thirty-ninth jump;

[ataraxites]

CHARACTERS: Any and all.
LOCATION: Gravity Couches and beyond.
WARNINGS: Maybe some swearing, or even some violence, and more than likely some implied (and possibly explicit) nakedness.
SUMMARY: Another month, another jump, another round of new faces.
NOTES: A feeling of deep dread greets you as you stumble out of the gravcouch, strong enough to hold you still for a long moment, searching your surroundings for the source of your wariness. Nothing becomes apparent, only your fellow passengers waking up. Eventually you gather the resolve to pick yourself up and start moving, the feeling fading slowly as you progress through routine.

New arrivals will find messages spraypainted across their lockers telling them not to follow their tattoo numbers, and instead to find a room on Floors 001-010.


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ＹＯＵ͘ ̨ＷＡＫＥ̢ ̧ＵＰ ́ＩＮ ＤＡ̛ＲＫＮ̢Ｅ̕ＳＳ̶

There's a breathing tube jammed down your trachea, and you're suspended in a tube of clear blue fluid. Upon registering your level of consciousness, the gravity couch drains the fluid surrounding you and retracts the breathing apparatus; the doors in front of you open, and you're deposited on the floor of a stark, sterile medical bay.

ＹＯ́Ｕ̴ ̧Ａ̨ＲＥ ＮＯＴ҉ ̷ＡＬＯ̨ＮＥ҉

There are others who have come before you, others who are awakening beside you. Some may be familiar to you, perhaps even friends. Others have much less amiable plans. Some are merely alien and inexplicable, but there are always those who might mean you harm.

After you catch your breath and your vision returns, you notice a number on the inside of your forearm. Maybe it's a familiar number. Maybe it means something. Maybe it's just a number. But the number—completely unique to you—is a tattoo, and it does not come off.

If you enter the room adjacent to the medbay, you will find a small locker with your number on it, surrounded by rows upon rows of identical lockers. Inside, you will find a few of your personal items, a communications device, and a ship's uniform in your exact size. The comms device is fully powered and connects directly to the ship's network; it's your only means of communication beyond physical conversation. Upon turning the device on, a neutral, automated voice will say, "Please take the blue lift to the passenger quarters." Any other attempts at communicating with the rest of the network are met only with static.

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Comments

[forerun]

Minho just stares at Newt, because he can't honestly believe the words that are coming out of his own mouth. "Yeah, but Newt, they lie. The only thing they've ever done consistently is lie to us." Sure, most of the supplies had WICKED branded all over it, and even they did now thanks to the tattoos on their backs—which reminds him that he's not happy about more mysterious ink appearing on his arm while he was out of it.

"Maybe nobody's tried to kill us because they're stepping up their game. Rat Face said this Trial would be different, more difficult. Could be they're tryin' to make us feel safe. Wouldn't be the first time they'd watch us sweat." Like when the first of them had arrived in the Glade with no idea what was going on and no one to give them answers. All they'd had was each other and the instinct to survive. Unfortunately that same instinct had driven them into the Maze and, for some of them, to their deaths.

He groans, rubbing a hand against the back of his neck. His fingers itch to scratch the skin he knows has been branded by the same bastards who ruined their lives. Throwing his hand back down to his side, he sighs and follows the gesture. "Where's your fight, dude? A few minutes ago you were ready to get out from under their thumb."

[gimp]

The more he says that the more it makes sense. Sure, Newt's had his fair sure of paranoid thoughts about who's watching and how long it would take for Rat Man to show up and definitely when they were going to start seeing Cranks, terrifying as they are, but. Something just doesn't sit right with him, and he chews the inside of his cheek as Minho talks, visibly trying to reconcile the two things. Of course it should be WICKED. Who else would it be? But most of the people had never heard of it--which could also be a lie--and not only that, but they came from places where their worlds weren't even destroyed.

This whole thing's giving him a bloody headache. "It's--Iunno, Minho. You could be right. Somethin's just not right. Most of the people here don't even know what WICKED is, and some of 'em have been through proper worse trials than even we have." He's mostly thinking about Johanna, here, but, Newt's nose wrinkles for a second as he thinks it over. "Suppose maybe those were just their versions of the Glade. But that doesn't really explain the ones who talk 'bout the Earth like it's not all shucked and gone to hell."

If this is a WICKED lie--another trial--it's a seriously shucked up one. He tries to remember what Rat Man had told them before he jumped through the Flat Trans ("no rules, if you don't make it, you die") and shifts on his feet, now incredibly uneasy and vaguely sick to his stomach. The part of him that wanted to escape--that tried to escape so long ago--had been so desperate for something new that maybe...

Shuck it. "We'll talk to Tommy bout it when we find him, yeah? He's been here even longer than me."

