Convinced

He was there. WICKED took him as an experiment for Group A, Subject A 56, The Killer. They highjacked him, made him murder a little, innocent twelve-year-old with a knife. There was so much blood. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see a cute, chubby face staring at him with tears in his scared eyes. Every time, that boy would whisper his own name, torment him, ravaging him with pain and guilt.

Chuck.

Gally couldn't stop hearing that child speak to him as he lay in a white room, trapped in the clutches of WICKED. Poor boy. He was so close to leaving a horrifying world in the Maze with the Grievers, and yet, he killed him. He took that boy's life.

Tonight was his time to make up for it, to leave WICKED, permanently. An organization called Right Arm had contacted him secretly, and had instructed him to feign madness. Gally sucked in a nervous breath, and leaned against the wall. This was it.

He would get revenge. The teenager sank to his knees, and started heaving in harder breaths. Then he put his hands down, staring at a Beetle Blade wistfully. He waved, smiling to show two teeth missing from where Thomas had punched him.

"Hi there, lady. My name's Gally, and I'm the boss of the Glade." The boy played with the air, pretending he was punching someone's arm.

"This here's Thomas, my buddy. Ha. He's a shank that hates me a lot, but I do my best to return the favor."

Once the last word left Gally's mouth, he punched his imaginary friend in the face, and screamed; then threw him on the floor.

"Shut up! I didn't say you could talk!"

He chokes Thomas, squeezing at the empty air with both hands.

"I said shut up!"

Gally let go, and turned to look upward at the white ceiling. His mouth went slack.

"Chuck? Chuck, I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I didn't mean to do it!" he screams, backing up against the wall, shirking away from no one.

"I'm so, so sorry! Please don't kill me! Please!"

Gally realized that time was not on his side, and WICKED would need more than that to convince them. He turned, face pressed against the wall, and slammed his head against it. Pain shot through his skull, but he did it again…and again.

"No! Help me! Please, he's gonna kill me! Help me! Help!"

Gally threw himself on the tile floor—his whole body screamed pain—and started crying. Okay, maybe he needed another tactic. He pushed himself to his knees, and crawled to the door, scratching the tile with his short, uneven nails. Blood dripped off his forehead, and some ran down his face. It reminded him of Chuck's body, soaked by vital fluid, pooling around him.

He pushed the horrible thought away as he reached the plain, white door: his only exit. He had to keep it up, get the lazy guard inside.

"Help me! Please!" he pleaded, slamming his fists against the door without aim.

"Someone, help me!"

A lock clicked. A launcher appeared through the first crack of the exit, followed by an unfortunate Hispanic guard in a WICKED uniform.

This was Gally's chance.

"Help me," he whispered, extending an emaciated hand toward the guard.

"Chuck's real mad. Tell him I didn't mean to kill him. Please. Please, you've got to save me."

Gally looked into the man's brown eyes, his own tearing up again.

"Please?"

He trembled violently, pulled his shirt off, and cried into it; then threw it on the floor in a frustrated manner. He pounded on it with a first as the guard stared, rather amused. Why did he get stuck with such a nut?

Determined to get out, the teen started to scratch his arms up and down. Come on. Hurry up and leave! Gally thought. He switched tactics and started rolling on the ground, but guard didn't budge.

Gally squeezed his eyes shut, went limp, and hit the tile, hard. His right flank accidentally landed on a Beetle Blade, and a tiny blade pierced him. He had to stifle a cry, and remain dead-like.

The guard muttered a curse, set the launcher on the floor. Gally's fist shot up, and connected with the man's large nose.

Crack!

The guard yelped, and fell back, hand against his currently broken nose. Gally kicked the man's gut, and grabbed the launcher with lightning speed. He pressed the nozzle against his hostage's head.

Feign madness.

Gally took off dropping the weapon along the way, for he knew he could not escape WICKED on his own. If they thought he was crazy, they would get rid of him.

"Help me!" he screamed, running down the hallway.

Well…there was only one thing left that he could do.