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The small group of Gladers have been in the WCKD compound for just a few days. Just a few days, but they've been miserable days. Each one bringing more uncertainty than the last.
Thomas has been taken away the longest, Newt just returned mere hours ago. All of the Gladers are going to be taken for "third trials", eventually. They started as soon as they entered the compound, directly after their trek through the Scorch.
And now, Minho was just taken for his trial a few minutes ago by two armed guards, both death-glaring Gally down when he tried to argue against them taking Minho away.
It's no use, they can fight tooth and nail all they want, WCKD seems to always win.
Now, Gally is alone. Newt, Frypan, Aris, and a couple other boys are there. But Minho isn't. That's what makes this whole thing worse. Gally paces the floor, hands rubbing up and down his face.
"I'm sure Minho is fine, Gally." Newt says, watching as Gally paces the sterile white tile. "You're going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep at it."
"What could they be doing to him? Do you think he's with Thomas? Or alone?" Gally asks, not really expecting answers. Newt doesn't work for WCKD, he didn't order the third trial. No one knows what's going on with any of their trials, not until they're actually taken for their own. And so far, it's only been Thomas and Minho. Neither has returned yet.
Just as Gally is about to ask more questions, the door to their room opens, making Gally stop dead in his tracks. He glares the door down, hoping Minho will step in, completely unharmed and grinning that stupid smile that Gally loves so much. He doesn't, of course. Because the universe seems to hate both Gally and Minho. Seems to despise all of them, really. Instead of Minho, two armed guards walk in instead, the ones that tore Minho away from Gally before.
"A9." One of them orders, their voice shrouded in static, muffled by the mask he's wearing. Gally stares at the man, hesitating.
What could they possibly want him for? Is he being taken for his own trial? More tests?
"A9." The man barks again, voice clearly impatient. As if he's on some sort of time table, a schedule he must follow. Gally swallows, following the two men outside of their cell.
The soldiers lock their arms around his, guiding him through a series of hallways. Gally doesn't drag his feet, doesn't make a fuss. He's well aware of what kind of weapons the men have on them. And he certainly isn't in the mood to feel what said weapons are capable of.
The men don't speak to Gally, don't even look at him as they move at a fast pace in order to get to where they're going quickly. After another series of turns through the clean, rubbing alcohol smelling hallways, Gally is in front of a solid, white door. The name plate beside of the door labels the room: "observation room nine", in big, bold letters. The word "observation" makes Gally's skin crawl, for some odd reason that he can't quite place. The soldier slides his keycard through a slot beside the door and it opens, allowing them access inside.
The inside of the room is clean, sterile smelling just as the hallway had been. Just as the whole WCKD complex smells. Too clean, too neat for a place so sinister, so evil. The name WCKD really does fit, considering how wicked they treat the Gladers. Gally stands in the middle of the room, turning in place as he looks around it. It's empty, no tables, chairs, nothing. Only four cameras in the upper corners of the room, all aiming at him. He's being watched, just like they were in the Glade.
The two men still say nothing, just slam the door shut behind them. Gally can hear metallic locking, the same noises remind him of the Maze doors as they would seal shut. A loud, grinding click, click, click, as the gears locked in place, sealing them in.
Now, Gally is once again sealed somewhere, trapped.He's alone in a strange, silent room. Nothing to accompany him besides his thoughts and fears all revolving around Minho, who is still God knows where.
Just as Gally is about to try busting the door down with his shoulders, a voice comes over the intercom.
"This is your third trial, A9."
It's Janson. The rat-faced man—Minho's affectionate name for the man. His voice comes over the hidden speaker, assaulting Gally's ears. Gally rolls his eyes, already annoyed with the man, despite not even being in the same room as him.
"My third trial is.. Standing in a room all by myself?" Gally quips, irritated at this whole scenario.
What could they possibly be gaining from watching him stand in a solid white room? Alone, at that.
Gally doesn't receive an answer. At least, not a verbal one. His question is answered when the wall in front of him turns transparent. As if it's glass. Gally is shocked at this, but he's more shocked—and scared—at what he sees on the other side of the apparent glass wall.
"..Minho?" Gally asks, his voice barely there. The breath is knocked out of him upon seeing Minho's face once again. "Minho? You okay?"
Though, Minho doesn't see him. Or is pretending not to. He's sitting in a wooden chair, facing a chalkboard. Next to the chalkboard stands a man in green scrubs, around forty years old. Not as old as Janson or Ava, but clearly older than they are. The badge on his scrubs reads "Lincoln". He's holding a clipboard and some sort of pen. Lincoln and Minho are the only ones in the room, and for reason that makes Gally nervous. For what reason? He isn't sure.
