Minho let out a small laugh to show how absurd the situation was, then nodded. He was ready.
When the allotted time had passed, Lincoln spoke in a grave voice that showed he meant every single word. “Our doctors have determined that we need to dissect the brains of these subjects for a more in-depth study. But we will allow you to spare one of them. Which person do you choose to save? That is your question.”
* * *
Five full minutes passed. Minho sat in silence. It couldn’t possibly be true. Did WICKED really mean to cut his friends’ brains apart?
“Minho,” Lincoln said, “I need you to answer the question, but you can take some more time if you need to. I know it must be difficult.”
“I’m not going to answer your stupid question,” Minho replied, surprised at how much venom was captured in each word.
“This is no game. The people on this list have been used to their fullest extent, and the only value remaining is to study them physically. Your friends will have the honor of donating their lives to the noblest cause ever known to mankind.”
Minho said nothing, seething in his chair.
Lincoln persisted. “Be thankful that the Psychs determined that this Trial would be beneficial. At least you get to save one of the people you care about.”
Minho broke eye contact and looked down at his hands. He’d been gripping the sides of his chair tightly, he realized. Spots swam before his eyes, blood pounded in his head—almost as if he could hear it running through his veins and to his heart. Of all the many times he’d felt anger since entering the Maze, it had never been like this. Never.
“How much time would you—”
“I don’t need any time!” Minho yelled before the man could finish. “I refuse to answer! If you even touch a single one of them, I swear …”
“I’m afraid you have no choice in the matter,” Lincoln’s voice was firm, and he seemed unfazed.
“Times are desperate, and we need to complete this blueprint. We need those brains for study.”
“I won’t let you do it,” Minho said, suddenly calm. “If one of them gets hurt, I’m done. Take your chances with me, do however many tests you need to, but leave them out of it.”
“That’s simply not an option, Minho. I’m sorry. We need you to make this choice. And we’re willing to take whatever actions necessary to … encourage you to continue volunteering.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
The lines of Lincoln’s jaw tightened. “It means what it means. Now which of these names do you choose?”
“I choose all of them,” Minho said.
“You can choose only one.”
“All of them.”
“One and one only.”
“All.”
Lincoln took a step forward. “I’ll ask it a final time before taking further measures. Which of your friends do you want to save?”
“Every single one.”
Lincoln rushed forward and grabbed Minho by the shirt, pulling him to his feet. “You will choose, now!”
Minho was terrified, but he ignored it. “All!”
Lincoln reared back with his right hand, formed a fist, and punched Minho in the face. Pain burst through his head as he fell to the floor. Lights seemed to flash along the brown tiles a few inches from his eyes. Lincoln grabbed him and pulled him back up, turned him around so they were facing each other once again. His strength was ridiculous; Minho had no chance.
“Which name do you choose?” Lincoln asked him.
Minho’s face felt broken and he tasted blood, but he refused to give up. “I won’t choose!” He spat a wad of red goo onto Lincoln’s face.
The man didn’t flinch; he punched Minho again, but held him up this time so he couldn’t fall.
Another explosion of pain, more lights.
“Minho,” Lincoln said with insulting calm. “Which of the names do you choose?”
“I won’t,” Minho forced out.
Lincoln punched him on the other cheek. Again. Then again. Minho’s head felt like needles and mush.
“Make a choice.” Lincoln spoke between heavier breaths now. “Which one of the names do you choose?”
Minho didn’t get it, couldn’t comprehend how this could all be necessary. The confusion just made him even angrier and more stubborn.
“All of them,” he said, ashamed of how it came out, nothing but a whimper.
“We can do this all day,” Lincoln said. “We’re not leaving and I’m not stopping until you give me an answer. All you have to do is say one name. Just say it! Now, which one! Say it!”
“All of them, you slinthead shuck-faced piece of klunk.” Minho smiled.
Lincoln showed the slightest hint of surprise on his face, but recovered almost as quickly as he had slipped up. He stepped back, smoothed out his clothes.
“The test is over,” the man said. “You’re free to go.”
Stunned and battered, Minho remained speechless as the guards came into the room and escorted him back to his dorm.