Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

“Thomas, get them out.”

“Alb—”

“Look after them. Look after him.”

And then, just like that, Alby was gone. 

Getting yourself stung sucked, but it was useful. Thomas found that he didn’t have to wonder who ‘him’ was for too long.

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[FLASHBACKS /start]

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“Thomas.”

“Tom.”

“Tommy—”

“Thomas, everything is going to change.”

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Thomas was 6, and everything was white. White walls, white ceiling, white light, cold and bright, burning his eyes. Stephen—no, Thomas—brought a hand up over his face, trying to shield his eyes from it all. Then a woman walked up to him, blonde hair styled into a perfect bun, white clothing adorning every part of her body, leaving only the sight of a kind, almost sympathising face.

She rested her hand on his shoulder, thin lips twisting into a smile. 

“Hello, Thomas. My name is Dr. Ava Paige. You and I are going to save the world.” 

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People spoke to him. All of them wore white. They patted him on the shoulder, ruffled his hair and ignored his confusion. All of them repeated three words to him.

WICKED is good. 

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Thomas wasn’t allowed to see any kids his age for a long time. He had gotten a glimpse of some, though. One day, he had strayed too far than one of his superiors, Randall, had allowed, and he found beds. One of them had the name ‘Minho’ attached to it. He couldn’t see the person inside. Another bed, though, he could, the top of the boy’s head poking out of the covers, Thomas’ eyes catching a wisp of blond hair.  

After that incident, Dr. Paige allowed Thomas to meet a rather beautiful girl his age with dark hair and clever blue eyes. Her name was Teresa and she, like Thomas, was there to save the world. The two of them were supposed to create something. A trial in which would be used to test other kids. All for a good cause. 

“Remember, Tom,” Teresa said, staring at him with wide, earnest eyes. The nickname caused something giddy to rise in Thomas’ chest. “WICKED is good.” 

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He and Teresa were the smart ones. The valuable ones. The pair of them were tasked with creating the first trial. The Maze. They were barely 7. 

He knew there were other kids who were like him and Teresa. He knew their names: Rachel and Aris. He had seen them occasionally, but they never even officially met let alone spoke. 

Thomas also knew that other (normal) kids were scattered around in the facilities, as well, and that most of which were immune, but there were a couple control subjects. They were the ones he and Teresa never got the chance to meet. That brief glimpse only allowed him the knowledge of one kid’s name and one kid’s hair colour. 

A small part of him wanted to seek them out. Wanted to go interact with the people that were going to be put in the maze that Thomas himself was building. When he told Teresa this, she just looked at him curiously. 

“We don’t need anyone else, Tom,” she whispered, taking his hand in hers. “Just us. Nobody else.”

Thomas didn’t ask again after that. He knew what Dr. Paige or Teresa would say if he did: “Don’t get distracted, Thomas.”

And he knew they were right; the world was in need of saving, Thomas and Teresa, as young as they were, would be the ones that would help WICKED achieve that. But still, he felt that inexplicable need, that tug, the pull towards the other children that he knew to be roaming around somewhere. 

And so, when a blond boy barely older than himself with a strange accent knocked on his door one day, Teresa at his heels looking like she was trying not to scream, told Thomas he needed to show him something, Thomas, who knew nothing about this boy, found himself following. 

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Thomas was 8 and he had friends. 

He found out the blond boy who led Teresa and him to the other boys was called Newt. He was probably Thomas’ favourite, kind and with a grin that never failed to make Thomas smile back, and he spoke differently than the rest of them, an odd but pleasing accent always lacing his words. He was very different compared to Minho (the boy whose name he had finally put a face to)  who was defined by his complete lack of filter in the things he said, and Alby, who was grumpy as hell, and who Thomas didn’t think liked him very much. 

Thomas hadn’t meant to make it a routine to meet up with them so often, but soon, every night without fail, there would always be a soft knock on the door. It was always the same, as well—three knocks, all short. He didn’t know if Newt did it intentionally, but to Thomas, it felt like a code. Something that belonged to Newt only. Something that told him it wasn’t Dr. Paige or Randall or Teresa knocking, but his friend. 

Thomas would open the door, and sure enough, Newt would be there, eyes bright and warm, face lit up like escorting Thomas was the best part of his day, which Thomas doubted, as Newt, Minho and Alby were always creeping around the facilities, on fun little adventures that Thomas and Teresa used to not know even existed. 

It was the best part of Thomas’ day, though. 

Newt would bring Teresa, too, and she’d never argue. She’d always follow, never questioning, never talking about the fact that Dr. Paige probably knew nothing about what was happening, but her blue eyes would be flat whenever she’d meet Thomas’ ones, a grimace marking her expression when she wasn’t forcing some sort of smile. 

But she’d still sit with the others like Thomas. She’d throw in her own remarks and comments, mirroring the addictive banter Thomas had found himself loving. Minho always had something ridiculous and snarky to say. Something fast and funny that would have Newt letting out a laugh loud enough to make Alby glare at him with veiled fondness and make Thomas feel unexplainably happy. There were always snacks lying around that Minho would scavenge, food that Thomas knew Dr. Paige would never allow him to have, and that feeling, the feeling of danger, that he was rebelling—even if there was nothing to rebel against as in the grand scheme of things, WICKED is good—would engulf Thomas like some sort of drug. 

That’s something he can never tell Teresa. But despite the secrecy, Thomas had never been this joyful in a while. 

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Newt was the one Thomas was closest to. The one he found he could sit with the longest. 

It wasn’t because he was funny. Well, he is funny, extremely so, but it’s Minho that the role being the funniest and most entertaining belongs to. Newt was evidently a leader, as everybody seemed to like and just listen to him, but it was clear that Alby was the leader. It wasn’t even because he was the kindest, though he probably was. 

No, it was something else. Something that Thomas didn’t even think about because it was so natural to him. 

Newt had this way of leaning a little too close, voice always soft and quiet like they were sharing some sort of secret that no one else was allowed to hear. He always looked at Thomas like he belonged there with him, Alby and Minho, like Thomas being ‘special’ and treated infinitely times better than the three of them wasn’t the issue that Thomas sometimes wondered it was. 

It didn’t really matter what they’d do. Some nights, they didn’t really speak, merely listening to Teresa and Minho bicker while sitting on the floor, backs against the walls and nudging their shoulders against each other playfully, which would sometimes escalate to them tackling each other on the ground, and Thomas would drink in Newt’s laughter during those moments, eyes scanning his features, noting the way when Newt's mouth would widen, Thomas' would just do the same. It was consistent, like a fact, at this point. It was only when Thomas was truly focusing on the other boy would he actually acknowledge it.

Maybe the reason why Newt’s crinkled eyes and smile meant so much to Thomas was related to the fact that the first time they had all snuck out together, Newt had cried. Cried for his sister who he had trusted Thomas enough to let him see, even though he had just met Thomas and he could probably snitch on him. 

But Thomas had no intention to. 

Yeah, Newt was definitely Thomas’ favourite. 

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Teresa narrowed her eyes at him, head tilting, expression sharp. She’d stare at him like that whenever he’d talk with Minho, whenever he’d smile awkwardly at Alby, and especially when he’d zone out with his gaze fixed on Newt, the subject of his zoning out being the way Newt’s blond hair would sometimes shine a golden colour that contrasted the whiteness of quite literally everything, or the way his eyes were such a simple brown but seemed to have everything in them, and Thomas was sure he could stare at them for hours if the thought didn’t embarrass him so much. 

“You really like him, huh?” Teresa said, voice levelled but eyes sharp and brimming with something Thomas didn’t quite understand. He blinked at her. 

“Yeah, I mean, they’re cool,” he shrugged. He didn’t register that ‘them’ isn’t what Teresa had said. 

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One night Newt didn’t knock. The hours passed with Thomas staying by the door, ears straining for the rhythm he’d grown used to—three knocks, all short, but it never came.

Thomas stood there with a disgruntled expression, arms crossed, and Teresa walked in to find him like that. She sighed, looking tired. 

“You need to let this go, Tom,” she said quietly. Thomas stared at her, eyebrow arching. Her expression was unwavering as she stared back. “They aren't like us, you know they aren't. And yet you’re letting yourself get too… infatuated."

Thomas hadn’t known what she meant at the time, but he did find out eventually some time after. 

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The next day, Newt showed up again. He didn’t give an explanation, just a sleepy, almost endearing grin and jerk of the head to tell them to follow him. Thomas didn’t ask any questions, and while he now knew his way and probably didn’t even need Newt to escort him anymore, Thomas didn’t want Newt to ever make him do it alone. 

Not alone—Thomas has Teresa. Teresa, his first friend, the one he’s to save the world with. The one who constantly reminds him that WICKED is good, that the maze trials need to be finished. 

Thomas felt scared when he realised that he didn’t care. 

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Thomas and Teresa were called into Dr. Paige’s office. It was something mundane, asking about the progress of the maze trials (Thomas wonders when that became something mundane to him) and through his boredom Thomas had made the mistake of forgetting to filter. 

“Why are the subjects separated from each other?” Thomas asked suddenly. Teresa stared at him, a warning expression marking her face, but Dr. Paige merely looked curiously at him, inviting him to continue. Thomas straightened his posture subconsciously. “I mean, I get why we are,” he gestured to himself and Teresa. “But why are they? Why are they kept in rooms with only a small number of other people with them and not allowed to see their relatives?” 

Dr. Paige blinked at him. Her expression was analytical, surveying him with something he thought was amusement. 

“Have you been talking to Subject A5?” she questioned with a small smile. “The one we named after Isaac Newton?” 

Thomas didn’t know why he froze. “Uh…”

Teresa looked furious, but Dr. Paige’s eyes as she looked down at him appeared fond. “Well, I can’t say I didn’t expect it,” she stated mildly. “You’re very impulsive, Thomas, but I guess that’s why I chose you.”

She smiled when she saw their confused expressions. “I won’t stop you from meeting them,” she assured, and that sentence alone sent so much relief washing over him. He didn’t even know that the prospect of not being able to see friends again had weighed so heavily, but Thomas guessed it didn’t matter now. 

Dr. Paige’s eyes then turned sharp. “But, I will tell you, even if I’m allowing this, you can’t be distracted. Either of you.” 

Teresa immediately nodded, face slightly flushed. Thomas quickly followed. She dismissed them, and he held the door open for Teresa, ladies first and all that, only for Dr. Paige to call him back.

“Thomas,” she said, and her voice was suddenly serious in a way that Thomas couldn’t remember hearing before. “You can do what you want, I won’t stop you, but you are not to forget that WICKED is good.” 

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Newt was a subject. A5, as Dr. Paige had said. One of the many boys Thomas and Teresa had been told not to get attached to. One of the kids whose brain patterns they’d spent weeks mapping, whose vitals they’d run through software. Data. Test material. Replaceable.

So were Minho and Alby. 

But when Thomas looked at them, all he saw were friends. Friends he’d do anything for. Friends who he hoped would do anything for him. Friends who’d always send the same person in their initial trio to go to Thomas, knock on his door and then walk back towards the room, like they didn’t doubt for a second that Thomas would follow. 

And Thomas did every time. 

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They were stalking through the hallways, no longer trying to hide now that Thomas had said Dr. Paige would allow them their fun, but still sneaking into places they weren’t supposed to be. The most consistent was Group B, where Newt’s sister was kept. They’d go every other day, and while Newt was never allowed to actually talk to his sister, he always seemed content and at ease whenever he’d see her through the glass, safe and unharmed. 

Newt was walking beside Thomas, the two of them a little behind the others. They were close, their shoulders brushing occasionally, but Thomas found he didn’t mind, unlike when Minho did it for the purpose of pushing him into something.

Newt was silent, though. Normally, that didn’t mean anything, but something told Thomas that right now, there was something wrong. So he stopped walking, placing both his hands on both of Newt’s arms to signal for the other boy to do the same. 

Newt glanced at him, brows furrowing. “What’s wrong?” 

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Thomas asked, more accusingly than he intended. He watched something flicker in Newt’s eyes before Newt was bringing up his own hands, placing them hesitantly over Thomas’s. The touch, despite being hesitant, made Thomas feel warm. 

“Did…” Newt cut himself off, swallowing. But he looked like it wasn’t the words troubling him that was the reason he was stopping himself, but rather how Thomas would react. 

Thomas didn’t even know how he had gathered such a thing, but it seemed to be right when he very gently made his hold on Newt’s arm more firm, and Newt seemed to relax, looking back up at Thomas, his eyes working like he was trying to figure something out. 

“Did you tell the woman in white about Lizzy?” he asked.

Whoops.

Thomas’ first instinct was to deny. Maybe even feel hurt. Did Newt not trust him? He was ready to lie; it was rolling off his tongue—he’d lie to Newt if the other option that was telling the truth would result in Newt wanting nothing to do with him. 

But he didn’t, because then he caught the look in Newt’s eyes. 

It wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t angry. It was… scared. Fragile, in a way Thomas hadn’t seen since that first night so many months ago. That he had learnt to separate from Newt, knowing that the boy was one of the strongest people he’s met, amazing and always so brave even though he was only barely older than Thomas himself. Despite that first night, he had always seemed okay. 

“She said it was okay,” he whispered, guilt burning heavily inside him. “She… she didn’t do something, did she?” Because Newt wouldn’t look like that if he got away with a mere slap on the wrist. 

“Yeah. She did probably say that,” Newt agreed, seemingly choosing to ignore Thomas’ second question.  “But it’s WICKED. They say just enough to make you think you’re safe, and then they take it back as a reminder that you’re not.”

Thomas stared at him. “WICKED is good,” he recited. The phrase felt like it was drilled into him. He couldn’t imagine it not being. He couldn’t imagine Newt—Newt—critising it. He couldn’t imagine anyone criticising it, for that matter. 

The fear instantly fell away from Newt’s eyes. Now he was surveying Thomas, eyebrow raised. 

“Tommy… It’s really bloody not.”

It took a second for Thomas to realise what Newt’s point was, as his brain found itself short-circuiting on the name ‘Tommy’, but he quickly recovered. 

“But we’re going to save the world,” Thomas shot back, though his voice wasn’t as defensive as it could be. 

“You really believe that?” Newt asked quietly. Thomas blinked, his mouth opening though he didn’t really know what to say, only for Newt to shrug, tap him on the shoulder, and then begin running, clearly trying to catch up with the rest of the group that were now on the other side of the hallway. 

The dampness of Newt’s mood seemed to evaporate almost instantly. He exchanged glares with Teresa, milked the honour of being the only one Alby liked, and tried to avoid being shoved into a wall by Minho. He turned over his shoulder and gave Thomas that signature grin. 

That grin, like always, sent a wave of reassurance through Thomas, as if  he was finding out the world was okay again. Hah. WICKED didn’t need him or Teresa. They needed Newt and his smile alone. 

And then he found out that Newt wasn’t immune. 

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They were 9 and they had strayed too far. The three boys had decided they wanted to surprise Thomas and Teresa with something away from the endless walls of white. It ended with them being shown outside for the first time. 

Thomas took in the sight. He took in the feeling of the sun on his face, even if it was harsh, the clearness of the sky above them, the blue that rivalled Teresa’s eyes, the sand that spread everywhere, a colour that was similar to Newt’s hair. 

Dr. Paige wanted to save this world. Thomas found himself understanding why. Despite the ruined state, it was beautiful. Thomas hated that this was the first time he could remember seeing it clearly. It felt too important for him to have not been allowed the sight until now. He liked the world. He couldn’t wait for it to be put back to the way it used to be, the way it’s supposed to be. 

Thomas was suddenly aware of a gaze upon him. A gaze that was comfortable, almost natural , that being the reason he only just acknowledged it now. Thomas turned and was met by brown eyes fixed on him. 

A smile tugged on Thomas’ lips. Even though he was seeing the world, Newt’s eyes were still the most interesting thing. 

“Thank you for showing me this,” Thomas said, grinning. He thought he saw a tinge of a cute pink rise up Newt’s skin, but Newt only cleared his throat, looking at the landscape with a pleased smile.

“Yeah, don’t mention it, Tommy.” 

So that nickname wasn’t a one-time thing. Something in him wanted to reach out and grab Newt and just hold him. He was so happy. So, so happy. 

That got ruined when he saw WICKED guards.  

Thomas was confused as they began grabbing and shouting at him and his friends. Dr. Paige had said it was okay for him to be with them, hadn’t she? So what the hell were they doing?

And then one of the guards snapped their fingers and pointed directly at Newt, expression hidden by the helmet, but their voice coming out sharp and stern. 

“That one is not immune,”  they declared. “Get him inside.” 

And Thomas suddenly felt the need to drop to his knees and scream. 

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“Are you okay?” Teresa asked. Thomas looked up, seeing that her blue eyes seemed to hold genuine concern in them. 

“No,” he answered honestly, staring at his hands in his lap, resolutely looking at anything other than Teresa. For once, though, Teresa didn’t reprimand him. 

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“You care about him,” Alby stated, dark eyes staring into Thomas’. “A lot.” 

Thomas shrugged rather half-heartedly. He felt heavy, tired and angry, the weight of the revelation pressing—crushing—down on him. 

“He’s my friend,” he mumbled out, picking idly at his fingernails, gaze averted. 

Alby tilted his head.  “Yeah, so is Minho. So am I, I guess. But you don’t look at us the way you look at him.”

Thomas didn’t quite understand the flush on his cheeks. 

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“Hey, Tom-boy,” Minho greeted, plomping down on the chair beside him without invitation. “What’s up with you? You’ve been more depressing than a mop lately. Here.”

He tossed a crumpled snack bar at Thomas, who glanced at it tiredly, letting it land limply in his lap. 

“Where do you even find these?”

“You and Teresa aren’t the only smart-alecs around here, y’know.” Minho stretched his legs out carelessly, resting his head against his arms behind his head. “Also, Randall never locks his bottom drawer.”

Thomas unwrapped the snack slowly, staring at it, mouth working into a grimace. While Minho usually had more energy than anyone else Thomas knew combined and always seemed to find a way to share it, right now Thomas just felt empty. His mind couldn’t stop flashing images of a Newt that didn’t grin, a Newt that was on the brink of insanity, a Newt who didn’t remember Thomas or anyone else, seeing them as nothing more than something to eat. Ew. 

Thomas must have shown some of that despair on his face, because Minho’s eyebrow raised as he stared at him. “You’re thinking about Newt,” he noted gravely. 

Thomas flushed again. He took a bite out of his snack, speaking as he munched, not really caring how disgusting it must look. “…Am I that obvious?”

“Thomas, dude, you’ve been obvious since the moment you two met.” 

Thomas’ skin flamed up. They didn’t talk more, but their chewing was loud enough to fill the silence. Unfortunately, Minho wasn’t the sort of person who allowed his mouth to be kept shut for long. 