"In this trial, you'll watch A7's reactions. Then, we'll take you to another room and sit you down, talk to you, and record your thoughts."
Gally is confused by all of this already.
What does watching Minho talk to this man have to do with the Flare? Are they watching his brain waves? Minho's? Probably.
"So.. I'm just supposed to stand here and watch Minho and this man.. Talk?" Gally asks the air around him, looking into the camera to his left.
"Exactly that."
Gally sees a red light blinking over and over, meaning they have a signal in the room. Meaning, they're recording him. Listening to him, watching him. Gally suddenly feels self-conscious. Knowing every move he makes, there's a scientist on the other side of a camera marking it down on a tablet or in a notebook. The same concept as the Maze had been, their lives reduced to different numbers on a monitor.
Gally sucks his teeth, but nods. He can't really do anything else, they're watching his every move. Trying to escape wouldn't work, seeing as the only exit is the solid metal door that sealed and locked behind the guards. The glass is the only thing in between Minho and Gally, which is reassuring. Worse case scenario, he has to break it in order to escape with Minho in tow.
Movement and speaking shakes Gally out of his thoughts, turning his attention to Minho and Lincoln. The man is writing something on the board in front of him, Gally can't see exactly what it is yet, but judging Minho's confused, irritated face.. It's nothing good. Then again, nothing to do with WCKD is ever good. Despite their slogan.
"Now, A7." Lincoln speaks, turning back to face Minho. Minho quirks an eyebrow up, still slouched in his chair. His arms are crossed, one leg bouncing up and down. Gally recognizes the nervous tic from the Glade. "Can you confirm you know all of the individuals I have written on the board?"
Gally frowns, looking at the board. There, all written neatly one after the other, are names. Not just any names, either.
Minho.
Gally.
Thomas.
Newt.
Frypan.
Teresa.
Brenda.
Sonya.
Harriet.
Aris.
All written one after the after, perfectly straight and aligned with one another.
Minho's eyebrows crease together as he frowns. Gally does the same, not yet understanding what the man wants Minho to do with these names.
"Yeah, I know them." Minho says, sarcasm tainting his voice. Because of course it is. Gally feels a smirk brush across his lips at the sarcastic tone, relief washing over him. If Minho is really anxious, he hides it well. Better than Gally does, at least.
"Perfect, thank you for confirming that." Lincoln says, moving closer to Minho. Gally's body goes rigid, the tension causing his muscles to ache from the strain.
Minho rolls his eyes, sitting back in his chair. His hands fall to his lap, thumbs crisscrossing over each other. Lincoln's face widens into a smile, not a very pleasant one. More sinister. Plotting, like he knows something that no one else knows. And he probably does, that's the scary thing throughout this whole thing so far. Gally can feel the hairs on his neck standing up, fear settling in his chest like a bee's nest, swarming around in his lungs like angry wasps.
"I want you to answer one question. Only one, then you're free to go and your trial will be over." Lincoln says, folding his hands in front of him. Minho nods, prompting him to ask the question. "We've studied your brains over the course of all of these trials.. And we've determined we need to study all of your brains in order to make the cure for the Flare... However, we're going to allow one of these names to live. So, which person do you choose to save?"
The immediate silence following the question almost deafens Gally. He swears the room just got smaller, all of the oxygen has left the space around him. Minho stares at the man, shock painted all over his face. He looks as if the air has left his lungs, his face immediately going pale. Then, an array of emotions pass over his face. Gally watches helplessly as pain, anger, fear, guilt, and countless other feelings go through Minho.
"You want me to choose who lives and who dies?" Minho asks, breathless. As if he just ran ten miles despite not even moving a muscle fiber in his body. Lincoln nods, stepping back to the board.
"We need all of these subject's brains." The man gestures to the names again. "But we're going to allow you to pick one to spare. It can be yourself."
Gally's mouth goes dry as his stomach goes sour. They're making Minho pick one person—one friend—to save. Among those names are the two of them. Both Minho and Gally's names are up there. Meaning, WCKD is going to take both of their brains. Dissect them. Pick them apart bit by bit. All for this so called "cure" they're working on. They'll die. All of them. All except whoever Minho chooses.
Gally selfishly hopes Minho will choose himself. But he knows Minho like the back of his hand—unfortunately. He knows that Minho will choose anyone but himself.
Gally places a hand on the glass that separates them, silently pleading for Minho to look over in his direction. Minho doesn't, of course. He keeps his eyes straight ahead, boring holes into the doctor and board full of names in front of him.
