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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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007.
CAT AND MOUSE.

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   Kennedy had seen gladers fight, before. Plenty of times, actually. Despite one of the golden rules being to never harm another glader, there were still petty fights. More than she could count.

   Real petty.

   One thing that she had learnt while being in the glader, was that teenagers boys liked to handle trivial concerns with their fists — in all honestly, when Kennedy was riled up, she would completely agree with that. So, what? She thought that fists spoke louder than words, when talking to idiots— shoot her!

   Kennedy had even been involved in a few fights.

   It wasn't often, but Kennedy could get riled up. Really riled up if they weren't careful, especially when arriving. She had been a flare.

    Kennedy was kind, and sweet, and nurturing, but sometimes she just... exploded. She wasn't proud of it, though she wasn't exactly ashamed of it either. When Kennedy lashed out, it was because of her emotions. Truly, she had never been very good at stopping her emotions from abusing her temperament. Sometimes Kennedy felt much too hard. While Alby had a talent in detaching himself from his emotions, Kennedy had never been able to; feeling was what she was good at and occasionally it was her downfall. All strengths had weakness, right? There was no problem with feeling. Kennedy had much rather feel everything all at once, than feel nothing at all. An emotional intelligence was a gift, she thought. Perhaps it had made for a couple of bad situations and bloody noses, but it was nothing that would get her — or the other guy — banished. Alby was strict but he wasn't a monster.

   Kids had arguments, and petty fight, but it was when their petty fights turned into aggressive assault.

   That was where Alby had to draw the line.

   Right now, Kennedy hoped he wouldn't have to draw the line on this situation, but the odds were looking slim. When Ben lunged at Thomas and tackled him to the dirt, Kennedy lost her hope for his line to remain undrawn. Ben was the side of the board near banish.

   She didn't know what to do — Thomas was already screaming, and his head had made an impressive thud! on impact with the dirt floor, and it was chaos.

   Kennedy had dealt with glader fights, before. Many times. More times than she could probably count on two hands. However, Ken had not deal with aggressive assault. It rarely happened. The glade worked on trust, and while bickers and shoves didn't break trust, it did get broken when gladers attacked each other in the deadheads, and tried to wrap their hands around the other's throat. That tends to damage the trust they had, and thus rarely happened. Kennedy, unlike Alby and Newt, didn't deal with the rarities. She was hardly able to believe her own eyes, she was frozen, unable to move.

   Then, she did.

   It was like reality came crashing down on her, and Thomas' yells finally processed in her head. Ben's animalistic growls echoed, and Kennedy realised that she had to do something. She couldn't stand there while Thomas was pummelled; "Ben, stop!"

"Get off me!" Thomas cried.

    "Ben!"

    "It was you!"

    "Stop! Get off him!"

    "I saw you!"

Kennedy suddenly feared for Thomas' life; "What are you doing? Ben, get off him! Now! Stop it!"

Ben ignored her, as well as the kid who was yelling for help from beneath him. Instead, he proceeded to seethe in Thomas' face and spat dribble onto his skin, the murky drool spluttering over his pale cheeks. Thomas cried out, again. Ben ignored him. He tried to hit and kick the runner, but to no avail. Ben was stronger than he was.

    "Ben!" Kennedy shrieked.

She was shocked to see him, like this: out of control, rabid, wild and insane. This wasn't like him. No— Ben never behaved the ways he was behaving, currently. Ben was a kind shank; one of the softest boys in the glade. He could be a bit of a slinthead at times, but his attitude was partially to be blamed on Mino, being that they spent most of their days together. Ben never used to have a sassy streak in his personality. Over the years she had known Ben, Kennedy knew he didn't have a bad bone in his body, regardless of Minho's attempt to corrupt him and give him an edge, He was one of the few boys that didn't feel the need to pick on Chuck, and he never said a bad word about anyone — not unless he was joking. And, Ben worked hard. Always running. Ben knew their maze as well as Minho and he had been the one to step up to their job, when Newt and Kennedy were unable to continue and were relieved of their role as runners, that day. He had volunteered, almost immediately.

He never fought, never broke the rules.

   That was why was considered. Ben was a good shank, no trouble. None of the gladers were inherently bad kids, but Ben was the best of them. He was one of the good ones. Kennedy couldn't believe he was the one she she was seeing; this crazed animal, was Ben. It was the same Ben she had helped out of the box on his first day, it was the same Ben who had been too scared to eat for a week, and it was the same Ben who had flourished and turned out so well. How was that even possible?

