TraumerdeAmore: Not going to be posting quite as often. May even hiatus after the first book. Gotten in to a lot of stuff recently and I'm not going to force myself to write it or it won't be as good. Thank you to all the new favorites/followers!

Disclaimers: I do not own The Maze Runner or any of its characters.

Different Text: Italicized words are people's thoughts or flashbacks, which will most likely be 'memories' in this story.


A deathly silence sucked the life out of the air after Mary's statement. Many stepped backward; all stared at the row of windows. The observers all wore black coats over white shirts, a word stitched on their right breasts. They continued to watch the Gladers with miserable expressions on their faces.

"The Creators," Minho repeated; then spat on the floor, "I'm gonna break your faces," he screamed so loudly, that she wanted to cover her ears.

"What do we do," Thomas asked, "What are they waiting on?"

"They've probably revved the Grievers back up," Newt said, "They're probably coming right-"

A loud, slow beeping cut him off. It came from everywhere, booming and echoing throughout the chamber.

"What now," Chuck asked, not hiding the concern in his voice.

Without looking away from the Creators, Mary reached out in the direction of the boy, "It's alright Chuck, come here."

Her voice shook slightly, but he walked to her anyway. She wrapped an arm around him and pulled him to her.

Everyone looked between her and Thomas, who shrugged in answer. Newt took her hand and moved closer; still worried as to how the others might act. But she only remembered so much, and now she was just as scared and clueless as any of them. She turned her gaze as she noticed many of the boys looking in the direction of the doors. One of the doors was swinging open; and the beeping stopped.

Two people walked into the room.

One was a woman, very ordinary looking. A pair of black pants and a button-down white shirt with a logo on the breasts- WICKED spelled in blue capital letters. The coats. As she walked toward the group, she neither smiled nor frowned. It was as if she didn't notice or care they were standing there. She stopped several feet in front of the Gladers and slowly looked left to right, taking them all in.

Mary tilted her head, I know her, from somewhere. It was a cloudy, useless remembrance; no name or pinpoint of a memory.

The other person stood next to her; it was a boy. He wore an overly large sweatshirt with the hood pulled up over his head, concealing his face.

"Welcome back, the woman finally said, "Over two years, and so few dead. Amazing."

Mary gritted her teeth and tightened her grip on Chuck and Newt.

"Excuse me," Newt asked.

Her eyes scanned the crowd again before landing on Newt, "Everything has gone according to plan, Mr. Newton. Although we expected a few more of you to give up along the way."

She smirked and glanced over at her companion, then reached out and pulled the hood off the boy. He looked up, his eyes wet with tears. Every Glader in the room sucked in a breath of surprise.

Mary's arms slowly fell to her sides and she stepped forward, "Gally."

"What's he doing here," Minho shouted.

"You're safe now," the women responded, "Please, be at ease."

"At ease," Minho barked, "Who are you, telling us to be at ease? We wanna see the police, the mayor, the president- somebody!"

She narrowed her eyes as she looked at Minho, "You have no idea what you're talking about, boy. I'd expect more maturity from someone who's passed the Maze Trials."

Thomas elbowed Minho in the gut before he could retort.

"Gally," Mary went to step forward again but Newt grabbed her wrist, "What's going on?"

The dark-haired boy locked eyes with her. He shook his head slightly. Something's wrong. Her body stiffened and she stepped back between Newt and Chuck; grabbing onto them once more.

The woman nodded, "One day you'll all be grateful for what we've done for you I can only promise this, and trust that your minds accept it. If you don't then the whole thing was a mistake. Dark times, Ms. Mary. Dark times," she paused, "There is, of course, one final variable."

The Gladers focused on Gally. The boy's whole body trembled, his face pasty white, making his wet, red eyes stand out. His lips pressed together; the skin around them twitched, as if he were trying to speak but couldn't.

"Gally," Mary tried once more.

Words burst from his mouth, "They… can control me… I don't-" His eyes bulged, a hand went to his throat as if he were choking, "I… have… to…" Each word was a croaking cough. Then he stilled, his face calming, his body relaxing.

I hate you, she cursed at the Creators, Give him back to us.

Everything happened so fast.

Gally reached behind himself, pulled something long and shiny from his back pocket. The lights of the chamber flashed off the silvery surface; a wicked-looking dagger, gripped tightly in his fingers. With unexpected speed, he reared back and threw the knife at Thomas.

Mary watched as the blade wind-milled, every turn was visible, as if the world had turned to slow motion. She looked and saw that Thomas was frozen, wide-eyed; watching his inevitable doom heading straight for him. Get out of the way! She screamed inside before making a move to get to him in time; but Newts grip tightened and he held her back.

In the next instant, she was powerless, grabbing aimlessly at Chuck as he slipped from her arm and moved towards Thomas, diving in front of him.

With a sickening, wet thunk, the dagger slammed into Chuck's chest, burying itself to the hilt. The boy screamed, fell to the floor, his body already convulsing. Blood poured from the wound. His legs slapped against the floor, feet kicking with onrushing death. Red spit oozed from between his lips.

"Chuck," her shrill scream echoed through the chamber. Her body trembled as she moved her hands to her mouth; sobs beginning to escape her. Newt spun her body around and held her to his chest. She fought his grip but he wouldn't let her free, "Chuck," a muffled scream escaped as her knees gave out. Newt caught her and they both fell to the ground.

"Ma…ry," the word barely left the boys lips, "It's… o… kay."

She was petrified as she removed her head from Newt's chest and turned to look at him once more. He was cradled in Thomas' arms.

"Hang on Chuck," Thomas said, "Don't die, fight it. Someone get help!"

Mary was the only one that moved. They all knew nothing could help now. She crawled out of Newt's arms and toward them. Locking eyes with Chuck. No. No. No. He's just a kid. I was supposed to protect him, protect them!

He managed a smile, "Thank… you."

"Chuck no, you're gonna be alright," Thomas choked between sobs, "You're gonna get out of here."

The young boy looked at the older one now, "Both of… you…"

Mary exchanged a quick glance with Thomas before they returned their attention to their friend.

He coughed, throwing a spray of blood, "For… being… my family." One last breath wheezed from his mouth. Then, his body went limp, and his eyes closed.

"Chuck," she whispered, "No! Chuck!"

Mary looked like a statue that had been in the chamber since it was made. She was deathly white, and sat perfectly still. Too many thoughts ran through her head for her to register any of them. She barely noticed Thomas slowly lay their friend's lifeless body on the ground before standing up, trembling.

Suddenly, he rushed forward out of her vision, in the direction of Gally. She flinched as she heard a scream before the distinct crunching sound of a punch. And another. And another. They came steadily and two different sets of screams bounced off of the walls. It wasn't long before she heard struggling as Minho and Newt began to tear the two boys apart.

Only a moment more before Thomas ripped from their grip and ran back to Chuck, pulling the boy into his arms once more, "No," he shouted, "No!"

Teresa knelt beside Thomas and put a hand on his shoulder but he shook it off.

"I promised him," he screamed hysterically, "I promised him I'd save him! Take him home!"

Mary shakily reached forward and placed her hand over one of Thomas' and he looked up at her. The trace of madness left his eyes and she pulled him to her chest; Chuck now between them. There were no hollow words of comfort, just cries; their racking sobs echoing throughout the chamber.