"No." Minho says, voice unwavering. Gally is surprised that his voice doesn't shake or waver at all. Lincoln's facade, however, falters. His smile disappears, his face cold once more.
"No? A7, this is my only question for you. Just a simple answer, a name." The doctor says, gaze hardening as Minho glares back, slouching forward to rest his clasped hands on his knees.
"No." Minho says, voice still stern, still unwavering. A pit opens up inside of Gally's stomach, filling with a sludge mixture of dread and complete horror. "No. I won't choose."
"You must choose one name from this board, A7." Lincoln repeats himself, the man's patience thinning out quickly. Gally swallows the lump in his throat. "Now, choose. Who do you save? We're willing to do whatever it takes to get an answer from you."
Just choose. Please, Minho. Just pick someone.
Gally's brain is rattling off to him, as if he has any power in this situation. Despite already knowing that Minho can't hear him, Gally knocks on the glass anyways, hoping—praying—for a miracle.
"Choose, Minho." Gally cups his hands around his mouth, amplifying the sound. Gally's voice bounces back to him, words deflecting off of the glass. "Just pick yourself!"
For once in your goddamn life, pick yourself.
He knows Minho will not choose himself to save. He's a self-sacrificing idiot, always putting others first before himself. Minho's been like that since the Glade, probably even before then. Still, Gally can hope that Minho has a selfish bone in his body tucked away somewhere, hidden from plain sight. He doesn't, because of course he doesn't.
"You have to choose." Lincoln steps closer, towering over Minho.
Minho doesn't budge. In fact, he sits up, nose to nose with the man as he peers down at Minho through his glasses.
"All of them."
Lincoln's eye twitches, as does his hand. Gally's heart plummets. He throws a hand into the glass, pounding on the window, trying to warn Minho. He knows there will be consequences, surely Minho will get punished for being disobedient. Surely Minho knows this. Gally can't be the only one that knows this.
"You can choose only one." The doctor repeats himself, voice taunt with anger that could spit out at any given moment or even movement from Minho.
"All. Of. Them." Minho enunciates each word clearly, confidently. He smirks at the man, seeing his patience slipping more and more every second. Then, in the blink of an eye, he spits directly into the doctor's face, saliva coating his glasses.
"Damn it, Min." Gally is unable to hide his disappointment in Minho's action, he drops his head against the glass. He doesn't let it sit for long, though, scared for whatever Minho or Lincoln—especially Lincoln—could do next. He pops his head up just in time to see Lincoln wind his hand back and strike Minho, square in the face.
A cry escapes from somewhere, Gally isn't sure if it was his own cry or Minho's.
"No—" Gally pleads, slamming both fists against the glass. He cries again as Lincoln lands a slap to Minho's cheek, blood spraying from Minho's nose. "Stop it! Please, stop!"
Minho doesn't sit upright, his body jerks to the side. He pants as he spits a glob of spit and blood on the pristine floor. He then sits up, looking Lincoln directly in the face once again. As if he isn't scared of him, scared of WCKD. Gally isn't sure if he wants to love or hate Minho for that. The man is staring down at him, a power hungry, deranged look in his eyes. Gally looks up at the camera, pleading silently for this senseless, immoral act to end.
"I'll ask again." Lincoln speaks up, turning Gally's attention back to Minho's bloodied face once again. "Which one do you choose to save?"
He receives a bloody smirk in response.
"All."
Another hard hit to Minho's cheekbone sends him sprawling out of his chair, his body hitting the floor with a gut-wrenching boom. Minho is just a couple feet from the glass where Gally is now on his knees, face pressed against the glass as he cries out again. The helplessness is killing him. The fact that Gally is unable to help Minho, to comfort him, to do anything, is killing him. Minho can't see or hear him. He doesn't know that Gally is here, trying to get to him, trying to reach him in any possible way he can. That's the cruel, sick part of all of this.
Minho pushes himself up on his elbows, then his hands and knees, panting as pain pulses through every nerve ending in his body.
"Just answer it, Minho!" Gally slams his fists against the glass, pain vibrating through his knuckles and hands, all the way up his arms. Gally ignores it, pounding against the seemingly unbreakable glass once more. It's useless, he knows this. The only damage he's doing is damage to himself. His knuckles split, blood spotting the surface of his skin. Gally ignores the pain and blood, focused on Minho. "Please, Minho, please.. Answer the damn question!"
Minho gets up, pulling himself into his chair once again. He sits straight up, staring the man down once again. His lack of fear unwavering, which is arguably worse than if he showed fear. It physically pains Gally to watch this, the pain burying itself in his chest like a stake to the heart.
