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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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020.
VENGEANCE.
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    "How's he doin'?"

"Better than yesterday," Kennedy said, wiping the sweat from Alby's brow. He wrinkled his nose and shifted, but stayed still for the most part. His sleep had seemed more peaceful. "I think that stuff might have worked... I guess we'll have to wait."

Gally's face scrunched up in a grimace but she ignored it. There was no secret in his distaste for Kennedy's decision to inject their mystery serum into Alby's blood — as much as he still trusted the she-bean (despite her going against every piece of advice that he'd given her, in not wanting to trust Thomas), he wasn't the only one who feared killing their leader off. Sure, he was already dying from the changing, but Gally would rather Alby die from that sting than die from something that they did to him.

Something Thomas had done, again, he believed.

"Do ya really think that shank should be out there?" Unable to stop himself, Gally huffed. "You honestly think that's a good idea?"

   Kennedy pursed her lips. To say she hadn't expected Gally to stop by, to try to convince her to change her mind, would've been a lie. In fact, she had been counting down the hours that morning until he finally got over the silence treatment he had been giving her since making Thomas a runner — it hadn't taken long for him to enter the med-jack hut, and even less time to start his mission: to get Thomas demoted, immediately.

   She knew that Gally wanted her to change her mind. But, if he thought it would be that easy to convince Ken, he obviously didn't know her as well as he thought that he did.

    "I think he's got what it takes," she shrugged.

    "Yeah— he can run fast. So, what?" Gally scoffed, "All he's done is cause trouble!"

   Kennedy rolled her eyes, "You're being dramatic, Gal."

    "So you're telling me, you don't find anything about this shank remotely suspicious? You don't think it's weird that the minute he shows up, everything starts going wrong?" He crossed his arms, a deep creased between both eyebrows. "Ben being stung, Alby and Minho in the maze? He goes in there and kills a griever, and then the box comes up with a greenie? A girl?" Gally ignored Kennedy's pointed glare, "She knew him name, Ken! She's just as suspicious as he is," he snapped his fingers in a one, two, as if it would further whatever point he was trying to make. "And, she's the last one ever? I mean— what's that all about?" He stressed, to which Kennedy had a hard time arguing with. "How can you make him a runner when all he's done is ruin everything? Everything we've built? Our home!"

    "What do you want me to do, Gally?" Her words were sharper than they usually were, "You want me to start a trial, and find him guilty? Throw him into the maze?" She was exasperated, "All he'd do is survive, again!"

"I want you to realise he's bad news," he said. "You need to stop seeing the best in him, stop listening. You gotta realise the ones you should listen to are right in front of you. We're your family."

Eyes narrowing, Kennedy tightened the ponytail on the top of her head and crossed her arms. She didn't like what he was trying to imply. It made her stomach churn. When was it, that Gally had started doubting her? Did he think that she'd wanted the worst for the glade? It seemed that Gally thought so.

That hurt. He was using it against her, knowing how deeply she cared for the boys in their glade, and making it out that she didn't.

   He was wrong.

   He was so wrong, and it angered her.

Shuckface!

"He came up in that box," Kennedy argued, "He's one of us."

    "God—!" Gally snapped, "Do you hear yourself? He's got you brainwashed, Ken!" Pulling up a hand, he prodded at his temple to emphasise his point, squinted at her in anger and disbelief. He thought that she was insane to think that Thomas was one of the gladers, even after everything he had caused. Everything that had happened since his arrival had to be his fault; it had all happened because of Thomas. Gally didn't understand how Kennedy wasn't able to see it. "He's got in your head!"

"Thomas is just a kid!"

"He'll get us all killed!" He hissed, "And you'd be stupid, to trust him."

Kennedy glared, her eyes dark and daring.

She took a step towards him, one that he mirrored, but she felt no concern for his towering height. While Gally wouldn't hurt her, the look in his eyes was painful enough. It was then that Kennedy realised her friendship with Gally was broken, fractured. It wasn't repairable — their friendship was tainted forever, stained with the stubbornness of their opinions and bias', and Kennedy knew that she and Gally would never be the same. All that they had built, a bond that they had formed over years spent together, it was never going to be the same. Not after this. A Thomas-sized blockade had been wedged between them, and there was no going back. That blockade was there, and there it would stay, until one of them had decided to budge, or until Thomas himself relented. But she didn't see any chance in the above options happening, anytime soon. Her stubbornness was impeccably loud, and so was Gally's own.

Kennedy and Gally had chosen their sides, and they had taken to either half of their ring— and they were ready to fight. They'd chosen what they believed.

She squinted at him, "Well then, maybe I'm stupid."

   Before more shots could be fired and the argument could have the chance to deteriorate, the med-jack hut door was thrust open.

    "Ken! Ya gotta come and hear this—" Newt froze in his spot in the doorway, brows cinching as he watched the pair shuffle away from each other with irritated expressions. He looked between the two uncertainly, "Alright. What's been going on in 'ere, then?" His eyes flickered between them, "C'mon— I wanna hear it."

