Disclaimer: I do not own any of TMR trilogy.

Be aware... a POV change later on.

"All I'm saying is that she's been acting pretty shuckin' weird lately…" Thomas leaned closer to Minho as they sat in the vacant cafeteria. He ripped off a piece of cold bread and tossed into his mouth. "I mean, the other day I walked up to her and all I asked was 'Hey Teresa, how are you?' and she gave me this death glare… Then all she said was 'fine', and not like 'fine' like I'm mad at you, more like 'fine' there's something wrong 'fine'."

"Do you hear yourself right now?" Minho leaned back, his eyebrows high.

"I'm serious Minho. Keep an eye on her. All they do is interview her every day, more so then the rest of us. It seems pretty odd to me, considering they haven't even interviewed me about the maze yet."

"Maybe they're saving the best for last?" Minho said with an infliction in the end.

Thomas tapped his chin. "Maybe… but I say we keep an eye on her, make sure she's alright."

Minho groaned loudly, rolling his eyes. "You say that bout everyone."

"I'm serious this time!" Thomas waved his hands wildly in the air.

"Yeah yeah yeah…" Minho grumbled, placing his hands on the table to hoist him up. "We better get to bed, shank. I don't wanna feel like klunk tomorrow, especially when I'm going to be stuck in an MRI machine all day."

"That brings me to another point," Thomas said quieter as they entered the hallway, walking side by side. Their shoulders bumped occasionally, and Thomas had a difficult time keeping up with Minho's long strides. "I think it's weird that I haven't even talked to the dude in charge of this facility since the first day. I mean, almost everyone has talked to him about the maze trial, or had a brain scan, or had tests done but me. And where's the guy that killed Florence? I'd like to have a word with him."

"I think we all would," Minho huffed to himself. He paused in the hallway, just before their room, and sighed turning to Thomas as he grabbed his shoulder. "Look, Thomas, it's a big facility. I don't think it's weird that we haven't seen him. How often do you see Janson?"

He had a point. It's like he was here two days, then gone the next.

"The guy's probably out doing missions or something. Not everyone stays inside this facility, you know. The trucks in the basement are there for a reason."

Thomas rolled his eyes.

"All I'm saying is: Don't second guess everyone. It's okay to be apprehensive n' all but to an extent."

Thomas sighed. He hated giving in, considering he was extremely stubborn and always loved to have the last word, but he nodded for the sake of sleep. He was tired, and at this point, he just wanted to sleep.

"And another thing," Minho held up a finger, "Don't mention too much of this to Newt."

Thomas tilted his head.

"You know how he gets. He was stuck in the maze for three years too, and now that we're saved he believes so strongly that we'll be safe. Just keep this klunk on the down low till things warm up."

"Alright," he nodded, but his mind was still clinging on to the words 'he believes so strongly that we'll be safe'. The way those words were vocalized from Minho's mouth made Thomas second guess what Minho's thoughts were on staying here.

Did Minho think that this was a trap too?

The next day in the safe haven was much like the last. And the day before that. And the day before that. Routine played a big role in their lives, and they easily got bored considering they didn't have to help out as much as they did in the glade.

"Hey Teresa!" Thomas hollered, jogging up to her in the hallway. "What's up?"

She flinched at his sudden jolt of movement, but relaxed when he approached her side. "Hey Thomas."

Thomas felt a stab in his chest after hearing the tone of voice she used. It was quiet and cold and she called him Thomas instead of 'Tom', which he had grown to appreciate as of lately.

"Are you okay?" He asked her with genuine curiosity.

Her eyes flickered up to his, and they're irises locked for a brief moment. Just like her tone of voice, her eyes were bitter and bleak. They seemed vacant, like she was really somewhere else. "Yeah…" She sighed, throwing a curtain of hair over her shoulder. "Yeah I'm fine."

'Fine' that was a weird she used a lot lately.

The unusual quiet and non-bubbly Teresa was throwing him off. He was used to her shrill voice and her warm smile whenever she approached him.

It had been like that for the past three days. As soon as they were dismissed for breakfast, she disappeared until dinner. Today was the first time he had seen her after breakfast.

He thought back to an encounter two days ago when she was completely in an other-worldly state as he spoke to her.

"Teresa, did you hear that?" Thomas waved his hand in front of the girl's face, trying to grab her attention. They were the only two sitting at the table, so she couldn't have mistaken his voice for someone else's. Obviously he was addressing her.

"Sorry?" She asked, eyes still averted from his.

"I said that they're having your favorite for supper tonight. Breakfast for dinner." He told her, leaning in closely in hopes of a response other than 'nice', or 'oh'.

