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Minho had insisted on going to find Newt once they learned that he had been taken to the Crank Palace. Thomas hadn't been too keen on the idea at first, fearing that they'd find Newt dead rather than alive.
Newt had left the note for them, telling them that he's been taken to the Crank Palace. A place where Cranks of all different stages gather—either by choice or by force.
In Newt's case, it sounds like it wasn't by choice. Like he was forced into retreating to the place.
Nevertheless, Minho had been adamant about going after Newt.
"The four of us—all of us—are flying out to wherever we need to go, and we're getting Newt out of there."
Thomas is silently wondering if Minho retracts his statement now that they're actually inside of the Crank Palace.
The two guards that had initially stopped the group are now proving to be very talkative. A bit too talkative for Minho and Thomas' likings. However, they follow along, nodding occasionally to the conversation when needed. Thomas is the first to speak from their group, naturally asking questions. The character flaw—in Minho's eyes—makes Minho smirk slightly, despite the circumstances. At least Thomas' personality is still intact.
"Why don't they just close the place down?" He asks, hand coming to rest beside of Minho's. Minho loops his pinky finger with Thomas', giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze. "I mean, if it's got so bad."
The man explains that despite how "bad" things are, it's simply just how things are nowadays. They can't just leave the Cranks with the healthy people, nor can they dump them somewhere to start eating each other, and WCKD isn't desperate enough to round up everyone who first shows signs of the Flare and kill them before they get past the Gone. Besides, Immunes make money off of guarding the Palace.
So, in what remains of the healthy public's eyes.. The place isn't too terrible. At least they aren't rounding people up and killing them.
Minho tunes most of the conversation out, scanning the crowds of Cranks as he tries to spot the locks of blond hair that he knows all too well. Thomas and Brenda continue to converse with the guard, talking about the state of the world, the Cranks. Minho's vision is tunneled only to Newt. Thomas can't blame him, he is the exact same.
The guards agrees to take the group to a "safe place" until they can find and bring Newt to them. Said safe place being a shaded part between the houses of the palace. Minho and Thomas huddle up side by side, shoulders pressing up against one another.
"He'll be fine." Minho says, voice stern. Though Thomas can still hear the waver of doubt that coats the words like thick, syrupy honey. "We'll find him and bring him with us, bring him home."
Home.
The word sits on Thomas' shoulders with the weight of an elephant. Originally—when Thomas first came up in the Box—the word home would have meant a physical house. Four walls, flooring, a roof, windows, and a door leading outside. But now—after re-meeting Newt and Minho—Thomas has a newfound Minho for the word "home". Thomas thinks that Minho has the same definition of the word as well.
The guards return and immediately, both Thomas and Minho are on their feet and in their faces, desperately wanting answers as to where Newt is.
"What'd you find out?" Minho asks, voice rushed. Thomas squeezes his hand, mimicking the gesture that Minho had done minutes ago. "Where's Newt?"
"We found your guy. Looked like him, turned around when we said his name. But.." The guard looks to the other, clearly uncomfortable.
"But what?" Minho asks, eyes squinting.
"He told you to get lost."
There's a pause, a stabbing feeling in Thomas' heart. He can only imagine that Minho feels it too. Typical Minho, however, hides the pain behind his anger.
"Take us to him." Minho orders the two guards, voice leaving no room for argument.
"Didn't you hear what I just said? He doesn't want to see you two." The guard argues despite Minho's harsh tone and now rigid body.
Thomas knows that Minho is ready for a fight, already preparing for one. And if Minho is fighting, so is Thomas. He's with him, one hundred percent.
"You're not getting any of the money." Thomas nods towards Jorge, who has said money. "Not until we're with Newt."
"We did our job, now give us the money." The other guard speaks up. Minho shakes his head, jaw tightened.
"You want the money? Take us to Newt. Now." Minho spits out through grit teeth. When no one makes a move to take them to Newt, Minho raises his voice. "Let's go!"
"Fine." The man finally caves, giving his partner an exasperated nod. As if dealing with this group has taken all of his energy for the day. "Follow us."
"We'll wait here." Brenda says, giving Thomas and Minho a tight lipped smile. "Go find him."