“You know… he really likes you too, right?” he said with casualness that was evidently forced. 

Thomas swallowed. 

“Mhm… We’re friends.”

Minho snorted. “Yeah, and WICKED is a charity organisation.”

Thomas just looked at him. If Newt wasn’t immune, then WICKED was the only thing that could possibly provide him with a world where he wasn’t in unfathomable danger. So technically, WICKED was a charity organisation.

 He answered Minho . 

“WICKED is good.” 

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Thomas was 9, and he needed to finish creating the maze trials. He didn’t really eat anymore, barely slept, his days spent in the labs, nights with his friends. He’d always be the first one in the labs, the last one to leave. Teresa would stare at him from her desk, eyes uneasy, but she’d never say a word. This is what she had wanted after all, right? All she’d push her towards. 

This is what Dr. Paige wanted. What WICKED wanted. And Thomas wanted it now, too. 

WICKED is good. 

His fingers would fly across the laptop, scanning code. His head ached, but he refused to stop. He couldn’t. 

WICKED is good. 

He was beginning to visualise the maze. The way the walls would loom. The way they could get the maze to change at night. How the boys could eventually escape. How exactly it would all connect in the end. 

WICKED is good. 

The phrase echoed in his mind. Thomas used it to tether him. To keep him going. But it was out of desperation rather than loyalty.

WICKED was the only thing that could help Newt. And helping Newt was now—-and Thomas knew that from now on, it would always be—his priority. 

Thomas doesn’t think he could explain why or how it happened, but Newt was Thomas’ world, and Thomas was going to save him. 

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Thomas was walking through the hallways with Teresa to find Rachel and Aris when he met Chuck. 

He was much younger than anyone else Thomas had met lately, and he was crying. When he saw Thomas and Teresa, he instantly began apologising.  

Thomas quickly ran up to him, placing a hand on his rather chubby shoulder that matched his round cheeks and wide, scared eyes. “It’s okay, man,” Thomas tried to assure. He seemed so frightened. Thomas felt a sting of sympathy. “We’re just like you. Nothing to worry about.”

Teresa shot him a look, but Thomas knew more than anyone that she was a good person. She wanted to comfort the kid, too, so she wouldn’t start another argument with Thomas as they always seem to do from now on. 

“What’s your name?” Teresa asked softly. 

The boy began crying harder. “They’re making me call myself Charles.”

(“Stephen—”)

Thomas winced. He can’t think about that now. WICKED told him his name is Thomas. That meant his name is Thomas. That’s who he is. That’s where it ends. 

But ‘Charles’ didn’t fit this boy. 

Against his better judgement, Thomas shook his head. 

“Well, that’s lame. We’re going to call you Chuck.” 

Teresa stared at him again. Thomas ignored it. This was fine; it wasn’t like he was resisting WICKED. Chuck was a nickname. Nothing more. 

It wasn’t a resistance. WICKED is good. WICKED is going to save Newt. 

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Thomas saw Chuck a lot more after that. He couldn’t help seeing the kid as a little brother, with his too-innocent face and seemingly endless trust towards Thomas and even Teresa to an extent. 

Thomas was quick to introduce Chuck to his friends, who did their best to be welcoming and kind. Minho made sure he didn’t accidentally say something rude or inappropriate to the kid, and even Alby had loosened up a bit, treating Chuck in a much more friendly way than he ever did Thomas. Thomas never found himself feeling jealous about it, though. 

What he did feel jealous about, however, was that Chuck seemed as devoted to Newt as he was to Thomas. And that meant very much. When he wasn’t with Thomas, he was with Newt, and that resulted in Thomas never finding a chance to be alone with Newt. Newt would knock on his door as always, and that gave them about a second by themselves, but then Teresa would come, and they’d have to go to the room and have Chuck tailing them. 

Thomas loved Chuck a lot, but he really wanted his alone time with Newt. Like he really wanted to. He didn’t exactly have an explanation as to why though. Yes, Newt was his world, and yes, Newt wasn’t immune which means he would never be able to step outside without the risk of dying and that thought made Thomas want to hug him and keep him in his arms forever and protect him from everything even though Newt would probably resent that with his strong personality, but that gave him no reason to Newt’s company to be exclusive to Thomas and Thomas only. Right?

On the other hand, Newt didn’t seem adverse to Chuck’s constant company between the two of them at all. Thomas knows the reason for that one, at least. Newt probably missed being an older brother. 

Thomas thought about his own mum. He barely remembered her. He knew WICKED had done him a favour, by separating them. If he’d stayed, he would have to watch his mum succumb to the Flare. WICKED had spared him from that, and right now,  by keeping them here, they were also sparing Thomas from seeing that happen to Newt, as well. 

Thomas had friends. He had Newt. That was all he needed. And WICKED had given that to him. And so WICKED is good. 

“Tommy?” It was Newt, breaking him out of his thoughts like he always did. The fact that half the time his thoughts consisted of Newt wasn’t very important. “I can see your wheels spinnin’ up there.” He leaned forward to tap the side of his head. Thomas tried and failed to keep his skin from burning in both self-consciousness and satisfaction at the contact.  “Care to share?”

Thomas made sure his shrug was casual. “I don’t know. We keep… Well, I keep thinking that WICKED did something terrible by stealing us from our families.”

Everyone turned to look at him, probably wondering where the hell that had come from. Teresa’s blinks were slow and measured, blue eyes scanning him. 

“Yeah,” Alby agreed, as civil and friendly as Alby can get with anyone other than Newt or Chuck.

“But I’m not so sure that’s true,” Thomas continued. 

Chuck perked up at that. “So WICKED isn’t bad?” There was a lot of hope in his voice. It hurt a little. It also made Thomas wonder what WICKED did to the group of boys that made them not think WICKED was good in the first place. Apart from stealing them from their families when they weren’t even 10 yet—not even 6, for Chuck—of course. 

“WICKED is good,” Thomas said, avoiding Newt’s gaze. “I think our lives might have a lot more purpose than we could ever know. Since we’re helping to save the world and all. I think we need to remember to look at the big picture.”

Teresa looked at him, and there was a hint of approval in her expression, but there was also concern. Thomas wondered, with bitterness his oldest friend didn’t deserve, what he had done this time. 

“Thomas, man,” Alby said, “there you go again, waffling like an idiot.”

Thomas thought he was quite justified to waffle this time. He had too much on his mind to try to put it all into words. “I just think we need to keep things in perspective. We’re safe, we’re warm, we’re fed. We’re protected from the scorch and the Cranks.”  

“You make it sound like a bloody holiday,” Newt murmured.

“It could be a lot worse,” Thomas countered. “Not to mention the small fact that we’re trying to help save the entire human race.” We’re trying to help save you, Newt, Thomas wanted to say. Wanted to cry, actually, wanted to hold Newt by the shoulders and scream it into his face and beg him to never put himself in danger. Of course, he doesn’t actually, because he was afraid Newt might find him weird if he did. But Thomas knows that collapsing and giving up on the entire world and everything that defined it and defined Thomas himself since the age of 6 because your best friend has a chance of dying is normal. Surely. 

“And that means you, Newt,” Alby added, saying what Thomas was afraid to. “I don’t wanna watch you go all Crank on me someday.”

That sobered Newt right up. Thomas felt bad; Newt had been laughing just minutes ago, and now, because of Thomas, his mood was dampened. Again. Even Teresa looked sad.  

By some miracle, or maybe it meant something, Minho had stayed silent during the entire discussion. Thomas glanced at him, frowning. 

Minho caught Thomas’ eye and seemed to take that as the invitation to finally speak up—not that Minho has ever usually waited for invitations. He stood up, catching the attention of everyone else. 

“Make up all the fantasies about WICKED you want,” he said, looking directly at Thomas as he did. “Tell yourselves this is all a good cause, that they treat us well.” His gaze hardened. “I’m not buying it, though. It looks like I’m the only one still working on…” Minho cut himself off, sighing like he was suddenly some old ass dude from WICKED, and shook his head. “I’m heading back to my room now. Later.”

Minho got up and was already at the door while Thomas’ brain whirled in confusion. He didn’t seem to be the only one, though, so at least he was spared that embarrassment. 

“What are you talking about?” Alby scoffed. Yep, there was mean Alby coming back.

Minho didn’t even turn his head to look at them when he answered. “We used to talk about escaping before Thomas and Teresa came around,” he said, and Thomas and Teresa glanced at each other. “Well, I never stopped thinking about it. Or planning for it. We should be here by our own choice, not by theirs. Not treated like prisoners.”

He paused, surveying the room, taking in their expressions of disbelief. His jaw tightened. “I hope you guys’ll come with me. When I’m ready,” he announced. 

Then he left, shutting the door behind him.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

That was the last Thomas heard of Minho’s great escape plan for months. During that time, Thomas worked harder on the maze, adding new things whenever he could, discussing it all with Dr. Paige, Teresa and sometimes Aris and Rachel. Then, at night, the knocks would come and Thomas would be with his friends, happy and having fun, always momentarily forgetting everything that would cause him so much pressure during the day. 

Chuck had joined the group, and as he spent more time with them, he stopped gravitating towards only Thomas and Newt. If Thomas had to guess, he’d say Teresa was now his new victim, but Thomas was sure that to everyone in the group, he was like the little brother they had either lost or never had.  

That meant Thomas had a good balance of spending time with the others and his two favourites, which were Newt and Chuck. Alby definitely shared that preference. Don’t tell Minho that. He can be his own favourite. 

Thomas did tell Newt, though. 

For some reason, he had been afraid to. There hadn’t actually been any reason to be aftaid—Newt was just a friend, it was okay to say he was his favourite if all the other friends either don’t know when to shut up or are always shutting up, but he was still afraid Newt would stare at him and then declare his hidden hatred towards Tommy, but to Thomas’ delight, Newt blinked at him for a couple of seconds before he threw his head back and laughed. 

Thomas loved the sound so much. He loved everything to do with Newt in general, actually. WIth the way Thomas would get comforted with just a smile from the other boy. Or the way Newt’s eyes would always be fixed on him and Thomas would fix his own eyes on him in reply, or the way Newt would always give him the attention Thomas craved, never placing him second despite knowing Alby and Minho longer than he did Thomas. 

“You wanna know something, Tommy?” Newt asked, his tone playful as he fell sideways, head resting on Thomas’s shoulder. Thomas nodded, feeling soft blond hair brush his jaw, recognising that flutter in his stomach “You’re also my favourite.”

Thomas’ smile was too wide for Newt not to notice it. And then Newt added:

“Sometimes.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“I’ve got a new guy coming tonight,” Minho said with all the casualness in the world. 

Thomas was holding a chip, about to put it in his mouth, only for his hand to freeze on the way. His head snapped up to stare in bafflement at Minho, as did everyone else’s.

What? 

Alby was the first to recover. “Come again?” 

Minho very forcibly waved an arm in the air, as if to convince them that it was no big deal. “Nothing to worry about, folks,” he assured. “He’s a good enough guy.”

“ ‘Good enough’ “ Teresa repeated, blinking slowly. “That’s the criteria now for trusting our… secret to someone new?” 

Thomas agreed with her. He was now 10, and he had spent about a year with his friends, and about half a year with Chuck. He had gotten used to them all in that specific group. It was perfect; both fun and safe. He didn’t think he could handle anything changing. 

The confidence that always defined Minho appeared to shrink down a bit. He was still standing up, saying his speeches, but he seemed more hesitant now. “His name is Gally,” Thomas doesn’t recognise the name, but his determined obsession with the trials made him pretty confident that he’d know who Minho was talking about if he got the subject code name thingy.  “And, he’s, uh…You remember that plan I told you about. To escape?”

Oh. 

Thomas had hoped Minho had forgotten about that, or it was just a spur of the moment idea, but apparently not. He resisted the urge to look at Teresa, and inwardly he hoped she’d restrain herself from telling Dr. Paige about it. 

“Yes, we remember,” Alby said, eyes narrowing. “We also remember the cranks, and the beds we have, and the food we get, and the walls that protect us from the insane asylum they call the world. Your point?” 

“Not to mention,” Teresa added, surprising Thomas. “There’s a certain someone here that would likely die if it wasn’t for those said walls.” 

Newt glared at her, but Thomas agreed, instantly grateful she had brought it up. Minho was looking sheepish now, but he didn’t seem to be planning on letting it go.

“Gally’s going to help me,” Minho said firmly, looking around the room as if to dare them to argue with him. “He should be here any second.” 

Someone knocked on the door at that exact moment. Oh. Hah. Impeccable timing, Gally, whoever the hell you are.

Thomas’ first impression of Gally, when he walked in, was that he looked rather sad. He had pale blue eyes, but unlike Teresa, there was nothing striking about them. His blond hair was short—buzzcut, actually, completely different to Newt’s, and Thomas could not even fathom how he and Minho met. They didn’t have any similarities apart from their toned build in general. 

“Everyone meet Gally,” Minho said,  “Gally, meet everyone. Some of you know him, or at least have seen him around. I’m sure we’ll all get along peachy.”

“Good that.” As usual, it was Newt who was the first to act welcoming. Gally gave a small nod, a sincere-enough attempt at a smile, and they all tried to return it. 

There was a pause. Very awkward. Thomas thought of coughing, but decided he didn’t want to be the one to break it. Let someone else be the lucky bastard. 

Alby took the honours. 

“So how’s Gally supposed to help with this idiotic plan to escape?”

Minho thumped Gally on the back. “I’ll let him tell you.” 

Gally cleared his throat. “I work out on the grounds with a couple others. Mostly landscaping stuff—cutting down weeds, shoveling snow when the odd storm hits, trying to get bushes and flowers to grow. But I also do electrical work, maintenance, whatever. The three of us work under a guy named Chase.”

“And this will help you how?” Alby pressed with all the scepticism in the damaged world. “You going to push Minho to the woods in a wheelbarrow?”

Newt laughed—though it was more of a snicker—before he caught himself. “Sorry,” he mumbled. 

Thomas was at his defence instantly. “No, carry on, please, I laugh your laugh, even if this particular one was mocking, it’s all I want to hear. Ever. I could die happy if it’s the last thing I hear. Very happily. Like very, very happily. Please never stop.“

He didn’t say it of course. Judgement was a scary thing. 

Gally, thankfully, didn’t look offended. Instead he smiled. “If anyone gets to be pushed around in a wheelbarrow, it’s gonna be me. Minho owes me.” 

“Why?” Teresa asked. Thomas had honestly forgotten she was there. 

“Because he’s the only way this thing works,” Minho said. Everyone looked at Gally (except Chuck, who was asleep on the floor. Another one Thomas forgot was there). 

“Chase isn’t the smartest dude at WICKED, let’s just say that.” Gally stared at the floor as he spoke—Thomas didn’t know how to interpret that. “I’ve been setting up little things for weeks now, things that’ll help someone get past the WICKED security measures. Truth is, WICKED relies on the threat of Cranks and the state of the world to prevent us from trying anything. It’s a lot harder to get into WICKED than to get out.”

“And what in the world do you plan to do once you’re out in the great Alaskan wilderness?” Teresa asked. “Rent a car, go find a nice apartment in Juneau?”

“What’s Juneau?” Thomas asked. Teresa waved him off. 

“Man you guys really like your sarcasm,” Gally scoffed. “I mean, do you think I’m stupid? Just because I don’t sneak out and have little parties with the cleaning supplies?”

Wait, is that what people think they do? 

“Gally, chill,” Minho warned. 

“They’re the ones who need to grow up!” 

“Hey!” Alby intervened with a scowl. “Don’t come in here all high and mighty. We didn’t invite you.”

“That’s it, I’m out!” Gally yelled, throwing his hands up striding toward the exit. Minho quickly jumped in front of him, placing a hand firmly on his chest. 

Minho looked around at them all imploringly. “Come on, guys. Can you give me the benefit of the doubt, here? Why do you think I’ve waited months to pull the trigger? Because I’m patient and not stupid. Gally’s figured out a way to communicate with a cousin in Canada—he’s close to the border. Gally used Chase’s transponder codes. We’ll have people waiting for us a few miles into the woods—they’re already on standby.”

Thomas stared at him. Minho was actually serious? Despite the fact that they were all infinitely more safe inside WICKED, the chances of getting chomped on by a crank were slimmer than anywhere else, the possibility of non-immunes like Newt being infected being relievingly unlikely, and Minho just wanted to prance away?

“Why?” Thomas asked. That one word got everyone’s attention. “Just tell us why, Minho. We know you’re not stupid, and I’m sure Gally isn’t, either. But why would you guys want to leave when WICKED is good?”

“There you go again, harking on about that damn phrase!” Minho snapped, anger suddenly taking over his previously earnest demeanour. “We’re prisoners! We’re being held here against our will! That’s all the reason I need, and if you weren’t brainwashed, it’d be the same for you!”

While Thomas was stunned into silence, Teresa didn’t take Minho’s words very well. 

“But you’ll never have it half as good as we do here!” Teresa almost shouted, moving forward to stand beside Thomas. “And how can you just turn your back on helping the world?” she glanced at Thomas. “Helping Newt,” she added.

Everyone looked at the mentioned boy, who was staring at his feet. Minho’s hardened expression softened just a bit, but then it was back to stubbornness. For the first time since Thomas and Teresa had met him, Minho looked like he didn’t like them very much.

“I guess we have different philosophies,” he sighed, voice calming a bit, but his eyes were still burning. “If you don’t get it, you don’t get it. But you don’t take away my freedom without asking first.”

“Sorry we got off to a rough start,” Gally added. “I guess I’m just nervous being down here. But I promise you guys this can work. Anyone coming with us?”

No! Thomas wanted to yell, but then Newt broke the silence.

“When?” 

Thomas turned around so fast he was afraid he was going to be sick, staring at the other boy with wide eyes. Minho and Gally answered at the same time. 

“Tomorrow night.” 

Newt nodded. “I’m in.” 

There was silence before: “What?!” 

That was yelled by Thomas, Teresa and Alby at the same time.

Newt scratched his neck. 

“Look, I know you’re worried,” he looked up, meeting Thomas’ eyes for a second before looking back down again, “But honestly, Min’s got a point. It bloody sucks being here, with everyone being all controlling and Tommy over there being the only reason we’re allowed to do anything at all without being…” he trailed off, gesturing slightly. Thomas blinked, he didn’t know that. “At least out there,” Newt continued, “we have a chance of genuinely being free, knowing we’re not being used as livestock or who bloody knows what for WICKED’s dumb saviour-complex.”

Teresa shook her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Newt, you aren’t immune,” Newt opened his mouth to interrupt, but Teresa’s voice was loud and hard.  “You know what that means, right? Why are you acting like you don’t? Unless you really don’t, and in that case, let me tell you; you won’t be free, you’ll be dead!”

