He doesn’t know how all this is so clear from just watching a few images. But it is. He moves on to the next screen.
A little older, helping his dad in the kitchen. They’re making stew, chopping up all the veggies and meat. His dad is crying. Frypan knows that his mom has been taken away for further testing, and that they’ve said his dad will be next.
On to the next screen.
A man in a dark suit, standing by a car. Papers in his fist, a grave look on his face. Frypan is holding hands with his dad on the porch. WICKED has been formed, a joint venture of the world’s governments—those that survived the sun flares, an event that happened long before Frypan was born. WICKED’s purpose is to study what is now known as the killzone, where the Flare does its damage. The brain.
Frypan is immune. Others are immune. Less than one percent of the population, most of them under the age of twenty. Many people have developed hatred toward those who are immune, call them the Munies and do terrible things out of jealousy. WICKED says they can protect Frypan while they’re working toward a cure.
His dad says many things to him. Mostly that he loves him and is so glad that he’ll never go through the horrible things they’re seeing happen around the world. Madness and murder.
Frypan has no reason to process or think too deeply about the returning memories. They’re not like new revelations, things to which he should respond somehow. They’ve always been there, inside him. He has already reacted to them. He has been shaped by them. He’s not learning. He’s not experiencing. He’s remembering.
He walks to the next screen, hungry to be himself again.
Minho, Phase 3 Trial
Three days had passed since they’d arrived on the Bergs from the Scorch, and Minho was just about ready to go whacker. He’d been kept in a small dorm room with plenty of food and absolutely nothing to do. Counting the rows on the wallpaper and imagining faces in the swirly patterns of the ceiling had grown old. And he’d heard nothing about Thomas or his other friends.
On the morning of the fourth day, the Rat Man showed up at his door with two armed guards.
“Follow me,” he said.
“No hugs and kisses?” Minho asked. “I’ve missed your ugly face.”
“Follow me or you’ll be fired upon.” Not even a crack in his stone-hard expression.
Minho sighed and did what he was told. He wasn’t in the mood to be shot that day. And if he was honest with himself, anything would be better than sitting in that room for one more second.
Minho followed the Rat Man down a long hallway and then into a small chamber that led to several marked doors.
“You’re in room number eight,” the Rat Man announced. He gestured to the door marked #8.
They stood in silence until Minho asked, “Oh really? And what am I supposed to do in there?”
“A simple test,” the Rat Man answered. “Nothing like the Trials before, I assure you. Yours is probably the easiest of all the tests we’ve created, and I think the shortest. You will be asked one question and one question only, and the answer will consist of exactly one word. Sound simple enough?”
It sounded too simple. “You actually think I could ever trust you, shuckface?”
“Excuse me?” the Rat Man asked.
Minho shook his head. “I swear to God that if you do one more thing to me or my friends, I won’t quit fighting until I’m dead.”
A smirk appeared on the man’s face, enraging Minho even more. “I give you my word that your response alone will dictate what happens. Everything from this point on is voluntary. The Trials are over.”
Minho was so angry he almost shook. He knew he had no choice but to do what he was told, and it drove him crazy.
“Are you ready?” the Rat Man asked.
Minho grunted. He walked over to the door marked with an eight and opened it. He was surprised—there was no fancy gadgetry, no complex machines. It was just a small beige room with a single wooden chair in the middle of a brown-tiled floor. A whiteboard hung on the opposite wall, and beside it stood a tall, muscular man dressed in green scrubs and a white lab coat. He had perfectly combed black hair and the worst mustache Minho had ever seen.
“Welcome,” the man said. “My name is Lincoln. Please have a seat, facing me.”
Curiosity took over. Minho sat in the chair, wondering what to do with his hands, until he finally folded them in his lap.
“Now please observe,” Lincoln said in a cold, clinical voice.
The man turned and started writing with his finger on the upper left hand corner of the board, his touch creating a bright red line as he moved.
The first word Lincoln wrote was Thomas. Then he moved down a few inches and wrote Newt.
Then down again and added Frypan, and Aris under that. The man shifted to the right and wrote Harriet in the upper corner on that side. He moved down and wrote Sonya. Then Teresa. Then, to Minho’s surprise, Brenda.
When Lincoln was finished, eight names were printed in red on the board, evenly spaced. He turned to face Minho once again.
“Do you confirm that you are aware of these eight individuals?” Lincoln asked.
Minho rolled his eyes. “Yeah, genius, I know them. The Rat said you’d only ask me one question. Is that it?”
“The actual Experience exercise has not begun. This is what we would call prep work. Please answer the preliminary question and then we will begin the test. Do you—”
“Yes!” Minho yelled. “I know them. What now?”
Lincoln showed no signs of being caught off guard. He calmly responded, “Thank you for confirming.”
His eyes flickered to one of the back corners of the ceiling; Minho turned to see what he was looking at. A beetle blade was attached to the wall; its red light made it impossible to miss.
Minho could see the familiar scrawl of WICKED painted on its body. Memories of the Maze flooded in, and he shifted to face Lincoln again.
Of course they’d be observing all this, he told himself. But did they really have to use beetle blades? He hadn’t seen those since leaving the Maze.
“Okay, we’re ready to begin,” Lincoln said loudly. The man returned his full attention to Minho.
“As you’ve been told, I’m going to ask you one question and one question only. Your response should be limited to one word. I’ll pose the question in ten seconds if you’re ready.”