The group is led to a part of the palace labeled "The Central Zone" in big, bright letters on top of the arch leading inside. Whatever the sign meant, it was busy. Thomas can't see exactly what's going on, but people are moving around inside.
"You sure you want to go?" The guard asks, hesitant to let the group in. Minho rolls his eyes, his own energy seemingly being taken up by this man's hesitancy.
"Yes." He answers quickly, nodding.
"Alright, then. Your friend is in the bowling alley." The guard moves aside, but reaches out and grabs Jorge's sleeve. "We want our money as soon as you find him."
"You'll get double if you make sure we make it back to our Berg safe and sound." Jorge calmly says, as if this is just another day for him.
Thomas is distracted by the conversation when Minho pulls him by the hand, leading him towards a dark room. Thomas grips Minho's hand, leaving no room for the pair to be separated.
As Thomas and Minho wade through the crowded space of the bowling alley, the hairs on the backs of their necks raise in alarm like stray cats in the dark corners of alleyways. People—Cranks, all different stages of the Flare—meander around aimlessly. Some look rather healthy, as if they're in the beginning stages of the disease. While others are clearly past the Gone or at least getting close to it. Their clothes are ripped, blood and various other substances staining their flesh and hair.
Thomas grips Minho's hand a little tighter.
Minho suddenly stops in his tracks, pointing to the last lane of the alley. There, in the dim lighting, stands Newt. The pair could tell his blond hair from miles away, they're sure.
Newt either hears Thomas and Minho, or he somehow feels their presences as they walk towards him. They're about ten to fifteen feet away from Newt, so close and yet feeling further from him than they did in the Berg on the way here.
"I told you to get lost." Newt says, still turned backwards so that he is not facing them. Thomas' hand grips Minho's, sweat pooling in their joined palms.
"We need to talk to you." Minho says, stepping closer. A woman is laying close by, Minho has to practically step over her before he can get closer to Newt. Thomas follows, letting Minho guide him with his hand. Newt shakes his head, backing up a couple of feet.
"Don't." He says, fear lacing with the malice in his voice. "Don't come any closer. They brought me here for a reason. I have the Flare. This is where I belong."
"No, Newt." Thomas says, stepping up to join Minho. "That's why we're here. You don't belong here, we can get you out of here, back with us."
It's now that Newt turns, sickeningly slow. As if the act of turning make his bones and joints hurt with effort and strain. Newt looks awful. His hair is coming out in patches, sores and veins cover his face. He looks as though he's been in fights with Grievers for days on end.
In his hands is a Launcher, pointing at the two of them.
Thomas' heart plummets to his feet, smashing into the broken floor of the bowling alley on its way down. Minho takes half a step back, nearly stepping on the woman that is still laying on the ground by them.
Despite the look of Newt's body, his eyes aren't nearly as angry as the rest of him. They still hold his true personality, the Newt that Minho and Thomas love.
Minho is the first to speak, hands coming up to show surrender. Newt aims the Launcher towards him, finger shaking over the trigger. Thomas' heart feels like it's beating so fast that it might explode at any second.
"No need to aim that thing at me while we just talk, shank." Minho says, hands still raised in surrender. "Where'd you'd get that thing anyway?"
"I stole it." Newt says, still aiming it at Minho's chest. "From a Munie guard."
Minho nods, taking a step closer. Thomas follows suite, his brain on autopilot as he copies Minho's movements. Though he cringes at the word "Munie". Apparently Newt has taken up some slang since being in the palace.
"Listen to me." Newt speaks before Minho or Thomas can, his voice low, commanding. "I'm sick. Not well. I need you two to get out of here, go back to the Berg and leave. Do you understand me?"
"No, Newt. I don't understand you and neither does Thomas." Minho steps closer, Thomas following. Dancing around each other like this, it feels like they're playing a deadly game of tango. "We risked our heads to come and find you. You're coming back with us. You can cry and whine all you want, but you're going to do it with the people that love you, Newt! Not with these Cranks!"
"I am a Crank, Minho!" Newt shouts, stepping right up to Minho and jabbing a sharp, wiry finger into the boy's chest. "I am a bloody Crank! And if you knew that you were going to turn into one of those monsters, would you want the people you love to sit and watch you suffer? Watch you slowly go mad and start chewing your fingers off? Would you?!"