There was a harsh silence before it was eventually broken by Newt scoffing. “Yeah, and it’s nice knowing you care so much, love.” 

Teresa went scarlet, but it was evidently a result of rage rather than the condescending nickname. Well obviously meant to be condescending, but to Thomas… Well, he really wanted Newt to call him that, genuine or not. He didn’t really know why, but it just sounded nice with Newt’s accent. Was that a normal thought? 

“Newt…” Thomas began, and he was disgustingly self-aware of the way his voice cracked, brimming with desperation. Newt’s gaze snapped to him, and Thomas could see the thoughts whirling in those entrancing brown eyes. Newt’s mouth twitched into a frown, head tilting. Thomas swallowed, forcing himself to keep speaking. “You’re not… you aren’t seriously considering this?”

Newt gave him a flat look. The lack of usual brightness that defined him made Thomas’ heart clench. 

“Tommy, I’m going for it. You do whatever you want, but I am going for it.”

 “Why? You don’t even know Gally!” Thomas snapped, irritation and fear spilling out before he could stop himself. Newt merely shrugged like he wasn’t about to be the cause of Thomas fainting. 

“Yeah, but I know Minho, and that’s good enough for me.” Newt said, still staring intently at Thomas and his words being the only thing that suggested he even knew there were other people in the room. Minho gave a small smile. 

“Thanks man,” he said sincerely. Thomas felt bile rise in his throat. He stepped closer to Newt, carefully avoiding disturbing Chuck, his arms raised desperately, ignoring how everyone’s eyes were focused on him. 

He placed his hands carefully over Newt’s arms, just like he remembers doing before, but unlike before, Newt doesn’t reciprocate the gesture, instead he shrugs away, a hard look in his eyes. 

Thomas stepped back quickly, embarrassment and hurt settling in chest. “Right, okay.” 

Newt didn’t respond. He glanced at Minho, who was now leaning against the door with crossed arms and a pained expression, to Alby who was frowning, and then to Gally who looked like he wanted to disappear. Thomas noticed the way he didn't seem to look at Teresa. 

“Tommy,” Newt sighed, closing his eyes tiredly as he rubbed a hand over his face. They only really had a slight year between them in age, but Thomas noticed the way Newt seemed to have more burdens than Thomas could ever even imagine, and Newt was only 11. "Stop turning this into something it isn't. I'll be fine."

“You’re literally joining a jailbreak with a guy we met five minutes ago,” Thomas pointed out with forced calmness, waving his hand around slightly. 

“And, like I’ve already said, I’ve known Minho for years. And I agree with him. That’s all that matters.” 

“Thanks, man,” Minho repeated helpfully. Newt offered him a thumbs up in return. 

Thomas scoffed. It was petty, but he really wanted to make his disdain known. Newt’s gaze turned sharp.

“You think this is the thing I want?” he asked, and Thomas was surprised at the contemptness in his tone. He suddenly felt a rise of hurt, feeling the need to jump to his own defence; to defend himself against the boy who Thomas had always liked so much, who had told Thomas that he liked him just the same. 

“Honestly, I don’t know what you want,” Thomas shot back, his filter breaking. “But dying seems to be one of them.”

He’d know later that these words would stick with Newt for a while. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“So… are they…y’know—?”

“Nah, but they’re getting there,” Minho replied, patting Gally on the shoulder. 

Thomas ignored them, still staring at Newt, who was staring back, as Alby woke Chuck up and then pushed the group towards the door. Teresa gave a nervous look between them, before she was ushered out, leaving Thomas alone with Newt. 

Newt’s face was unreadable as he looked away to the side, eyes fixing on the white walls. Thomas hated that. 

Awkward silence pulsed between them, which Thomas also hated. He’s never been uncomfortable with Newt, and he had always thought, or rather; hoped, that it was the same vice versa. 

“Newt,” Thomas started, just wanting to break the horrible silence. Newt’s eyes darted up to look at him briefly before they returned to the whiteness. “Are you actually going to go?” 

Newt bit his lip, face scrunching in some sort of emotion. He looked at Thomas again, though this time he didn’t look away. “You’re the only bloody thing that makes me want to stay, Thomas.” And Thomas’ little heart shattered at the lack of ‘Tommy’. But then Newt mumbled, almost shamefully: “I’d probably follow you anywhere.” 

“Then why aren’t you?” Thomas asked, the crack in his voice back, and he risked a step forward. When Newt didn’t react to it, he took another and another until he was standing in front of his friend. He hesitated, bringing his hands out to grip Newt’s arms again, before he slid them down, clutching both of the boy’s hands instead. Newt glanced down at them and then back up at Thomas. Thomas was sure he wasn’t imagining the blush, nor the softness in Newt’s eyes that hadn't been present earlier.  “Why do this? Why leave with Minho when you’re safe and with me here?”

He snuck in the ‘with me’.  Newt didn’t seem to mind, though; in fact, he looked more conflicted. His teeth sunk further into his bottom lip, looking down at their intertwined hands again. 

“Tommy…” Thomas loved that nickname so much that it was probably freakish. “Why do you think WICKED is good?”

Thomas made to release their hands, but Newt’s fingers tightened. Thomas tried to ignore the way his heart instantly rose in happiness.  

“To save the world,” Thomas replied. That should have been it, but Newt merely stared at him, a raised eyebrow telling him to continue. Thomas swallowed. “I want there to be a world that you can live in,” he admitted. “Where you won’t be at the constant risk of becoming some ugly crank, and where you’d never have to be worried about turning insane.” Newt’s gaze was piercing, staring over Thomas’ face, and the signature warmth in them was back, but there was also something else, and it made Thomas’ face flush. 

“What else?” Newt prompted after a moment of silence. Thomas faltered. 

“Do I need another reason?” 

Newt’s grip tightened slightly around his hand. The contact was making Thomas tingle. He really, really liked Newt. 

“You don’t,” Newt admitted, and Thomas wondered how such… normal brown eyes could have such an effect on him. They had maturity that Thomas wished he could share, kindness he wished he had the patience to also have, and calmness that his impulsive self could never even hope to imagine. But there was now a shyness that Thomas had never seen Newt have forming in them, even though his stare was still intense and his hands clasped in Thomas’. unrelenting. “...but sometimes I wished you did.” 

Thomas didn’t exactly know how to interpret those words, but for some reason they were making his heart beat erratically, his breaths coming shorter and his lips twisting into a grin.

Newt seemed taken aback by Thomas’ shift in mood, but also pleased. He returned the grin, and it was sloppy and lopsided, but just as perfect as all of Newt’s smiles. 

The world was in need of fixing, yes, but the world had also given him Newt. And Thomas was 10, but he knew he couldn’t live without Newt. That he couldn’t even imagine a world in which Newt wouldn’t be with him. That Thomas could tolerate the world being broken forever if it meant he could be with Newt. Because Newt, for some reason, with the way his smile and eyes were forever bright despite everything, had Thomas orbiting around him. Because Newt, for some reason, was everything to Thomas. 

Thomas didn’t know whether a 10 year old could be in love, but right now, he felt like he was. 

“Tommy,” Newt breathed, and, well, Thomas was impulsive, you couldn’t exactly blame him if he had been the one who initiated it, but no—it was Newt leaning in, and it was Newt who pecked his lips in the lightest way imaginable. It was Newt who stared at him with red practically swallowing his face, and Newt whose eyes were glazed over with… love? That must be it, right? Thomas doesn’t think he could imagine it not being. 

Thomas’ mind didn’t keep up long enough to acknowledge the fact that Thomas had leaned back in and pressed his lips back against Newt’s, and that Newt pressed back, leading them to kiss clumsily and terribly and so awkward it was embarrassing, but Thomas didn’t think he had ever felt better. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Soooo….?” Minho drawled, waggling his eyebrows at them as they walked into the hallway. Alby, Gally, Chuck and Teresa were all at his sides, Gally looking at them all like he they were aliens on a planet he had accidentally found himself in, Teresa with a jaw so clenched Thomas was worried for her, Alby with complete uninterest, as if he’d rather be anywhere else, and Chuck barely even awake, eyes half-lidded like he’d collapse onto the ground and start snoring at any moment. 

Thomas and Newt both turned violent shades of red. Thomas had been holding Newt’s hand, but he, in a panic, let go. Newt turned to him, looking indignant, a small pout gracing his lips , and Thomas folded, instantly holding it again. 

Minho cackled. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Are you sure about this, Tom?” 

“It doesn’t matter, I already told Minho and Gally we’d do it.” 

Teresa had looked troubled when he did, but she hadn’t argued. Clearly, she was waiting for when they would be alone, but even now her voice had concern in them, hidden by the impatience. But she also looked cold. Slightly distant in a way that made Thomas feel guilty. She was his oldest friend, after all. He didn’t want her to think that he was going to ignore her in favour of Newt. 

“Why?” Teresa asked. “I don’t know what you and Newt talked about, though I’m sure it involved smooching and making vows,” Thomas was confused on why she sounded slightly bitter. “But I don’t understand how that’s made you forget the fact that if you go out there, then Newt’s more or less dead.” 

Thomas felt that dread and fear in his stomach again, but he tried to cast it away. Newt was… he wanted this. WICKED is good, yes, but Newt didn’t think that, did he? And that was why he wanted to escape. And Thomas had agreed despite knowing the dangers. What did that mean for Thomas? Was he prioritising Newt over WICKED? He was, wasn’t he? But wasn’t he allowed to be selfish? It’s not like WICKED would miss them, anyway. They still had plenty of immunes and non-immunes alike, and while Dr. Paige had always treated him like a son, she surely wasn’t  that attached.

But what if Newt died? Thomas knows he couldn’t live with that. That he’d never be able to live like that. How much was Thomas risking by agreeing? 

“I…” 

Teresa shook her head at him. She looked like she wanted to reach out, but she didn’t, for whatever reason. Instead she just said: “I hope you know what you’re doing, Tom.” 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

They found out and they punished Minho. 

They found out and they punished Minho… 

They had made Thomas watch. Minho was strapped to a chair in a room full of cameras and chairs where two guards sat. He had been bloodied and bruised, but his gaze was firm, looking directly and unwaveringly at the camera. Thomas had felt a bit of pride at that, along with shame. Minho had been caught, which meant they wouldn’t escape, and that meant they wouldn’t go outside. 

Mixed with the horror and the anger, he also felt a bit of relief. He immediately hated himself for it. 

Thomas was led away to a discussion about the Maze trials. They told him it would be happening in about a year from now. Thomas should feel happy, right? This was good news; this was the thing he was working towards. 

WICKED is good. 

But WICKED tortured Minho.

WICKED were going to save Newt. 

But WICKED tortured Minho. 

And then they introduced him to something else; creatures they were going to put in the Maze, monsters that were called ‘Grievers’. 

“In short,” Randall explained, “if we’re going to understand how the Munies’ brains function despite being inflicted with the Flare, we have to be able to stimulate in them every kind of feeling and brain activity known to humans. Once we start the Maze Trials these creatures will help with that in a big way. You should see the Psych reports. Very interesting.”

Months ago, Thomas would have seen this as a development. Now, all he felt was quiet rage. And then the rage escalated to horror when a Griever was put in the room with Minho, and Minho—tough, reckless, always joking Minho—began screaming in pure terror. 

Thomas shouted and protested, begged and fought, and Minho sobbed and cried as the Griever almost killed him.

When Randall finally had the Griever stop, Minho slumped forward with none of the rebelliousness that defined him, his face streaked with tears, body heaving with silent sobs. Thomas wanted to choke on despair, on hatred, on rightful anger, but Randall was right there and so he knew he couldn’t, 

“Let’s get you back to your room,” Randall said. “We still have three more subjects to witness what you just saw. If I were you, I’d write down anything of importance you learned today.”

Thomas blinked. “Wait…what?”

“You do realize that we never would have let the Griever hurt Minho, much less kill him. You’re smart enough to know that, right? We only want everyone to learn a valuable lesson: the rules must be followed. Going outside, much less leaving the WICKED compound… Now you know the consequences.”

Thomas felt so sick. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas was 11 and he hadn’t seen Minho for over a year. 

He still met up with his friends, they’d always go back to the same room, Teresa, Alby, Chuck and… Newt, but never Minho. 

Newt told him through barely repressed tears that Minho was now nothing like he used to be. That now, he was just an empty shell, barely interacting and talking with others and always terrified. That he’d sometimes scream at night, waking him and Alby up, and then flinch away from their comfort, practically a completely different person. Thomas hadn’t gotten a glimpse of it yet, but he had seen the torture—the punishment. He had known how bad it was, how horrifying, and it made him so angry. 

Thomas believed in the cure, he did, but it was so unfair on Minho. So unfair on all of them, being treated like lab rats just for data. He just wanted it all to be over. 

He and Teresa were almost done with the maze, just slightly behind the pace of Group B, from what they’d been told. Thomas had a harder and harder time believing them. It had been so long since their first kiss, and now he and Newt were something resembling lovers, but their sadness about Minho prevented them from truly enjoying it, and while Thomas still felt giddy and delighted every time he and Newt would pepper each other with kisses and they hugged and held hands, the said times were also cut short. WICKED seemed hell-bent on isolating Teresa and him again from the others, and their visits would never stretch across the whole night like they were used to. Most of the time, they were lucky to have half an hour.

But Thomas also didn’t think it was fair to have fun with what’s happening to Minho. What he’s probably re-living in his mind everyday, broken and terrified but too proud to admit it.  Or at least, Thomas hoped, since he wanted Minho to be proud, to be strong-minded and determined. Because those are the traits that belong to Minho. A Minho without them isn’t Minho. 

And because of it, Thomas would wake up everyday, do his routine with the mazes, maybe eat something that wasn’t scavenged snacks, and try to make Newt smile brightly like he used to before the fate of their friend.

As much as Thomas missed those smiles, he also didn’t blame Newt for not being able to make them. Nor did he blame Minho, like WICKED had done, for being a robot because he was  traumatised. 

It was only Thomas’ desperateness for a cure that made him ever repeat ‘WICKED is good’ in his head again, though it was always for focus reasons rather than genuine loyalty. Because ‘WICKED is good’ had stopped meaning anything to him for quite a while now.

But the ‘fixing the world part’ still did. Thomas needs a cure, for Newt’s survival, and so that no other kid would have to go through what Minho did. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Thomas,” Dr. Paige said, a sad look in her eyes which made Thomas feel nervous, “We’re getting very close to sending subjects into the mazes.” 

Thomas knew that already, he did, but hearing it being verbalised by Dr. Paige made it all the more real. 

The subjects—his friends—would be sent into the maze. The Grievers would be in the maze. How would Minho take that? Thomas didn’t know whether Minho could take that. 

Thomas also didn’t know if he’d ever see them again. After they would complete the maze trials, which he and Teresa would probably  observe from their screens, they’d move on to the second one, which Thomas didn’t know the details to. 

If that’s the case, then what would that mean for him and Newt? Thomas didn’t know whether Dr. Paige knew the extent of Thomas’… attachment to Subject A5, but she still knew that they were friends. She wouldn’t make Thomas have to lose them, especially if the trials ended up being a success, as then he and Teresa would have no reason to be isolated anymore. Maybe if the trials were a success, Minho would be happy again, and they could enjoy time they lost for that year, unburdened and free, and Thomas could touch and kiss and hug Newt as much as he wanted with no fear of interruption. 

Maybe, if the trials were a success, Newt could finally live. He could live life at its fullest, like he had always wanted to. He could do anything without being constantly worried a crank would pop up and make him one of them. That way, Thomas would never have to watch that smile drop again. 

He hated how unrealistic it was. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas, Teresa, Rachel and Aris were being congratulated for their ‘phenomenal’ work on the Maze Trials. Thomas had to try very hard not to burst out sniggering, occasionally catching Teresa’s eye as they’d subtly roll their eyes at Randall or the other workers they despised. 

“The Maze Trials are very close to beginning,” one of them said.. “And we’ve been prepping that for some time. But the progress we’ve made in the last few years toward our ultimate blueprint of the killzone, I  think we’ve laid a solid foundation through the smaller tests and trials we’ve accomplished with our subjects so far. The chances are slim, but maybe we’ll have a blueprint after the Maze Trials. Who knows? Maybe we can avoid a Phase Two or Three. I’m feeling optimistic today.”

So despite how horribly WICKED was treating them, it seemed to be actually contributing to something. Good. It was the least Minho deserved after what they had done to him. 

“Okay, it’s time to get to work. We’re a month or two—four at most—from sending our first people into the mazes.”

There was a dramatic pause which Thomas had to fight very hard not to guffaw at (while also wishing Chuck, Alby, Minho and especially Newt were there to share his and Teresa’s pain) before the meeting was really begun.

“The trials are upon us, folks. Let’s dig in.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

WICKED stopped isolating Thomas and Teresa. 

They were escorted to their first dinner at the cafeteria, where all the other kids had been eating for years. The moment they entered, the place went silent. Thomas caught Newt’s eye from where he was sitting at one of the further tables with the usual gang, and Newt’s genuinely elated grin made Thomas feel a burst of confidence. 

“Listen up!” Ramirez—the escort who was a WICKED worker just as bad as Randall—barked, voice echoing in the silence. “Many of you have heard of Thomas and Teresa—they’ve been considered elite candidates for years. Be nice to them, they’ve worked really hard. The Maze Trials are starting soon, as you’re all well aware, and there’s a lot to be done. These two will be considered official liaisons between you subjects and the WICKED personnel overseeing the trial preparation. We’ll be assigning the entrance schedule to the mazes very soon. In the meantime, take the time to get to know Thomas and Teresa, prepare yourselves mentally and physically, and let yourselves get excited for the fun changes ahead. Now, back to your meals.”

The moment Ramirez was out of the room, Newt and Alby were already running up. 

“Well, look who the bloody copper dragged in,” Newt laughed before his arms were around Thomas. Thomas let out a happy laugh of his own and proceeded to melt into the very tight hug which they were wrapped in. Newt’s blond hair was tickling his cheek, and had they been alone, Thomas would have run his hands through it and stayed in the embrace until he’d fall asleep, and he’d definitely fall asleep feeling so peaceful and safe, two things he hadn’t had much of lately and that only Newt could really give him. But then Newt let go. “It’s a bit strange seein’ you without sneakin’ about and all. Welcome to society,” he proclaimed with the smallest flush on his cheeks. 

Newt moved to hug Teresa, who had just been hugged by Alby, making Alby the one to hug Thomas. Alby practically squeezed the life out of him. “Good to see you, man. Your head big enough with all that crap they’ve been feeding you? What’re you, the chancellor now? No one here’s going to like you much.”

