I promise to keep my role a secret. I will act the part of their true equal to the best of my abilities, and I will not interfere with the decisions they make unless you instruct me to do so.
I’ve been with WICKED for well over ten years, the vast majority of my life. I barely have any memories of my time before. Most people in the world would consider me lucky to have lived a life of comfort—I’ve had clean clothes, warmth, safety, food. I’m thankful for what WICKED has provided. I’m thankful for the friends I’ve made, friends who are the finest people in the world. I’d never do these things unless I fully believed that one day they’ll understand and thank me. I’m grateful for what I’ve learned, for the growth I’ve had, for the many experiences that have shaped who I am. I’m thankful to be alive.
I also want to make it clear that I believe in what WICKED is doing.
I plan to write three words on my arm before entering the Box, hoping that its simple message will plant a seed in the Gladers who see it. To remind them, even subconsciously, what it is we fight for. It’s a phrase I saw on a cold, dark night long ago, the Crank pits seething behind me. It’s a phrase that I believe with all my heart, despite the horrors.
I think you know what it is.