A/N: I figured this chapter warranted some warnings, so here they are. Remember the T rating for some blood and violence? Well, it didn't turn out as violent as I'd been expecting, but this is the chapter where things get dark and violent and all that. It's all downhill from here. Welcome to another long chapter with a jumpy POV (it's in chunks so it shouldn't be too hard to read) in which pretty much nothing good happens.

Reviews are welcome and appreciated (and motivate me to write more so you see where I'm going with this)! I should be able to update more frequently now that school is going to be remote for an indefinite period of time. Camp NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow, so I'll be working on that, but if my NaNo book starts giving me a headache (and even if it doesn't), I'll come here. Never fear, this story WILL be completed!

Zach stood at the edge of the forest, arms crossed, leaning against a tree. The sun was still rising and the other Gladers were eating breakfast, but Zach couldn't. For the first time he could remember, he had no appetite.

He watched the activity at the Doors to the Maze. Alby was seeing the Runners off. Minho, Newt, Ben. Ethan, who was probably Zach's closest friend, now preparing to enter the Maze. They'd done it before hundreds of times, running side by side, swapping friendly insults as they went along. Even if Zach had long since lost hope of finding an exit, he wouldn't have given up his days in the Maze if he'd had the chance.

Now things were different, but Ethan didn't see that. He'd tried the night before to persuade Ethan to stay in the Glade, but Ethan refused, and Zach couldn't understand why. Don't you see you're chasing your own death? Ethan had walked away. Zach wasn't sure if he was mad at him or not. He wanted to run to him, to make sure they still had friendship even now, because if Ethan didn't make it back…

"They just don't listen."

Zach's heart nearly sprang into his throat at the voice. He whipped around, nearly falling over. "Buzz, don't do that!"

The Keeper shrugged. It was the closest to an apology as Zach could hope for.

Buzz stood beside him, peering out at the Runners, who were pairing off. Ethan and Newt, Minho and Ben. "They don't listen," Buzz said. "I tried to protect them, but they wouldn't listen. The Maze will destroy anyone who goes in. We have to protect them before it's too late."

Zach looked over to Buzz. "We? What can we do?"

Buzz reached over and put a hand on Zach's shoulder. Zach resisted the urge to shrug it off and look away from Buzz's hardened eyes. "What are you willing to risk to keep them safe?"

Zach swallowed, looked out towards the Doors. Ethan and Newt exchanged a nod and ran into the Maze without looking back. Alby stood, gazing through the Doors long after they would've turned. "I'll do whatever it takes." He pried his eyes away, turning back to Buzz. "What do you want me to do about it?"

Buzz dropped his hand, but no intensity left his eyes. "You know the Maze. I need you to help me find them before it's too late."

Zach nodded shakily. "And then what?"

Buzz grinned at him through dead eyes. "We're going to bring them home."

…

Newt slowed at the familiar intersection, and Ethan did the same. "What is it?"

Newt caught himself biting his fingernail and stuffed his hand into his pocket. It was a habit he'd had since he first arrived in the Glade, and Alby was constantly reminding him to stop with varying degrees of success. They were standing two left turns from where he and Minho had found Calvin's body the day before. His current route with Ethan would take him there again. "Let's take a detour," Newt said, turning right and taking off.

Ethan sprinted to catch up. "What? Why? Is something wrong?"

Yes. "No. Unless you want to see what's left of Fearless Leader."

Ethan winced. As gruesome as his imagination could be, and despite the possibility that Calvin's remains were long gone, he was in no way eager to visit their former Keeper's grave. In fact, the more he could avoid thinking about what had happened, the better. He'd learned from experience that running and grieving didn't go well together. "Detour all ya want."

They skirted around the area and explored the inner Maze, reviewing. They still had a model to rebuild. Had it really only broken three days ago?

They made it a little over halfway around the Glade before pausing for lunch at a T intersection. Ethan ate quickly while Newt stood alert, and then they swapped. Ethan peered down the arms of the T; no one was there. Just as Newt was finishing, he thought he heard something behind him. He turned and paused. "Buzz, what are you doing out here?"

About forty yards away, Buzz was striding down the corridor, hunched over, hands in pockets. Zach jogged next to him, brow furrowed. Ethan sighed. He really didn't want to have this conversation. Zach would ask him to come back to the Glade, and he'd have to explain why he was still running. Again. He'd rather go down fighting than waste away in the Glade; couldn't Zach respect that? Ethan was content to agree to disagree, he didn't want to lose a friend over this. He wasn't sure yet if Zach felt the same way. He probably thought he was protecting him. Ethan tried to feel honored by the thought, but it didn't work.

Buzz didn't reply to Ethan's inquiry, he just kept on power-walking towards them. Newt stood up. "Buzz?" Still, no response. Newt took a few steps closer, standing directly to Ethan's right. "Zach? What's going on? Did something happen in the Glade?"

Zach slowed, falling back. "You need to come back," he said. Ethan's frustration dimmed; his friend's voice was earnest, not spiteful. Maybe they could work this out after all. "It isn't safe. We don't want to lose anyone else."

As he spoke, Buzz came closer and closer, eyes burning. He began to draw his right hand from his pocket. A flash of light caught Ethan's eye, drawing his attention from Zach; Newt was still watching the former Runner, he didn't notice anything from his angle. Buzz's hand came farther up, and soon Ethan could see what he was holding.

His heart stuttered. Is that a knife?

