Chapter Text
The first time Gally passed by one of the many strange propaganda posters that had been clinging to a skyscraper's side, he didn't pay it any thought. He had been on patrol, he didn't have time to stop and stare at the posters that WCKD posted around the city.
Until he caught a glimpse of the hair plastered on a different poster.
That swooping, jet black hair. Gally would recognize that hair even if all of his memories were wiped from his brain again.
Gally's heart plummeted to his feet and he stepped closer, staring up at the forty foot tall poster that basically dwarfed him. Slowly, he took his hood off, getting a better glance at it as the rain began to soak his buzzed hair. Rain dripped down his face, blurring his vision.
That was him. That was Minho.
WCKD must've taken him after the Gladers escaped the Maze from the control room where Gally had been bleeding out. But what was strange to Gally, was that Minho was the only person on the posters. Not Thomas, not Newt, not Frypan, not Teresa, not Winston, none of the other Gladers. Just Minho.
Gally spun around, looking at all of the WCKD propaganda posted around him in shock. Every single poster plastered around Gally was Minho. Down alleyways, the jumbotrons on the many skyscrapers scattered throughout the city, the flyers that blew around him in the wind and rain. All of them had Minho's face printed on them.
Were the others dead? Missing? Had Minho stayed with WCKD while the others escaped? Had WCKD recruited Minho for some reason? Did Minho really willingly do these posters?
That had been months ago, now. Around five to six months prior to now, according to Gally's calculations. And, unfortunately, all of Gally's questions still remain fresh in his head.
Unanswered.
He still has no clue what is going on inside of the walls of The Last City. He does know, however, that since then, around two months after the posters started popping up, broadcasts have began playing. Every day. A new interview. Mornings at six a.m. sharp and evenings at six p.m sharp. Never skipping days, never late. Like clockwork.
Gally watches every single one. They're in real time, according to the "live" message that flashes at the top right corner of the screen periodically. Meaning, they aren't prerecorded. Which means that Minho is alive.
However, Minho is always the one that the WCKD person is interviewing. Which makes the pit in Gally's gut deepen. The questions he has still running rampant. Either Minho is alone in WCKD. Or everyone else is dead.
The only resolve Gally has is the fact that Minho looks healthy in every broadcast, well nourished. He's always dressed sharp as ever. Neat hair, exactly like it had been styled in the Glade. As if Minho does it himself off camera. Dressed in a white turtle neck, a black belt, and black dress pants.
Minho always sits up oddly straight, as if he a pin in his back, pricking him every time he slouches. He flashes that signature, charming smile occasionally. Showing off his perfectly straight and white teeth.
But something is off about Minho. Gally can tell. He's stiff, movements sharp. As if he'll get punished if he moves or acts the wrong way. He isn't speaking with his usual snark and wit. He's obedient, polite. Gally can't point out what's wrong, exactly. But he knows Minho isn't behaving like his Minho at all.
No one else is ever shown, occasionally a laboratory and a person with the Flare—not quite a Crank, yet. Gally knows they dispose of the person with the Flare before they get dangerous. He's seen the piles of bodies outside the city walls—are shown.
But it's all propaganda. Showing how "great and wonderful" WCKD is, and how they're recruiting doctors, soldiers, Immunes to join them in the fight for a cure. Immunes like Minho, who talks about how great WCKD is and why the people need to put their trust into the organization that is fighting for humanity.
The other Cranks and non-Immunes that Gally lives with are beyond exhausted with the broadcasts and posters all over the city and even outside of the city, where they reside. They've protested against them. Smashed screens, torn the posters off the walls—which resulted in WCKD placing the posters inside of fiberglass frames to protect them, though now the people have turned to graffiti.
Unfortunately for Gally, this means that he has to hear all of their snide, disgusting remarks about WCKD's newfound "golden boy".
"Munie scum.", "brainwashed freak", "no good puppet".
Gally tries not to listen to the protests. Tries to ignore the death threats and drawn all over the fiberglass protected posters. Tries to ignore the screaming and throwing of bottles at the screens every time Minho is on the broadcast.
But he can't.
Because Gally knows the truth. He knows that whoever is doing the broadcasts isn't Minho. But the Cranks and non-Immunes around him? They think that the person spewing WCKD's broadcasts is who Minho is.
Shrugging off his harness—one that oddly resembles the one Minho used to wear—Gally sits down on his cot, opening a can of expired beans as his first meal of the day. He hears the broadcast music play its sick little jingle, signaling that Minho is going to talk.
Gally gets up, sitting his food down on his bedside table before walking outside his room to the screen that sits in the hallway of Lawrence's compound. Gally has made sure that no one messes with this particular screen. It's his only way to see Minho, after all.
Sure, it has cost him a few bruises and countless bloody noses, but he gets to see Minho's face. Knows that he's at least still living. So, Gally can take a few beatings just for that bit of reassurance.
Jasper, one of Gally's "friends"—if that's the right word for someone who doesn't beat you senseless every time you make a mistake—comes up behind him and claps him lightly on the back.
