Minho looked furious. He lunged forwarded again. "Hey," Aris offered. "Maybe it'll be all right. I mean, maybe it's just a fraud..." He was attempting to console the furious boy, though it might be partly from fear of what would happen to him, too.
"A fraud?" The Crank laughed. "So naive, boy. Not a fraud. He needs to learn a life lesson. And I'm only chopping off one finger." He let out a dark chuckle. Aris opened his mouth for protestations. "Now, Brenda?" He nodded behind Aris, and he froze momentarily as the girl approached Minho and lifted a knife to his neck.
Only a droplet of gore dripped down from the neck. To Aris's astonishment, the girl tilted her knife again and grinned widely. Jorge began guiding through the corridors the girl said, "I'll fetch some palatable delightful food for you all. Lay one finger on us, you'll have much regret since we can overpower all of you." She opened the door and closed it with a gentle click.
A few minutes later, Brenda retreated to the living room and passed out food from the sack. Aris thanked her when she passed a can into his hand and chugged it down ravenously without even chewing, scooping out the food with the metallic lid and dartig his tongue across it.
"You look famished, don't puke all over me," Brenda commented. He scooped up the rest of the meat with the bent lid and darted his tongue across it. She rose to her feet, and Jorge plopped down next to him. He grinned and settled down, though Aris wanted to squirm away from him.
"Hello, hermano," the Hispanic man said with a light chuckle. He lifted his lips into a grin that might be presenting threats. He took a bite of something in the tin can. He chewed the last bite of fried chicken and rice and nodded politely. "So, where are you from?"
"From WICKED."
Jorge laughed. "WICKED, huh? Why did they ship you here, anyway?"
"They--well, they said there was a Trials we had to complete," Aris explained. "They're designing a blueprint for the Cra--I mean, Flare-infected people. This is Phase Two." He chugged down the rest of the food and thrust it into a trash bin. "That is exactly why I'm here."
"Hmm," Jorge said thoughtfully. "Developing a cure, huh? Let me inform you, boy, there isn't any cure existing right now and never's going to be. WICKED is just playing with your heads." Then, he pressed a hand over his mouth. "I've gone nuts, forget what I just said."
Aris shrugged, not a bit offended. He rose to his feet and wandered around the room. The Flare-infected people stared back at him, and he hastily backed away. Jorge shouted through the air just then, as he sat down in a chair and grinned at everyone in front of him, Brenda situated by his side.
"All right, then, I suppose it's bedtime," the man said. "Tomorrow, we agree to journey with you through the Scorch. In the meantime--"
Before Jorge could complete the sentence, several people burst into the room. Stumbling around, their clothes tattered and hair matted, they didn't have a trace of sanity in their eyes. "Hurry up!" Jorge hissed into Aris's ear. He stumbled blindly, snatching a knife that caught on his foot.
Jorge murmured something, then shouted into a microphone attached to his garments. They continued on, through the entire building. He thrust open a door and shoved Aris out. To his relief, his friends were stumbling along the roads right next to him, fear plastered on their faces.
Cranks. Famished Cranks.
ns 15.158.61.21da2
