Chapter 26 Chapter 26: The Crazy City

For a moment, Thomas couldn't believe that this guy who fell from the sky was really a person-yes, he really fell from above.He showed up so unexpectedly, and the things he said and the way he said them were ridiculously ridiculous.But there he was, intact.Although not as eccentric as others they had met, he had long since admitted that he was a lunatic. "Have you all forgotten how to talk?" Jorge asked, with a smile on his face that didn't match the dilapidated building. "Or is it because you're afraid of lunatics? Afraid that we'll drag you to the ground to eat?" Drop it. Well, it’s delicious, and the maggots just happen to be less and less, so I like to eat something.”

Minho hid his pain very well, and then said, "You admit that you are a lunatic? Crazy?" "He just said he likes the smell of eyeballs," Frypan said. "I think that's enough evidence that he's out of his mind." Jorge laughed, definitely threatening. "Come on, come on, my new friends, I will eat your eyeballs only if you are dead. Of course, if necessary, I will help you become dead. Do you understand me?" The smile disappeared from his face, replaced by a stern warning expression, he almost prodded them to face him. After a while of no one saying anything, Newt broke the silence and asked, "How many of you are here?"

Jorge's eyes turned to Newt in an instant. "How much? How many lunatics? We're full of lunatics here, man." "That's not what I meant, you know," Newt replied flatly. Jorge started walking up and down the room, walking up to the Glademan and walking around everyone before he spoke. "There's a lot you guys need to understand about how everything works in this city. About the Crazy People, about WICKED, about the government, about why they keep us here and let us rot in disease , killing each other, being completely and utterly insane, about how there are varying degrees of Flare, about why you guys are screwed—even if you're not sick now, the disease will find you."

Thomas kept his eyes on the stranger as he moved about the room and announced these terrible news.Flare, he thought he was used to the fear of this disease, but when this lunatic stood in front of him, he was still afraid like never before, and he was helpless about it. Jorge walked up to him and his friends, nearly touching Minho with his feet, and continued, "But it doesn't work out that way, get it, buddy? Whoever speaks first is always the underdog. I want to know about you guys." Everything. Where did you come from, why are you here, tell me in the name of God, what is your purpose, say it now."

Minho let out a low and dangerous chuckle. "Are we the underdogs?" He looked around mockingly, "Unless lightning blinds me, I'd say there's eleven of us here, and you've got only one, maybe you should go first Say." Thomas wished Minho hadn't said those things, it was stupid and arrogant, and it might have cost them their lives.This man was evidently not alone, perhaps a hundred lunatics hiding among the shattered remnants of the floors above, peering at them, waiting, armed with god-knows-what horrific weapons.Or worse, just savagely attack them with their hands, teeth, and crazy moves.

Jorge looked at Minho expressionlessly for a long time. "You didn't say that to me did you? Please tell me you didn't bark at me like a dog. I'll give you ten seconds to apologize." Minho looked at Thomas mockingly. "One," Jorge counted, "two, three, four." Thomas tried to warn Minho with his eyes, and nodded to him, apologizing. "Five, six." "Sorry." Thomas finally yelled out loudly. "Seven, eight." Every time a number is counted, the pitch of Ruoran's voice rises a little.Thomas thought he caught a glimpse of movement somewhere up there, a fast-moving blur.Maybe Minho noticed it too, his arrogant expression disappeared from his face in an instant.

"Nine." "I'm sorry." Minho blurted out almost emotionlessly. "I don't think you think that way," Jorge said.Then he kicked Minho in the leg. Hearing Minho cry out in pain, Thomas clenched his hands into fists, the demented man must have kicked right where he got burned. "Dude, say sorry from the heart." Thomas looked up at the lunatic, hating him.Wanting to jump up and attack him, to punch him like he punched Gary after escaping from a maze—these irrational thoughts started to pop up in his head. Jorge retracted his leg and kicked Minho again, hitting the same place twice as hard. "Say sorry with your heart!" He screamed the last word, his voice harsh, like crazy.

