Chapter Text
Minho was exhausted. Mentally, physically, emotionally... Whatever WCKD was trying to achieve with these tests, he almost hoped they found it, weary of the constant poking and prodding...
And the hallucinations. He was tired of the false realities, the teasing attempts at freedom, the shattering disappointment when he found himself back in that cell night after night.
And her. The traitor. With her cold, calculating expression and studious eyes, watching his every reaction and response as though he were a labrat. As though this was right. As though he deserved this.
This was something no human could possibly deserve. The glaring lights in his eyes, the needles, the mental manipulation... Surely he didn't deserve this.
Lying on his side on his stiff cot, staring blankly at the opposite white wall, Minho was certain this was torture. WCKD surely couldn't be gaining information from these tests... They were just enjoying monitoring his pain. And she was right there with them.
The sound of the door sliding open could only herald further pain. Minho fought the urge to wince; any reaction he could starve them of was a win. Especially when he saw who it was.
"Minho..." Teresa whispered as she hurriedly crouched in front of him. "C'mon, get up."
Minho just stared.
"Minho." Glancing quickly towards the door, Teresa hissed, "C'mon, before they come looking."
"Why?" Minho asked flatly, unmoving.
Shaking her head, Teresa told him, "We need to get you out of here. Whatever they're doing, it's not working. I can't watch it anymore."
Minho let his eyes fall closed for a moment, then stared past her at the wall again. Another simulation. Another test to see how he would struggle or survive as they watched the instruments he was hooked up to. "Go away," he muttered.
Eyes frantic, Teresa insisted, "We don't have time, come on." She grabbed Minho's arm. "We need to go now."
"Sure," Minho snorted humourlessly. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction. He wouldn't allow them to laugh at him as he fought for something intangible.
"Minho... What're you doing?" Tugging Minho's arm, Teresa climbed to her feet.
"Liar," Minho drawled, ignoring the way Teresa's pulling shook his upper body. "I've seen this one before." That wasn't entirely true; they hadn't used Teresa before. He was almost impressed by the change of strategy, but WCKD clearly hadn't counted on Minho never trusting Teresa again.
She had betrayed them. She had lied and manipulated, and now Minho was a prisoner and a test subject. Why would he ever listen to her?
"Minho, please..." Clarity filled Teresa features. "Minho, I'm not a simulation. This is real, Min, please-"
"You don't get to call me that," Minho spat, finally tugging his arm free from Teresa's grasp. "Only my friends are allowed to call me that."
Teresa shit a desperate look towards the door. "Minho, please. Please, let me help you..."
Keeping his eyes forward, Minho stated flatly, "I won't go anywhere with a lie."
"Minho-"
"Teresa?" That slimy voice sent a wave of discomfort up Minho's back as a familiar turtlenecked figure stepped through the door. "What are you doing in here?"
Brushing her lab coat flat, Teresa straightened her back. "I was... checking. Making sure he was healthy enough for tomorrow's tests."
Minho kept his eyes forward, watching Teresa and Janson in his peripheral vision. He wouldn't be caught trying to escape; not in the simulation and certainly not by that sadist.
Narrowing his eyes, Janson looked between Teresa and Minho. "Were you, now?" he smirked. When Teresa nodded, Janson took a slow step towards her. "I don't see your equipment."
"Visual inspection," Teresa answered quickly.
Too quickly.
The corner of Janson's mouth twisted into a sneer. "Take Miss Anges to my office," he instructed loudly, two uniformed men appearing to each grab one of Teresa's arms. "We'll finish this conversation there."
Moments later, Minho was alone again, the door to his cell closed tight and a single seed of doubt planted in his mind.
Perhaps he heard screaming that evening. Perhaps he caught Teresa limping to her place at his next test. Perhaps she moved her head just right to reveal a dark bruise on her cheek beneath her hair.
Perhaps Minho had been wrong.