Hey all. Sorry I didn't upload on Tuesday, but I was in the land of no wifi or cell reception for the week. At least this one's on time.

Disclaimer: Do I really have to say this every time? Yes? Ok, I don't own the Maze Runner.

"No!" I was exclaiming, before I had even registered I was speaking. "No way, Thomas."

The room had exploded into arguing the second Thomas had announced his self-righteous suicide plan. Newt cast his eyes skyward briefly, like he was praying for the strength to deal with Thomas's self-sacrificing bull crap, before very calmly grabbing the boy's arm and dragging him over to the door.

"You're leaving. Now," I heard Newt say as I approached the duo. Thomas looked stunned, and I fought the urge to roll my eyes as he asked Newt why he had to leave.

"Because you're being an idiot," I said when I reached them. Newt nodded in agreement.

"Yeah, Ghost's right. I think you've said enough for one meeting. Go wait by the box, I'll meet you when we're done." Newt gave Thomas a little shove towards the door. "We need to talk some stuff without you here."

"Listen, Newt, you gotta' convince them." Thomas said urgently, resisting Newt's efforts to get him to leave just yet. "It's the only way. It's what we're meant to do, I know it."

Newt's eyes narrowed and he leaned in close to Thomas. "Yeah, I especially loved the bit where you volunteered to get yourself killed." He said in an angry whisper.

"I'm perfectly willing to do it."

"Really? Mr. Noble himself, aren't ya?" Newt rubbed his eyes. "Ghost, get him out of here."

"I have my own reasons." Thomas said as I grabbed above his elbow and pulled him out the door. "It's my fault we're here."

Newt, who was about to close the door, froze. "Tommy," he sighed, eyes suddenly kind. "It's not your fault. You're just a kid. You can't help what they force you to do. I meant that."

"He's right, Thomas," I said. "Besides, whatever you did before, it doesn't make your life something you can just throw away."

Thomas smiled thinly. "Thank you both, really. I know you mean that, and I appreciate it. I just…I feel like I have to save everyone. To make up for it, you know?"

"Yeah, we know." I poked his shoulder fondly. "You've always been selfless, even before getting your memories."

Newt huffed a little laugh. "I know right. And what's funny is, I actually believe you, Tommy. There's not an ounce of a lie in your eyes. So I'm gonna go in there and convince those shanks to go through the Griever Hole, just like you said. However, I don't want any more of your buggin' heroic talk about dying. Good that?"

"Yeah," Thomas said. "Good that."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

I didn't let go of Thomas's arm as we walked to the center of the Glade, on a concrete courtyard that surrounded the inoperable Box. Thomas sat down on a bench, and I sat down beside him.

"Did you remember anything else?" I asked after a moment of comfortable silence. "Anything…about me, maybe?"

Thomas turned to face me. He looked at me for a few moments, eyes a little narrowed, like he was wracking his brain. "There's not much," he said somberly. "I'm sorry. I just know…you were unplanned. You came from somewhere else within WICKED. They couldn't jeopardize the experiment to get you out; it was to unpredictable." He frowned. "When you entered the Maze, where were you?"

"I was on the Cliff," I said. "I think I had fallen from somewhere. That's the first thing I remember." I paused, wondering if he was going where I thought he was going with this. "You don't think…"

"The Griever Hole," Thomas confirmed. "It must be. It's the only way in besides the Box." He suddenly looked excited. "Ghost, you see? You're proof it can be done. That someone can come and go through the Griever Hole."

I didn't respond, to busy trying to process what I'd just been told. I had assumed some of it, to be honest, but hearing it confirmed was damning. No 'what ifs', no 'maybes'. That was my past.

Thomas seemed to sense my dreary mood. "I'm sorry there wasn't more. Something more concrete or personal." He patted my arm sympathetically.

"I guess it doesn't even matter, huh?" I mused aloud, leaning forward to rest my elbows on my knees.

"What do you mean?"

"The people we were before the Maze," I said. "They're gone. Washed away by whatever crap WICKED did to scramble our brains like eggs. All that matters about us now is here, from the time we woke up in the Maze. That's who we are, not the people from some long lost memories we'll probably never get back." I tried to keep the bitter edge from my voice. "No use dwelling on it, right? Best to just stop wondering."

Thomas sighed, sitting back. "You're right. But it's hard, not to wonder."