Minho covered his wound with his hands and cried bitterly. "Sorry... excuse me!" Minho gasped loudly, his voice hoarse and full of pain.But just as Rothe relaxed with a smile, satisfied with the humiliation he had inflicted, Minho swung his arm and slammed it on the lunatic's calf. The demented man gave a jerk on the other foot and fell, falling to the ground with a scream that was half surprise, half pain. Then Minho rode on top of him, yelling a series of curse words, Thomas had never heard Minho say those dirty words before.Their leader pinned Jorge's body with his thighs, and then began punching and punching.

"Minho!" Thomas yelled, "Stop it!" Thomas stood up even though his joints were already stiff and his muscles ached.As he walked towards Minho, ready to lift him off Jorge, he glanced up quickly.There were movements in several places above.The next moment he saw someone looking down, someone was about to jump off.The rope was let down, dangling around the jagged openings.Thomas slammed into Minho, knocking his limbs off Jorge's body.They both fell to the ground.Thomas quickly rolled over and grabbed his friend, wrapping his arms around his back, trying to hold him tight enough to keep him from breaking free.

"There's a lot of them up there!" Thomas screamed in his ear from behind. "You have to stop! They're going to kill you! They're going to kill us all!" Jorge has already staggered to his feet, wiping a trail of blood from the corner of his mouth as if in slow motion.The expression on his face made Thomas suddenly terrified, completely unable to judge what this guy was going to do. "Wait!" Thomas yelled, "Please, wait!" Jorge looked at him, and at the same moment several more delirious patients descended from above to the ground.Some of them jumped down like Jorge and rolled to a halt; others slid down the rope, their feet planted on the ground.They all gathered quickly together, and stood behind their leader, there must have been fifteen of them.Men and women, several of whom were teenagers.All were dirty and ragged.Most were skinny and frail looking.

Minho stopped fighting, and Thomas let go of his grip.As it stands, he has only a few seconds left before this dreadful place turns into a slaughterhouse. He placed one hand firmly on Minho's back, then raised the other towards Jorge in a gesture of reconciliation. "Give me a minute, please," Thomas said, trying to calm his heart and voice. "It's not going to do you any good to hurt us." "Doesn't do us any good?" Jorge said, spitting out a mouthful of red goo. "It's good for me. Man, I'm sure of that." He put his hands into fists at his sides. Then he tilted his head secretly, and others hardly noticed this movement.But then the lunatics behind him pulled out all kinds of dangerous things from the deep hiding places under their tattered clothes.Daggers, rusty machetes, and black spikes presumably taken from a railroad somewhere, with red-stained shards of glass at the thin tips.A girl who was estimated to be less than thirteen years old held a cracked shovel in her hand. The edge of the metal shovel was jagged like jagged teeth.Thomas was suddenly very sure that he was going to beg Jorge to let them live now.In a fight, it is impossible for the Gladiator to win against this group of people.No way, it's not a Griever, but there's no magic to defeat them either. "Listen," Thomas said slowly to his feet, wishing Minho would stop being stupid enough to fight them, "we're a bunch of people with a story. We're not just fools who randomly show up at your door, we're is valuable. We are the living, not the dead." The anger on Jorge's face decreased a little, and maybe there was a flash of curiosity, but what he said was: "What is a fool?" Thomas almost laughed, an irrational reaction that seemed appropriate in a way. "Me and you, ten minutes, the two of us alone. That's all I ask, and you can bring all the weapons you need." Jorge did laugh at those words, almost like a burst of laughter. "Boy, I'm sorry I'm spoiling the scenery, I don't think I need a weapon." He paused, and the next few seconds felt like a full hour. "Ten minutes," Jorge said finally, "the rest of you stay here and watch these idiots. As soon as I speak you start a death game." He raised a hand, pointing to the broken door leading from this room to the The dark corridor outside. "Just ten minutes," he repeated. Thomas nodded, and before Jorge moved, Thomas headed to where they agreed to have what might be the most important conversation of his life. And perhaps the last talk.