"Do something!" Gally turns to the camera, shouting at Janson. Who is no doubt sitting behind a desk somewhere, a creepy, cold smile on his face as he watches the scene in front of him like a movie. Gally feels tears prick his eyes as he turns back to the window, slamming his fists against it. It's useless, of course Gally knows this by now. But that doesn't stop him. He turns back to the camera, shouting and pointing back and forth between Lincoln and the camera. "Stop this—Stop him!"
"I'll ask you once more. We can do this all day if we have to." Lincoln says, voice taunt with rage waiting to unleashed on the boy sitting in front of him. He wipes his hands on a handkerchief, Minho's blood staining the white cloth with its crimson color. Gally presses his forehead against the glass, silent tears running down his cheeks. He pleads silently, almost as if he's praying to Minho. "Who do you choose to save?"
Gally's eyes go over the names, each one written with hidden hatred, hunger. Hunger for power, hunger for control. Gally looks at Minho's bloodied and now bruising face, shaking his head with both admiration and disappointment.
His eyes go back to the board, reading each name over and over. He knows Minho won't choose. At least Minho is standing up for himself, not just caving in and choosing to save himself. Gally knows Minho would never do such a thing, though. He's too self-sacrificial. He'd die if it meant saving everyone else. He's proved this countless times.
Gally looks over the names. For at least the fifth time. Minho won't choose. Even if he could hear and see Gally, he wouldn't pick.
Minho's lack of response seems to make Lincoln lose his temper even more. The man grabs Minho's shirt collar, forcing him up a good few inches off the ground. Gally snaps back to reality as he hears Minho struggle to breathe, hands clawing at the man's hands gripping his collar. The collar is choking him, being suspended up in the air by his shirt isn't allowing him to get air into his lungs properly. Lincoln is choking him, suffocating him.
"Who. Do. You. Choose." It's not a question anymore, not even a statement. It's a demand. Minho's never been good with demands, never been good with authority in general. Gally learned this in the Glade. Hence why Minho was a Keeper himself, he was always better at giving commands rather than taking them. Part of Gally hates him for that, at least in this moment. This is a moment when simply obeying a command would be better than not.
Minho's never been good with authority.
"Every. Single. One. Of. Them." Minho forces out through bared teeth. "You shuck-faced piece of sh—"
The sound of knuckles crashing against bone echoes through the room that both Minho and Gally are in. It reverberates in Gally's mind, haunting him like the Grievers in his nightmares.
"Minho!" The cry leaves Gally's throat raw, ripped open with strain from the scream. The name tastes like iron—blood—on his tongue. Lincoln lands another hit to Minho's cheek, the boy's head snapping to the side from the force of the hit. Gally feels nauseous despite not having eaten anything in at least twenty four hours. He feels lightheaded as another hit lands on Minho's mouth. "Minho—No!"
Gally gets to his feet—when had his knees buckled in on themselves? He isn't sure—and squares his shoulders, backing up and then sprinting at the window. He rams himself into the glass with as much force as he can possibly manage. It doesn't crack, doesn't even splinter.
He doesn't stop, backing himself up and going again. And again. And again.
Gally can feel his shoulder going numb from the hits he's landing, but it doesn't deter him. If anything, it makes him ram harder into the seemingly unbreakable material.
Minho's body crumples on the floor, hands flying up to protect his face as much as possible. Unlike last time, Lincoln doesn't stop. Instead of aiming for Minho's face, he goes for his stomach and ribs. Hard, echoing kicks land, each one harder than the last. Minho's hands fly to his stomach, leaving his face uncovered. Gally immediately recognizes this as a mistake. A grave one. One that might actually land Minho in a grave.
Minho attempts to crawl away, towards the glass where Gally is. Gally silently wonders if Minho can feel Gally's presence, like he knows Gally is near.
He pulls himself with his hands and elbows, dragging his broken body across the tiles. Lincoln is on him like a vulture, though. Circling him like a shark does with prey. Minho can't block every hit, it's impossible. Not when they're coming from every angle imaginable. Gally places his hands on the glass, as if he could melt it with his hands in order to get to Minho.
"Please." It comes out as a broken whisper as Gally sinks down to the floor once again, watching as more hits land on Minho's face. Gally sobs, closing his eyes and placing his hands over his ears to try and block out the horrific sound. "Minho, please. Get up, just get up and fight back."
Gally's hands move from his ears to his eyes, trying to block the sight from his view. He doesn't even care if Minho can't hear him. Can't see him. The words flow from Gally's mouth without second thoughts. Silent pleas, begs. His chest is burning with heaves, eyes pouring tears. He'd rather take the hits himself than watch Minho take them.
Gally looks up through his fingers, a silent sob coming from his throat when he sees Minho.