"That's nice," She responded with, earning a groan from Thomas.

It was Teresa's favorite. She always piled her plate as high as a mountain. Nothing excited her more than food, and he had noticed the lack of food she was intaking lately, which worried him deeply.

"Is something wrong?" He asked, "Did I do something?"

"No," She replied, a hint of a forced smile creeping up on her face. "I'm just tired."

"Maybe you should take a nap," he suggested.

"Maybe," She retorted.

He didn't know if the strange behavior was caused from sleep deprivation, or medicines they were giving her, or maybe she suddenly had a dislike for him (which he highly doubted – not that he was being egotistic or anything— but they were closer to each other than others) but it worried him.

"Hey guys!" Minho waved a hand as he merged through the traffic of the hallway and joined them. He slapped a hand on both Thomas and Teresa's back as he squeezed in the middle, a signature smirk on his face.

Thomas sighed internally when he saw Minho, knowing that their private conversation was cut short.

"Where you headed?" He asked Teresa.

"Surgery," She replied, more cheerier then last time.

"Surgery?" Minho repeated, "For what?"

"I'm not too sure." She answered nonchalantly.

Thomas and Minho exchanged a glance behind Teresa's back.

"I'll see you guys later," she said once they had reached the doors to the medical wing.

"Wait," Thomas stopped her by grabbing her arm, "You're not the least bit curious as to why they're going to cut you open?"

She shrugged, "Has to be for a good reason, I suppose."

"Teresa, are you serious right now?" he was almost angry at her for being so blasé.

"Yeah Thomas' got a point," Minho stabbed a thumb at him, "That doesn't seem weird to you?"

She shrugged, pivoting to turn again but Thomas grabbed her.

"Thomas let me go," She hissed with venom.

Thomas retracted his eyes wide. She had never acted so malice towards him.

"Teresa?" A woman with long dark hair stepped through the sliding doors, clipboard in arm, and smiled at her. "We're ready for you."

Teresa turned to her, nodding.

"I'm sorry…" She sighed as she pinched the bridge of her nose. "Ugh… I'm just tired, I'm sorry. I haven't gotten a lot of sleep lately."

The woman placed a hand in the fore of her back and led her closer towards the doors. They slid open almost silently, and just before sliding close, Thomas heard her whisper dauntingly "I haven't gotten a lot of sleep because of the dreams…"

Teresa wasn't the same after surgery. Her face was hollow, her eyes didn't even have that sparkle of light that they used to, and her hair seemed thinner. Maybe she was infected. Maybe WICKED had lied to them about being immune to the Flare. Could that be why they gave her surgery? Or why she was acting differently? All he knew was that Thomas knew was that he wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

But for the remainder of the day, he was nowhere to be seen.

So all he could do in that moment was sit beside Teresa on a bench in the hall and remain quiet until she felt like talking.

Thomas folded his hands together, massaging them as he felt his heartbeat spike up due to nervousness. Teresa still proved to be the beautiful-looking girl with raven hair and flawlessly pale skin, her cheeks flushed with red. He reminded her of what he imagined snow white to look like.

"Teresa—"

"Thomas, don't." She hissed, holding up a finger, "My head hurts. Please. Just don't say anything." She leaned her head back on the bench, shutting her eyes forcibly. He could tell by the little wrinkles at the ends of her eyes that she was trying to keep them closed too.

He watched like that for a long time. Maybe it was minutes, maybe it was hours.

Eventually her eyes seemed to relax, but she didn't appear to be asleep or unconscious, more just resting; like she was taking a break.

He wanted to ask her what the surgery earlier that morning had been for, but he also wanted to let her respite. It was a difficult dilemma, especially when he had analyzed almost her whole body and noticed no stitches, nor blood, and she didn't seem to wince at all when she moved, nor did any aches and pains occur. She just looked tired.

She looked like she was going to explode with stress any second, but what was she stressed about? Had the sudden change in scenery from the maze screwed her up? But she had only been in the maze for a few days…

His thought was cut short when he saw Janson taking long strides down the hallway, a pack of his employees following behind him in a v-shape like he was the leader of a flock of birds in the sky. He looked confident as he ambled over, and Thomas stood when he approached him. Not to be polite, but to prepare himself to inquisition the hell out of Janson.

"Teresa, would you mind coming with us?" a young woman with pixie-cut brown hair and big blue eyes strode ahead of Janson and stopped in front of her.

Teresa didn't open her eyes to the addresser; she just nodded her head in a barely noticeable way.

"Woah woah woah," Thomas shook his head. "No, she's staying with me."

