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Shouldering his jacket, Gally persisted. It was cold, so cold. He grit his teeth, walking further still in to the blizzard of ice. Snow coated every surface around. The half-demolished buildings, the cracked, concrete ground, everything was smothered by a thick blanket of white.
He was frozen.
Gally had no idea why or how Wicked's medical “hospital” collapsed in on itself. One moment, he was thrashing around and crying for help, doctors with needles and viles and whatever surrounding him- he didn't know what they were doing anymore. It wasn't because of his lung, because they had fixed that. No, they were most definitely experimenting on him in some way- but, the next moment?
All he could remember was an explosion, then he was alone.
Being alone scared him no longer. It was unfortunately something he was now used to. However, it was still a fright to be left alone after everyone around you was evacuated to safety.
Somehow, he wasn't dead. Meaning, he could think. And, in his head, he had a small guess as to what had happened. No one on earth hadn't heard the tales and myths involving the Right Arm Army, so. So. Gally presumed they'd attacked the hospital, taking doctors hostage and freeing the prisoners like himself.
It was just his luck that he had been forgotten. He had no right to be shocked at that, though. He was always left behind. And he deserved it too.
Having fallen in to his thoughts, Gally didn't notice that his surroundings had disappeared until he was stood completely in a desert of pure, blinding snow. He looked left, to right, and then down. Wicked hadn't given him shoes, or socks, which meant Gally could see his legs, and the frostbite that was taking a hold of them. His feet were buried in the snow, however. He wouldn't want to see them anyways- considering the fact his legs alone were turning from purple to blue.
His hands- his hands. Whimpering, he clawed at the sides of the thin coat he'd stolen weakly, feeling pain detonate across his icy palms. What was he doing? He was going to die. He would have been better off starving to death inside of Wicked's broken-down facility than suffering a fate such as this.
Yet... something about this was almost..
Freeing.
God, he'd spent all these years fearing death when really, it was just his oldest friend. He wanted to welcome it now with open arms, allow it to take him far away from this planet of cruel suffering.
Just then, his heart leapt in his chest. Through his squinted eyes, fused almost completely shut due to the ice whipping his face, he saw a light glowing up ahead. It looked warm- its glow replicating that of the Glade's bonfire.
A smile pulled at his lips. This was it. He tried looking death in the eye this time.
“At last,” he wanted to say, “took you long enough.” but he didn't. He couldn't. Why?
Because it was him who had been running away all this time. He'd never even given death a chance. Getting speared in the chest, well, that had been close, but he had fought. He was always fighting and fighting and fighting and-
He was too tired this time.
On his own, slowly being beaten and worn down by this damn storm, sad. He was going to give up and see where that lead him.
Falling to his knees, his eyes dropped to the ground. A standstill. He closed his eyes, letting his ears ring, feeling the poisonous snow crawl up his shins and reach towards his thighs like vines. Would death approach him? He waited to find out.
“No.”
Death spoke, yet its voice didn't have the chilling tone he had been expecting all along. It was familiar, comforting, like a friend.
But he stopped hanging his head to peer up at it, and he didn't see a friend. He saw someone else.
If his cracked lips weren't frozen shut, his jaw would have dropped in disbelief.
Minho stood a hundred metres away.
Glade attire, hands in his pockets, expression challenging.
“Are you coming?”
Gally's tears crystallised before they fell down his face, causing yet more ice to cling to his pale cheeks. His hands slipped from holding his jacket, hanging uselessly by his sides, and all he could do was stare.
“C'mon.”
Unable to move for a few minutes, Gally eventually rose to his feet, as if trapped in a trance. He stumbled forwards, reaching feebly towards Minho. No matter how far he walked, it didn't feel like he even moved from the same spot. His surroundings were all blank, Minho wasn't getting any closer, and he could feel his one lung burning from the effort of breathing.
“Gally?”
To hear his name again, instead of A9, was a relief in itself. The sob that came from him was physically painful, ripping at his dry throat. He grit his teeth tighter, looking at Minho with desperate eyes, that read help me, please.
Nothing happened, so he started to crawl forwards, grunting in pain as the ice pierced his fingers. He miraculously managed to move, and when he looked up again, Minho was towering over him. Gally would've smiled if his body allowed it. Minho watched him, eyes narrow and precise- and he warmed Gally just by being near.
"You've got to keep going, y'know."
The ice burns on his legs becoming excruciatingly more painful, Gally furrowed his brow, shaking his head slowly. Minho was still smiling. No, Gally didn't want to anymore. Could Minho not understand that?
Minho drifted backwards.
In an instant, Gally found the power to stand. He staggered forwards, previously iced together lips ripping open as his lung demanded more oxygen. He chased, actually chased, Minho.
“Please, Mín…” he gasped, throat searing in pain from the cold forcing its way down it, “please—”
Minho stopped.
With one last push, Gally stumbled and dived.
He was foolish to think that he would land in Minho’s arms.
As his head hit the ground, the snow doing little to soften the blow, Gally’s eyes closed. A breath fled him, before he felt bile rise within his body. A hacking cough ripped at him, spewing blood from his mouth. His arms were limp underneath him, legs slowly curling into a fetal position.
Figures loomed in the distance.
They crept closer, almost hidden entirely by the blizzard.
“Grab the kid.”
“Why? It looks dead.”
“See how close we are to that Wicked place? It might have the answers we need. C’mon.”
Gally heard nothing.