There was no time to think. Buzz was within arm's reach, raising the knife to strike. Ethan shoved Newt back—but by then it was too late to stop it.

The knife hit home in Ethan's chest.

The Runner was dead before he hit the ground.

…

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, Alby scanned the Glade for anyone slacking off and found someone. One of the gardeners, Zart, sat on a fallen tree, staring blankly at a patch of dirt. Alby suppressed a groan. Here we go again. He leaned his hoe against a tree and jogged over to him, plopping down beside him. "Zart. You've gotta work." The boy didn't even look up. "Zart."

Zart sighed heavily, poking the ground with a small stick, disturbing a large ant. "There's no point. Half the Runners quit already."

"The smaller half," Alby pointed out. Maybe optimism would work; he didn't know Zart very well.

Clearly he had been wrong. Zart rephrased his statement. "Only half the Runners are running. The other half either quit or died violently." He jabbed at the ant with the stick, but it scuttled away too quickly. "It's only a matter of time before the others chicken out, and I can't even blame them, but then we'd be stuck here for-shucking-ever. What's the point of a few tomatoes?" He snapped the stick in half and flung it away.

Alby gritted his teeth. "The point is so we can eat. So we don't die."

Zart sighed again. "Newt had a point, though. Why live if we'll never get out?"

"You're assuming the rest of the Runners will quit," Alby said. When Zart nodded, he went on. "You're wrong."

Zart looked up. His eyelids sat heavily, sinking down over his dark eyes, giving him an appearance of either being exhausted or bored out of his mind; either way, he didn't seem to believe him. "How do you know?"

Shuck it, can't this ever be easy? Alby looked out at the Doors. "They're dedicated to Running, and they believe we'll get out."

"What if they change their minds?"

"I wasn't finished," Alby snapped. "They're also stubborn donkeys—or maybe more stubborn than donkeys. In any case, I don't think they'll quit. And while they're running, those tomatoes won't pick themselves." Alby patted him on the arm (possibly a little too hard, but he didn't really care at that point) and began crossing the garden to get back to work; after all, he could hardly lecture the other Gladers on productivity and then ignore his own rules.

One of the Slicers, whose name might've been Winston, tapped him on the shoulder before he got back. "Alby? Have you seen Buzz?"

He paused. "Buzz? I can't say I have. Why, haven't you?"

But Winston had already run off to ask someone else.

Alby pushed it from his mind as he bent down to pick up his hoe.

That was when he heard shouting from within the Maze.

…

Newt had never run so fast in his life, he was sure of it.

The world had seemed to drop away. Newt had seen the knife in the same moment that Ethan had pushed him, he had been on the ground watching Ethan fall as blood spurted from his mouth, and then he was on his feet and running. He didn't remember what had happened between. He wasn't sure he wanted to. His feet had simply fled of their own accord, dragging him along. His thoughts ran and fell and bumped into each other. Buzz, Buzz had a knife—get back to the Glade—Zach did you know? What will we do, will anyone believe me? Is Buzz following me? Ethan—bloody hell, is Ethan really—

He was almost back at the Glade. Focus on that. Footsteps pounded behind him, had been pounding for what felt like miles and inches at once. Or maybe it was his own scrambling feet echoing in his head. It was impossible to tell.

Almost there, he was almost there. He tried to hold onto that thought. Almost to the Glade. It's not home, but it's better than here.

One more turn—

Pain shot through his ankle like lightning. Newt tried to get up—had he fallen down?—but couldn't. Someone was behind him. He rolled onto his side to try to see. Buzz was there, Buzz and his knife, Buzz who was about to kill him. The knife came down, but Newt threw up an arm to block it, shouting out as it sliced his skin open. His own knife was trapped beneath him, he had no better way to fend off the feral attack. Buzz, what happened to you?

And then it stopped. Newt looked around, saw Alby hauling Buzz back, slamming his head into the wall of the Maze until he fell unconscious. Then Alby ran over to him, helping him sit up even though he didn't really need it, murmuring variations on holy klunk are you okay? the whole time. Then he asked the dreaded question. "Newt, what happened?"

What happened. His eyes drifted to Buzz's limp form. "He killed him," he whispered. He tried again, tried to get his voice out, even though it seemed locked away. "Alby, Buzz killed Ethan." He began collecting his thoughts, bracing himself to explain everything, but it wouldn't come out. All the energy that had carried him through the Maze in record time had abandoned him here, leaning on his best friend, blood seeping from his leg and arms. Alby hugged him, though he himself was shaking near uncontrollably.

Wait—

Newt sat up straighter, trying to push Alby away. His lungs began to lock up. "Alby." He could barely speak, and the word came out as a strangled gasp.

"It's okay," Alby said, still holding him. "Just breathe."

"Alby." His voice had found him again, somehow, but he knew it wouldn't last. He looked up into his friend's concerned eyes, but his own vision was blurring too much to make his face out clearly. The pain in his ankle had flared up again. "Where are Minho and Ben?"

A/N: Aaah! I know. I don't write drama/violence/action like that much (I prefer to daydream about it, it never comes out quite right when I try to write it out), so I hope it worked. And as for the cliffhanger-which-isn't-really-a-cliffhanger-because-canon-occurs-in-the-future, I'm not nearly as sorry as I probably should be. Authors are evil. It's so fun.

I do have this story's plot planned out to a certain extent, so I'll keep updating as consistently as possible. We're about halfway through or so, if that's helpful at all. Then again, I can be flexible if the story wants something else.