   The boy who grabbed onto Thomas' wrists and squeezed, nails digging into his skin; who now had blood pooling under at his very fingers tips. This was Ben — a different Ben, but Ben, all the same.

   How had this happened?

   Why?

Kennedy was frozen, again — unable to do anything than watch Thomas scream and writhe in pain. He bucked his legs in hope of wiggling free. Thomas barely even knew this kid; he'd only met this attacker just the once, when he and Minho returned from the long day in the maze, the evening prior, and they hadn't even spoken. If Chuck hadn't greeted Ben, Thomas wouldn't have even known the kid's name. Why the hell was he attacking him? Thomas knew that his presence was kinda annoying, but he had done nothing wrong; at least, certainly not to Ben. Whatever had happened, Thomas was completely innocent.

Alby had told him about the rule, one of the only three: to never hurt another glader. If he had been told that, then he didn't doubt that everyone had been told the exact same thing. So, why in hell's name was Ben ignoring it? Ben was trying to kill him! That seemed pretty against that golden rule, to Thomas!

"Get the hell off me!" Thomas kneed him in the stomach, but Ben quickly recovered.

"It's your fault!" He seethed, "I saw you!"

"Wha—?"

"I saw you!"

"I don't even know what—"

"I saw!"

Ben shoved his face into Thomas' threateningly, and released an awful screech, worse than the sound of any griever. Right now, Ben was something of nightmares; "I saw you! I saw you!"

Ignoring the words that he growled in this near-psychotic rage, and not listening to his futile attempts of reason, Kennedy found herself jumping into action. She launched herself forward and, in her fists, she gripped his shirt, and tugged it as hard as she possibly could. Kennedy pushed her weight down into her legs, leaning her body back and teetering on the heels of her feet. She reeled, back.

"Get off him!"

The initial force threw Ben off kilter, only momentarily, and his grip released Thomas' wrists. He scrambled, choking on the hems of his collar as she tugged roughly, and howled in dismay. Quicker than she'd ever seen the runner move, Ben swung around and gave Kennedy a harsh shove, forcing her down with a fluid motion. He felt no mercy when her body hit the forest floor with a thump! and a grunt of pain passed her lips. Her head smacked a tree root, and it bounced up and down, her brain scrambling like Frypan's eggs. As much as she wanted to to get up, the world had gone hazy and she felt like she was hanging upside down.

   Where was she, again?

"Kennedy?" Thomas pleaded.

   She didn't reply, and so he tried again — Thomas yearned for a helping hand, but he was more concerned as to whether she was alright. He heard the wind get knocked out of her, the smack, and her desperate of gasps for air. "Kennedy!"

She groaned.

   It was all she could do — her body ached. Kennedy could hardly see straight in front of her, and when she moved she felt nauseous.

    "Kennedy!"

Before the pair could register it, Ben was screaming at Thomas, once again. His hands enclosed around Thomas' neck, finger and thumb either side of his throat, constricting tightly. Thomas began choking and spluttering, wheezing in as much air as he could, eyes started to water and burn.

    "B—be—"

"I saw you!" Ben repeated, "You did this!"

   What did that mean? What was he talking about?

    "G—get off—"

    "It's all you!"

Kennedy slowly came back to, realising her body was strewn on the muddy ground. She blinked blearily, feeling the light and dark disappear and reappear much slower than usual, and seeing funny shapes and colours dance along her vision. For a moment, she was certain she would pass out. Kennedy wondered whether you could pass out when you were already a heap, on the ground. Her head felt heavy and rolled on her neck, weighing her down.

    "It's all your fault!"

    "T—Thomas?" She croaked out.

She could hardly see, but even so, she looked for Thomas. The outline of body was fuzzy, but she could just make out his kicking legs. They started to slow down.

   His words were just gurgles, and hacking sounds. Kennedy was starting to regain her senses, slowly but surely.

    "Thomas?"

Kennedy rolled onto her side, limbs lethargic, and that was when she saw his face had blossomed a deep crimson, almost purple. His eyes bulged out of his head, and she was could see the effects from the lack of air. Thomas wasn't getting enough — he wasn't getting any air, at all! Ben was choking him! Panic surged through her chest, watching him helplessly. He couldn't breathe. Thomas couldn't get any air, and he was going to die if Kennedy didn't find a way to try and help him ; she had to do something. If not, Ben was going to kill him, right before her eyes.

   Thomas was dying.

Ben was going to murder Thomas.

She couldn't let him die.