I nodded in agreement. "Got that right, dude. I think I'm done, though." I rubbed my eyes, exhaling heavily. "I'm done searching for a past I couldn't have back, even if I remembered it. I don't want to know."

"Do you really mean that?"

I smiled blandly. "I'm trying to mean it."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

"C'mon, c'mon," I insisted, walking faster as Chuck trailed behind me, confused. We had almost reached our destination, an open, grassy area in front of the trees.

"Ghost, where are we going?" Chuck asked, glancing around. "I have to finish the water bottles-"

"I got Teresa to finish up for you," I shut down his protests and dropped the box I had been carrying on the ground. Chuck tried again to ask what was going on, but cut himself off when I kicked off the box's lid to reveal its contents.

"Pick one out," I said, and Chuck crouched down next to the box of machetes uncertainly. He looked scared to stick his hand in the box, wary of the sharp blades, so I rifled through it instead, picking out a few I thought would work for him.

I presented him with three machetes. "Which one of these feels the best?"

While Chuck lifted the machetes one by one, I tried to find one for myself. I still had my favorite one strapped to my belt, but I wanted a second one just in case. I found one that was satisfactory and tied it to the other side of my belt.

"Find one?" I asked, and Chuck nodded, handing me the one he'd picked. It was a little shorter than mine, but sharp, with a leather handle. I nodded approvingly, handing it back to him. "Ok, stand up. Show me how you hold this."

I adjusted his grip and stance, showing him how to hold the weapon. I pulled out one of mine to demonstrate.

"Okay, now, machetes aren't for stabbing. They can do that too, but they're meant for slashing and chopping." I stood next to the boy and held out my machete in front of me. "Swing it like this. No, more like…yeah, that's it. Now do it again."

Chuck hesitated, looking at the weapon in his hand apprehensively. "Ghost, am I…am I really going to need this?"

Stilling for a moment, I weighed my options. I didn't want to terrify the boy, but the truth was he would absolutely need this. We were heading for a battle most likely many people would die in. And I'll be damned if Chuck is one of them.

"I think so, Chuck." I cringed internally at the fear flashing over his face. He was trying his best to hide it, but it was obviously there. I tried to reassure him a little. "Listen, I just want you to be prepared, alright? I don't want to risk you being defenseless if we do need to fight. But I promise you, I'll do everything I can to protect you." I met his eyes to show him how serious I was. "Got it?"

Chuck smiled weakly. "Got it." He swung the machete again, this time with more power behind it. "Like this, right?"

I smiled affectionately. "Now you're getting it."

I ran Chuck through the basics of using a machete, little moves and tricks I had learned through experience over the years.

"Block with the flat of the blade," I said, showing him how to quickly turn the weapon with a flick of his wrist. "There, just like that. You're a natural."

"Ghost," he whispered. "People are watching us."

He was right. There was a small group of Gladers standing off to the side, watching as I taught.

"Ignore them," I said, raising my eyebrow at the group of boys. One of them, a boy with short brown hair and a pointed face walked over to me, indicating at the box of machetes.

"May I?" the boy asked, and once I got over my initial surprise, nodded.

"Be my guest," I said, and the boy crouched down and shifted through the weapons, picking one out. He held it out to me for approval.

"It'll need to be sharpened." I pressed the pads of my fingers lightly to the blade, finding it dull, but that could be remedied. Shifting the blade in my hands, I swung it in a wide arc. The boy jumped a bit at the sudden movement. "But it's good. Just make sure you sharpen it."

The boy nodded. "Thanks. I'm Jack, by the way."

Jack was the first of several Gladers to come pick up a machete. While many of them had at least the basis to use one (Gladers jobs often necessitated the use of knives or axes or hammers), others, like Sloppers or Gardeners, had little idea how to use a weapon.

"Now, with a machete, you've got to be quick," I coached. "You're close to your opponent, so you've gotta know how to dodge. Grievers have a lot of appendages. Go for them. It doesn't take very much to cut them off."

Newt passed by, and after he got over his bewilderment, flashed me a thumbs up before walking off. Alby, who had been right behind him, waved me over. I joined him, though hesitantly.

"Preparin' for battle?" the Glader asked. I crossed my arms defensively.