Minho isn't moving.
He's a crumpled mass on the floor, a dead weight.
Is he unconscious? Or..
Gally is back up on his feet and pounding into the glass before his brain even comprehends the movement. As if his body moved automatically, robotically.
"Is he dead?!" Gally screams as loud as he physically can, the sound tearing through his vocal cords like a knife slashing through his throat. "Is he breathing?! Do something! Help him!!"
Lincoln is panting, as if beating Minho to a pulp somehow wore him out as opposed to Minho. Minho still isn't moving, Gally can't even see his chest pumping up and down with breaths. He's completely still. Lifeless looking. Gally punches the glass more. Ten times. Twenty times. Thirty times. His own blood splattering the clear material as he does so, knuckles split open like they did in the Glade after hours of hammering boards or cutting trees down.
Lincoln steps back from Minho as the door to the room opens, two guards coming in. Gally watches as they pick Minho up and carry him out of the room, his feet dragging the floor behind, leaving a path of blood behind him. Lincoln cleans his hands once more, adjusts his glasses, and walks out of the room.
The glass goes back to the same color as the walls around Gally, hiding the pools of Minho's blood, hiding the board with the names still written. As if nothing happened. Like it was never real, a dream.
Gally's body goes slack, like a puppet with the strings cut. He slumps down on his knees, burying his head in his hands as his chest heaves with sobs. He sat and watched as Minho was beaten to a pulp. Completely useless, helpless. He couldn't protect Minho from Lincoln, from WCKD as a whole.
Gally cries. And cries. And cries.
His eyes feel heavy, swollen and red from the countless tears coming out of his eyes like a leaky faucet that needs repairing. However, he can't bring himself to care. He doesn't care about the camera recording him, doesn't care about looking weak, none of that matters. Nothing matters, only Minho. And now, Gally isn't sure if Minho is alive or not.
Gally isn't sure how much time passes. It could be minutes, could be hours. He hears the door open, feels hands grabbing him and hoisting him up and into the hallways once more. The guards drag him, Gally won't make it easy for them. He drags his feet, not wanting to cooperate with the soldiers. With WCKD.
They round a few corners, walking down several hallways filled with various doors leading to God knows where. Gally can't bring himself to care about his own fate, too busy focusing on Minho and the image of his seemingly lifeless body laying in a heap on the floor in front of Gally's very eyes.
Gally is dragged into an office, this time. Not an empty room. The air is colder, it bites at Gally's skin like a million little needles in his skin. He looks around, immediately getting nauseous upon lifting his head and realizing where he is.
Janson is sitting at his desk, hands folded neatly on the solid surface in front of him. A cold, sinister looking smile is on his face. Gally can't tell if he's he's pleased with Minho's beating, or pleased with Gally's reactions.
The guards sit Gally down, cuffing both of his hands with metal handcuffs. They stand back behind Gally, still close enough to grab him if he lunges at Janson. Which crosses Gally's mind for a split moment. He wouldn't mind getting his own hands dirty for some revenge for Minho. Instead, Gally sits there. Waiting to be spoken to, asked questions, interrogated about what he just witnessed.
"A9. Good to see you." The man greets Gally like this is some every day thing, a normal meeting. It makes Gally's eye twitch.
Janson knows exactly what happened in that room, he was watching, listening. The entire time. Doing nothing to prevent Minho from getting harmed, never stopping Lincoln. Instead, he was sat observing both Minho and Gally. It makes Gally blood boil with rage.
Upon receiving no answer, Janson continues speaking.
"Your third trial was a success. We've just got to collect some thoughts from you. Data, if you will." He says, opening a manila folder and studying the papers inside of it. Gally squeezes his hands together, knuckles cracking at the strain.
"My thoughts?" Gally asks, leaning forward in his chair. He tests the handcuffs. They're sturdy, not budging. The metal is thick enough that they wouldn't break even if Gally pulled at them with all of his strength. Gally sucks his teeth. "My thoughts are.. You sat and watched while Minho was beaten to death and did nothing."
"I see." Janson says, jotting some notes down on the paper in front of him. Gally can't see what he's writing, he isn't close enough to make any of the words out. "All he had to do was answer a simple question. Just one question. That was all his third trial was."
"It was cruel." Gally says, venom lacing his voice. He tries not to cry, doesn't let his voice waver. Minho is gone, and who knows if WCKD is even going to do what they say they're going to do with the rest of them. "Minho wouldn't choose who to save. Not even after being beaten."
Janson cracks a smirk. Gally's blood runs cold at the sudden realization.