"I'm afraid not, Thomas." His voice was like a firecracker in a silent, summer night. He sounded like a radio speaker, his voice secure, clear, and clear.

"Where are you taking her?" He gesture to Teresa, who was now being towed away by the pixie-haired women. "Hey!" he hollered, "Wait!"

Janson smirked, and in that specific moment, Thomas decided that he couldn't trust the man. The way his lips curled up so cynically, and the way his eyes squinted like he was happy to see her so in pain, it was cruel. He knew that he wasn't meant to see that smile, because Janson quickly wiped it off his face.

Thomas scowled at Janson, which made him respond with a look of surprise. "Does she have the Flare?" Thomas asked him, "Is that what this is? Is that why she's been acting differently?"

"What?" He shook his head, "No. Certainly not, Thomas."

"Then why are you taking her?!" He snarled, looking back to Teresa.

Teresa, for once in the past few days, actually expressed emotion in her face. As her arm was being tugged by the women into a door, she looked back at him. Their eyes locked, and she saw the glint of fear in her eyes that screamed 'help me' just before the door slid to a close. He could still see her face in the foggy window of the door, but seconds later, she disappeared.

He would never get that look that she had just given him out of his mind. It was etched into his brain, seared into his mind. The way her eyes were wide and watery, the way her mouth parted, her bottom lip jutting out, the way she carried herself as she tried not to let the women separate them, it was all to surreal.

"WHERE ARE YOU TAKING HER?" He yelled at Janson.

The sudden spike of pitch in his voice grabbed the attention of everyone in the hallway, even Newt and Minho who were far behind Janson, walking towards them.

He could sense the two guards behind him move in closer, ready to defend Janson if necessary.

"Thomas, she will be fine."

"How do I know that?" He countered.

"She is in our hands. I can assure you she will be fine. You have to trust me on this. Do you trust me?" He asked.

Thomas took his time answering. His gut screamed no, and he was always one to follow his gut; but he had to think strategically. He had to think about how he could play on saying he trusted Janson. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer, right?

He gave Janson a slow nod.

"Good," Janson dipped his head, smiling with content. "Then I suggest you trust me, and let me handle things myself."

"Alright," Thomas said through gritted teeth. He clenched his fists so tightly, that he thought he might have drawn blood.

Janson gave him one more smile before passing him, their shoulders gently colliding as he walked the opposite way.

Alistair exited the helicopter, wrapping the scarf that hung loosely from his neck tighter around him to protect him while he walked from the helicopter pad up to 'the safe haven' that Janson was faking for the candidates.

Alistair was on a mission, for the sake of Florence.

When he had first met Naomi, he thought she was a snarky, sarcastic, and a condescending little shit, just like her files had described her; but she had grown on in him in the last few weeks. Not only that, but he had actually wanted to protect her. The only problem with that? That wasn't in his job curriculum. But that didn't matter.

He could see the way Florence's eye lit up every time someone even mentioned the maze, or the subjects in it, she could see how eager she was to get out. Although he was not going to help her escape, he was going to suggest it to Janson.

Because the truth was: she was dying. Slowly, but surely. The Bliss may have postponed the side effects, but it didn't completely eradicate them. She was part of the trials, right? So Janson had to reunite Thomas and Florence eventually. Truth is, though, was that they were ruining her. The girl was so strong, she had even tried to learn how to fight abck, but they were destroying her. Her brain was being fried, cortousey of Alistair himself, she ahd been cut open numerous times, sometimes without even knowing, her body was drugged up, and the lack of sleep didn't make it any better. If they kept going like this, she would die. But not from the Flare.

That was the reason for Alistair marching up the steps to WICKED's second headquarters. HQ2 they liked to call it.

He did a hand print scan, and let them do a quick blood sample with a finger-prick as he entered the building, just as they entered the building, and then one of the security guards led him to the giant doors that acted as a chamber for the building.

He allowed him through, by slamming down the big steel door knob that is, and then led him to Janson.

"He's in his office," The old man told Alistair, rubbing the grey beard then hung from his chin. "Been there since morning, keeps yapping about the Teresa girl." He mumbled to him, probably revealing more then he should have to Alsitair.

Just as they passed the cafeteria to trek to the assistant director's office, something caught his eye,

Three boys.

His first thought was: why were they up this late? But his next thought was to make his face apparent, so they could see him, and maybe they would follow him.

Why did he want that?

He didn't know.

Maybe he was switching sides…

Maybe it was Florence. Maybe he pitied the girl who had made mistakes, loved the wrong person, and befriended someone who was already dead.

He recognized the boys to be Thomas, Minho, and another subject from group B.