"There'll be one. And if not this time, than the next." I looked over at Chuck, who was running through what I had taught him with Jack and another kid. "They need to be prepared, as much as possible with our little time."

To my surprise, Alby nodded. "Good that." He fell silent for a moment, like he was preparing himself for something painful. "And Ghost…I'm…sorry."

I blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm sorry, ok?" Alby repeated, crossing his arms and looking for all the world he'd rather be anywhere else. "I was…out of line at the Gathering earlier. I shouldn't have said that."

I stared at him for a bit, trying to wrap my brain around this. Alby: the Glade leader, proud, stubborn, and honestly a bit of a douche, was apologizing. Newt's gotta have something to do with this, I mused silently. He really mellows Alby out.

"Was that difficult for you?" I asked, and Alby bristled. "I'm kidding. Thanks, and I'm sorry too, I guess." I looked at the boy again, and risked asking: "So, you coming with us or staying here?"

The dark-skinned boy sighed. "I'm coming along. God even knows why, but I am."

Wow, I thought. Newt really is a worker of miracles. Instead of saying that, however, I merely nodded.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Frypan made dinner at regular door-closing time. Weapons had been passed out. Packs filled to the brim with supplies had been made and distributed. All that was left to do now was to wait for nightfall.

There was a foreboding air hanging over the Glade as we ate. I sat with Thomas and Chuck, just like old times. I picked at my food, not all that hungry, stomach too twisted in anticipation and yes, fear. Chuck, however, ate heartily.

"So…Thomas," the boy began through a bite of mashed potatoes. "Who do you think I'm named after?"

Thomas shook his head and I snickered a bit. We were about to make our bid to escape, facing almost certain doom as we did, and Chuck was worried about his name of all things.

"I dunno, Darwin, maybe?" Thomas said, taking a bite of food. "The dude who figured out evolution."

"I bet no one's ever called him a dude before," Chuck mused. He took another large bite and continued to talk, even with his mouth full. "You know, I'm not really that scared. I mean sitting in the Homestead the last few nights, just waiting for the Grievers to come steal one of us, was one of the worst things I've ever done. At least now we're taking it to them, trying something. At least…"

Chuck trailed off, and I couldn't have agreed more. Yes, it was quite possible that, in a few hours, I would be dead. And yeah, it scared the crap out of me, but at least we were fighting, taking a stand. So I squashed my fears down.

"At least what?" Thomas asked, looking dubious. Chuck sighed.

"Well, everyone's speculating that the Grievers can only kill one of us. Maybe it makes me sound like a shuck, but it gives me some hope. That maybe most of us will get out alive."

Thomas bit his lip. "Maybe we can all make it. As long as everyone fights," he said, but I could see the truth in his eyes. He didn't believe that one bit. And neither did I. But I didn't say that, not in front of Chuck.

Chuck seemed to know, though, looking at Thomas carefully. "You really think that? Or are you just trying to make me feel better?"

"No fooling you, huh?" I muttered. Thomas didn't appear to want to answer, so I did it for him. "Hey. We can do it, ok? Get me?"

"Yes ma'am," Chuck said too lightly, saluting half-heartedly. I ruffled his hair with a little grin.

"Smartass." I grumbled, though fondly.

Thomas chuckled a bit, but turned more serious, pointing his fork at Chuck. "Don't forget my promise," he asserted. "You can still count on it."

Chuck frowned. "Big deal—I hear the world's in klunky shape."

"Yeah, maybe so," Thomas conceded. "But hey, we'll find the people who care about us—you'll see."

Chuck pushed his empty plate away from him and stood up. "Well, I don't wanna think about it. Just get me out of here, and I'll be one happy dude."

"Good that," Thomas said, and Chuck turned to walk away but I caught his arm.

"Hey Chuck?" I said, and he turned to look at me. "No matter what we find in the world, you never have to look far to find people who care about you. Okay?"

The boy stared back at me, at me and Thomas gazing at him pleadingly, willing him to understand. After a few moments, he huffed a shaky laugh and threw his arms around me, hugging me tightly. I hugged him back like I was trying to shield him from everything. Like I'd never let anything hurt him.

So why did it feel like the last time?

I hurt myself with this. You all know what's coming and I'ma cry while writing it, so might as well bring y'all down with me.

Question of the Day: What's the last song you listened to?

My answer: "Diablo" by Simon Curtis (as I write this lol)