"He wouldn't choose who to save.. And you knew that he wouldn't, didn't you?" Gally asks, voice cracking slightly. Janson knew Minho wouldn't choose someone to save, he's the one who gave Lincoln the orders to beat Minho to death.
"We had to get an answer." Janson says, voice calm. "Whatever the cost may have been."
"He gave you an answer!" Gally shouts, temper boiling over past his control. He jumps up, ready to leap over the desk at the man. The guards are faster than he is, though. They grab his shoulders, forcing him back down into the chair. He ignores the splitting pain in his back as his spine hits the back of the chair. He doesn't let the pain deter him, though. He has to keep fighting. Minho didn't have that choice, but Gally does. "He answered the damn question every time! You beat him to death over one question!"
Janson remains calm, his expression never wavering as he listens to Gally's ranting. This fuels the fire in Gally's veins, rage overpowering the grief he's feeling.
The guards keep a strong hold on Gally's shoulders, forcing him to stay down as curses fly from his mouth faster than Gally can prevent them. It doesn't matter what WCKD wants to do to him. He's lost Minho, nothing matters to Gally anymore. Minho mattered. And now he's gone.
"You killed him—" Gally screams, sobs coming out in the screams, mixing with his strangled yells. The guards don't allow him to budge, keeping their hands tightly around his biceps so that Gally can't jump across the desk and attack Janson. That doesn't mean Gally will stop fighting them. "You're monsters! You—Minho's gone! He's gone!"
Janson clicks a pen, writing something down in the folder before closing it, smoothing the edges. He gets up from his desk, walking around behind Gally and to the door. Gally jerks his head around, eyes following the man in a cold stare.
"Take him back to his room." Janson says, voice still calm and cold as ever. As if he's dealing with a small child that's been disobedient. He pauses, hand on the door's handle. "On second thought.. Take him to a solitary room. We can measure his reactions better that way. Clearly, he isn't ready to talk just yet."
And with that, he exits the room.
"What—" Gally starts, but he's forced upright by the guards and led outside, into the hallways once again.
The bright, clinical lights burn his eyes, tears still fresh on his cheeks. He's dragged through several hallways, rounding corners he hasn't seen before, before they end up in front of an unlabeled room.
Gally is once again shoved inside of a random room he's never been in, confused and borderline delirious from the past hour.
Has it been an hour? Two? Maybe it hasn't even been an hour. Maybe it's only been thirty minutes.
However long it's been, Minho has been away from Gally for hours. Gally knows that much. It's been hours since he last held Minho, talked to Minho.
But Minho's only been dead for a short amount of time.
It still hasn't settled in Gally's mind that Minho is actually dead. He isn't coming back to Gally, isn't going to burst through the door and act like it was some prank he pulled with Chuck like he used to back in the Glade. Minho is dead. Dead like Ben, Alby, Winston. All of them.
The guards take the handcuffs off of him and leave, the door slamming shut behind them. Gally hears the tumblers in the locks click shut, just as the last door did.
This room isn't as bad as the last. It has a sink, a toilet, a small bed pushed up against the wall. It seems like Gally is going to be here for a while, considering the arrangement of the room. Of course, there's that damn red light. A camera. Recording him from its home in the top left corner of the square room.
Gally feels the fight drain out of his exhausted body. He slumps to the floor, bloodied knuckles hitting the tile with quiet thumps. The action sends sparks of pain up and down Gally's arms. It doesn't matter to him, though. He welcomes the pain. Though, he knows that any amount of physical pain he feels will never overcome the mental pain he's feeling.
He's sick with grief, his stomach churning at the image of Minho's beaten body still burned in his brain. He doubts it'll ever leave him. It's tattooed on the inside of his eyelids, stuck there for all of eternity. Even after Gally himself dies, he doesn't think the image of Minho will go away.
Gally wishes for his own death right now.
His death won't come, of course. Gally is pretty sure that WCKD is going to keep him alive for as long as possible at this point.
Measuring his reactions to Minho's death, watching as he grieves the one person that has ever loved him. Loved him despite it all. Despite everything that happened in the Glade, in the Scorch. Minho was the only one that showed Gally what it means to love someone fully. Despite their wrongs, their flaws, insecurities, fears.
And now, that love is gone. Gone with Minho.
Gally finally decides to move from his spot on the floor, deciding to curl up on the cot instead, pulling the thin sheet over him. He prays the camera can't see his face if he turns towards the wall, curled in on himself. Tears fall silently, wetting the flat pillow under his head. He brings his knees to his chest, hugging himself. As if any grasp of warmth will equal the amount of warmth Gally felt when Minho would hug him. When they'd curl up in either hammock, holding each other like the other was the most precious thing in the universe. To Gally, Minho was the most precious thing in the universe. Minho still is.