Kennedy stumbled up, shaking her head in hope of ridding the dulcet tone ringing in her ear drums. She swayed on her feet, but managed to steady herself enough to keep her balance, by herself.

   Smacking away the muddy stands of hair falling in front of her eyes, Kennedy focussed back on the greenie. He was still choking, even worse than before, and she feared for the worst — Kennedy's limbs screamed in protest against her acting quickly, but she had a choice of doing nothing, or saving his ass, and she didn't need any time to think about which one she would choose. It was easy.

It seemed that the realisation was enough for the earth audio to return. She was now able to hear the spluttering, and the gasps for breath, and they only grew louder as each burning second passed. Like a crochendo; a cacophony of fear increasing in volume as the risk of death increased, and got nearer. And for one, brief second, Kennedy forgot — she forgot the rules of the glade; the biggest one being to never hurt another glader, unless you craved banishment. She forgot all that the gladers had achieved in light of laying down the three most important rules. All that they had worked for. Each boy they had lost before creating those roles; how important those rules were to maintain order, and peace; the backlash for breaking those rules, and why they were implemented, in the first place. She forgot about all of it.

She forgot that this was Ben; the Ben she had known years; Ben who she had voted to take her place in the maze. She forgot Ben.

Kennedy forgot how much she adored him, how much they all adored him. The girl forgot that Ben was like her family, because in that moment, he wasn't Ben. He was something else, entirely. It was like looking at a different person; their darkness.

   Kennedy forgot about everything.

Because, right then, Kennedy only cared for saving Thomas.

    "Ben!"

    "Ugh—!"

It was quick. It seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, and the weight on top of Thomas disappeared. Hands were no longer on his neck, no thumbs pressing into his throat, and no rabid boy was straddling him, at all. All of it had been so fast, so seamless. Quick. He couldn't process it.

Ben hit the ground.

   Thud!

Peering down at the animal skull in her hand, Kennedy cringed and threw it away, feverishly. She took in a shaky breath and wiped the droplets of blood on her pants, smearing red into the materials and cleaning her fingers. There wasn't time to dwell on what she'd just done, but Kennedy came to the swift conclusion that she hadn't killed him. The blow to his head hadn't been hard; only enough to draw blood and send him down. He was still writhing like a worm.

    "Thomas!"

    "Kennedy...?"

   He blinked.

Thomas couldn't believe he was alive.

   He looked up at her in awe; she had saved him. For now, at least. The fact that he'd yet to die was a miracle, a very beautiful miracle blessed unto him by a very beautiful girl. She saved him.

   Holy shit!

   Had that really just happened?

Was Thomas alive?

    "Thomas!"

   Yes.

    "Tom, c'mon!" She yelled, "Get up! We gotta go!"

Stealing a look at the ring of yellow and purple swelling on his neck, Kennedy shook her head and thrust her body forward, and snatched his hand in her own. She yanked him up from the damp forest floor, using all of her strength to support him as he stumbled and tripped. Kennedy wasn't very stable herself, though she didn't care as long as Thomas didn't fall back over. She hadn't needed to look back at Ben to know they didn't have much time go; to get the higher ground; and they wouldn't be at any advantage if they were stood around, wasting more time. After all, they had no time to go as spare. They had to go! Above the thumping in her head, Kennedy felt her ears perk at the sound of angry growls.

    "C'mon!" She shouted, taking off in a sprint, and tugging him alongside her, "Thomas— run!"

   He stumbled.

    "Thomas! Go, go!"

   Something snapped within him, and he took off next to her. It was no secret that he was fast; they had all seen him when he had arrived. Kennedy knew he was fast, but she hadn't know how truly fast he could be. The tables soon turned, and it was Thomas who was pulling her, dragging her along beside him. Maybe Zart hadn't been wrong — maybe he was a runner.

He was quick, that was for sure. Quicker than Kennedy had ever been, and she had been rather fast during her glory days. Thomas had long legs.

   His strides were metres apart, and he was smart about running. He used his own pace to give Kennedy more momentum, almost swinging her along by their hands as they ran. Too frightened and overwhelmed to think about the growing pain in her hips, Kennedy pushed herself harder and let him drag her. That wasn't a priority, right now — rather, living was and it was the biggest. Kennedy was adamant that they were going to live, and if she wanted that, then she had to keep moving. To outrun Ben, they had to keep moving, and keep on moving she definitely did.

Thomas was fast.

   So, was Ben.