Thomas opened his mouth to respond with something half-arsed only to be cut across by someone almost tackling him to the floor. Thomas didn’t need to look down to know it was Chuck.

“What’s up, you little runt?” Thomas asked, ruffling the kids hair like some sort of weird, old–school uncle you read about in the books. 

“Pretty much running this place, is all,” Chuck said, puffing his chest out. “When I’m not sneaking over to Group B to get me some lovin’ from the ladies, that is.”

That made them all laugh, and while that normally meant Thomas’ gaze would immediately fall to Newt so he could watch his eyes crinkle and mouth widen in the cute ways Newt would always deny, this time he noticed Minho.

The other boy was still sitting on the table. He looked unsure as to whether he should get up or not. Thomas walked over to him carefully. 

“Hey, man,” he greeted. “Make anyone mad recently?”

There was a hint of defeat in his eyes—slim, but still noticeable—but Minho smiled. He seemed better now. Thomas was so happy. 

“I’m a perfect little angel,” Minho said with some of his old snark. Sometimes I make up words around Randall. You should see him—he always acts like he knows it’s something bad, and he kinda half laughs at it. Such an idiot.”

Okay, yeah, Minho was definitely getting better.

“Tom,” Teresa called, and Thomas turned to look at her. She jerked her head to the right, and Thomas followed it to see Gally, the  person who had unintentionally caused Minho all the trouble, but this time, Thomas noticed his nose. His nose that was much bigger than before, extremely crooked and had faint bandage marks like it had been wrapped up for a while. It had been broken, no doubt, and not cleanly. 

Gally’s eyes met Thomas’s, and surprisingly, the boy offered what appeared to be an apologetic nod that seemed sincere. But he quickly returned his attention to the friends sitting with him at his table.

“The hell happened to him?” Thomas asked Minho, who held up his fist and flexed it.

“That’s what happened,” he said, shoving the fist in front of Thomas. “His loose tongue gave us up, I’m pretty sure. Probably bragging in the showers or something. And even if it wasn’t his fault, it made me feel better, anyway.”

Thomas blinked, eyebrows raised, but he didn’t expand as Alby, Teresa, Chuck and Newt had joined. 

Newt sat next to Thomas with a smile that Thomas easily returned. Their shoulders were touching, and Newt leaned in, resting his head on Thomas’ shoulder for a second before moving back up with a teasing upturn of the lips that had Thomas’s heart beating. Minho and Chuck both gagged.  Newt rolled his eyes, but he looked rather smug, and if Newt was smug, then that meant Thomas was smug.  

“Let’s get you some food,” Alby said, ignoring the shenanigans. “It ain’t the worst thing you’ll ever put in your mouth. Then we got some catchin’ up to do, people to ridicule, plans to make.”

That reminded Thomas: he himself had a certain plan. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Weeks passed and the date of the Maze Trials’ beginning was drawing closer. Thomas would be lying if he said he didn’t think the maze looked cool. Despite everything, he was actually quite proud of it, and was genuinely quite curious to see the way it would work, and how his friends would be living there. He’d miss Newt, definitely, but the trials shouldn’t take too long, they’d be back together very soon. 

But Thomas also knew that he wasn’t the only one Newt deserved to reunite with. 

He didn’t tell anyone, neither Teresa nor Dr. Paige, what he had planned. He figured what he was doing was extremely harmless, not knowing why they had forbidden it anyway, and it was easier to beg for and seek forgiveness than get turned down after asking for obedient permission in the first place. 

Thomas very sneakily snuck into the room, using his expert ninja skills to do so—well, he might have asked Teresa for the key, he might not have—and spotted the sleeping lumps that were (hopefully) Alby, Minho and Newt. 

The covers were drawn completely over their bodies, but in one bed, a mop of very messy blond hair poked out, which Thomas knew could only mean one thing. With fondness, Thomas thought back to when he was 6, and he had gotten his first glimpse of the boy that would soon become his everything. Thomas knew he was acting corny, but he doesn’t think he should be blamed for it. Newt was just… Well, Thomas knew he was just so amazing, and it was impossible not to be corny when someone so amazing decided to choose him. 

Thomas made his way over to Newt’s bed, trying not to disturb the two other boys in the room, as he leaned over Newt’s sleeping figure.

“Hey,” he whispered, hand hovering over Newt’s hair. He was planning to wake Newt up by ruffling his hair, which would also give him an excuse to feel the soft blond strands under his fingertips which he really loved, but then his hand paused. It rested there for a second, before he slid it over Newt’s cheek, his palm cupping it gently. His thumb found itself running over his skin, caressing the side of Newt face. Suddenly, Thomas felt a large surge of embarrassment at what he was doing, especially since the other boy was sleeping. Thomas quickly retracted his hand.

And then Thomas jumped.

Out of nowhere, a pale hand was gripping Thomas’ wrist, causing his cheek to stay cupped. Thomas went red. Newt’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, though his eyes remained closed. 

“Hi, Tommy,” Newt mumbled, voice laced with sleep, but amused. Thomas blinked.

“Uh—”

“ ‘s nice,” Newt said, opening one eye as he grinned up at Thomas and then glanced down at the hand on his face, nodding at it. “But is there a reason you’re here at bloody—what, midnight?” 

Thomas sheepishly sat down the side of Newt’s bed, reluctantly taking his hand away as Newt sat up too, rubbing his face but looking alert and perhaps pleased. 

“I want to take you somewhere,” Thomas admitted, and despite knowing the nature of exactly what (who?) he was taking Newt to, he still felt excited at the prospect of being able to spend time with Newt like he used to. 

Newt looked surprised at the words. His head tilted. “A date at 12am? You’re quite the romantic, Tommy, though I guess it’s about time you take me on a date. It’s been a year since we first kissed and you still haven’t—AH—mph—BLOODY HELL!”  

A pillow had been thrown rather harshly at Newt’s head, hitting him straight in the face with what seemed to be a perfect aim, more or less shoving Newt down onto his own bed. Minho had been the person to throw it , his nose scrunched up disapprovingly from his bed, but Alby was up, too. Thomas couldn’t control the absolute roar of laughter he let out. 

“Can you please go smooch somewhere else?” MInho grumbled, and any lingering trauma of what WICKED had done to him didn’t seem to be present. “ ’m kinda tryna sleep over ‘ere.” 

Newt very shamelessly leaned in to place a slow and sloppy kiss on Thomas’ lips, and Minho groaned dramatically, flopping onto his covers and covering his eyes as he shook his head in what appeared to be despair. Alby merely looked amused. WICKED had stopped isolating Thomas, and this was how Thomas was using it to his advantage? Iconic, really.

“So, you gonna tell me what magical place you’re taking me?” Newt asked once he was led out of the rooms and they were walking seemingly aimlessly through the hallways. 

“Well, if you can call a bunch of girls magical, then there you have it,” Thomas replied, only half joking. Newt stopped, whipping his head round to stare wide-eyed at him. 

“You’re taking me to Group B?” 

Thomas stopped, too, trying not to look too pleased with himself. “Yup.”

Newt looked like he was trying to figure out if this was good or bad news. “Why?” he asked, and Thomas squinted at him.

“Figured you’d like to talk to Sonya,” he couldn’t imagine him not wanting to, especially with the way Newt seemed to love her so much.  

“I…” Newt trailed off, and his eyes seemed to glint with something. “Is that allowed?” 

Thomas grinned at him. “Since when have we cared?” Newt looked a little dumbfounded for a second. Thomas furrowed his brows. “What?” he said, wondering if he had said something wrong. But Newt merely hummed. The look was gone, and he was now again staring at Thomas with his usual bubble of affection, if not more.

“Nothin’ “ he replied, though he stepped closer to Thomas so they were nudging their shoulders together. “Just thinkin’ about the way you’d always be the precious little ‘WICKED is good’ kid, and now… well,” he gestured between them with a tender smile. “You’ve grown, Tommy.” 

Thomas didn’t really know what to think about, but he still felt a flicker of pride, almost, before he shook his head and grabbed Newt by the hand, leading him through the hallways. 

“You probably know this place better than I even do,” Thomas said as they made their way around a corner and quietly set off down another long hallway. “With all the sneaking around you guys have done.”

“Yeah, probably,” Newt agreed. 

“Well, I think I found a quicker way to get over to the Group B barracks. And less chance of being stopped by security.” 

Newt raised his eyebrows at him, but he didn’t say anything, just following Thomas as they held hands. Eventually, they came to a door which was titled ‘Research and Development‘. Thomas hoped it wasn’t locked. This entire thing would fall into shambles if it was, and that meant he would have given Newt false hope for nothing and then he’d have to deal with the sadness in Newt’s eyes that would make Thomas want to hug him forever and ever—oh, he’s figured those thoughts hadn’t been normal, by the way.

It felt strange to him to realise that he’s felt like that the moment he met Newt, when he followed him to the rooms without hesitation despite Teresa’s apparent disapproval. And then there was the way he’d been so affected when he saw Newt cry while he showed Thomas his sister, and Thomas knew that ever since then, Thomas had done nothing more but chase Newt’s smiles and happiness. Thomas wondered how he had ever thought those thoughts weren’t… questionable, at least. 

“Tommy,” Newt whispered in his ear, pulling at his hand so they were in front of the door. “Wipe that bloody look off your face and let’s keep moving.”

Thomas’ lips twitched, but he didn’t reply, moving forward to push the door open with his free hand as they both quickly stepped inside the room. Once the door was closed, they started to make their way across the lab. It was a large space, full of countertops cluttered with equipment and desks set up with workstations and monitors. The room was filled with glass containers and  unusual machinery covered in an assortment of tubing and wires. The walls were hung with tools that looked like they belonged in a torture chamber from the Middle Ages: gleaming silver metal, and lots of it was sharp.

They walked down the aisle that cut through the middle of the huge room, their footsteps making no noise. They were engulfed in an eerie silence, and Thomas couldn’t deny the fact that he was scared. He subconsciously tightened his grip around Newt’s fingers, but rather than Newt teasing him about it, he squeezed back as if to seek his own comfort. 

“What are they doing in here?” Newt asked, and his voice was so unexpectedly loud in the silence, his accent cutting through the air, so sudden. Thomas jumped, and then stumbled, and Newt tripped over him, being pulled down as Thomas refused to let go of his hand, and then they were both laughing, Newt’s weight perched welcomely on top of him, their legs and arms tangled in a limby pile. Newt didn’t get up; he merely perched himself on his elbows, beaming down at Thomas, eyes bright. 

“Are you sure WICKED knows what they’re doing with you?” he asked, and Thomas’ breath caught in a way he was sure it would never stop doing when Newt leaned close and gave him a quick and innocent kiss. “You seem a little more like my clown than their elite.” 

“Your clown?” Thomas repeated, raising his eyebrows as he gave an embarrassingly wide grin. Newt shrugged in a nonchalant manner, but his face was pink. 

“Mhm. But I can be yours, too, though, if you want it so bloody much,” he replied, kissing him again before picking himself up, brushing off some invisible dust you’d never find in the white WICKED rooms.  

“I’d like that,” Thomas said with a wry smile as he also stood up. Newt glanced at him, blushing, but throwing in a teasing wink. 

Thomas was searching for something smart and charismatic to do when his eyes caught an unusual sight. Hidden back in the darkness of the room was a glowing green mass. He stared at it, brows furrowing. Newt must have noticed he no longer had ‘his’ Tommy’s full attention now, because his smile faltered and then disappeared. 

“What is it?” he asked, concerned, looking in the same direction. A misty fog was covering the green light, obscuring whatever inside. Thomas knew that he should probably walk away, find the passage to Group B and let Newt see his sister in the way WICKED had denied, but, well, Dr. Paige was always calling him  impulsive and too curious for his own good, so Thomas knew he may as well live up to that. 

“Let’s check it out,” he whispered. Newt shot him an alarmed look, but when Thomas took his hand, he seemed to slacken slightly. After getting the nod, the pair of them slowly walked past several desks and workstations, step by step, getting closer to the eerie light. As they approached it, Thomas saw that the glow came from a large green plate of glass, maybe ten feet by ten feet, covering a container that stood chest-high. Wisps of white mist spilled out the edges and curled into the darkness of the room.

 As Thomas leaned over the glass, a droplet of water fell onto his head. Thomas jolted, and he looked over at Newt, whose blond hair had been wettened as well, but that wasn’t what Thomas focused on. 

Newt’s face was illuminated by the green light, and the sickly glow made him look… infected. Thomas’ breath hitched. He was suddenly quite panicked. Thoughts of cranks, Newt as a crank, flooded his thoughts. He felt horrified. 

“We probably shouldn’t mess with this,” Newt said, lips pulling into a frown, eyes squinting at the vat. Thomas wanted Newt to look at him. He wanted to see Newt’s eyes, to confirm that Newt was okay, to confirm he was healthy and that the Flare had no way of touching him. Newt continued speaking like he had no idea how much this all meant to Thomas, but wasn’t the fact that they had been boyfriends for a year mean Newt should just know? 

Thomas clenched his fists, trying to shake out his thoughts. He looked down on the  container below.  Mist churned beneath the  surface, swirling in little whirlpools. But there was evidently something underneath that. He could just barely make out a dark outline. He tried to convince himself that if he kept staring at it, whatever it was would just reveal itself.

“Tommy?” 

Thomas’ head snapped up. Newt’s brown eyes met his, wide and perfect, glancing nervously at the container and then back at Thomas, who tried to make that small, comforted feeling in his stomach to settle the way it would always do when he had Newt with him. 

Newt took his hand. “Let’s move on, yeah? This place gives me the creeps.” 

Thomas blinked. A part of him still wanted to know what was inside, but he still allowed himself to nod.

And then a large, lumpy object moved in the container, bumping against the glass with a heavy thump. Thomas gasped, jumping back at the same time Newt did.. The object squeaked along the container’s side for several seconds  before vanishing into the fog again. The thing had been greyish-colored, with lines like veins running through it. It looked… meaty, but also mechanical. It looked like a leg. It looked like a leg. 

Thomas stared at it, and then at Newt, who met his gaze with one of pure horror. 

“…Why are we still standing here?” Newt asked, his voice small. Thomas swallowed. 

“Good question.” 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Every time Thomas thought he’d kind of gotten used to things around WICKED, he came across something like a glass container in which a hideous, many legged monster grew. But it was obvious they weren’t telling him everything. 

Oh, of course they weren’t. Thomas wasn’t a naïve fool, at least he wasn’t anymore. What happened to Minho had changed his opinions. WICKED isn’t entirely good. But he hadn’t expected… this. He hadn’t expected them to keep so many things from him, to keep something that resembled a literal monster. He didn’t think they’d play him as if he was just like everyone else; a subject. 

Thomas thought he knew everything that Newt and the others would be facing in the maze, but evidently not. And there were the Grievers, too. Was this linked to them? It was clear the maze wasn’t going to be as easy as WICKED has made it out to be. 

Thomas felt a small smack on the back of his head. He turned round, indignant, to see Newt grimacing at him. 

“Stop looking so bloody miserable, Tommy, you’re not an old man.” 

“So you wouldn’t want me if I was an old man?” Thomas asked, just to say something that would get his mind off of shit. Newt rolled his eyes at him, but he couldn’t quite keep his frown. Thomas watched him press against the wall and run his fingers across it, popping out a large panel. Through it, a small, dark closet was revealed with a door that likely led into the girls room. The door of the closet was ajar, and through the opening, Thomas could see bunk beds lined up along the walls.

“What if they freak out?” Thomas whispered into Newt’s ear. “I don’t want forty girls attacking me at once.” 

Newt glanced over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow at him. “I thought you went for that sort of thing—along with the other.” 

Thomas furrowed his brows. Teresa was the only other girl he knew, and while she was definitely very beautiful, Thomas has never stared at her eyes the way he did with Newt. Never chased her smile like he had done with Newt. And he most certainly didn’t do that with Ava Paige, either. 

“Do you?” Thomas asked, placing his arms around Newt’s waist and reaching round to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

Newt’s lips quirked up as he shrugged. “Nah. I’ve known a lot more ladies than you, but none of ‘em have really interested me. Lizzy’s the only girl in my heart.” He paused. “…and my mum. I guess.” 

Thomas looked over at him. He didn’t really remember his mum—Dr. Paige had been the one to raise him. Newt had never spoken about his parents, and neither had any of the other boys. He wondered what happened to all of them. He wondered how Newt and his sister had ended up here in the first place, why Newt had been chosen in particular to be a control subject. It didn’t really trouble him, though. Had WICKED not chosen the pair of them, then they wouldn’t have met, and Thomas didn’t think a life where he had never met Newt would be a particularly happy one for him. 

Thomas nudged Newt towards the door and then followed him through to the side of the closet as they peered into the remarkable single room of Group B. Thomas waited until his eyes adjusted to the darkness before he was scanning the bunks, spotting sleeping bodies piled onto the beds and the sounds of snores being evident to his ears. 

And then a girl appeared in front of him. 

Thomas was barely able to stifle his yelp, stumbling backwards, only for the girl to advance. 

“What do you want?” she hissed, voice strong and carrying in the silence. “Who are you?”

Thomas bit his lip, forcing himself to recover. “Sorry to sneak in like this,” he said, trying to channel the confidence he didn’t exactly feel. “We’re from Group A. We’re here so my boyfriend here, Newt,” Thomas felt it was necessary to make it clear to the evidently startled and threatening girl that he wasn’t here because he was creepy and interested in either her or her friends, “So he can say goodbye to his sister before the Maze Trials begin.” He couldn’t see Newt’s face because of the darkness, but he imagined the boy laughing at him. 

“You could have given us a warning,” the girl replied with snark, “before creeping in like kidnappers. What are your names?” she glanced at Newt before turning back to Thomas. “ Well, your name, if he’s Newt. We all know about Newt. Sonya is one of my best friends.” Thomas watched as Newt’s gaze got considerably softer. 

“I’m Thomas,” he said. 

The girl blinked. She seemed  a little disappointed. “Oh.” Thomas wasn’t really surprised.  Her group had probably heard just as much about him and Teresa as his friends had about Aris and Rachel. WICKED seemed to have spread the word, and it probably wasn’t very kind with the way she was looking at him with distaste. But then she surprised him by turning to Newt. 

“From what Sonya’s told me about you,” she said. “You could have done a lot better.”

Thomas instantly felt very offended, but before he could say anything, Newt was stepping closer into Thomas’ side, and his expression had changed into a glare. 

“Actually,” he said smoothly. “Tommy is the bloody best. I would choose him over and over again.”

Thomas’ brain went into overdrive.