[forerun]

"Do you trust most of the people here?" It's the most important question, the only question if Newt is basing his belief purely on other people's say-so. The thought of people being through worse Trials is not only absurd but terrifying. He wants to ask, but he holds off on that for the time being. There are more important things to think about than strangers and their own sob stories.

His brain is running through a hundred reasons that this doesn't sit right with him. If there's humans left to save from the Flare, then the world couldn't all be destroyed, could it? Maybe there were places that humanity had been able to save or rebuild. Maybe the ones who talk about a good world are working for WICKED to confuse them. Maybe they're civilians who got roped in without being wiped. Even if that doesn't make sense, he wouldn't put it past WICKED to experiment differently with each group.

This whole thing is hurting his head. Newt and Thomas are the brainiacs, the ones that piece things together. Thomas gets them one step ahead, Newt reminds them of the steps they'd already taken, and Minho just keeps them safe. It's a good system and probably the reason they'd been chosen as leaders. Minho's stomach turns as he remembers that, according to WICKED, that's his title and his alone. He's always been better about thinking when moving, and his strengths lie in motion, so it's hard to sit and strategize when his body is itching for action.

But then something Newt says raises the hair on the back of his neck. "Been here longer? I came through first." Glancing behind them, back at the gravcouches, he gets a sick feeling that it wasn't just his brain that lost time. "How long as he been here? How long have you been here?"

Shaking his head, he gives another sigh and claps Newt on the back. "Saint Thomas. What did we ever do before his ugly ass showed up?" It's said in jest, even if there is a hint of something else beneath the words. But Thomas is their friend, something he's proven time and again. "Take me to those shucking showers already."

[gimp]

He's quiet for a long moment as he considers that, before Newt admits, "At least one of them," because that's the truth. For as weird and oddly violent as Johanna could be, Newt trusted her. He makes a mental note to introduce them--Newt has a feeling she and Minho'll get along like peas in a pod. "And her life's shucked up more than the Glade ever was. Nothin' bout the place being destroyed, though."

But, maybe answers--more of them, anyway--can come after he ushers Minho off to the shower. Newt accompanies him to them and waits on the wall outside, leaning up against it so that if he speaks up he can still be heard, even over the water running. Honestly, it probably wouldn't even be that weird for him to join him--communal showers were the norm in the Glade--but he's already starting to get dried off, and besides, the more hot water the better.

Running his hand up and down his bicep, Newt bites the inside of his cheek. "I've been here...two months or sommat. Tommy said it's been even longer for him. That's part of why I think it can't be the same place we were supposed to be. I mean, the bastards over there've got all kinds of bloody tech, but I think skippin' time is even a little out of their league. Else they woulda put us past the Flare in time, right? Unless they wanted to keep messing with us like their shucking guinea pigs."

That last sentence got way too bitter, and Newt sighs, tipping his head back a little against the shower wall. "Apparently Teresa was here for a tic, too, but she was gone before I ever showed up."

[forerun]

At least one. He has to laugh, though it's not necessarily at Newt. "One. Let's have a shucking party." It's sad how difficult it is for them to trust anyone. There had been times that even other Gladers were hard to trust despite being in the same boat (Gally), especially when they made bad decisions (Thomas). He narrows his eyes, unable to imagine a worse life than theirs. Being locked up and forced to run like rats in a maze while massive bastardizations of science tried to kill them was pretty shucked.

The shower gives him time to think to himself while washing away the gunk clinging to his skin and hair. Even though he's deep in his thoughts, he's still on alert; the shower curtain stays open, forgoing privacy in favor of watching out for Newt. Continuing their conversation gives his mind something to focus on even though he's scrubbing his hair. "What the—two months?" He feels goosebumps crawling up his arms at the unsettling thought of them being separated for so long without knowing about it. If nothing else could convince him this wasn't WICKED, time travel might be it. But WICKED had messed with their perceptions of time before, so why not stretch it further? They had no idea what was no the other side of that Flat Trans, and whatever he'd come out of had definitely been keeping him in some sort of stasis.

"What if it's not skipping time?" he thinks out loud. "Maybe they just put us in little comas. They did it with Teresa." Not that she was normal by a long shot, but it was still obviously something that they knew how to do. They'd even been able to trigger her brain into waking up, so why not do something similar to them now? Waking them up at different intervals would cause them to adapt to working alone or in small numbers after getting used to a pack mentality.

Snorting as he shuts off the water, he steps out and heads for a stack of towels. At least this place seems nicer than the Glade as far as tech and amenities went. It made him uneasy about the horrors that could be hiding around the unfamiliar corridors, though. "No denying they love watching us klunk ourselves over escaping." He doesn't have much emotional attachment to Teresa, so he lets the comment pass without saying anything.