Time passes once again. The room is silent, save for Gally's occasional sniffle or sob.
He's freezing cold, yet he's sweating at the same time despite the cool air blowing from the vents under his bed and on the ceiling. His head throbs, like a million hammers are pounding inside his head. Slamming into nails that are buried deep within his brain somewhere where he's unable to reach. His chest hurts like an elephant has planted itself there, unmoving despite his need for air. A cold hand has wrapped its way around Gally's throat and squeezed, making it impossible for sounds to come out. When sounds do somehow escape from Gally's raw throat, they crackle and scrape. Worn from his cries and screams.
Then, just as Gally is about to fall into a nightmare filled sleep.. The door opens.
Gally doesn't bother moving to see who it is. He knows it's probably the guards, maybe even Janson or Ava Paige. He doesn't care. They've already taken everything away from him, taking his life wouldn't matter.
However, no hands touch him. No one barks a subject number. It's silent. As if Gally imagined the door opening. Maybe that's what the sound was. Maybe Gally has actually lost his mind. Losing Minho was enough to push him over the cliff, over the breaking point of his mental state.
Thump.
It's loud. Echoing through the cell, through Gally's head.
Whatever has just been thrown into the cell with him is heavy. A dead weight. Just as Minho's body had been when he had fallen to the ground.
Gally's heart drops when he connects the sound to a familiar memory of a certain someone falling out of his hammock.
They wouldn't put Minho's body in here with him.. Would they?
Gally doesn't move for another moment. Scared to look at what—or rather, who—is in the room with him. It could be anyone, any thing. For some odd reason, the image of a Griever behind him crawls into Gally's mind, replacing Minho's beaten and bruised body.
A Griever would be better than seeing Minho's body, though. At least he could welcome death with open arms, in the hopes of joining Minho. Wherever he may be.
Gally finally gathers enough courage to pull himself up, rolling on his other side to change his view from the blank wall to the door leading to his room. He takes a shuddering breath in, preparing himself for whatever he's about to see. Though, it can't be worse than what he's already witnessed.
The breath he just took in wasn't enough. All of the air in Gally's lungs is sucked out as soon as his eyes fall on the ground.
"…Minho?"
The name stings his tongue. Bitter, sour tasting. Like a fresh cut that's just got salt rubbed in it.
Minho is there. At least, his body is. He's turned away from Gally, crumpled just as he was in that room just hours earlier. He's folded in on himself, curled up like he's trying to protect himself from the world around him.
However, one thing is different. Different than it was in that room.
Gally can see Minho's chest moving. Breathing. Pumping up and down with breaths.
Minho is alive.
A cry escapes from Gally's mouth, filled with shock. For a minute, he wonders if he's hallucinating. That, or dreaming. But when Gally scrambles off of the bed—falling on the hard tile with a loud crash—He finds that this is, in fact, not a dream. It's reality. He ignores the pain that sparks within his aching bones at the impact, too focused on Minho.
Gally crawls over to Minho, hands hovering over him as if he isn't sure what exactly to do. What he should do. With shaking hands, he moves a piece of hair from Minho's forehead, another cry escaping from him as his eyes lay sight on a nasty purple bruise blossoming on Minho's temple.
"Min?" Gally asks, moving Minho so that he's laying on Gally's folded knees. Tears begin to fall. Part relief and part horror. The shock still hasn't worn off, Gally still feels like he's dreaming. Like suddenly, he'll wake up and Minho will be gone. "Can you hear me, mín?"
Minho's eyes flutter, barely. As if he's trying to wake up, trying to get back to Gally. Gally won't push him, won't make him wake up if he isn't ready to. He takes a breath in, steadying himself. Looking to the bed then back to Minho, Gally decides to move him. Just in case guards come in and try to take him away from Gally again. The least Gally can do is try to protect him as best as he possibly can.
Carefully—as gently as he's able—Gally lifts Minho up, carrying him bridal style over to the cot. Minho doesn't protest, curling into Gally's chest. Gally's knees almost give out at the movement, reminding him of the days in the Glade when Minho would do the same thing when falling asleep. It reminds Gally of a cat, in a way. Cuddling to get warm.
"Okay, alright—Here, elskan mín." Gally whispers, placing Minho on the mattress before covering him up with the thin white blanket he had been using just moments earlier. Minho stirs, eyes barely opening. As much as Gally would love to see that dark brown color right now, he knows Minho needs rest. He pets Minho's cheek, careful to avoid the still bleeding cut on his cheekbone. "Shhh, you're safe. I'm here."