The girl surveyed him before relenting. “Yeah, okay. My name’s Miyoko. Let me get Sonya.” Thomas only really heard half of that. He was too jittery over what Newt—his literal boyfriend—had said, basking in a happiness he doesn’t think can be rivalled but anything which wasn’t their first kiss. Thomas tried to chide himself, he was acting like some sort of 10 year old with a crush (he was 11) after all, but he was way too overjoyed for it to work. Miyoko slipped off into the room, a shadow among more shadows. 

“I hope they’re on our side,” Newt said quietly, not shifting back away from Thomas. “That girl would take down half of us.” 

Thomas didn’t answer, didn’t respond to Newt in any way, because he knew that he’d have nothing to say and if he tried it would just end up with Newt against the wall and Thomas hugging him as if his life depended on it. Newt always made him feel like that, but to know that the same went for Newt, that Newt who was practically everything anyone could wish for thought that he was the best made Thomas feel like they could really be in love, that Newt could be his and he could be Newt’s once the Flare was over.

Miyoko reappeared, and perhaps seeing Thomas’ lovesick expression, her eyebrows went remarkably high, but then suddenly a girl with blonde hair was running past her and then Thomas, streaking through the door and straight at Newt. Thomas could practically feel them crash into a violent and unstable hug, Newt stumbling back a few steps before his arms were around his sister and he was burying his face in her hair. 

“Here,” Miyoko said, gently pushing Thomas out of the way so she could swing the closet door closed. Then she turned on a light that shined a painful white, temporarily blinding Thomas as he squinted and tried to shield his eyes. 

Thomas suddenly realised that Newt was crying, and hadn’t really needed vision to have known it. The boy was sobbing, and so was his sister, her cries muffled by either Newt’s neck or shoulder. Tears streamed down their faces. Thomas didn’t know how long it had been since the last time they'd seen each other, or if they were able to communicate somehow, but his heart physically ached watching them. 

“Come on,” Miyoko said to Thomas, grabbing his arm. “Let’s give them some—”

 “I hate them,” Newt announced, having cut across, his voice loud but cracked by sniffles. He pulled back from his sister, and wiped his cheeks. The sad expression  didn’t  suit him. “I hate every one of them! How can they do this? How can they steal us from our homes and keep us separate like this? It’s not right!”

Thomas stared at the floor. He could feel Miyoko staring at him. He didn’t care; she was Newt’s sister’s friend, sure, but she didn’t have the right to judge him. WICKED isn’t good, but it isn’t bad, either. Thomas was still adamant the cure be found. 

“No, no, no,” Lizzy—or Sonya—said in a soothing tone, her accent the same as Newt’s. She placed her hands over her brother’s cheeks, looking straight into his eyes. “Don’t say that. You’re looking at it all wrong. We’ve got it better than ninety-nine percent of kids out there. They saved us, big brother. What are the odds we'd be alive if they'd left us out there?”

Thomas agreed with her; Newt would have caught the Flare ages ago if WICKED hadn’t brought them here, and if Minho’s plan actually worked, Newt would likely be dead now. 

“But why do they keep us separate?” Newt asked, voice desperate and sad. Thomas closed his eyes, feeling his heart break. “Why all the tests and the games and the cruelty? I hate them, I don’t care what you say.”

Thomas looked back up to see Sonya shaking her head. “It’ll all be over someday,” she promised in a whisper. “Remember, you’re not immune. But with WICKED we'll be able to make you safe. And then we'll be back together.”

Newt stared at her for a second before snorting, his brown eyes rimmed red, cheeks messy and smudged. “You sound like Tommy.” Sonya blinked, but she didn’t glance back. 

“Come on,” she said teasingly. “You’re my big brother. You’re supposed to be the one comforting me.” 

Newt snorted again. “I love you, Lizzy,” he stated, and the pure affection and adoration was clear in his voice, eyes and expression. “I love you so much.” She smiled up at him, beaming, more like, and it was so starklingly similar to her brother’s. Thomas felt anger towards WICKED. Anger because of what they did. How they ripped two siblings away from each other when they were so clearly dependent, caring for each other and loving each other so clearly. 

 Sonya—Lizzy, it was Lizzy—reached up to hug Newt again, just as strong. Thomas stayed standing beside Miyoko, and he felt this was as best as things could get right now. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

They were days away from the insertion. Days. Thomas could barely sleep. He was spending all his days with his friends, his nights with Newt curled up with his head on his chest beside him, as he’d try to close his eyes but fearing they’d all be gone if he did. Teresa would stay with him sometimes to reassure him, to provide comfort and the knowledge that she was there. 

Aside from his mother, who he had decided he would always love even if he couldn’t remember her, Teresa was the only thing he could call family. Dr. Paige proved she was keeping stuff from Thomas and his friends… well, they would be gone soon, and he didn’t know exactly how long for. It would be quite weird to call Newt ‘family’, since they were always exchanging kisses and giving each other ‘heart eyes’, as Minho called them. 

The last thing he remembered before the knock that woke him up that morning—it wasn’t three knocks, all short, just one long one—-was Teresa humming to herself. She seemed to do that subconsciously. Thomas got up from the bed, trying to fight off the grogginess, and opened the door. Dr. Paige was standing there, and she looked worried. 

“Sorry,” Thomas said, rubbing his eyes. “I slept in. But trust me, I needed it.” He really did. Along with the sleepless nights, he spent the hours of the days that were without his friends working and working, trying to perfect the Maze and all the lines of codes. 

“It’s okay,” she said, though she looked rather distracted. “Chancellor Anderson wants to meet with you and Teresa really fast this morning. Aris and Rachel will be there, too. It’s urgent. Hurry and get dressed. You can have breakfast after that.” When Thomas just blinked at her, taking in how pale and dishevelled she appeared, she snapped. “I mean it, Thomas! Hurry!”

Thomas spluttered. “Okay, okay! I’ll be ready in five minutes.” 

Dr. Paige was already leaving, hand waving in some sort of weird gesture. “Make it three.”

They entered the same conference room in which they had that meeting a few months ago. The last time the room was filled with people. This time around, only three people were in attendance besides Thomas, Teresa, Rahcel and Aris. The three people sat on one side of the table, while the ‘elites’ sat on the other, across them. None of them looked very happy. 

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Thomas felt like he had been played. Picked apart like a fool. And he was. He had been. After what he was just told, how they had looked him in the eye with an apathetic face and told him this was the way it was always going to be. He already established that WICKED had never been telling him the exact truth about everything, but this?

“Did you know?” Thomas asked Teresa once they were alone. He was gripping her arms, staring into her blue eyes, body shaking. Teresa meant a lot to him, and so if he found out she had known; that she had known and not told him—had watched him with his friends, who he had always thought were also her friends, had watched him with Newt, and still hadn’t thought to tell him that WICKED was going to end it. Was going to wipe it out completely. 

“No,” Teresa replied, her voice steady but with laces of pity and shock within it. “No, Tom, I didn’t.” Thomas couldn’t detect any lies, so he let go of her arms, exhaling sharply. It wasn’t a very wise choice, though, it seems, as his legs buckled the moment he did.

Teresa fell with him onto the floor, a hand on his shoulder as Thomas buried his face in his hands. He hated WICKED so much. He hated them, he hated them. 

“I’m sorry,” Teresa whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “You were all so close, and now they won’t…” 

Now they won’t remember. The moment the boys enter the Maze, they won’t remember Thomas, Teresa, WICKED or the Flare. They won’t remember the way they’d all sit together in the rooms, laughing and eating like they were normal kids with no worries, not know the inside jokes or the banter they’d exchange with delight, not meet each other’s eyes with genuine care, built on the years they’ve spent together, learning the most small, random and little things that would hold no meaning to anyone outside their group. They wouldn’t remember there had ever been a group. 

And Newt won’t remember him. Newt won’t remember their stolen kisses and mutual laughs and cuddles and intertwined legs and hands and everything. 

Oh, God. They won’t remember anything. 

WICKED had planned this from the start. Had been developing the Swipe—the name of what they were going to use to wipe every one Thomas cared about’s memories—which is why they had isolated Thomas, Teresa and Rachel and Aris. Chancellor Anderson told them that when it was their turn to go into the maze in about three years, their memories wouldn't be lost. Which meant Thomas would know it all, would be with his friends eventually, have to open himself up to them and get them to trust him and have to deal with the fact that there would be no recognition in his eyes. 

Thomas can’t live in a world without Newt. But he can’t live in a world without Newt. 

But WICKED had made sure Thomas wouldn’t get a choice. 

“Newt,” Thomas said, shooting up so quickly he tripped over his feet. Teresa caught him, and when she met her eyes, there was acceptance in it. She inclined her head, nodding, mouth working into a grimace. 

“Yeah,” she breathed out. “Yeah. I’ll cover you. Go to him.” 

Thomas uttered out his thanks, giving her a quick hug before he was rushing out the door, not even bothering to wipe his face. People passing by gave him weird looks, but Thomas didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. Only his friends. Only Minho, Chuck, Alby. Only Newt. 

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Newt was just opening the door before Thomas was grabbing him and dragging him out the room. He heard the sound of Minho laughing and Alby yelling at them to be back soon. Thomas couldn’t handle telling them all. Couldn’t handle seeing their looks of betrayal, he couldn’t handle telling Newt, even. And so the moment Newt was in the empty hallway, Thomas was pulling him close, hands grabbing his face and kissing him more fiercely and less childishly than he had ever thought he could do. 

Newt let out a noise of surprise, hands moving up to rest on Thomas’ arm, before patting them giving Thomas the signal to pull away, which he did, but he didn’t let go. Their faces were close, Thomas slightly out of breath as his little lungs weren’t very prepared for a kiss like that, and Newt seemed to be, too, his brown eyes wide and lips parted, face quite flushed but his brows furrowed. 

“Not that I didn’t enjoy that,” Newt whispered with a small smile but a still searching gaze, “But what’s wrong, Tommy?”

And then Thomas couldn’t hold it back. He choked on a sob, tears falling, and Newt was instantly hugging him, hands in his hair, whispering reassurance in his ear like he was practised in this. Thomas cried harder, grip tightening around Newt, his tears dampening Newt’s thin shirt that he was likely already cold in. But Newt didn’t complain. He didn’t ask for an explanation. He just led Thomas into an empty, unlocked room, still holding him, free hand closing the door to allow Thomas the chance to cry freely without a risk of scrutiny. 

They both fell to the floor, tangled in the embrace. And  yet, even with Newt there with him, Thomas couldn’t find himself feeling comforted. He might never feel the embrace again. The new Newt would have no recollection of the way just the contact of their skin brushing had Thomas calming in unexplainable ways. The new Newt might never want Thomas near him again. The new Newt would never remember the first time they both realised that what they had wasn’t just friendship. 

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Thomas sat with his back against the wall, hands fisting the fabric of his trousers over his knees, face wet and streaked with messily wiped tears, staring at the white walls, allowing the blankness to give his brain the ability to space out. To process everything. 

Newt was beside him, lying down with his forearm draped over his forehead, facing the ceiling. Thomas didn’t look over to try and read his expression. Newt was quiet, none of them having said a word, and if the subject of Thomas’ thoughts wasn’t his boyfriend, he thinks it would be easy to forget that he was even there.   

Thomas shook his head, tipping it back so it was resting on the wall.  The ceiling was bright above him. No wonder Newt was half-covering his eyes. Thomas wanted to do the same, but he felt if he let go of his leg then everything would come falling down again, like some tall mountain with the biggest rocks. 

Thomas didn’t know how much time had passed with them just sitting there, but suddenly he felt a very tentative hand resting over his own on his knee. Thomas shifted, but he didn’t turn around. He didn’t want to see Newt’s brown eyes, laced with concern and sadness, when soon it would be nothing. Literally nothing. 

Despite the touch, Newt still didn’t say anything, now sitting up and pressed close to Thomas but with nothing demanding Thomas reciprocate in any way. Thomas was grateful because Newt always knew exactly what to do. He knew everything about Thomas, knowing how to help him and how to avoid triggering him during one of the rare breakdowns that seemed mild compared to this one. 

And WICKED was going to take that away from him, like they had taken away his mother, they would his friends, his sense of control. For the first time, Thomas felt he understood Minho and Gally. 

Thomas sighed, but it sounded more like a sob, leaning forward to run a hand through his hair. He felt Newt’s gaze track the movement, checking if he was now okay, and Thomas decided that Newt deserved to know what WICKED would do to him. But he was also too cowardly to tell him. It meant saying that everything he was doing—all for the right reasons—would contribute to Newt and all the others losing what makes them an individual. Losing everything that had shaped them to the more mature than they should be kid that they were now, that made Thomas get so attached to them. It also meant admitting that Thomas wasn’t going to try to stop it. He still needed the cure, after all. 

The cure. The cure,the cure,the cure,thecuretheCure..!

The cure was Newt’s life. WICKED was Newt’s life. And Thomas hated that he was selfish enough to care only about Newt’s identity, and finding nothing wrong with the fact that he did so. 

“Tommy, stop,” Newt said suddenly, and Thomas snapped out of it, his head whipping up to  look at Newt, who wasn’t even looking at his face, his gaze locked down, focused on the way his hand was very gently gripping Thomas’, thumb running over his knuckles. Thomas glanced down, and then he realised why. 

His hand was clenched roughly around his knee, nails digging into the fabric, his teeth grounding hard inside his mouth. Out of nowhere he began to feel the sharp burn throbbing on his leg from where the fabric was pressing against it.

“Tommy,” Newt said again, his tone taking on a softer version now. “Stop.”

Thomas met the warm brown eyes, and they convinced him enough to detach his hand from his leg, which felt like a divorce. Instead, he placed his hand over Newt’s cheek and leaned forward to let their foreheads rest against each other. Newt’s hands locked with his, their palms sliding over each other, fingers intertwining. Newt let out a small hum, and while he closed his eyes, he didn’t look like was letting go completely. 

Thomas scanned Newt’s features; the bright hair that shone gold in the light of the sun Thomas had only seen once, the white light never discounting the perfection, either. The pale skin that matched Thomas and Teresa and Chuck due to the lack of any of them going outside, their Vitamin D levels relying on the supplements WICKED provided.  And the lips that Thomas still couldn’t believe he had the right to kiss. It hurt so much, because soon he wouldn’t be able to. 

Thomas’ eyes shut, mouth twitching as his jaw clenched. He moved back, removing his forehead from Newt’s, ignoring the coldness which it basked in due to reasons unrelated to the room temperature. Newt’s eyes cracked open, dark blond eyelashes that Thomas could only really see up close fanning over his eyelids endearingly. Thomas swallowed, closing his eyes again and turning his head away, forming a distance despite how much it hurt. 

Cold hands placed themselves over the side of his face, gently tilting his head back towards Newt. Thomas opened his eyes while Newt frowned. 

“Talk to me,” he whispered, voice not pushing but still desperate and pleading. He wanted to know what had saddened his boyfriend enough to leave him in this state, but he would never force Thomas to say something he didn’t want to. 

As if it was instinct, Thomas leaned into the touch, his eyes downcast but no longer avoiding Newt. He breathed a small laugh. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Thomas admitted to the floor. Newt’s hands on his face softened even further, if that was possible. His expression was tender, even though his eyes were sharp. 

“Where’s this coming from, Tommy?” he asked. Thomas tried to hide the way his breath drew in. 

“What do you think?” Thomas replied. “The Maze. The cranks and the Grievers. That thing we saw before meeting with Group B. All of it, really.” Newt let out a noise resembling agreement, but he didn’t look convinced.

“I’m bloody sure about that, Tommy. In fact, I’d be concerned if you weren’t,” Newt said with dryness that made Thomas huff out a laugh. “But,” his accent drew the word out as he let go of Thomas’ face. “I can tell there’s something else to it.” 

Thomas glanced up and then back down. How was he supposed to say this? I broke down because I found out you, Minho, Alby and even Chuck would be taken away from me by losing all your memories and so you’d practically remember nothing about yourselves, your lives or your families and relations and technically be like little new born babies and be thrown into the Maze that I built with giant robots with legs and tails and I’d have to watch it all for years on my screen and then I’ll be thrown into that same Maze but I’d have my memories and therefore I’d have to watch the boy I love look me in the eye with no recognition and it’s the same with all my friends and I don’t think I can take that, like it physically pains me, it hurts so much I can’t describe it, the sheer knowledge that I’ve only now had sprung upon me settling inside my chest and refusing to leave, heavy and unrelenting and I don’t think it’ll ever go away because even if you’re not dead and we do find the cure, you’d still no longer be my Newt and I genuinely don’t think I can live with that without breaking down every day, and then there’s the fact that you won’t be there to comfort me like you’re doing right now and always do which means I won’t be able to sleep because you wouldn’t be curled beside me, looking adorable even though you resent me whenever I say it. And I’d also still be seeing you laugh and your eyes light up in the way that I adore but it would never be the same because those smiles and laughs aren’t mine and don’t come from the remembrance of what we are to each other and—

“Tommy,” Newt said, and his voice was just the thing Thomas needed, as always. “You spaced out, so don’t tell me there’s nothing wrong.” 

Thomas opened his mouth uselessly. Oh God, he was screwed. Why had he even gone to Newt? Newt knew him better than anyone, after all, of course he wouldn’t just believe Thomas, and even if he was impartial, crying like your life depended on it into someone’s neck isn’t the behaviour of someone ‘fine’. Curse him and his stupid need to do everything that popped into his head. 

“It’s WICKED,” Thomas relented with a sigh. Newt didn’t reply but he had a ‘when is it not’ expression as he waited for him to continue. “The Maze trials, specifically. Which is only a couple days away.” Newt shifted, his posture straightening, a look of both alarm and sympathy—why was he sympathetic? He was the one that was going to be put into the Maze. 

“What about it?” Newt asked carefully. Thomas had to force himself not to curl into a ball and scream. He struggled to find the right words. 

“You ever heard about the Swipe before?” Thomas asked. Newt raised an eyebrow. 

“Yes, Tommy, I do happen to have heard it because I’m also a bloody child scientist.” 

Thomas didn’t laugh, but he allowed his lips to twitch into a reluctant smile. Newt grinned sloppily at him. Oh, okay. Yeah. The smile was no longer reluctant. Newt had made the atmosphere lighter for him, but Thomas still picked at his nails, eyes darting around. He hated how his feelings could be brought down to mere nervousness. He was about to tell someone—not just someone, it’s Newt—that their whole life is going to change. Like, genuinely change. Change so much to the point that they think that they don’t even remember their life before. He can’t act so casually about it. Or maybe it’s just hysteria from bawling. 

“I… well, the Swipe it’s a chip. It’s inserted into the subject's brain once it’s their turn for the trial.” 

Newt stared at him. His previously deadpan, teasing face had predictably vanished. Now his face was unreadable with nothing but a small crease to his eyebrows. Thomas closed his eyes. 