   He was a trained runner, and it proved useful. It made him run swiftly, hardly out of breath despite his shrieks of rage.

   Ben wasn't far behind them, still with that blood thirst; an urge to kill Thomas pumping through his blood. It was like a game of cat and mouse. He wasn't slowing down, and neither were they. It was an endless loop. Thomas would be damned if he slowed down, even in the slightest. No chance.

Soon, the trees started to lessen, and the glade opened. Thomas and Kennedy screamed out for help, both falling into the clearing.

    "Help!"

"Hey— hey!"

    "Help!"

"Help—!" Thomas blindly let go of Kennedy's hand, moving to wave his arms in the air. "Help!" He hollered loudly, "Hey! Help!" Thomas stumbled along the greenery, "Help us! Help! Newt? N—"

    "Ah—!"

The loss of stability caused the girl to lose balance, her knees as they gave out from beneath her. Kennedy tumbled to the dirt, and she rolled, unable to stop herself. Thomas hadn't even noticed that he'd lost her, not until her screams near deafened him.

He shot around, and saw Ben on top of her.

    "Get off!"

    "It's him, Kennedy!"

    "Ben—"

    "Why are you helping him?" Ben seethed, pushing her shoulders against the grass. Her bones moved with a pop! and she groaned as she struggled against his hands. Ben grew teary, and a sob passed his foaming lips. He cried, "Why, Kennedy? He sent us here! It's all his fault! You can't help him!"

   What?

Kennedy thrashed and squirmed, not listening.

How could she? Ben was straddling her, his hands heavy, and he held the power to kill her. Would he do that? She didn't really know.

"Ben!" She pleaded, "Get off me!"

"Kennedy!"

"Hold on—!"

Thomas didn't have the chance to intervene, not before a sandy mop of hair came crashing through, and forced his shovel into the side Ben's head. It made contact with his temple and sent him over to the side, slumping down to the floor. He howled out in pain and Kennedy blinked, shaken and unable to process it. She didn't have any intention of moving, just yet. Kennedy was frozen.

Newt frowned and threw himself at the runner, using his hands to grip his limbs and hold him down; "Help me! Hold him down!"

A couple of gladers sprang forward, Gally and Frypan included, and tackled Ben's frenzy of arms and legs. They couldn't risk him attacking someone, again.

    "Easy, Ben!"

    "Calm!"

    "What're you doin', Ben?"

    "Easy!"

Kennedy squirmed uncomfortably, watching as Ben took more and more gladers, in order for him to be fully restrained. Kennedy pushed herself from the ground with a grunt, feeling that familiar twang of pain in her hips, and thighs. It wasn't the worst pain that she had felt, but it had definitely appeared the quickest — usually, long distance running hurt, but a sprint would always hurt more. It took it out of her.

Noticing her struggle, Thomas rushed to her side.

After that ordeal, it only seemed natural to help her. She had all but saved his ass, back there. It was as if Thomas' legs had moved him before he had even registered it, and they took him straight to her side. Fingertips brushing her elbow, he quickly let go when she flinched at the feeling. Kennedy peered up at him, her eyes wide in surprise, before she sucked in a breath and swatted the help of his hands away. It wasn't a smack, more of a gentle tap, but it still gave Thomas the message that she didn't need his help. After that ordeal with Ben, she didn't want to be touched. She felt nervous when his skin cane in contact with hers. She didn't like it.

    "Calm down, Ben!"

"Easy, brother."

Frypan's voice gained their attention and brought them back to the scene, at hand. Kennedy pulled herself up as Ben gave up, no energy left to fight, his body tired and pained. He looked calm, as calm he could be, but Thomas still saw the pure hysteria in his eyes.

This calm wasn't long-lived, however; Ben trembled. He cried in panic, sobs racking his body at the sight of Alby marching through the crowd; "No! No, no, no, no!"

"Lift his shirt."

"No!" He sobbed, "No— Alby!"

Alby repeated himself, "Lift his shirt!"

"No!"

Many of the boys stared at Alby as if he had grown two heads, not wanting to get too close to Ben. They all knew what was wrong with him, but they were too scared to face it. Well, all apart from Kennedy: she marched foreword, ignoring the weary glances and scared eyes that followed her, and she put out a hand. She blocked out Ben's cries and gripped the bottom of his shirt in a similar way to when she had pulled him off Thomas, but this time, it was very different. Kennedy wasn't saving anyone. If she was doing anything, she was killing Ben with one, swift, easy action.