Gally eyes the sink, which is complete with paper towels. He gets up, earning a groan of protest from Minho, who apparently notices Gally moving from beside of him.
"It's alright, I'm over here." Gally moves quickly, wetting a few paper towels before gravitating back to Minho's side once again. He brings a hand up, combing through Minho's hair. "See? Not leaving. You're stuck with me."
The smirk on Minho's face floods Gally's chest with a warmth that he never thought he'd feel again. He welcomes the feeling with open arms, relishing it. Minho blinks his eyes open, looking up at Gally with a tired, yet somehow thankful look despite the black eye and dried blood covering multiple parts of his face.
"You look like shit, Gal." He says, blinking slowly as Gally strums a thumb over his eyebrow, tracing it. Gally shakes his head fondly, rolling his eyes.
"Good thing we don't have a mirror. You'd say the same about yourself." Gally takes one of the dampened paper towels, carefully wiping some of the dried blood off of Minho's nose. It doesn't appear to be broken, thankfully. Just bruised, like a majority of Minho's now battered body.
Minho hums, eyes focusing on the wall in front of him. Gally silently wonders if he should tell Minho that he witnessed the whole trial. It wouldn't do anything, though. Wouldn't magically fix all of the damage already done to Minho.
If anything, it could make matters worse. Knowing that Gally was there and didn't—couldn't—do anything to help Minho.
Gally decides to keep this information to himself. For now, at least. Minho's got enough on his plate to worry about.
"They didn't take you." Minho whispers, almost in relief. Gally knows what he's talking about, knows that the whole "needing your brain" thing was a bluff, a test. However, Gally still wants to comfort Minho. Even if he isn't sure the others weren't taken. "I thought.. I promise, I didn't give them a name. I didn't let them win."
"I know, mín. I know you didn't." Gally coos, gently brushing a stray piece of hair from Minho's sweat-soaked forehead. "You never let anyone win."
This earns a smile from Minho, at least that's one good thing to come from all of this. Seeing Minho's smile is worth any pain they endure. Gally smiles back, leaning down to press a kiss to Minho's nose.
Gally continues wiping the blood off of Minho, cleaning him up the best he can with the supplies he has. Not that water and paper towels can disinfect wounds, but it's better than letting them sit and fester.
Once Minho's wounds are mostly cleaned up, Gally gets up, throwing the now stained towels away in the small trashcan beside the sink before he settles back beside Minho. Silently watching his chest move up and down with pained breaths.
Gally knows better than pushing Minho to talk about what happened to him. Minho's never been one to open up about anything, much less something that physically or mentally hurts him. In this case, it's clearly both physical and mental.
"Lay with me." Minho suddenly says, eyes moving from the wall over to Gally's face. It's a silent plea, a beg. It makes Gally's heart hurt. Minho rarely begs or pleas for things, unless it's a stupid joke or a sarcastic remark.
"..You sure?" Gally hesitates, not wanting to aggravate Minho's injuries. Minho rolls his eyes. Or rather, he tries to. His black eye is now swelling, making it hard for Gally to properly see the one eye. The other is still shoved against the pillow.
"Please?" Minho asks, shifting so that he's laying on his back. Gally's breath hitches at the word. Another thing that Minho rarely says. The word "please" isn't in his vocabulary much. Minho hesitates, eyes moving to look at the camera pointed at them. He lowers his voice, barely a whisper. "I need you."
This makes Gally move.
He climbs on the bed, which is clearly not made for two people, judging by how close Minho is to falling off of the side. Minho immediately moves to Gally's chest, arms wrapping around his torso. Gally holds Minho against him, one hand around his back and the other around his head, fingers combing his hair.
"I need you, too." Gally whispers into Minho's hair, silent tears pooling in his eyes. He holds Minho closer, fearing that someone is going to come take Minho away from him once more. He almost feels like a child with a teddy bear or a piece of candy, scared that a bully will try and pry it out of his hands. Minho lets out a shaky breath, his own tears wetting Gally's shirt.
"I'm here." Minho says, voice slightly muffled by the fabric. He somehow inches himself closer to Gally, tightening his hold around Gally's torso despite the small shocks of pain it sends through his damaged body. He repeats himself, breath tickling Gally's collarbone. "I'm here."
Gally nods, pressing kisses to Minho's crown and forehead. He smiles when he feels Minho's lips press against his collarbone, echoing the words he just said. Minho is here with him once again. He isn't leaving, and neither is Gally.
"I'm here." Gally mimics Minho's words, pressing another round of kisses to Minho's forehead and nose before moving his hand to cup Minho's chin, tilting his face up towards Gally's. He presses a long, soft kiss to Minho's lips. "I'm here."