"Still watching those things?" Jasper asks, nodding at the screen where the WCKD logo is shown along with a countdown until the broadcast airs. Gally nods, not breaking his stare-down with the ticking clock.
Thirty seconds.
"He's my friend. This is the only way to make sure he's still alive." Gally says, jaw set. Jasper sighs, nodding.
Twenty seconds.
"And he thinks of you the same? A friend?" Jasper asks, gauging Gally's face for a reaction. Treading lightly, he tentatively asks. "Isn't that the friend that put that spear in your chest?"
Ten seconds.
Gally's breath hitches, chest tightening. He blinks rapidly, not wanting tears to form. Of course Minho is the one that put the spear into his chest. But he doesn't fault Minho for that.
Just as he's about to reply, the logo disappears and Minho is on the screen. Dressed as he always is. That damn white turtleneck.
"Lawrence is sending us out to scout tomorrow. He wants you out at dawn." Jasper claps Gally on the back once more before he turns and walks back to his own room. Gally sighs, eye twitching. He'll miss tomorrow morning's broadcast, then. He shakes his head, focusing on Minho.
"Infection rates are rising, how is WCKD going to combat the rise of infections?" The interviewer asks off camera. Minho's hands are folded neatly in his lap, fingers intertwined. He smiles politely, nodding.
"WCKD is working very hard on a cure. As we speak, actually. We are getting closer and closer to a cure every day." Minho smiles. It sends a shiver through Gally, he doesn't sound natural. Like his hand is being forced.
Gally flinches as he hears shouts around the compound, a few bottles smashing the walls at Minho's response. The same nasty, vile names are spewed from multiple mouths. Gally can't pinpoint who they belong to, though. Not that he'd win in any of the fights, anyway. He could try, though. He'd defend Minho, even when no one else would. Even now, despite everything.
Besides, the protests from the Cranks fall on deaf ears. WCKD isn't going to stop the broadcasts just because people get riled up. That's probably what they want.
"We have reports of recent breakthrough's with a certain serum from an Immune." The interviewer says. Gally squints as he watches Minho's perfect cracks. Ever so slightly, a twitch. The interviewer doesn't skip a beat, however. "Can you confirm this to be true?"
Minho's mouth opens and closes, like he's restraining from saying something. He blinks, eyes darting to something behind the camera. Gally moves closer to the screen, brow furrowed. Minho quickly swallows, looking down before licking his lips, looking back at the camera with that same smile he always has plastered on his face.
"Yes. This is true." He seems to almost grit the words out, as if he's chewing on them. That smile stays on, though his lips are twitching. As if the muscles are refusing, fighting. "We are hopeful that these new serums will be future cures, once we finalize them."
Gally crosses his arms, leaning back. This is new. Minho's never faltered in his interviews before. But the mention of this supposedly new serum has gotten under his skin. For some reason that Gally can't seem to think of.
Maybe he knows which Immune it's coming from?
Gally can only hope and pray that the serum isn't somehow made from Minho himself. The mere thought of that makes Gally's stomach go sour.
"What are they doing to you.." Gally wonders out loud, chewing on the inside of his cheek. A habit he's formed over the years due to stress. A habit that has seemingly gotten worse since these broadcasts have been happening.
"I believe that is all the time we have for today." The interviewer abruptly says. Minho's smile falters once more, eyebrows pulling together in.. Confusion? No. Gally recognizes it. Fear. "It's been a pleasure as always."
Minho's eyes dart to somewhere behind the camera, panic filling his face. Distorting it from its usual polite, calm expressions. There's more shuffling behind the camera and hushed whispers that Gally can't seem to translate.
Then, Minho's eyes fall on the camera. Looking directly into the camera, as if he's looking at Gally through the screen and lens. And Gally thinks his heart might fall out of his stomach and through the concrete floor beneath his feet. He stares back, as if he's trying to get Minho to see him. Know that he's here. Closer than Minho could ever think. But it's useless. Gally knows this.
Minho opens his mouth, as if he wants to speak. Gally moves closer, standing right up at the screen. A shaky hand reaches up, fingers grazing Minho's face. The static pricks his fingertips, but Gally ignores it, focusing on Minho.
The broadcast then abruptly cuts off. A "technical difficulty" warning flashing on the screen, replacing Minho's face.
Gally shakes his head, running his hands over his face. He stomps back to his room, slamming the door shut. He ignores the can of beans still sitting there, waiting to be eaten. Gally's lost his appetite, anyway. He curls up on his cot, holding his pillow against his chest as he begins to cry quietly.
If only there was a way Gally could get inside of the city. Just to get Minho back. Lawrence has tunnels that Gally has used before to sneak inside, but he hasn't gotten far. Surely not far enough to reach that massive skyscraper that seems to be WCKD's headquarters, the base of their whole operation.
All of these thoughts make Gally's head swirl and spin with worst case scenarios about Minho's and the other Glader's fates.
Gally closes his eyes, pressing his face into his sorry excuse for a pillow. For a moment, just for a mere second, Gally feels the pillow move. As if it's breathing. Letting this illusion guide him to sleep, sobs lull him into a restless sleep.