Silver tears glisten in the sun as they roll down his bright red cheeks. His eyes gaze up to the crowd, still puffy from crying. Some Gladers snigger to themselves, others have a solemn look across their faces. Alby grips his hand, wrenching him out of the box. He lands with a loud thud, frozen in fear.

"It'll be ok." The words come out of my mouth almost effortlessly, guilt pangs my gut as I know it is not true, the emptiness of them settling in. Alby pulls himself up from the box, brushing off the dirt from his clothes, "You're probably pretty confused, right Greenie?"

Greenie. A strange feeling rises in me at the sound, it seems like that has been my name for forever, but not anymore.

The boy stares down at the ground, refusing to make eye contact, "Not much of a talker, eh? It's fine to be scared, we all were, but this is your life now."

The boy rubs his eyes, wiping away some of his tears. "W-wh-where am I- I?" He croaks out in a soft voice. The box creaks as Alby jumps inside again, passing the boxes up to other Gladers.

Alby picks up another box, "Home."

"Y-you're Tambles, right?" The boy from earlier asks, hovering in the med-bay doorway.

I pause for a second, furrowing my brows, "Who?" Pulling out a box of vials from the supply box, I continue arranging them on the medical table.

"Uh, Tambles..." he stammers, his eyes still puffy from before, "...leader of the slobbers?"

A puff of laughter escapes my mouth, my cheeks reddening at the thought, "The what?"

The boy just remains there, void of expression, "So you're not Tambles?" I grab another box of vials from the crate, slopping them down beside the others, "Yes, well no, it's Tanya, and I'm not a Keeper, not yet anyway. What are you doing here, besides occupying the doorway?"

He immediately shuffles into the room, gloom riddling his face, "Y-you're meant to show me around, right?"

The tour. It had slipped my mind until now, "Uh, I guess."

I amble towards the door, signalling for him to follow, "This way, Greenbean."

The sun beats over my face, a blanket of warmth envelops me as I begin walking across the Glade. A group of Gladers still by the elevator peer over at the new Greenie whilst whispering amongst themselves. The teen darts his eyes to the ground, shying away from their stares, "Don't worry about them."

Sniffling, the boy looks up at me, "Why can't I remember anything?"

His words hit me, like a reminder of a life before this, before the Maze. I snap back my thoughts, distracting myself, "I don't know..." the words seem so meaningless as I try to think of something, "...you should remember your name soon, could be two minutes or two days, it just depends, at least we get to keep that."

He smears his sleeve over his eyes, wiping away the tears. Sighing, I turn towards him, "I know it's difficult, but it gets easier this place..." I stop, pointing around me, "...the Glade, it'll be your new home, the sooner you accept that, the easier it is."

The boy shifts his gaze towards the ground, kicking around some stones on the grass. I spot Frypan, cooking something over at the kitchen, "You hungry?"

"I guess..." he mumbles. "C'mon, let's get you something to eat," I say, sauntering towards the canteen, the Greenie stumbling behind.

"Hey, Fry!" I shout, lightly jogging up to him, "You got a sandwich or something for the kid?" Frypan proceeds stirring a charred pot of what looks to be stew. "Oh, hi, nice to see you too," he replies sarcastically.

Smirking, I move past the cluttered tables as I reach for a white fridge, the newbie close behind me. "Whoa there!" Frypan exclaims, clamping it closed with his hand, "Get your grubby paws off the fridge. Here..." he remarks, opening the fridge, "...take these." He pulls out a bunch of fruits along with some pieces of cheese.

"Thanks, Fry," I say, passing them to the Greenie. A smile brightens on his face as he crunches down on an apple.

Turning my head, I cast my eyes over the Glade, then over to the Deadheads. George. An ache in the back of my mind just wants to go back there, maybe discover something new.

"Keep an eye on the Greenbean, will you? I'll be back soon." I say, wandering away before Frypan gives a reply.

Getting closer, I shuffle into the woods, manoeuvring past the large branches reaching across my body. Darkness begins to settle over me.

The moist air causes a sickening heat; sweat slowly escaping through my pores. A thick canopy of leaves hang from the trees, the darkness hindering my vision. I squint my eyes, spotting a shadowy figure in the distance.

Quickening my pace, I fight through the horde of foliage, closer to him, but remaining a little distance away. Dead leaves crumble under me as I wince with each step. A loud snap sends his head flying around, suspiciously eyeing the forest. I twirl back behind the nearest tree, covering my mouth.

Every muscle in my body seizes, daring not to move. The last thing I want is to be caught sneaking about the Deadheads. The forest falls silent, neither of us making a sound. Seconds seem to be minutes as I stand, frozen in place.

With a sigh, the figure moves further away. A flood of relief washes over me as I let out a sigh. Emerging from behind the tree, I draw closer to him.

Before long, he arrives at the graves. A crack of light pours in through an opening in the leaves, revealing his face, Alby.

He leans over one of the markers, resting his hand on the sagged, wooden cross, George's grave.

"I can hear you." Authority riddles his tone, echoing through the words.

"Sorry," I mumble, stepping up beside him, "What are you doing here?"

Alby leans down on one knee, brushing pieces of dirt off the sign, "I could ask you the same thing. Aren't you doin' the Greenie's tour?"

"Yeah, I got a little sidetracked," I state, "what are you doing here?"

Alby glares up at me; clenching his jaw, "What does it look like?" After a brief moment, he returns his gaze back to the grave, "I come to see him, George, he and I were close."

My mind draws back to when I escaped the Maze, Minho mentioned something about George and 'the Changing'. "What happened?" I ask as Alby pushes himself up from the ground.

"Klunkhead managed to get himself stung, in the end, it was the Changing killed him." He stares back down to the sign, "He was a good friend."

I direct my eyes across the old graveyard, "I guess that's all we have left, friends."

Newt's voice echos throughout the Deadheads; vague, but decipherable, "Tam? Where Are you?" With an exasperated sigh, I head towards his voice.