“It kinda… rewrites the brain. Parts of it, I mean,” Thomas tried to focus on the black behind his eyelids, but his pulse was loud in his ears, and as he said the words, they each came tumbling down on him again. The severity of the situation. What it would mean not just to Thomas and Newt, but to so many others. “It’s made mainly to alter the neurons. To wipe out… memories.” 

Thomas’ throat closed up, barely able to avoid choking on the words. The room was silent apart from the exchanged breaths. Thomas didn’t dare look up to see Newt’s expression. It was something he couldn’t handle. 

The silence was starting to get unbearable, thick and unavoidably present. Thomas understood he should give time for the other boy to process, but he needed Newt to answer him. He needed to make sure Newt didn’t blame him, though he guesses that he’d rather Newt look at him with anger and betrayal than with no recognition at all. Hate meant Newt still thought about him when he’d go to sleep, would still have his heart beating erratically and going insane whenever he’s mentioned. No recognition at all, on the other hand, means… nothing. 

Thomas finally allowed impatience to win over the raw fear. He risked his eyes opening. He risked sneaking a glance at Newt, which turned into a stare. Different to how his usual staring would be, though. Painfully different. 

Newt was squinting at the ground, frowning. He looked like he was trying to figure something out. There seemed to be a flicker of pain, too, as his hand was curled into a fist so tight Thomas was concerned, and Thomas was accustomed enough to the genuine language in Newt’s eyes to know that he was in despair. It made Thomas sick. 

“I’m sorry,” Thomas whispered, and he felt like he was going to start crying again. Newt looked up at him, but his brown eyes were hazy and unfocused. Thomas hated it so he leaned into kiss Newt, who didn’t exactly kiss back, but his eyes seemed to clear a bit. It was sad how happy that made Thomas. 

“When did you find out?” Newt asked finally, his voice barely audible and cracked at the edges, not at all firm like how Newt’s voice used to be. That was no surprise, even if Thomas’ heart shattered. 

“Earlier today,” Thomas replied truthfully. Newt still looked a little out of it, so Thomas didn’t kiss him again,  but it was all he wanted to do. Newt let out a little hum. 

“Which is why you came to me sobbing like a baby,” he didn’t say it like he was teasing Thomas, but flatly. As if it was nothing more than a fact. And like he understood why and would have done the same. If Thomas was being honest, he’d say it scared him. 

“Are you going to sob now, too?” Thomas asked, and he didn’t understand how he himself could joke. What was wrong with him? Newt’s voice broke halfway. 

“I think I might,” and then they swapped, Thomas holding Newt, feeling his own tears still drying on Newt’s shirt, which matched the now fresh ones belonging to Newt spilling onto his. 

This definitely wasn’t the first time Thomas had seen Newt cry, but now, with the context of the entire situation, he felt like the world was ending. 

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“Newt?” 

“Hmm?” 

“I know we’re young and everything but I…” Thomas bit his lip and thought about everything that made him… warm. A warmth the sun in the scorch itself couldn’t compare to. It all stemmed from Newt. “…I think I love you.” 

Newt looked over at him, silent. His eyes were rimmed red but deep with affection as they looked into Thomas’. He smiled, and while it was small, Thoma still thought that it was perfect. 

“I think I love you, too, Tommy. And I promise that I ever won’t forget that.”  

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The day came. 

Thomas wasn’t given a chance to talk to Newt or anyone else first. He was woken up by a harsh knock—it wasn’t three short ones—except he had never really been asleep in the first place. The white ceiling that turned grey in the night had been very interesting, it seemed.  

Now, he was standing in front of about 10 boys, all of his friends except Chuck being part of them. Newt, Minho, Alby, Gally, all the people he had gotten so close with over the years. Orderlies walked up and down the hall, prepping them to enter the medical rooms, taking temperatures, blood pressures, checking eyes, tongues. It was the final medical examination. Thomas didn’t know how many of the group were control subjects like Newt, or if there were any at all. 

Newt wasn’t looking at Thomas, but he didn’t look angry or betrayed, either. It seemed more like acceptance, like he was still trying to be strong. Thomas might have been fooled if he didn’t have the clear memory—a basic thing that Newt wouldn’t have anymore—of the other boy being held in his arms with tears and more tears. 

“Look at Minho,” Teresa whispered, and she was leaning incredibly close to him to avoid being overheard. 

Minho was about five boys down the line from where Thomas and Teresa were standing. And he looked… the opposite of Newt. He had been fidgeting the entire morning, but now it had turned into something so much more intense, his muscles coiled, teeth gritting like it was physically paining him to not jump forward and attack. It reminded Thomas of a cocked gun, his muscles coiled and convulsing. Thomas felt the rise of panic. Minho wouldn’t try something, would he? After what he went through last time. 

Still, Thomas felt he could understand. Inside the medical rooms, clearly visible from their place in the hallway, menacing devices hung over each bed. They looked like robot masks, metallic and full of wires and tubes. Thomas assumed they were meant to capture every type of killzone measurement imaginable, a foundation from which they could study progress within the Maze Trials. Teresa placed a hand on his arm. 

“Follow my lead,” she breathed into his ear, and then she pushed away from the wall and walked toward Minho. She had an air of authority about her, so the medical attendants barely glanced her way or his as he followed right behind. They stopped when they got to Minho, and when he glared up at them, Teresa placed a hand on his shoulder. 

Minho flinched. For one, painful second, he thought his friend was going to attack him, to which he did have the right, but then his eyes met Teresa’s and a wave of calm seemed to wash over him, relaxing his body as it flowed through. Thomas stared in shock as tears began to prickle in the other boy’s eyes.

“It’s okay,” Teresa said to him, and it was probably the most genuine she’s ever spoken to their friends. “Don’t make it worse by fighting them. Everything will be fine inside the maze. You'll see.”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Minho asked, looking between the two of them. It took both of them by surprise, and Teresa stammered. 

“Not yet,” Thomas said quickly.  He wanted to leave it at that, only for anger to form in Minho’s expression again. 

“Seriously?” he snapped, staring at Thomas with such dislike. Thomas’ brain refused to catch on. “So you’re telling me not to fight them? Are you sure you don’t mean us? What exactly are you doing here, Thomas? I don’t see you being poked and prodded like cattle.”

Minho was talking loudly. The other boys could definitely hear them. Alby turned around from where he was standing a few feet away from them, his face contorted with the same outrage. “Yeah, he’s got a good point, if you ask me. You’re just gonna throw us into a big experiment, then go back to your cush bed and relax? Were you ever going to tell us? Or just let us think you were going in, then, Surprise!”

Thomas had no idea what to say. He whipped his head around, looking imploringly at Newt, only for both Minho and Alby to step forward and block his sight, making the WICKED workers—from which belonged himself and Teresa—raise their heads warningly, but they didn’t intervene. 

“Don’t look at him,” Minho said, voice low so Newt wouldn’t hear from his place in the line, but still just as firm. “Don’t hurt him anymore than you already have. Be glad he’s actually trying to hide it.” 

Thomas felt bile rise in his throat. He risked another try at looking at Newt, but Alby and Minho stayed firmly in place. As much as he loved Newt and yearned to see him, he knew the others were right, so he dropped his gaze to the floor, jaw clenching with guilt. 

“What?” Alby pressed when Thomas didn’t say anything. “Forget the script you’re supposed to follow? Or are you just worried about upsetting your buddies?” He nodded toward all the (other) WICKED workers, who had gone back to work when they realised Alby and Minho weren’t actually going to do anything.

“Guys, come on,” Teresa said, her blue eyes wide. “We’re no different from anyone else—we just do whatever they ask.” Exactly. They had thought they were different, but they really weren’t; WICKED had been keeping things from them, too. But that’s not valid. When the others would lose all their memories and be sent into the trial, they would still happily be safe inside the facilities. When it would be their turn to go into the maze, they wouldn’t lose everything like the others did.   

“Say whatever makes you feel better,” Alby replied before turning the other way, but still keeping Thomas away from Newt. It was understandable, but everyone was stood with their backs against the wall, glaring at him as if he’d known about this the whole time. As if he’d been lying to them. Newt knew that wasn’t true. Newt was the only one on his side. Newt loved him.

Right? 

“Alby’s right,” Minho stated. “I’ve tried to give you guys the benefit of the doubt. Figured you were going to be able to help us. But now it’s obvious what you were doing. You’ve been helping them the whole time. It’s all been about getting ready to do this to us, hasn’t it!” 

Thomas stepped back. He felt absolutely crushed. He needed to reassure Minho that no, he hadn’t. He only found out a day ago! But he had been planning to keep it from them. If Newt hadn’t asked him about it, he wouldn’t have told him. Wouldn’t have told him because he was cowardly. 

“Minho, listen—” Teresa began. 

“Get out of my face!” Minho yelled. 

The world was falling apart, and Thomas could think to defend himself with. Alby, Minho. Until five minutes ago, he’d considered them his best friends. He had assumed that because Newt understood, they would, too. Oh thank God Newt understood. 

He stepped forward instinctively. He wanted to run to Newt, pull him into a crushing hug and memorise everything about him. The way his hair flopped over his eyes, his bright grin, the taste of his lips, the way he could make Thomas forget everything wrong with the world. 

He just wanted to grab Newt’s face and beg him not to forget him. To beg him to always love him and never stop. He just wanted to have Newt because he knew he soon wouldn’t be able to. 

But then Alby and Minho were blocking him again, arms outstretched as if to push him back. Thomas halted, heart thudding. 

Thomas felt powerless. He looked down the line of boys who had been his friends, and his heart broke over and over. Minho, Alby, Newt—their eyes brimming with either resentment or defeat. He could still remember how they all laughed together, teased Chuck, ate snacks with glee knowing they’d stolen it from Randall or some other dude they mutually despised. How they planned the Flare-free future together. How had everything just crashed so suddenly?

He had to say something. Quickly. His chance would be over soon. He had to fix this! They had to know that they were all wrong, that he and Teresa weren’t working with WICKED, really. They would help them, even go into the maze themselves if they had to. He had to speak, now!

Yet he didn’t. And he didn’t know why. He didn’t plead with them, didn’t promise them he’d keep them safe, didn’t inform then that he’d do something, didn’t even tell them how much they meant to him, how Thomas felt like them parting from him was the equivalent to a limb being ripped off his body, leaving him to bleed out. Instead he said something trivial, something that he didn’t mean in the ways he should. Something that he had said over and over again to Newt last night. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, the tone and pitch of it sounding as foreign as if it came from another person altogether. And then, though it hurt so much to do so, he added: “There’s nothing I can do.”

Thomas was 12 and he was watching, frozen, helpless, screaming on the inside, as everything he had ever cared so much about was taken away. 

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Later, Thomas cried so hard he couldn’t see. No one was there to comfort him. No one came to throw snacks at him and make stupid jokes, no one thumped him on the back and told him he was stronger than his feelings, no one came to wipe his tears away and then kiss his wet cheeks. 

And Thomas knew that it was his own fault. 

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“Don’t say a word, Thomas,” Dr. Paige ordered. Thomas had been becoming angrier and angrier and sadder and sadder, and it was clearly showing on his face. “There are reasons for things that you don’t understand. Also know that I’m not the final say on any decision. But I did get you one victory today. How would you like the day off? You can spend it observing your friends in the maze. I feel like you deserve that much.”

Thomas didn’t think he could look at all the boys and see the blankness in their eyes.  It would make everything so much more real to him. At least now, he could somewhat pretend none of it was happening. 

“The only reason you guys want me to do that is so you can observe me observing them.”

Dr. Paige looked so sympathetic it hurt. “Do you want to do it or not?” she asked softly. Thomas hated that even now, he couldn’t hate her. She was the closest thing to a mother he had. So instead, he directed the anger at himself. 

Thomas swallowed his pride and agreed to her proposition. He was led to the observation room which was the same one where he watched Minho be tortured by a Griever once upon a time. This time the monitors showed various glimpses into the massive green space at the center of the maze—where most of his friends now resided. Dr. Paige showed him to a chair at the control deck, and he sat down, already glued to the various scenes playing out across the many monitors. Without saying another word, she left him, softly closing the door. Thomas leaned forward.

He watched everything. 

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WICKED said that it would take a while before they actually got over the numb shock and bewilderment of the ‘predicament’ and they actively began planning out ways to escape beyond trying to climb the ivy on the walls. And Thomas was waiting for it, even though he knew they’d just fail over and over again. Teresa was the trigger, after all. When she got sent in the Maze soon after Thomas, that’s when the ball would actually start rolling.

For now, they just needed to analyse the brain activity and create data, which Thomas did. But to do so, he had to zoom in on his friends' faces. He had to look at their eyes, devoid of everything Thomas had gotten used to in them. Newt’s eyes were no longer practically their own maze. Now they were just empty and hollow. Minho, on the other hand, while disorientated, seemed more sharp like he’d been before he got tortured. That was one good thing, at least. 

Still; the list was very small. 

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Thomas heard a knock on the door. He closed his eyes. He could just imagine Newt’s fists banging on it. Three knocks, all short. Except this one was multiple short ones. He forced out a “come in”, though his mood lifted for the first time in a while when he saw Chuck stumbling into the observation room.   

“Hi Chuck,” he said, turning away from the monitor which was honour itsellf. 

“Hey, Thomas!” the young boy said, his voice filled with the usual enthusiasm. He pulled a chair over and put it right next to Thomas, barely an inch away, and jumped up into the seat. “Anything exciting happen yet?”

Too much. And none of it was exciting.  

“You're looking at it,” Thomas replied. “See that? Look really close. Look at what Alby and George are eating. You won’t believe it.”

Chuck leaned forward, squinting at the screen. It made Thomas so happy to see him like this; the same, nothing burdening him or changed. It was relieving, after seeing what happened to his friends. 

“Looks like peaches,” he announced, nodding at the fruits without a hint of irony. 

“Bingo,” Thomas replied, finger-gunning him the way Minho used to do. “You might be the best analyst in all of WICKED.” 

“Hardy har har.” That was the kid’s favourite response when Thomas teased him. “You’re so funny.” That was his second favourite. Yeah, Thomas couldn’t imagine him changing. 

Thomas had begged Dr. Paige to let Chuck serve as his assistant for an hour or two each day. It had become clear that WICKED appreciated the insights Thomas provided and he insisted that he needed someone to bounce ideas off during these work periods. Teresa was often too busy learning computer systems on top of her normal schedule to help him.

He claimed he was ‘grooming’ Chuck to do great things, but the truth was that Thomas needed him. Being alone often brought his memories crashing in, and Chuck was a beacon that lit the darkness. Dr. Paige seemed more than happy to acquiesce, considering the value of studying Chuck’s reactions to the things he witnessed. It was pure selfishness on Thomas’s part, but he couldn’t let it go. He needed Chuck. He was Thomas’ new light. The one to break him out of his miserable thoughts. If it weren’t for him and Teresa, Thomas didn’t think he would be able to stay sane, if that’s what you called his current state. 

Even so, he wasn’t sure if he could ever be properly okay again. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

A boy called Zart was going to be inserted into the maze. He had blond hair, and was nice, but Thomas didn’t think of Newt when he saw him. He’s still watching Newt on the monitors, watching the way his hair would turn golden as the fake sun that the boys didn’t even know was fake would shine on it. Despite the change in his eyes, he still  looked… perfect. Thomas wondered if it was unhealthy for him to think this. 

What’s it like? he wondered, staring down at Zart’s unconscious face as he was about to be injected with the Swipe. How weird must it be to wake up with all your memories erased? Dr. Paige had explained many times how it worked, but what did it feel like? That was what Thomas wanted to know. To have a completely intact picture of the world and how it was… but with everything that mattered scrubbed out. Friends, families, lovers. It was terrifying, but also strangely fascinating. 

They did the procedure with Chuck watching. He hadn’t looked horrified. It hadn’t seemed to have affected him negatively at all. He had looked awed. And then, when the three of them—him, Teresa and Chuck. Thomas would remember the times it used to be six—watched as the box took Zart up, who thrashed around, screaming to be helped, Thomas couldn’t imagine how panicked he must be. 

He also watched as all the other boys came to stand around the box, greeting Zart as he came up. George pulled him to his feet, and they all gave him reassuring looks and pats on the shoulder. Newt smiled at him, but it wasn’t like it used to be. Thomas felt like he was being selfish for being so hung up about it, but it meant so much to him. But the nature of their relationship meant it wasn’t strange. Or the nature of what their relationship was.

Thomas felt cold just thinking about it, and he knew he’d never get over that.

But, instead of trying, he’d rather he just fooled himself into believing that Newt was still his and just leave it all at that. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

They were months into the trials when the first boy died. 

It had been George. He died a mess, squirming on the ground with eyes that bulged skin on his face looking as if it had been ripped off, boiled, then stapled back on. His veins stuck out like they did on cranks, but rather than being a deep black, it was a sickening green. Thomas didn’t know what was going on, and neither did any of the other boys, predictably. 

“What the bloody hell is wrong with him?” Newt asked, and Thomas could hear the fear and horror in his voice from the mic. How does that feel? Someone you’ve known for the entire short time you can remember living dies in such an unexplainable way? Every time Thomas thought more about it, the more he’d sink into grief. Into hatred. 

Another kid was standing beside Newt, but Thomas was too focused on the person that used to be his boyfriend to identify him.  “I told you guys, we were out exploring the maze,” the kid said with an  evident shake in his voice. “He was always ahead of me. I heard all these mechanical sounds, and then Georgie screamed. I could barely get him back here.”  Thomas slowly blinked, taking in the way he seethed as he spoke. 

“Who’s that?” Thomas asked. He wanted to feel like he was in the Glade with the others, even if it was a stupid thought. 

“His name’s Nick,” Chuck replied. “Picks his nose.”

Thomas tore his eyes away from the screen to look at Chuck with an incredulous expression. “Seriously?” he said. “Now?”

“That’s all I know about him!” Chuck protested, and Thomas opened his mouth, ready to reply, when Alby’s voice cut across him, bringing their attention back to the screen. 

“I didn’t want the others to see him. Get everybody spooked. Fat chance of avoiding that now.”

“Well, why were you just hitting him in the face?” the boy named Nick asked. “He’s my friend, you know. He needs medical help, not some hothead beating on him.” Irritation seemed to flare up in Alby. Well, at least that hadn’t changed. 

“He was trying to freaking bite me!” Alby yelled in Nick’s face. “Back off!”

“Boys, slim it.” Of course Newt intervened. It was Newt. The guy everyone liked. The calm, nice one who never argued with anyone because they all, even Minho, really,  just listened to him. “Let’s figure this out. What do we do?”

