Seperation // Gally x Reader

"Enjoying the view?" A husky voice asks from the shadows, walking towards us. We all spin around to face him. Jorge emerges, his stubbled chin glinting in the dim light. In his hand, a cane swings loosely.

"What the hell do you want?" Thomas asks. "That is the question," Jorge replies. "My men want to sell you back to WICKED. Life has taught them to think small. I'm not like that. Something tells me that you're not either." He stares down at Thomas, who's face has grown increasingly red and puffy during their conversation.

"Is the blood rushing to my head or is this shank not making any sense?" Minho says from behind. I have to stifle my giggles and play them off as a dry cough. Jorge glares at us for a few seconds before returning to Thomas. "Tell me what you know about the Right Arm," he demands sternly, pointing the edge of the cane at Thomas' face.

"I thought you said they were ghosts," Newt says, stealing his attention for a few brief seconds. "I happen to believe in ghosts," he replies. "Especially when I can hear them chattering on the airwaves," he continues, taking a few steps away from us. Our eyes all follow him as the moves away. Is he just going to leave us here?

Instead, he arrives at a coiled ring of rope that connects to the rest of us. His hand wraps elegantly around the lever. "You tell me what you know, and maybe we can make a deal."

"We don't know much," Thomas stutters. Jorge slams the lever forward, and we fall a few feet, gasping and grunting in unison. "Okay! Okay, okay. They're hiding in the mountains," Thomas reveals. "And they attacked WICKED. They got out a bunch of kids. That's it, that's all we know." He speaks quickly, his words slurring with panic.

Jorge blinks a few times before moving forward. He opens his mouth to speak, but is interrupted by a gravelly voice behind him. The man who'd grabbed me earlier walks towards him, his hungry stare flicking across the rest of us. "What's going on?" He asks.

"Me and my new friends were just getting acquainted," Jorge answers, gesturing to us. "We're done now."

"Hey, wait! You're not gonna help us?" Thomas asks angrily. "Don't worry, hermano. We'll get you back where you belong," Jorge replies, a devilish smile tipping upwards on his lips as he retreats into the darkness. "Hang tight," he calls before disappearing.

The other man gawks at us, particularly me, and my hand finds the bottom of my shirt, yanking it closer to my pants. He soon follows Jorge, and we're left alone, dangling above instant death. My head was beginning to float, and it was becoming increasingly harder to keep myself from throwing up.

A chill rose from the depths, and I grasped tighter onto Minho's arm. "Ouch! What are you doing?" He protests, trying to get me to loosen my grip. "Minho, I'm really fucking cold," I reply, my teeth chattering in agreement. "I can't control the weather, woman!" I furrow my brows at him and let go of his arm, swinging us both back to our original positions.

"Well, this is just great," Chuck groans from behind me. I make a few fish-like movements until our faces meet. He was swinging back and forth like a pendulum, his face plastered with a green hue.

"You think?" I retorted, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "I'm having a blast, personally." My stomach churned in a nauseating rhythm, but I refused to let Chuck see my fear. His eyes widened with terror, darting around. "We're gonna die, aren't we?"

I rolled my eyes, even though it made my head spin. "Dramatic much? We've been through worse."

"Like what?" He challenged, his voice rising. "Like the maze," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "And the grievers." Chuck shuddered. "Please don't remind me."

"You know," I began, trying to distract myself, "if we survive this shitshow, I'm gonna buy you all the candy you want."

Chuck's eyes lit up at the promise. "Really?"

"Yeah, yeah," I said, keeping my voice as casual as possible. "Just shut up and hold on."

Thomas and Teresa are whispering quietly to one another, paired with occasional nods and gazes flickered to the side. "Minho, you ready?" Thomas asks. Minho nods and the rest of us watch as Thomas sends Teresa towards him. With a push, Minho propels her towards the lever, her fingers barely brushing the railing in front of it. He exclaims his anger louder than the rest of us would like, but no one mentions it to him.

"Try again, come on!" We all whisper-shout, encouraging him as he counts down. He pushes her once again, biceps bulging. She takes hold of the structure and twists her body around, pulling on the lever so that we fall further, and she lands on her feet. She unties herself, then jogs over to me and pulls me to the side. We quickly get me untied and together, release the others.

I pull Enzo to his feet, and we move back into a tightly packed group, heading for the exit. We all stop as loudspeakers shatter any silence left in the warehouse. The voice oozes with audacity. Janson's voice. 

"Good evening. This is the World Catastrophe Killzone Department. We have your compound completely surrounded. You find yourselves, through no fault of your own, in possession of WICKED property. Return them to us unharmed and we'll consider this a simple misunderstanding. Or you can resist... and every last one of you will die. It won't be long before the flare wipes out the rest of us. The hope of a cure lies in your hands. The choice... is yours."

We ignore the noise and take another step forward. A gun cocks right in front of us. I follow the arm connected to it until I find the face. It's the same missing-toothed, absent-haired man who left the room with Jorge. He smiles at us maliciously, taking a few steps forward.

"We're not trying to cause any trouble, okay?" Thomas tells him, holding his hands out and moving the rest of us behind him. "We just got to get out of here."

"Is that so?" The man replies. He brings a walkie talkie up to his mouth and speaks into it, "Janson, I got 'em for ya. I'm bringing 'em down. Don't shoot us." He drops the device by his side and gestures for us to follow him. "Come on. Let's go." We stay put, and he jabs the gun forward. "I said, let's go!"

Thomas grabs the gun and points it towards the roof. A bullet flies out of it, piercing the air and settling in a sheet of tin on the wall. They grunt and tussle over the gun, head-butting and grabbing each other. Thomas pushes him into a wall, the gun still in his hand. He cocks the gun and gets back up onto his feet.

"You little bastard!" He yells as he strides towards us. A loud bang signifies a bullet being shot. I immediately scan my friends for wounds, but we're all fine. The man's face turns a sickly pale, and he falls forwards onto the floor.

Brenda stands behind him, gun still aimed at his head. She looks at us, "Okay, come on."