Newt's voice rises the more he speaks, his voice cracking at the end of his sentence. Thomas can practically see the madness and insanity ridden in Newt's eyes.
He knows—deep down in his heart—that Newt is gone, succumbed to the disease as it progresses through his body and mind. The Newt that he and Minho know is no longer with them.
Thomas looks to Minho's face, studying the pain etched into his features. He doesn't speak, doesn't move. He stares at Newt, heartbreak evident in his dark eyes. Thomas rubs his thumb over Minho's knuckles, hoping the gesture makes up for the lack of words.
"And you, Tommy." Newt turns his attention to Thomas, now. That same finger digging its way into Thomas' chest, right above his heart. "You've got some nerve to come here and ask me to leave. The sight of both of you makes me sick."
Thomas' breath hitches in his throat, catching in his lungs. The words sting more than any wound he's ever endured. More than cuts that have left scars on his skin, not bruises that took weeks to fade to an ugly yellow color. Nothing. Nothing has hurt more than the words just spoken to him.
"What the hell are you talking about?" Minho speaks up before Thomas' brain can come up with a proper response.
Newt shakes his head, backing up from the pair.
"Newt.. What do you mean? What're you talking about?" Thomas' mouth finally complies with his brain as he is finally able to form coherent words. "Why.. Why are you saying this to us? What's going on?"
"I need you two to leave, please." Newt's voice is lower, on the brink of tears. Both Minho and Thomas have heard this voice and tone before now, both familiar with it. "I'm sorry, but.. I'm getting worse. More every second. I need you two to go, now."
"We're not leaving you here, you slinthead. You're coming with us." Minho argues, stepping forward. Newt puts his hands up, shoving Minho backwards.
"Stop!" Newt pleads, keeping his hands in front of him, as if he's trying to shield himself from Minho. "Just, please. Please, go. I'm begging you, Min. Go."
It's Thomas' turn to argue, to try and talk some sense into Newt. Knowing Minho, his next resort would be tying Newt up by his arms and legs and manhandling him out of here.
"I don't ask you two to do a lot for me. But now I am." Newt says, looking between Thomas and Minho. "Please. Just get out of here, leave. I have a group that I found, we're leaving later today. I'll go with them, but not you two."
The words pierce straight through both Thomas and Minho, crushing their hearts into ash. Newt would rather leave with a few random strangers—a few Cranks—over the two people he loves more than anything in this world. Thomas isn't sure if anything else could hurt more than this.
"It's going to get worse from here on out, and I don't want you two to stick around to see that. So, please, just go. It's already hard enough for me to deal with this, but it would be harder if I knew you two were standing here witnessing it." Newt's voice is shaking, cracking on every other word that comes out. "Let's just say our goodbyes now and remember me from our good memories."
"I'm not doing that, Newt." Minho immediately says, jumping on the words like a lion with prey. "I can't do that."
Newt's face twists from sadness to pure rage in mere milliseconds, Thomas watches the change as if Newt's face is controlled by a light switch.
"I'm trying to be calm right now—Do you have any idea how hard it is to be calm?! You don't. I'm done with both of you, now get out! Get out of here!"
Thomas is about to say something more, when he feels a tug at his sleeve. Not from Minho, from the other side of his body.
"Our friend told you to leave." The man says, long hair covering parts of his face. He smells like death reincarnated. And looks like it, too. Thomas' nose scrunches up automatically.
"This doesn't have anything to do with you. This is between us and Newt. You leave." Thomas says, sizing the man up with his eyes.
The man is taller than Thomas, and more muscular by the looks of it. He doesn't care, though. Newt is their priority. Always has been. Always will be, until the day that both Thomas and Minho's hearts cease their beats.
"He's a Crank, and so are we." The man gestures to the goons surrounding him. Newt's apparent new friends. "That makes him our business now, not yours."
Minho shoves his way over to the man and Thomas, sticking a finger into the man's broad chest. Thomas internally face palms, he knew Minho would start a verbal fight. He's just hoping it doesn't start a physical one.
"Maybe your brain is clogged up with the Flare, or maybe your ears are, but this is between us and Newt." Minho says, straightening his back upright in order to appear taller. "You leave."
The man growls underneath his breath. A low, animalistic noise bubbling from his throat. He raises his hand, showing a piece of bloodied glass clenched in his fingers and palm.