They stood over George, who’d gotten worse in the time. Thomas felt the pulsing dread. There was barely any medical supplies in the maze. Would George make it? Of course he would. WICKED wouldn’t let one of their subjects die. It was the aftermath Newt was worried about. 

“Did you see what attacked him?” Alby asked Nick, who shook his head unhelpfully. 

“Saw nothing.”

Newt frowned, brow furrowing in the way Thomas had memorised. “Did George say anything?” he asked. 

Nick hesitated, but then nodded. “Well, yeah, I think so. Not sure, but… I think he kept whispering, ‘It stung me, it stung me, it stung me....’ It was weird, man. He sounded like he was possessed or something. What’re we gonna do!”

Thomas stared at the screen. Despite the forcefully casual way Nick said it, the words caused something cold to sweep inside Thomas. A strange realisation. And fear.

It stung me.

“Come on,” Alby said, leaning down to grab George’s legs. “No use trying to hide this anymore. Let’s get him out to the middle of the Glade and gather everybody. See if anyone knows what to do.”

Newt looked up, straight into the camera. Thomas leaned back. Could he see him? Thomas would do anything for him to see him. Because Newt was looking at the camera, his brown eyes were unknowingly focusing on Thomas, and just for a second, Thomas let himself imagine that Newt was looking at him with the same love that used to define him and Thomas refused to believe was now non-existent. 

Newt cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted. “Hey! Whoever sent us here! Send us some medicine. How ’bout a bloody doctor? Better yet, why don’t you take us out of this hellhole!”

Thomas blinked slowly. Newt… really didn’t know. He didn’t know why he was there. He didn’t know about the Flare, that he wasn’t immune to it, that he could die if he was exposed to the outside world. He didn’t know that WICKED existed, that Dr. Paige existed, that Teresa existed, that Thomas existed. He didn’t know he had been loved. He didn’t know that someone called Thomas was watching his every movement, missing him so much it caused a physical ache. He didn’t know any of it. Just this strange life that was the Maze Thomas built. 

God, Thomas ruined so much by building it. 

“It stung me” but what does that mean? WICKED was still keeping things from him? Even now? 

Then it hit Thomas that at this point, he shouldn’t be surprised. A boy had just died. Thomas had found out later that it was because of a Griever. A griever had stung him, causing George to go insane. 

And then Alby had to kill him. 

Chuck, with his knees pressed to his face as he shook, began crying. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas wanted answers. WICKED, the people who were going to save the world, killed a boy who wasn’t even 18 yet, and had spilled the blood onto Alby’s hands. Teresa was with him. 

“You guys are okay with killing kids now?” Teresa asked Dr. Paige. Thomas admired how blunt she was able to put it. Teresa was braver than he could ever be. All his friends were, actually. 

Ava sighed. She looked disappointed. Thomas realised for the first time that it didn’t matter what they said and did; everything here was just a test for WICKED. All their reactions were just data, and all the deaths, because there’s no denying that there will be more, were for the greater Good. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Minho and Newt were running in the maze together, muttering out the directions they took, and when they returned to the Glade, they finally produced the first map. Minho had grinned, stretching his arms as he yawned, looking proud and brighter than he had since being put inside the maze. It was the same with Newt, who was lit up with the happiness that Thomas found himself loving so much like it had never left. It felt so relieving, and the progression itself felt so exhilarating, as if Thomas was in the maze with them himself. 

Thomas didn’t think WICKED would let Newt die in the maze. He was their Control Subject, so they needed him. Inserting another one in the middle of the trial wouldn’t work; they’d have had to be there from the beginning, the same amount of time as the initial immunes for it to mean anything. And as far as Thomas knew, Newt was the only non-immune in the group that first went into the maze. He felt lighter with the knowledge, but not completely unburdened. There was still Minho, Alby and even Gally. Not to mention the other dozens of boys.

He should probably stop caring; none of them would know him when they finally reunited. It would be painful if he still let himself be attached, and Teresa seemed to have mastered it, being so impassive that sometimes Thomas would find himself getting angry. She was supposed to understand him. Understand that he’d never be able to just move on. And Thomas never even tried.

And so months and months passed and Thomas went along in his weird, boring, sometimes heart-breaking, sometimes uplifting life. Watching his friends tough it out inside the Glade and the maze. But also watching them prosper, work hard to make it a better place. Rules were established, jobs assigned, routines worked out. The Homestead was three times bigger than when they’d started, and Minho had been named Keeper of the Runners, and Nick and Alby had become leaders of some sort, though they had Newt be the one helping whatever new boy would be sent up once a month. Thomas understood why. Newt just seemed to be able to get anyone to calm down. Thomas felt the smallest twinge knowing that Newt was no longer… exclusive? Oh, Thomas sucked. What sort of thought even is that? 

Thomas needed to get a grip. He cared enough about Newt’s happiness to not mind if Newt was never with him again if that meant Newt would be happy. He would give Newt up if Newt asked for it. It was Newt’s feelings that matter, not Thomas’. And even though to Thomas, Newt would always be his first love, he knew it wouldn’t be the same for Newt anymore. Newt could see Minho as his first love, for fuck’s sake, and Thomas would never know. But he’d have to accept it. And with grace and maturity.

The problem with Thomas, though, is that Newt had always been the mature one in the relationship. You could never count on Thomas to be mature. And Thomas is oddly proud of that. 

Or at least, he was. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas’ pride ended when Gally got himself stung. He got himself stung, and he got his memories back. 

Gally remembered Thomas. Gally remembered Thomas. He didn’t mention it to anyone, but Thomas knew. He could tell. Gally remembered WICKED, the Flare, and  him.

 And Gally hated him.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

It was winter, Thomas was nearly 13, the same age as Newt now (Minho must be about 14 now, and Alby would be 15)  and he thought WICKED had nothing left to hide from him. But obviously, he was still so stupid. And this time, Teresa had known. It had been told to Teresa, but not him. 

Dr. Paige was the person in WICKED with a heart. She was the one who explained it to him when he came to her door and demanded to know if it was true.

She told him the decisions had been made before her time.  That WICKED was trying to fix a problem their predecessors had created in the first place. WICKED was going to fix the world because it was their fault it needed fixing. Because WICKED had a hand in creating the Flare. 

The reason why Newt and so many other kids couldn’t live their lives was because of WICKED. WICKED and the government and some other company had created the Flare. 

And Teresa had known. And Teresa had defended them. She defended them knowing what WICKED had done to Newt. Knowing that by creating the Flare, they doomed Newt’s life outside. That because of what WICKED had done, Thomas had to deal with his lover and friends not knowing who he was, and the one guy who could finally remember didn’t have to vocalise his hatred for it to be apparent. 

Everything about WICKED had worn him to the bone, hardened his heart. The Psychs, the Variables, the killzone, the patterns. Everything. They'd unleashed the very virus to which they wanted to find a cure. The cure that Thomas wanted for New only, not once even bothering to think of anyone else. 

“Our world isn’t so bad,” Chuck said. “Once WICKED figures out how to make everyone well again, life’ll be pretty good, don’t you think?” Thomas remembers having a similar conversation with Teresa, Minho, Newt, Alby and Gally while Chuck was asleep. It was that conversation that led to their kiss, which was both Thomas’ best decision, and his worst one. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The first time Thomas had thought about escaping was because of Minho. The second was because of Teresa, but unlike with Minho it wasn’t intentional nor direct. Teresa had whispered to him that a woman who had been close with Dr. Paige had defected, and how Dr. Paige was now heartbroken. 

Thomas was a bit too curious about if for his own good, but that was more because after MInho had been tortured, he thought it would be impossible for anyone to risk leaving WICKED. Clearly not. Thomas wondered about the woman’s reasoning, only to get scared when he realised he could list off more things that he should. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Chancellor Anderson had Randall and a few others had gotten the Flare, and because of that, they were posing the the risk of infecting the rest of them. Dr. Paige gave him, Teresa, Rachel and Aris a job. Thomas stared at her, something like a jolt running through him. 

She nodded, her expression showing how hard it was to say what came next. “You're all immune, and you’re the oldest and strongest of those who aren’t in the maze yet. We're dealing with people who are very sick and weak—more important, though, is that most of them are asleep, which is why we have to act right now. These backpacks have syringes filled with a solution that’s been prepared for this task—all it takes is a quick plunge into their necks and the job is done. You should be able to do it with no problems.”

Thomas sat down to hide the fact that his knees had gone weak. After the long silence, Aris finally said the words no one else could, and it reminded him of Alby. 

“So… we’re just going to kill them all?”

Thomas expected outrage from Dr. Paige. Some sort of soft words to honey the statement. To change the intentions and make it seem less outrageous than it actually was, like they were still easily malleable little children. But instead, she surprised him by just nodding. Thomas opened his mouth.

“They'll die anyway,” Teresa stated so suddenly. There wasn’t a hint of anything other than flatness in her voice. Not any emotion. Nothing that hinted towards how morally wrong what Dr. Paige was telling them to do was. To say Thomas was shocked was an understatement. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” he said, standing up again. Was this some sort of test? It must be. No way Teresa actually agreed with something like this.  “We have to think this through.”

“No, Tom,” Teresa snapped. “It’s that we be tough now or everyone dies later.”

Thomas couldn’t think of a reply to that. His mouth was agape, eyes locked on Teresa, tracing her like she was another person. His vision was a bit dazed. 

“I’m sorry,” she  said, and she did look it, but Thomas still felt betrayed.. “I’m sorry, Tom. Really. I just… I know this whole thing is awful, but it’ll be less awful if we just accept it and get it done.”

“She’s right,” Dr. Paige said unhelpfully. “The four of you will be adults soon. You can handle this. We know exactly where the infected are—you just need to go from room to room and inject them.” She gestured toward the backpacks. “We’ve packed guns, and we have Launchers for you as well. Just in case. I need to stress that. Just in case. I think you'll be able to do this to them as they sleep. And I’ll have guards posted, despite the risk of infection, if things go south.”

Nobody said anything, and so Dr. Paige sighed. She looked at Thomas as she spoke, which made him feel strangely conscious. “Do you want the cure?” she asked. “Do you want to fix the world? I do, too, but it won’t happen if half of WICKED are infected because of a group of stupid men refusing to accept their mortality.” she paused, taking in a  deep breath as if to calm herself. Thomas watched her  “ WICKED is good, we wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t necessary.”

Teresa looked over at Thomas. She could see what she was telling him with her eyes. They needed a cure, and she knew why it was more important to Thomas than it was to others. 

“Count me in,” Teresa said with a nod. 

“Me too,” Aris added after a deep breath.

“I guess I’m in. The ends justify the means,” Rachel said somewhat bitterly. “It should be WICKED’s official motto.” 

 “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?” Aris replied with a shrug. “If you could save a billion people by killing a million people, shouldn’t you do it? You know, hypothetically speaking? If you really had that choice and said no, then aren’t you actually killing a billion people? I’d rather kill a million than a billion.” He said all this while looking at Thomas strangely. Thomas wondered how much Teresa had told them about his little rendezvous with his… former friends and something more. 

Dr. Paige nodded at the three who'd accepted her challenge. “Thomas?” she asked. He didn’t respond, the white floor apparently very interesting. 

“Tom?” Teresa said. “I need you with me on this. With us.”

She didn’t want him to be with them. She wanted him to be with her. The moment he let them lose their memories, he was no longer with them. She wanted him to accept that. He’s already established that he can’t. 

Thomas felt sick. He stood up. His thoughts raced as he searched for the perfect words. He knew that they would do what Dr. Paige needed them to do. WICKED had come too far to collapse now. He had a world to think about, friends to think about, Chuck to think about, the non-immune that he loved to think about. 

He decided he’d do it. And he did. Thomas was 13 when he killed his first man, and then many more. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Was it necessary?” Thomas asked Teresa. She glanced at him, hesitating a bit too long for an upcoming  ‘yes’ to sound believable, but she didn’t even try. 

“I don’t know.” 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas wasn’t a stranger to death. The world was in an apocalypse, after all, a lot more boys than George ended up dying from a Griever, and while he hadn’t seen the progress of Group B, he knew it would be similar. And, of course, he’d caused more than a few little deaths himself. 

But death was never intentional on the victim’s part. Death was never… like this.  

Thomas had sat down at screens, mind reeling because of the nature of the world in which he lived. Illness, death, betrayal, friends subjected to cruel trials that might never mean a thing. A month ago, Thomas had helped murder more than a dozen human beings in a matter of hours. And every day since, he’d lived in a pit of self-loathing and guilt, eyes glued the workings of the Glade. 

But then, when he had to leave for several hours for a different task, he returned to see Minho, tired and sweaty, stumbling out of the Glade right before the doors closed. Thomas went cold. Minho was an amazing runner, so what had caused that? And then he caught sight of the heap of a body draped over Minho’s back. Blond hair poked over Minho’s shoulder. 

Newt. 

Thomas didn’t understand. The boys began swarming around Newt, blocking the sight of the stationed beetle-blade. Thomas switched to another one, another camera, and this time it zoomed in. He could see every twitch in Newt’s closed-eye expression, the strange, almost disturbed and panicky look in Minho’s eyes, the tracks of tears on Newt’s cheeks, faint as if he’d been crying a long time ago and hadn’t been bothered to wipe it off. Alby took Newt into his arms, and Newt crumpled. That’s when Thomas noticed Newt’s leg. 

The ripped fabric of Minho’s shirt was wrapped around it, but it did little to hide anything. What was previously light blue had turned into a sickly red, blood drenching the fabric, and there was just so much of it. And then there was the bone, bent at some unnatural angle that made Thomas feel sick. Alby gently prodded at it, and Newt gasped, lurching forward, face contorted with pain, his eyes still closed. Thomas was shaking at this point, with fear or anger, he couldn’t tell. 

Thomas sat limply for a second, mind too crowded with emotions to make sense of anything. His hand was trembling as he reached for the controls, deciding to start the meticulous process of finding the correct camera angles he’d need to put together a story of what happened in the day.

Less than two hours later, Thomas had spliced together a series of camera clips from various beetle blades, the closest to a continuous feed that he could accomplish. It showed a tale that just about broke Thomas’s heart. On the large display screen in the middle of the wall, he started it up again from the beginning. He knew Newt had been fine earlier in the morning, before Thomas had to leave, but he watched it anyway. He rewatched Newt smile and say goodbye to Minho and the other runners (he had been given a day off today) but this time, he felt a pulsing dread. Because before, he hadn’t caught the way that Newt’s expression was tight. And Newt’s expression when he smiled was never tight. Newt could have different experiences and memories now, but that would never change. 

Newt spent his day as usual as how any of the runners would when they had a day off, either talking to some of the Gladers or resting, but he didn’t go and banter with Alby. That in itself was strange; it seemed Newt was avoiding the other boy, and then when Minho returned, he did the same with him. Night fell—the fake sun meant that time passed much differently than it did in reality, but the amount of time the Gladers said they’d been in the Glade lined up with how much it actually was—and Newt didn’t sleep. He merely stared up at the dark sky, and his brown eyes were glassy, empty like they had been when Newt first lost his memories. That scared Thomas. He couldn’t deal with seeing Newt like that, so he skipped the night footage, until he saw Newt moving. 

Runners were usually the first ones up, but Dawn hadn’t even broken yet before Newt was on his feet. He put on his harness quietly, clearly not wanting to wake anyone up, and as he did, he kept glancing at the Beetle-blade. Thomas’ breath would catch every time Newt’s still oddly not normal eyes would meet his through the camera, even though Newt would never know. 

Thomas wanted to scream when Newt ran into the maze. The walls had only just opened,  and he knew the Grievers were only now returning to their holes. Would Newt be stung by a Griever? No, his injury didn’t look like a sting, and Newt had still been fighting off unconsciousness, so that wasn’t possible. What then? 

Newt had run through the corridors, his pace steady but incredibly hurried. He turned left, then right, then left again. Several more turns. Finally he came to a long stretch where thick ivy covered the walls on both sides. He came to an abrupt stop, and the camera zoomed in on his face, tilted upwards, eyes fixed on the high point of the wall, still not quite… there. 

Thomas watched Newt’s Adam apple as he swallowed. He looked like he was thinking about something, deciding. Newt craned his neck, standing straighter, before ducking it down in something that resembled a nod. He reached up to grab the ivy, and then he was climbing it. 

Thomas watched, slightly panicked. What was Newt doing? Minho had already tried this on the first night. So was Newt going to injure himself by accidentally falling? He waited as Newt grabbed each vine, scaling the wall, straining himself until he reached the halfway point between the ground and the false sky in a matter of minutes. Thomas knew that this was where he would think he couldn’t go much farther. A combination of built-in optical illusions and pre-programmed repressors within his implant would guarantee he’d never make it to the top. He did climb several more feet; then he stopped. 

His eyes turned towards the Beetle-blade that had climbed with him as he clung onto the ivy, one misplaced hand away from falling and destroying his leg. Thomas could see every inch of his face, the sweat which lined his skin, the tousle of his blond hair, messy and matted with dirt but still endearing, and his lips pressed tightly together which Thomas knew he could kiss enough that it would part into something lighter, like he used to and no longer had the right to. 

Newt looked directly into the camera, and for the first time in this constructed feed, spoke. The accent rolled off his tongue, and it sounded flat. Emotionless, like Teresa when she decided she was going to help kill infected men. 

“I don’t know who you people are,” Newt said, like Thomas needed reminding. Like that fact hadn’t haunted Thomas for a little less than a year.  “But I hope you’re happy.” Thomas was happy when Newt was with him. “I hope you get a real buggin’ kick out of watching us suffer.” Thomas would go to hell and back just so that Newt could live a normal life, devoid of suffering and the risk of infection, “And then you can die and go to hell. This is on you.”

And before Thomas could even catch up, Newt let go of the vines and jumped off the wall. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas’ head slammed onto the desk, sobs racking through his body. The feed was still playing in the background, Newt was on the ground, Newt was crying, too, but it was silent, his leg tangled in the ivy which had lessened the impact and prevented the fall, the jump, from being fatal. MInho had also entered the maze, having noticed Newt was missing, but he was still many corridors away from finding him, and Newt was bleeding harshly. 

Newt, Newt, Newt, it was all Thomas could think. Newt’s name was all that his mind could latch onto. Newt and everything about him, kind, smiling and likeable Newt who Thomas loved. Newt, who had just tried to kill himself.

Kill. Himself. 

Thomas pushed back as far away as he could from the screen and tried to quieten himself, but he physically couldn’t. HIs chest heart. His heart hurt. Guilt and grief ricocheted around his body, and so did anger. 

Newt, his Newt, just tried to kill himself. And his Newt would never have done that if it weren’t’ for the conditions he was in. 

(“This is on you.”)