He pulled the scarf from his face, and took off the hat that clung tightly to his light hair. He could see the three boys chatting away, neither of them looking his way.

Janson unzipped his jacket, hoping the noise would grab the attention of the boys, but it was still too quiet even in the silent hours of this time of night.

An idea popped into his head, and he immediately enforced it.

"Hold up!" He told the guard, speaking louder then he should have. "My shoe lace is untied."

And it was, truthfully, but normally he wouldn't care.

He coughed loudly, finally grabbing their attention, and leaned down to retie his shoe. He had instantaneously got a reaction out of them; and although he couldn't distinguish what they were saying, he could hear them loudly whispering as Thomas slapped the other boys' chests.

Alistair smirked to himself as he finished the double knot on his shoe.

Thomas pointed to Alistair, and he could see them following in his peripheral as they walked down the hall.

"Janson," The guard rapped against the fogged glass door of the office. "Janson it's Alistair. He's here to see you."

"Be out there in a sec."

The guard turned to Alistair. "He'll be out here in a sec," He smiled, walking off.

"Thanks captain obvious…" Alistair murmured under his breath.

"What?" He pasued, turning back to him.

"What?" He jolted up, "Oh nothing!""

"Alright," The guard grinned again, walking off.

Alistair huffed as he waited outside Janson's office. Nearly a minute had passed, and he didn't understand why he had to wait outside. There was nothing to hide from him, he knew just as much as Janson… right?

"Janson," He grumbled, get annoyed now. "I don't have all freakin' day. Open the door." Just as he went to knock on it again, it slid open. Behind it was the one and only assistant director.

"What's wrong Alistair?" he asked, stepping out into the hallway.

Alistair peered over Janson's shoulder to try to get a good look at what he was hiding before the door slid shut with a click. "Uhh—"

"Has Ava sent you? Is the Chancellor wanting to talk?"

That was the only other reason for Alistair to visit, otherwise he would have never stepped foot in this building. The truth was, though, that the chancellor had been missing in action as of lately, and maybe that was why Janson was talking such a drastic stand.

"No," he shook his head, "No. She's fine. Everything's fine. I haven't talked to her. I actually came here on my own terms."

Janson frowned, and Alistair found the choice of facial expression odd. He remembered when the two used to be partners; that was, until he became AD and the power went all to his head. "Why on earth are you here then?" he added with an accusational tone.

Just as he opened his mouth to answer, he saw the three boys to his right, their heads popping out of the door to the washrooms. The group B boy on the bottom, then Thomas, and Minho on top, like something from a cartoon.

"Uhhh…." He stuttered. When his eyes flickered over there, he made contact with them, and they all darted back into the washrooms. "Well you see…." Janson stalled; and then finally, he sighed, placing both hands on Janson's shoulders. He patted them a few times, then rotated his body, forcing Janson to face him more, so his back to be to the boys.

Once Alistair had a clear view of both Janson and the boys, whose heads popped up again, he released Janson.

"It's about her." Alistair muttered, knowing Janson knew who he meant.

He rolled his eyes, "Ugh."

Janson's jaw set as he glared at the assistant director. "I think we should slow things down for a while."

"What do you mean?" He asked, with more interest this time. "She's fine."

"No she's not," He responded aggressively. "She's not responding to the Electroshock therapy, all we're doing is frying her brain."

"She's a smart girl." He shot him a crooked smile, one that caused Janson to freeze up inside. "She's strong."

"Not that strong."

Janson sighed, rubbing his neck as his eyes sank to the floor. "Look… I—"

"Janson!" He growled as his hands flew up, "You're going to kill her. Psychologically, and even neurologically, this could ruin her. We need to stop Janson." Alistair threatened. "I thought you needed her for Thomas."

Janson immediately fell into a defensive state. "We do need her for Thomas. We also need her for testing."

"We'll she's not going to be there for either of those reasons if you keep doing this."

"Why are you defending her?" His lips pursed as his eyes grew wide, his thick brows rising in a condescending matter. "I thought you hated the little runt."

Alistair had no response to that. He didn't even really know why he was defending her. Maybe she reminded him of his younger self. Maybe he was realizing wasn't really as good as he once thought.

"You know what?" Janson relaxed, his arms dropping. "It doesn't matter. Tomorrow she's coming back."

"Coming back?"

Janson opened his mouth to clarify, "I'm bringing her here. Under the down low, of course. They're not to find out she's here." He pivoted to gesture to the dorm rooms, assumedly where they were sleeping.

"What's the point of that?" Alistair asked.

"I have a plan." He smirked devilishly. "And you're going to help me."

