't true. Who knew how many people Thomas was surrounded by? And a lockdown could be issued before we could get very far.

"I'm proud of you for being so compliant," Janson said, breaking our silence. "You've been known to put up a fight, and to be fairly honest with you, I was expecting one."

I swallowed. "I want to save the human race."

He wore a klunk-eating grin on his face. "That's what I thought."

Moments later, I was being led through a door. Thomas' head snapped up at the movement. He immediately rose from his chair against the wall. His arms opened, and I found myself crashing into them before I could blink. My chest was tight from the sheer force of his embrace. I was sure I was squeezing him just as hard, but neither of us complained.

I thought of all the times I'd hugged him before. After the battle with the Grievers. After Phase Three. All of them had been joyous at the fact we'd survived, and now this was our last while we prepared to die.

"I love you, idiot," I mumbled into his chest.

"You're the bigger idiot," he replied, joking even at this moment. His voice turned more somber. "But, yeah. I love you, too."

"Children," Janson intervened. "We have to get started."

Thomas released me. His entire body was trembling.

An alarm began to blare. The door suddenly swung open, a frantic-looking woman searching wildly until she found Janson. "A Berg arrived with a delivery, but it was a trick to get people inside— they're trying to take over the main building at this very second."

Janson's face darkened more quickly than the sky outside. "Looks like we need to hurry and get these procedures started. Christensen, put them under."

The doctor stood in shock for a moment, startled by the sudden turn of events.

"Dr. Christensen, quickly," Janson ordered. "Who knows what these people are up to, but we can't waste a second now. I'll go tell operating personnel to stand their ground, no matter what."

"Wait," Thomas croaked, jaw trembling. "I don't know if I can do this."

Janson's face was cherry-red with rage. He whirled toward the doctor and pointed a finger at him. "Do whatever it takes to open those kids up."

My heart jolted. Just as I began to turn toward Christensen, assessing his weak points, I left a prick in my arm. Another nurse was injecting a syringe into my arm. Immediately, my legs locked together and I began to collapse into her arms. She caught me and placed me on a gurney.

My breaths came out in short, rapid pants. Everything was paralyzed from my neck down; it was just like the Launcher. I couldn't even make my fingers twitch. But nothing could stop the violent waves of fear from crashing through my body.

"I'm really sorry," Christensen's voice said. "We have to do this."

I heard several thuds along with Thomas grunting. No matter how much I craned my neck, I still couldn't see what was happening. The thought of him being hurt was terrifying; not being able to see him was worse.

"Get it done," Janson barked to Christensen. Then there was the sound of his voice yelling down the hallway before the door closed.

"I just need to run a few tests," the doctor explained, coming into my view. "Then we'll get you to the operating room. Since the procedures will be simultaneous, you'll be in the same place. We don't have time to conduct separate operations, unfortunately."

Even as he spoke, he was fiddling with several machines. I barely registered it as he took our blood, measured our skulls, prepared to inject us with IVs. I wished they'd give me some sort of relaxer to calm me down— I feared my heart would burst before they even got the chance to cut me open.

"I believe we're ready," Christensen said after who-knows-how-long. "We'll wheel you to the operating room now."

The man walked out of the room. I presumed it was the same nurse who had injected me that was wheeling my gurney down the hallway the opposite way we had come from. I couldn't see anything except the fluorescent lights above. They were blinding. I turned my head to the side, focusing on the wall instead.

There was a thunderous boom that rattled the hallway. The nurse pushing my bed stumbled but gripped tightly onto the frame, holding me firmly in place. However, Thomas' bed crashed into the wall after another doctor had lost control. Someone screamed from behind. There were even more shouts. My brain swarmed with the possibilities of what it had been, attempting to move in any way that could benefit me.

But before I could do anything, the nurse was moving again, pushing me even more quickly. We barged through a set of double doors. What seemed like a swarm of people was waiting for us in the operating room, dressed in scrubs and masks pulled onto their faces.

"We have to hurry!" Christensen shouted. "Everyone, get to your places. Lisa and Sarah, get them fully sedated. Now!"

A short lady responded. "We haven't done all the prep—"

"It doesn't matter! As far as we know, the whole building's gonna burn down."

The next thing I knew, I was being lifted onto an operating table before the gurney had even come to a complete stop. I turned my head and locked eyes with Thomas from across the room. He appeared equally as terrified, and there was too much space between us for us to lock hands.

"Hi, sweetheart," a familiar voice greeted me, causing me to turn my head to the other side. The dark-skinned woman I'd known almost all my life was standing over me, a syringe in her hand. Her smile was wide.

"Dr. Mason?" I breathed. At the same time, I detected that I could slightly move my hands. There wasn't anything to grip onto.

"It's been a while," she said, warm, gloved hands removing my hearing aid. "I hope you had a good run with this, but there's no need for it anymore."

The volume instantly decreased as she put the device on a nearby table. Half of her sentence was lost because she'd turned away as she spoke. I couldn't wrap my brain around the fact that she was here. A woman I'd trusted, even thought of as a second family.

I thought of her words to me, so long ago. "Our brains work in astounding ways, but I think yours may be more valuable than any other."

Something was strapped around my index finger. Several patches were placed on my chest. Lights were positioned above my head, nearly blinding me.

"Okay," someone's voice began. "We're going to administer the drug now."

It was getting hard to move. The room was spinning, my vision blurring. But still, I turned my head until I could see my brother's distorted figure. A tear leaked from my eye even though I couldn't remember myself beginning to cry.

I hoped it worked. If not for our sake, then for our friends, for the small family I'd created, for people like Newt.

I wish I'd known sooner, I thought. I wish I could have helped you before it was too late.

gif is thomas preparing for surgery

——-

poor dylan

this is four (4) chapters of the book stitched together. @ james dashner, WHY

questions:

-what would you have wanted her to say in letters to other characters? who would you have wanted to see her write one to?

-how do you feel about dr mason?

-what character you haven't seen in a while would you like to read about again?

those are pretty much the only questions i have! i'm actually getting into the groove of this (it's about time) so the next update should be soon!

-kristyn