Thomas didn’t know who he (Thomas) was more angry at—himself or WICKED? It all hurt so much to think about. Thomas felt like he was drowning in despair, and if he was like this, how bad had Newt felt?

Bad enough to try and take his own life. 

Thomas was supposed to find a cure so that he could save Newt if he ever needed to. WICKED were the ones who were going to make it possible. WICKED is good, because Newt’s chance at life depended on them. 

But because of WICKED, because of Thomas, even if Newt didn’t know it, Newt didn’t want life. 

Newt didn’t want to live. Thomas did everything because he wanted Newt to live, and yet he was just making it worse. So much worse. 

Thomas still remembered, even though Newt didn’t, when Newt first knocked on his door, three times, all short, and he had grinned at Thomas and told him to follow him, Teresa standing behind, looking unimpressed. He had been happier back then. Not as happy as he could be, but still happy. And then there was the year in which they had been in a relationship, where Newt was laughing and smiling and kissing him like there was nothing wrong in the world, and Thomas had swooned and kissed back each time. He would be willing to give up on WICKED and the cure just for that to come back, just so he and Newt could be like they used to be. In fact, as long as Newt was happy and had a will to live, he didn’t care who Newt was with. He just never wanted to see Newt with that glassy, empty look ever again. 

But he still had to. He had to, because of WICKED. Because of himself. 

The third time Thomas thought about escaping was when Newt wasn’t even 14. Was when he watched the boy he loved give up on everything he wanted to preserve. 

The future, a crank-free world, he and his friends and Newt all living together in paradise, at their happiest. Content, peaceful. 

Fuck that. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas and Teresa had grown distant lately. Thomas would say it was because of their difference in mentalities. He couldn’t stand listening to her talk about WICKED, watching her always working, working, and working even more. Thomas didn’t exactly mind, though. Without her, he could focus his attention on Newt and the others. Well, that was his excuse whenever Dr. Paige would ask, but actually, Thomas tried to avoid being in the observation rooms as much as possible. He wanted to cry every time he’d see Newt’s state. 

What he really was doing, though, was focusing on his plan. Or rather, his poor excuse of a plan. He had scribbled outside the lines, for sure. 

The plan that involved doing something about WICKED. Something he should have done a long time ago. 

Before Thomas could rub his hands together and scheme ominously more, someone knocked against the door. He’s long accepted he’d never hear three short knocks in the way he’d want to again. 

“Who is it?” he called, trying to force calmness into his voice. The door opened, and Chuck’s head poked through. 

“Hey, Thomas. Dr. Campbell said I could have two free hours to help you with your notes. So… ”

For the first time in what seemed like ages, Thomas’ mouth twitched into a genuine smile. The muscles of his cheeks genuinely hurt. “Come on in, you shank. You don’t have to act like it’s a big deal every time.”

He and Chuck had  started using some of the slang words invented inside the Glade, just between the two of them. Chuck’s favourite was klunk by a long shot. Dr. Paige said the Psychs were really interested in how the memory loss affected the Gladers. Sometimes there were surprises, like the invention of totally new words. A few of them came from Minho, who’d had quite the mouth even before entering the maze. The Swipe seemed to heighten the trait, which the Psychs also found interesting. But of course, the Psychs found everything interesting. And Newt’s suicide attempt was one of WICKED’s favourite things. 

For the first time, Thomas acknowledged the one thing that he hadn’t dared think since he was 6: WICKED isn’t good, and they were never going to stop. They had already pushed Newt to the edge, and they were never, never going to stop. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas was 14 and he went through with his plan. Somehow, it was a success. 

He’d found out through Teresa that the woman who defected was called Mary Cooper. 

He contacted her. 

She listened.  

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Mary Cooper worked for an organisation that rebelled against WICKED. They were currently working to get the kids from both Group A and Group B out the maze. Thomas would relay information, anything he could get away with, and it went on like this for days that turned into weeks and weeks that turned into months. He became their source. 

Mary reminded him of Paige, except she seemed more… genuine. Thomas told her everything, about Paige, about WICKED, about Newt, Minho, Alby and Chuck and Teresa. He told her how he wanted the cure, but not enough that he’d sacrifice Newt’s mental state for it. He told her repeatedly how he couldn’t watch his friends die. And she listened. She was good. Thomas liked her more than he liked Paige, and even if she turned out just as manipulative as the other woman, at least she’d have gotten Newt and the others out of the maze. Thomas didn’t care about anything else. 

 Thomas was 15 when he betrayed WICKED completely. He was 16 when he was finally punished for it.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas walked with Chuck down the long hallway. That was how everything felt today. Long, never-ending. Dull. It felt like the world had come to a stop just to trap Thomas in this moment, making him truly feel it. Because the day, that day, had finally come. 

Chuck was going into the maze. And Thomas was going to be left alone. 

“I won’t even remember you,” Chuck said. “So it’s really like we’re saying bye forever.”

Thomas would remember Chuck. He’d never forget him. He’d watch Chuck through the cameras every day, make sure he’s okay, do everything so that nothing would happen to him. He was going to protect Chuck until Mary got him and everyone else out. 

But still, Thomas was going to miss Chuck. He’d miss him so much. And he couldn’t handle that. He couldn’t handle the thoughts of eating dinner without Chuck’s little comments and his terrible jokes and the way he always seemed to make Thomas’ mood go up no matter what. CHuck was the little brother he never had, and the little brother he’d soon not ever have. And Thomas, like with everything else, just couldn’t accept that. 

And so he leaked the compounds, trials and labs to Mary. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Tom, what did you do?” 

Thomas sat at the far table in the empty cafeteria, picking at his food, but his eyes didn’t avert themselves from Teresa, who was leaning over him, both hands into fists from where they rested on the table. He knew what he did was right. Teresa might be his oldest friend and the one person he had left, but she wasn’t going to change his mind about this. 

“Hey,” he said, voice a little desperate. He wasn’t going to back off if she disagreed, but it would be nice if Teresa was on his side. “Keep an open mind, okay? Hear me out before you start making assumptions.” 

Teresa stared at him, her blue eyes icy as they pierced into his, as if she was trying to piece together his thoughts. Without any reply, she sat down on the chair beside him, propping her head on her palm, looking at Thomas with discouraging scepticism.

Thomas didn’t look away, but the bubble of nervousness only grew in his chest. He wanted to tell Teresa, he really did, but what happened if she told Paige? What would happen to Thomas then? What he did hadn’t been exactly loyal. 

“Teresa, the cure isn’t going to happen,” he said, watching her face carefully for any form of reaction. She inhaled, eye twitching, but didn’t cut across him. “I just… I can’t be optimistic anymore. After everything WICKED’s done, after all these years of work amounting to the fact that we’ve found nothing, the trials are just growing more and more… vicious. Our friends are being hurt Teresa, and it’s not going to end after the maze. WICKED is going to do more stuff. They’ll hurt more people.” 

“What did you do?” Teresa repeated, and while her voice was less hard, the intensity never left her eyes. Thomas swallowed. Could he trust Teresa? The person who had been with him in the beginning. The person who told him that he only needed her and no one else. But she had been wrong with that, hadn’t she? He needed Chuck. He needed Newt.

“I’m sorry,” he said carefully. “It wasn’t… light. I won’t be getting away with it with a slap on the wrist, so I need to make sure you’re with me.” 

Teresa looked away. Thomas didn’t. He watched the gears turning in her head, the eyes clouding over in thought, the way her hand twitched and her jaw clenched. Every micro expression and movement was important. Teresa turning on him meant everything he worked for would collapse. Or maybe not. He had already given Mary what he needed to.  As long as she and her organisation got Newt and the others out of the maze and protected them, WICKED could do whatever they wanted to him. 

“Tom, what could you have possibly done? What could we possibly do? The two of us against the mighty empire and all their guards and all their weapons?”

We. The two of us. Thomas felt relief rise inside him. So Teresa was family to him in a way Paige could only pretend to be.  Now it was the time to tell her. He gathered his courage and went for it.

“I might have contacted someone,” he revealed. “Someone important. She can genuinely help us. I’ve given her all she needs to do it, too. But if we also want to escape, we’d also have to be in the maze, which is fine because Dr. Paige said they weren’t going to take our memories, and you were always supposed to be the trigger, anyway. 

“…I don’t know how to feel about this,” Teresa admitted. “You’re saying you want to betray  WICKED? No, that you’ve already betrayed WICKED?” 

Thomas tried to keep the annoyance flaring up inside him from leaking into his tone. “Well, what did you want me to do? They took Chuck. They took everyone. They tortured Minho. They used us to murder many of them,” he swallowed. “…And they caused Newt to try and murder himself.” 

This seemed to cause a switch on Teresa. The hardness in her eyes dropped, and she looked incredibly sad. 

“Yeah, okay. What are we going to do when we’re in the maze?”

Thomas’ mouth twitched into a smile.  “We make preparations before we go in. We get keys to one of the weapons rooms, or hide weapons near the maze exit. We do some research on Grievers, figure out a way to shut them down at the right time. Tell… my people what’s going on, let them know they need to come for us. Then, once we're in, we'll spend a few days convincing the Gladers what’s going to happen.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Teresa said with a sigh. “For one thing, they'll be observing our every move and listening to everything we say.”

“Then we'll do a lot of whispering. A lot of talking in the dark, avoid beetle blades, whatever. Dr. Paige trusts us,  anyway, and that’ll be the biggest thing we have going for us.”

Teresa leaned close, speaking into his ear. He bristled a bit, but didn’t push her away. He really needed to be on her good side.  “You really think we can just go into the maze and grab the Gladers and march out of there? Why are you so adamant that they’d trust us? None of them remember us. And they’re all older now, and their surroundings have them being suspicious. We won’t be able to warm up to them like we did before. If you’re looking for a cuddle, you won’t find it.”

Thomas’ fist curled. Yes, he does know that. It hurts him more than anything. To think of Newt, Chuck, Minho and Alby looking at him like he’s someone who’s going to lead him to death. Hey, maybe Newt would like that, actually!  Thomas was a horrible person. Whatever, he’d just wing it. 

 “I know it’s unrealistic,” he said. “But it’s worse to sit back and let this continue without trying to stop it. And yes, I know I won’t be able to be with Newt like I used to be, and that’s fine—” Was it? “—I love him so much, but I also just want him to be safe and it’s obvious WICKED, who’s hurting him and the others, isn’t going to achieve that. So please, please say you’re with me on this.”

Thomas had never begged anyone. Even when he was watching the person he loved and all his friends be taken away from him. He still knew it was his biggest mistake. He should have helped them, but he didn’t, and so his last memories his friends had of him before it was completely wiped out was hatred.  It still haunted him. 

Teresa looked tired, and yet there was sincerity as she spoke. “You really mean it, don’t you?” 

Thomas’ nod was firm. “Absolutely.” 

After a long beat of silence, she stood up, looking down at him, biting her lip. Give me twenty-four hours to think about it, okay?”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

In the end, she only needed 14 hours. 

“Okay, I’m in,” she said, and Thomas almost jumped up and hugged her. “For you, for Chuck, for our friends and your boyfriend, I’ll help you.” 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas stood in the observation room, not having bothered to sit down, watching a close feed of Newt as he ate the dinner—stew, one of Fypan’s best—by the tall pole that was situated in the Glade. He was alone, for some reason. Normally, either Minho or Alby would be glued to his side, saying they were making sure he could walk properly with the limp that made Thomas’ heart clench every time he’d see it, but obviously, to Newt’s resentment, actually working to prevent Newt from jumping off another wall. Thomas wondered how Newt had managed to get them to ‘bloody piss off’, as Newt would snap.

He watched as Newt took his bites. He tried his best to not look into Newt's eyes, knowing they’d just be empty and staring at nothing, and so he focused on Newt’s throat. He wished he could see the pulse point working. He wished he could press his own fingers to it just to make sure Newt was alive. 

Thomas found himself thinking of Newt’s sister, Sonya, Lizzy, somewhere off in Group B’s maze. She wouldn’t know who Newt is. She wouldn’t know she has a brother. And vice versa with Newt. WICKED didn’t just take Newt from Thomas. He wondered if he’d be able to save both of them. Mary should be able to get to Group B, too. 

“l’m coming for you, Newt,” Thomas whispered, so softly that no one could possibly hear him. “I’m coming for every last one of you.”

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Dr. Paige approved their request. She told them that now was the time that they were to be sent into the maze, and that Thomas and Teresa were right to have asked for it.

 Paige stood at the head of the table, Thomas and Teresa sitting on one side while Rachel and Aris sat on the other. Thomas glanced at them, noticing how they didn’t look very happy. They hadn’t spoken much lately, and he and Teresa were still trying to decide whether to bring them in on the plan. Things were complicated enough and too many people would mean all the more risk of someone finding out, and that wouldn’t just endanger themselves, but also Mary and her organisation, who Thomas had yet to contact about it, having been waiting for Paige’s approval. 

But Thomas  also couldn’t imagine not telling them. Either way, he fully intended to save Group B along with his own friends in Group A.

“Thomas?”

He snapped back to attention and realized that  Paige—along with everyone ese—was staring at him. Teresa looked exasperated but sharp.

“Sorry,” he said, shifting in his seat. “I kind of spaced out there. Did I miss something?”

Paige’s gaze was stern. “I asked if you had an opinion on the memory swipe.”

He blinked, taken aback. Hadn’t they already established that he and Teresa would keep his memories, back when he first found out the horrible truth about the Swipe? “What do you mean?” 

“It’s the one aspect of this insertion that still gives me pause,” she said. “Every subject before you has had their memories removed, and it worries me to break the cycle of consistency. I wanted to know your opinion on the matter.”

Ah. Shit. His mind worked for something to say. Whatever happens, he needed his memories. 

“I can understand that, but Teresa and I have talked about this a lot.” Including her could only strengthen his argument. “We think it will just add to the things you’re speaking about, all these new opportunities. Having someone on the inside, up front and close, reporting back to you here. That’s a perspective we’ve never had. I see it as the next level in the countless observations I’ve made over the last couple of years.”

“That’s a good point,” Paige replied. “And it was always planned that your memories would stay when you’d go into the maze. But does it really make that much of a difference?” 

Thomas tried his best to stay composed. “But it’s not just from that side of things. Even more importantly, think of the analysis you can do on me, on Teresa, on Aris and Rachel. Don’t forget that we're subjects, too. Studying our patterns, with memories instead of without, inside the Glade and the maze, is something you’ve never been able to do before.”

 Paige nodded as he spoke, but not in a way that necessarily meant she agreed. “There are a lot of other ways I think can be valuable, but those are the most important.” 

He decided not to say anything, as he knew rambling was something that irritated Paige. He hoped his last comment would work to make her think there actually was a lot of value left unsaid.

“Well spoken, Thomas,” Paige continued. “You'll be relieved to know that most of us in this room agree with you.” She smiled, almost as if the question had been a test. Right, Thomas forgot that quite literally everything about WICKED was just a test. 

The meeting went on for at least another hour. But in the end, Thomas thought, it couldn’t have gone any better. The plans were finalized and approved.

Thomas would go into the maze first. In a couple days, Teresa would follow. Both of them with their memories intact. Rachel and Aris would follow the same pattern over in the Group B maze. Thomas had gotten everything he wanted. And now he needed to inform Mary. 

He was never able to. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

WICKED came into his room at night. They dragged him into the medical room. He was strapped to a table, and Ava Paige was leaning above him. 

“Don't fight it, Thomas,” she said, and her voice had taken on a sickly caring tone. “Everything will be all right in the end.”

Thomas stared up at her. His head was spinning. He didn’t understand anything. Betrayal was rising inside him, as well, but he didn’t exactly know why. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, and he hated how shaky his words came out. 

“It’s your incalculable ability to trust others that has  always touched me,” she stated, and there was sadness in her eyes that Thomas could only barely catch. For some reason, her face was beginning to blur. It was hard to make it out. “And I’m sorry to have taken advantage of it so many times. But I’ve just always done what needed to be done.” 

Thomas tried to blink away the dizziness falling over  his body. Had he not been lying down, he would’ve collapsed onto the floor. Ava Paige’s face was multiplying. He was beginning to see two, three, four, so many of her. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought of how Minho would have hated the thought of there being more than one Ava Paiges. The edges of Thomas’ vision were beginning to fuzz, growing dark. He wanted to say something, but his mouth wasn’t working. 

“I infected Chancellor Anderson and his staff. Did you know that, Thomas? They wanted to end things after the Maze Trials. They wanted to give up. And I could never allow that, could I? What we’re trying to achieve is much too important, and I had thought you agreed with me, since your little boyfriend doesn’t happen to be immune.”

Thomas found the smallest bit of strength, and it was enough to thrash harshly against the straps keeping it down. It didn’t achieve anything other than making him more drowsy. Ava Paige took a step away from him. 

“You were always my favourite, Thomas,” Paige said with something akin to a nostalgic sigh. Thomas only had enough consciousness to hear her next words. 

“Let’s get him prepped.”

And then everything faded away. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Stephen remembered his mother. She was a wonderful woman; beautiful and kind. Stephen would get hurt, probably from scraping his knee or cutting  his finger, and she’d hold his face and promise him everything would be okay. That no matter what state the world was in, she would always protect him. 

She gave Stephen away. Her amber eyes, the shade of his, wet and spilling tears, as she handed him over to WICKED. He remembered hearing a gunshot. 

And that was the last of Stephen. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas had never felt so much confusion. So much emptiness. Everything… Gone. It was all gone.

Gone, gone, gone. Everything about him, every memory, every person he had ever known and connected with, every one of it was gone. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

The boy woke up to a loud noise, the clanging of something going up. He panicked. He scrambled around. He couldn’t remember anything. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Day one, Greenie. Rise and shine.” 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“My name’s Alby. Can you tell me what you remember?” 

“I can’t… I  can’t remember anything. Why can’t I remember anything?” 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“Greenie, meet Newt, when I’m not around, he’s in charge.” 

Greenie—why was everyone calling him that?—looked at the boy with blond hair and bright brown eyes who was shaking a hand to him and saying something in an accent he couldn't name, and, for the first time, felt something other than confusion. 

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

[FLASHBACKS /end]

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>><<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Thomas gasped, his eyes wide and frantic, darting around, trying to get a grip on something. Blue eyes stared down at him, and Thomas stared up. Who was this? Where was he? What was going on? 

And then everything fell into place. Everything. 

He shot up, only just acknowledging the fact that his head had been in Teresa’s—Teresa’s—lap. 

“Tom,” she said down at him, but his ears didn’t even catch it. He was looking around, trying to find something—someone, and then… and then he caught it. 

Through the bars of the slammer, Thomas could see brown eyes focused on him. Brown eyes he knew so well. Brown eyes that were everything to him. 

Brown eyes that didn’t hold any recognition in them.