There was about a few dozens of boys, all clad in the same garments he was in. A boy with dark black hair, sharp eyes, shoved his way up to the front, with scowling at him. Aris felt his body freeze in the spot and swallowed hard, praying that his mouth could function properly to contain his astonishment, but just closed it again
"Who are you?" one boy demanded.
"Who am I?" Aris said, a slight sneer in his voice. "Who are you?"
"Don't play games with me! Where is she?" the boy snarled, clenching his fists Aris knew with certainty he'd use it any moment. "Where's the girl who spent a night here?" He shoved his way slightly towards him, but Aris kept his feet planted firmly on the ground.
"Girl?" Aris attempted to recall what the men said about consequences. "There's no girl here." He stretched out his arms, waving it around.
"She was here last night."
"Well, she's gone now, apparently. " Aris forced his shoulders to arrange into a nonchalent shrug. "None of your business. This is my room, you are just a few sticks who barged in here." He glared at each boy in turn, before snatching the knob, ready to slam it in their faces.
"Sticks?" someone murmured incredulously.
"Just what they call themselves when I first arrived in the Maze."
"Wait!" a blond-haired boy called out, stepping forward, and thrust his hand through the gap the door formed. "Where are you from? Who set you in here? I mean, it's all right if you just inform us, we won't turn you in. Though, we'd receive some pleasing reward for that." He grinned at his friends, then turned to him with a stern gaze. "Explain, please. We'll remain in your dorm, is that all right?" He seemed deep in thought. "Where are you from, anyhow?"
Aris closed his eyes, unable to banish the memories from his mind. Now, he was going to spill everything that occurred. He padded over to the beds, and a boy with a hard-set face and black eyes and his friends began detaching the beds from each other and positioning them around the room. "From the Maze, brother, " he managed to get out.
The boys exchanged troubled looks. "The Maze? You're from a maze?" the boy who'd greeted him coolly said incredulously. "All right, then, Newt, I suppose we can trust him. He's from an area of horror and fear, we can trust him. Don't you dare to feel any anxiety about that, brother." His head snapped towards him. "Tell us everything."
"No." Aris felt a tremor creeping into his tone. "You say everything first.""
"Yeah?" the boy replied irritably. "How 'bout at least inform us where are we?" He blew out a breath and began talking, anyway.
***
"I just woke up in this dark, chilly Box. And then, those shanks retrieved me," the boy began. "We started as a band of boys before this nuts girl arrived, saying everything was going to transform into horror. Hell, they definitely did, for the next morning, everything had gone wrong. There was no sun, nothing, the Maze blew up completely."
Just like my Maze, Aris thought. It'd blown up the few days he'd arrived.
"And then, well, we fled from our Maze later on. Figured out a code the Creators wanted us to use," the boy said, clearly completing his story. "Now, well, if you're ready for it, you can say it."
No. Aris squeezed his eyes shut, the scene of horror replaying in his mind--the Shades slaughtering his companions, Rachel being speared, Beth fleeing from the Maze, then finally, the black-clad people rescuing them, only to be slaughtered later on. "Yeah, I arrived in a coma, and we fled our Maze three days before all of you."
"You're just in luck, then. We fled a few days earlier," responded the boy. "Wait--you were the only boy?"
"Yeah. I was there in state of coma. Everyone was outraged when I was shipped in that Box. I convinced them I could flee from the Maze, felt a sense of familiarity the second I arrived," Aris said. "We spent several weeks there, mapping out the Walls and whatnot, figuring out where and how we can flee."
"Well, your name is....Aris? Seems like you deserve to get a clue what's mine." The boy offered a grim smile, introducing himself as Thomas. "Could, you, uh..." He tore his gaze away from Aris, and glared at his friends. "Could you contact one of those girls, telepathically?"
Aris froze momentarily. How did this boy know so much? Can you hear me? he whispered to him. He watched the movement of Thomas's throat as he swallowed.
Yes.
They slaughtered her, my best friend. Before Thomas could reply telepathically to him, someone sauntered closer to him and gestered to his back, even jabbing it a little, a look of astonishment and puzzlement plastered on his face as he stared at something
"What's on your neck? The black line?" he questioned.
"What?" Aris tugged his shirt off ever so slightly. "What are you saying?"
Newt offered to read it and leaned in, tugging down the shirt ever so slightly. "Property of WICKED? Aris Jones, the Partner? Whose partner are you? I thought we fled from WICKED."
Aris shook his head numbly. He had showered last night; it would have been peeled off, unless it was water-resistant. He scurried to the bathroom to see it for himself and trudged towards the mirrors, as his ears registered, "Whoa!" and "What the hell?" and figured the boys must have discovered tattoos on their necks as well.
As clear as day, as he stripped off his shirt and arranged himself in the mirror, he spotted it, too. His brain was too shocked to even contact Teresa.
Property of WICKED. Aris Jones. Subject B1. The Partner.
What's going on? he thought, too astonished. He had showered last night, that would have been rinsed off. Am I Teresa's partner? he wondered. He trudged out of the dormitory. "I suppose we ought to figure out this space out," he said with a forced smile
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