I'm sorry, stay strong.

Thomas

Brenda threw the computer to the side, tears flowing freely down her cheeks. She lay her head on the roots of the tree towering over her, wishing the ground would swallow her up. She could hear her heart thumping in her chest, and with every thud she sank deeper and deeper into an endless pit of despair.

She was pulled out of her grief by an agonising scream. She ran towards the clearing and saw Minho on his knees, a tablet shattered a few feet away. Frypan was in the process of a futile attempt to calm him down, even though he was in tears too.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a glimpse of Gally. Standing at the edge of the clearing, he was half hidden by the trees and she was surprised to see him clutching his chest, the look on his face as if someone had just punched him.

She hadn't known he'd cared.

Hearing her name, she turned back towards Minho, her bleary eyes searching for the person who had called.

Sonya, Aris and the other group B survivors were huddled together in one corner, blank vacant look on their faces, only their eyes showing any sign of loss.

She turned around again, frantically searching for the source of the cry, but she still couldn't work out who had called her name.

Brenda.

She heard it again, closer, as though the person had been standing next to her the whole time. Only then did she realise how familiar the voice was.

It was Thomas's.

She gurgled something inaudible, fresh tears cascading down her cheeks. She felt her knees buckle and would have fallen if Jorge hadn't caught her in time.

He pulled her into a tight hug, holding her close and she collapsed against him. He didn't offer any words of comfort, already knowing they would do nothing. Instead he just held her, softly stroking her head as she sobbed uncontrollably, her faced buried in the soft brown leather of his jacket.

They weren't going to have a funeral. It would hurt too much. But they weren't going to do nothing either.

At the base of the cliff near the burnt-out ruins of the flat trans, a small group stood.

Below the cliff lay a selection of small crosses, each with a few words carefully carved into them.

Minho stepped forward, his knees giving way before he had completely reached crosses. He leant back on his feet, defeated.

"If we had a cross for everyone who died, we would have nowhere to stand"

His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, yet it was carried by the wind and everyone could hear him.

"And the worst…The worst thing about most of them, is that we don't know if they're really gone. I know- I know that we could never have saved them but like Newt, I mean… He could still be alive…"

But there was no hint of hope in his voice. Frypan felt the tears start to trickle down his cheeks. This wasn't the Minho he knew, the Minho he knew would be wanting revenge for the death of his brothers, he would never have given up so quickly. But then again, they had all been broken by what they had gone through. And none of them would ever be completely fixed.

"And Thomas"

Frypan looked up at the crack in his friend's voice.

"He didn't even think we cared. He died believing it was for the best. I wish… I wish I could go back, and tell him how important he was to us all. Maybe then he wouldn't have gone with them so quickly. Maybe then he would've fought back."

Nobody said anything as Minho's voice trailed of and was replaced with racking sobs. They all just started at the ground, consumed by their own grief, until one by one they walked up to the crosses, whispered a few words, and walked away in a vain attempt to escape the pain.

As the sun set, Brenda walked over and placed a hand on Minho's shoulder, who was still kneeling in front of the crosses.

"He didn't have a choice you know", she whispered.

But anger flared up inside Minho and as his head jerked up to look at her, she saw fire in his eyes. He scrambled to his feet, fists clenched and she stepped back in fear.

"Of course he did! Maybe if he hadn't been such a shank, his shuck-brain wouldn't be on display"

Brenda started at Minho in disbelief, fresh tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

"I…I didn't mean that", Minho haltered, realisation hitting him once he understood what he'd just said.

"I loved him too you know", Brenda said through gritted teeth, but the anger re-appeared in the other boys eye's.

"Oh yeah? Or is this just another one of Wicked's games. You worked for them remember. Thomas might have forgiven you but I haven't. I can't believe he ever trusted you."

"Minho I-"

"NO! I don't want to hear it. Two years, I was stuck there for two damn years. And where were you, oh yeah that's right, getting cosy with Wicked. You have no idea how many friends I lost, how many brothers. And there I was thinking Thomas was the only one I wouldn't lose, oh how I was wrong."

"Minho-"

"Leave me alone"

"Hey, you listen-"

"No you listen. The only person I have now is Fry. I don't need you coming here telling me who you think Thomas was. You barely even knew him, what was it, a week? And you already had your tongue down his throat, probably just because he was the 'final candidate', the 'strongest subject'. Well tell me, if he's so strong then why is he dead?"

His shouts were cut of by another chocked sob from Brenda. Was this really what Minho though? Then again, maybe it was all her fault. If she hadn't agreed to work for Wicked none of this would have happened, or at least, she wouldn't have been hurt by it.

She nodded slowly, her eyes staring into the distance," Maybe you're right", she turned and walked away, no more tears, just a numb feeling spreading across her whole body.

Minho stared at the ground, self-hate flowing freely through him. Letting out a frustrated yell, he grabbed his head in his hands and fell back to his knees.

"Everyone's dead, what would be the difference if I was too"