   Kennedy went to talk, but Teresa tumbled through the door at Newt's side, and she shut her mouth when his eyes travelled down to the new girl. It was good to see that they were getting on; Newt was easy to get along with really, he had just been on edge when she had arrived— as they all had been. But it still calmed however much irritation was blossoming in Kennedy's chest. She needed to get away from Gally, or she'd break a rule. It was probably a good thing that Teresa had interrupted: Kennedy might have said many things she wouldn't exactly regret.

    "Nothing," she shook her head.

Gally scoffed.

Kennedy rolled her eyes and asked them, "Wha—?"

   No words had the chance to pass her lips.

   Thump!

Clang!

   With her eyes wide, Kennedy looked at Newt in shock; "What the hell was that?"

    "It's coming from inside the maze," seeming to have forgotten their altercation, Gally and Kennedy shared an incredulous look as Newt leapt forward and grabbed her right wrist. He tugged her along and pointed a finger at Teresa, "Stay here, watch Alby. Call us if anything major happens, yeah?"

   Teresa agreed rather quickly. She watched as Kennedy was then yanked out of the hut, and as Gally shot her a nasty look before he followed after them quickly. Teresa wasn't particularly fazed by this.

   As they rushed across the glade and to the maze doors, those metallic sounds grew louder, and with them did Kennedy feel her stomach flip — up and down, up and down, up and down, up and down. Her gut churned, and the nerves bubbled up her chest. They had no idea what was happening out there; no type of sounds like that had ever come from the maze, in the middle of the day. Everyone knew that the maze changed at night. Never had it changed when the sun was up, and no one has visibly seen it change, either. Other than the two boys that were currently inside, no one had witnessed any sort of movement or rearranging, and Kennedy grew worried for them. Would they be alright?

   It didn't sound very safe...

"Any sign of 'em, yet?" Kennedy asked, falling into line with Newt and Chuck, in front of the doors. "What's with the noises?"

"We dunno," Frypan said, from behind them.

   Kennedy pursed her lips.

   Klunk.

Chuck added, "Shouldn't they both be back, by now?"

"It's alright, Chuckie," she assured him, "They'll be back," her eyes flickered to Jeff, who was looking at her already. "Teresa's sat with Alby."

The med-jack relaxed and turned back to watch the doors. She follow his lead and set her stare on the maze, hoping that what she said to Chuck wouldn't become a big, broken promise. Minho and Thomas would come back, wouldn't they? Kennedy was sure of it.

   Minho was the best runner they had!

   He had never left them down, before. Not even when he found himself stuck in the maze with Alby and Thomas. Minho still had the nerve to come back to them, all in one piece.

   It was no secret that Minho was the one who got them so far. It was Minho who ran that maze every single day, since they'd started; Minho was the first runner and he would definitely be the last. He never showed any signs in stopping— even when they decided that there was nothing left to find out there, Minho still got up and ran: so the gladers wouldn't ask questions, so they stayed hopeful, so his friends had something to believe in.

   Minho did that.

   He woke up every morning, ran a hopeless maze with no ways out, and went to bed only to wake up the next morning, and do it all over again. Minho faced that maze everyday, and he never even complained. Could you imagine that? Knowing they were stuck in there forever, with no exit, and having to pretend they were still on the look out? When you had spent years searching? When you had covered every square inch of it — every corner turned — and you had found nothing? Minho knew the maze like the back of his hand and he knew better than anyone that they had run the whole thing and come up with only dirt and vines, he knew better than anyone that there was no way to get out, and he proceeded to act as if he'd remained hopeful — like there was still a chance, just so no one fell into panic. The maze was a scary place, a hopeless place, but Minho faced it without complaint.

   He would make it; Kennedy knew he would.

   And Thomas, well...

   They couldn't get rid of the shank, even if they tried.

After a while of watching, and endless metallic noises from the inside of the maze, the two runners eventually reappeared. They jogged through the doors, panting and sweating, and dirtier than they had been when they set off at sunrise. Immediately, Kennedy stepped aside to give them room to breathe, Newt doing the same and clapping a hand on Minho's back— the latter whom had both hands on his knees as he regained his breath and posture. Thomas was easily as tired, perhaps more so than the keeper, and Kennedy noticed just how filthy he had gotten, caked in layers of dust upon dust. Minho was much the same as he, and the both of them were decorated with scrapes and scuffs on the skin of their elbows, then the many cuts on their palms. Brows furrowed, she reached for his arm to check it for any further injuries.

"What the hell is goin' on, out there?" Newt asked, taking off at Minho's side as the keeper made across the glade.

"What've ya done now, Thomas?"

Thomas ignored Gally's comment and brushed Kennedy away from his arm, instead grasping her hand in his, and pulling her to get to Minho and Newt. He interlocked their fingers, hardly even noticing what he was doing; too transfixed on what Minho started telling Newt about what they'd found. Kennedy didn't pull away in her haste to follow.