She was exposing a boy she had been close to, a boy within the band of brothers, and she knew fully well what his fate would be.

Kennedy did it, anyway.

With one swift movement, Kennedy pulled up his shirt and his torso was left on show, as were the growing, purple veins crawled across his pale skin.

Griever sting.

Many of the gladers recoiled, and they cringed at the sight of the griever sting beneath his ribs. Most of the boys had never seen anything like it, including Thomas and Chuck, both of whom had stared at it with green cheeks. The small group holding him down, however, shared a knowing look. Their suspicions were right; they didn't take any pride in it, however.

    "He was stung.," Gally frowned, looking at Alby.

"How?" Frypan.

"In the middle of the day?"

Kennedy blocked the sunlight from her face, lifting a hand over her eyes, which gained Newt's attention with only a simple turn of her head. The pair spoke silently, having a conversation with their eyes under the hot rays of the sun. They did it, often — discussing what no one else could understand from the moment their eyes met.

Newt pursed his lips tightly and sent her a pointed look, then he diverted his attention back to the poor shank on the ground. They both knew what was going to happen to him, next. Newt prayed it go easy, and she would let it.

At a loss for other actions, knowing what had to be done, Alby jerked himself to a stand. He refused to look at the stung runner any longer, and instead raised a hand to point in the far left of the glade. He didn't look at Kennedy, either. He knew she would only do something to oppose his commands; that was the problem. She always had something to say, some way of disagreeing. And, Alby had an even bigger problem: she was usually right.

    "Take him to the pit."

    "What?"

They listened; Frypan grabbing his arms and Gally took his feet, Jeff and Clint supporting his veiny torso.

    "Back to work."

Kennedy shook her head, an incredulous expression upon her face. She blinked rapidly. Of course, she had known what would be consequence for his actions — he had hurt another glader, he had nearly killed Thomas — but she couldn't help but think they should've at least tried something else, first. He had been out of it, not of sound mind. Surely, that wasn't it? They weren't even going to try and help him?

Ben tried to put up a fight but was quickly outnumbered, a few builders swarming in closer helping to tug him along. His screams began to quieten as they moved further down the glade, far away.

    "Alby!"

   He ignored Kennedy, easily.

    "Ken..."

    "Wait— Alby!" Kennedy pushed herself in front of him despite Newt's protests, the palms of her hands on his chest. Alby stopped in his step and rose a brow, already knowing what she was going to say. "Hey—!" she spat, "What are you doing?"

    "My job," Alby said.

    "Your job?"

    "Tone."

    "I don't care about my shuckin' tone!"

    "He hurt another glader, she-bean." He said, "I can't let that happen, again."

He went to move, but her hand gripped his shoulder.

"So, what? Ya mean— we're not even gonna try?" She spat the words bitterly. "We're just gonna get rid of him? He's a kid, Alby! He got stung! He didn't mean to—"

"When are you gonna stop questioning everything I do?" Alby snapped, taking her wrist in his hand and throwing it aside. This was a tough call, and even if he acted like it was easy, it wasn't. She always made him feel guilty, even guiltier than he already did, and he didn't need that, right now. He was their leader — someone had to call the shots, around here. Alby had been the one to instil rules and order. Ben was his friend, but what good was Alby if he let the rest of them down? There was no time for making exceptions, not when it came down to it. Family didn't matter when the rules were broken. He grunted, "'Cause I'm gettin' real sick of it."

Kennedy blinked at him, shocked that he had taken such a tone with her. Alby had never spoken to her like that, before. Not once.

"Wow..." she hummed.

It was tense.

Quiet.

Alby sighed.

"She-bean," his tone was remorseful.

"Ya know what?"

He rose his brows.

"Fine," she leaned in closer to him, "But if I don't question you, Alby—" Kennedy got up in his face, her voice quieter. But he had heard her words, loud and clear. "—then who else is gonna stop ya from making stupid decisions? Hm?"

The two stared at each other, silently.

    "There's no time for feelings, Kennedy." Alby eventually said.

She shook her head, eyes softer. Kennedy couldn't live a life like that, with no feelings. One of her greatest strengths was her ability to feel, but it had also become one of her greatest weaknesses. She felt too hard, at times.

  "Get et yourself cleaned up."

With a pat of her shoulder, Alby proceeded to Thomas and told the boy to follow him. Kennedy watched as they made their way to his hammock, her dark eyes glued to the greenie, and Thomas couldn't help but look back at her. He rose an eyebrow, and sent a small smile when she nodded her head: they were alright.

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