"I've been bored, anyways." The man smiles, a grim sight that sends shivers through Thomas' body.
Then, in an instant, the man slices the glass through the air, coming just mere inches from Thomas' face. Thomas throws himself to the floor, hands flying up to protect his face from the incoming blow.
Minho slaps the man's hand, sending the glass flying off to the side somewhere. Then, Minho is on top of the man, screaming obscenities and throwing punch after punch into the man's crumpled body.
There are screams from the woman that had been laying in the alley just moments before. The man had landed on her, somehow.
Now, the two Cranks and Minho are entangled with each other in some sort of awful wrestling match, all throwing kicks and punches at each other without any aim in particular. Thomas can't do anything but watch in horror and try to figure out when to jump in and help Minho.
"Stop it—Minho, stop!" Newt screams, raising the Launcher. Thomas' heart thumps against his ribcage, a pitiful escape attempt. "Stop or I'll—I'll start firing and not give a shit who it hits!"
The man lands one last kick to the woman's side before standing. She cries out once again, her pained yell rattling Thomas' skull. Minho stands, blood dripping from the scratches all down his face from both the man and the woman. Thomas winces when his eyes fall on the fresh wounds.
Despite the fight being over, a loud, crackling noise rips through the air.
The sound reminds Thomas of the lightning that struck Minho back in the Scorch. The smell of burning flesh accompanying the sound helping the memory come to the forefront of his mind.
The Launcher shot hits the greasy man in the chest, sending him flailing backwards and on the ground in a flash. His body jerks, electricity flowing through his veins and searing his flesh. Drool pools from his mouth, foaming out onto the floor beside of him before he goes limp.
Thomas stares at Newt in part shock and part relief. Shock because of the events that just unfolded in front of him. Relief because the Launcher didn't stick itself in him nor Minho. Newt seems to be shocked himself, as if he was forced by some unknown entity to commit the action.
"I said stop." Newt speaks after a minute, eyes still locked on the man's still body. He then looks back at Thomas, then Minho. Slowly, he raises the Launcher once more, aiming at Minho this time around. Thomas' heart leaps once again, not seeming to be getting a break any time soon. Newt's arms shake as he aims the weapon at Minho's chest. "Now, I'm not asking again. Go, now."
"You're going to shoot me, Newt?" Minho asks, hands up. Thomas walks over, grabbing Minho's arm. Minho shakes his grip off, shaking his head. "Let's go outside and talk about this—"
"I've said what I needed to say, now go." Newt grips the Launcher tighter in his hands, arms trembling all the way up to his shoulders. "I'm sorry, you have to get out of here."
"Newt…" Thomas starts, but Newt shakes his head. Thomas can see a couple of tears leave his eyes and trickle down his cheeks.
"Please, you two. I love you, I don't want you to have to see me like this."
Thomas can see the despair and agony riddled within Newt's eyes. He can hardly stand it. He reaches out once again, pulling Minho towards him.
"Min, come on." Thomas urges, looking towards the exit of the bowling alley. He starts to pull Minho's arm, tears gathering in his own eyes. "Let's go."
Minho stares at Thomas, tears trailing down his face. It's one of the only times that Thomas has witnessed Minho crying. It stabs through his already damaged and beaten heart.
"No.." Minho says, shaking his head as he looks at Newt, then to Thomas. "You can't be serious, Thomas."
Thomas can't get the words past the lump that has formed in his throat. He can only nod silently, gesturing to the door.
Minho's soul seemingly deflates in his body, looking to Newt once again.
"I'm so sorry." Newt says, tears streaming down his face. "I'll shoot you if you don't leave. Right now."
Something in Newt's voice tells Thomas that he's deathly serious. He tugs at Minho's arm, urging him to follow. A quiet cry leaves Minho's throat as he slumps, allowing Thomas to lead him towards the exit of the Crank Palace.
As they walk through the crowd, they keep quiet. Not daring to look back at Newt nor at each other. The loud noises of the palace drown out in their ears, the only sounds they pair are able to hear are each other's quiet cries.
Despite their hearts being in their chests, still beating. Still pumping blood throughout their bodies, it feels like both Thomas and Minho's hearts are left with Newt in that palace.