Thomas smacked Minho's head, which was kind of difficult considering he was above him. He was being too loud; Janson would notice that they were in the washrooms.

"Shut up, Slinthead, I'm trying to listen." He snarled at Minho who was furiously rambling about how he was going to kill the man who had murdered Florence. "Be quiet."

"Oh look you don't wanna go over there and beat the living klunk out of him?" He whisper-shouted.

"I do, trust me, I do," He reassured, "But he seemed like he wanted us to follow him, didn't he? So let's wait and see what he has to say.

They were trying to remain silent as they eavesdropped on the two men. The Florence-murderer moved the man so he wouldn't be able to see them, and he found that odd.

"Kinda weird…" Aris murmured from underneath him.

"Agreed," Minho added.

"Shh…" he shushed them.

Just as he shushed them, the two made eye contact. Full on eye contact, and he didn't say anything. The man just flickered his eyes between Janson and them; like he didn't care they were listening. Now maybe 'listening' was the wrong choice of words, considering he couldn't hear half of what they were saying.

He could only pick up a few phrases.

"…frying her brain." The man said.

"She's a smart girl," Janson responded with, puffing his chest. Girl. Were they talking to Teresa? It could have been Teresa, that would make the most sense, but why would this man have shown up now? Why had he never seen him until today? He never saw her around Teresa, Teresa never said anything. What girl was he working with then?

"Janson!" The man's outburst startled them, making them all flinch. "…going to kill her. Psychologically… neurologically… could ruin her. We need to stop Janson." He stopped, and then added, "—thought you needed her for Thomas."

He perked up at his name, and both boys looked at him.

Thomas shrugged, turning back to them.

What if this was Florence they were talking about? She was dead… or was she?

"…Why are you defending her?" He heard Janson say.

The next few seconds of the conversation got quiet, making Thomas annoyed, but then he heard Janson speak again.

"I have a plan. And you're going to help me."

Thomas rolled around, darting behind the bathroom wall with Aris and Minho once they came back down the hallway. AS soon as they heard the heels of their shoes pass, they sighed, relaxing against the tiled wall.

"Who do you think they're talking about?" Minho asked.

Thomas made an apprehensive face, and that expression, Minho knew he was thinking of Florence.

"No." He cut off. "No No No. She's dead."

"Is this the Florence chick you guys are talking about?" Aris asked.

Thomas nodded, while Minho shook his head, not at Aris' question though.

"She's dead, Slinthead."

"What if she isn't?" He theorized, "Look, I've had these weird dreams with her in them. And I heard her speak in my head, like how Teresa spoke to me. Things have changed, how do we know she's not dead?"

"I saw four bullets go straight through her!" He argued a little too loudly.

Thomas frowned, shrinking into the tiled wall behind him. "Fine. Think what you want, but I think that maybe you think I'm right."

"What? Did you just hear me?" He barked.

"Yeah," He nodded, ignoring Minho's volume of voice, "And I think maybe you're right."

"You're a Slinthead," He groaned, standing up; and at that point, he thought Minho would walk out. Maybe what he had assumed about Minho was wrong. Maybe he was completely against the idea being a trap, but then he turned around. "She's dead, and you know it." He stabbed a finger, and as if to stike a chord in Thomas he added, "Just like Chuck… but maybe you're right about things being weird."

Thomas tried to hide the smile on his face.

"I'm not saying you're right!" he emphasized. "Just sayin' that maybe you are," he added lighter.

"I agree." Aris added, "I've noticed weird things happening. They won't let us into certain wings in the building. They won't allow us in certain rooms. I haven't seen any angry cranks, besides the few irritable ones, but they seem pretty normal to me. Where are the ones that start to go crazy?"

"They're downstairs, Janson told us that on the first day," Minho answered.

"But I haven't even seen one have an outburst. How do they distinguish people who need to be sent downstairs? And the kids. Some of the other immunes, not the maze kids, but the regular munies have been disappearing."

"How do you know?" Thomas asked.

"I sit alone almost every day… I notice these things." Aris made a face.

"Fair enough," Minho nodded.

"I say we get to the bottom of whatever's happening here," Thomas suggested, "I'm not saying that this palace is as bad as WICKED, but I think that something seriously messed up is happening. I'm going to investigate. Are you guys in?"

To his surprise, they both nodded.

"But on one condition," Minho bargained.

Thomas cocked his head.

"Don't tell Newt."

A/N: Thanks for the reviews from ImAInsaneBird27, M, fiercetiger333, Mahogany Bitch, Athio, and darklou. BE prepared for the next chapter! Eeek!