"We found somethin'," Minho said, "A new passage."

"We think it could be a way out," Thomas continued for him.

Kennedy paused.

    "Wait— seriously?"

"It's true," the keeper of the runner nodded, his eyes flickering from Kennedy to Newt. "We opened a door— something I'd never seen before," he explained, his stare meaning we not I. The runner rolled his stiff neck, "Think it's gotta be where grievers hide, during the day. Looked creepy as klunk!"

    "A griever-hole?"

    "Yup."

"Wait! Woah, woah—" Chuck appeared, both cheeks very red, leaning over Kennedy and Thomas' hands. He looked amazed — little shank wondered if he'd imagined what they were saying and it was his own mind playing tricks on him, "You're sayin' ya found the grievers' home?" When Thomas nodded, he peered at him with widened eyes, "And, you want us to go in?"

"Their way in could be our way out, Chuck."

   Honestly, Kennedy wasn't too sold on the idea either.

   It sounded crazy.

   Go inside the griever-hole?

   Crazy, and not to mention dangerous! She wasn't willing to send her boys in there without knowing where it lead to, certainly not if that included Chuck. He was just a kid. Kennedy wasn't up for an accidental suicide mission, not with her little Chuck.

   But, what if it was the only way?

   She wanted Chuck to live, and what if that was the only way? It could be the only way that he got out of there, and lived a normal life. Perhaps keeping Chuck away from the griever-hole would end up being what killed him? The grievers had to go somewhere, and if they found where that place was, then maybe they would find what was waiting for them on the other side. It sounded like a risk, a big one, one that Alby wouldn't be willing to take. But Kennedy was in charge right now, and she felt like a gambling kind of woman. The tips of her fingers twitched, and she pursed her lips in thought: she needed go think on it.

"Okay..." she breathed, "Let's just hold up—"

"Yeah—" Gally scoffed, "—or, there could be a dozen grievers waiting, on the other side!" He snapped. Thomas kept on walking after Minho and Newt, making sure Kennedy was with him, while also trying to see past the petty argument, but his shoulders tensed. Gally continued to bite, "Truth is, Thomas doesn't know what he's done. As usual!"

   He snapped.

Unable to resist, Thomas span on his heels and marched up to the builder, back straight and jaw clenched. The movements had Kennedy going with him, their hands still connected, and she put out a sigh when the two boys got in each other's faces. This place suddenly stank of testosterone — even more than usual — and she spared a look at Newt and Minho from over her shoulder, both of who had just turned to witness Thomas retaliate. Neither of them seemed ready to stop it at any point, although Newt did look rather nervous for their newfound friend. Gally was built like an ox. They knew Thomas would go down, in seconds.

"Yeah?" Thomas jeered.

    "Yeah!"

    "Well, at least I did something, Gally!" Brows risen, the newbie shrugged. "I mean— what have you done? Aside from hide behind these stupid walls, all the damn time!"

"Lemme tell ya something, greenie—" red faced, Gally held up three fingers and pointed them in Thomas' face. For a second, in the heat of the moment, Kennedy thought Thomas would bite at them. "You've been here three days, alright? I've been here for three whole years—!"

   Thomas laughed.

"You've been here three years, and you're still here, Gally!"

   Kennedy sighed, rubbing at her brow.

   Boys.

   Thomas continued, "What does that tell ya?" He didn't let him respond, "Maybe you should start doing things a little differently!"

    "Maybe you should be in charge!" Gally retorted, jabbing his thumb in Kennedy's direction. She glared at him for the gestures, as well as the unnecessary comment— why was he trying to bring her into it? "What about that? Huh?"

    "Quit it!" She seethed.

    "Huh, greenie?"

     "Hey—!" Teresa.

    "What are you gonna do, Ken?" Turning to her instead of the greenie, Gally returned to their argument from the med-jack hut. He looked down at her in disappointment and frustration; Gally still couldn't believe she was letting this happen. "You're supposed to be leading us, and where? Into the griever's den, just so we can all die?" He watched her face contort, "Alby would never—"

    "I never said we were goin—!"

    "Hey, it's Alby!"

   As if she had never been in the argument, Kennedy turned to look at Teresa, her eyes large.

    "He's awake," she told the gladers.

"What?"

    "He's awake?"

    "Really?"

    "Alby's awake! He's awake!"

Bolting, Kennedy dropped Thomas' hand and sprinted toward the hut— her hips told her to stop, as did the yells behind her, but she wasn't listening. Rather, the girl ran the whole way, looking no more than a blur to the kids she left on the other side of the glade; there was no time to be wasted. Alby was finally awake. He was up. He was awake and he was alive, and Kennedy had never needed his presence more than she did, right now. Scratch that— she needed his leadership, his friendship, his embrace. All that Kennedy really wanted was to jump into his arms and have him tell her that it was okay; everything would be alright. That she didn't have to worry, anymore. Because he was there, like he always was, and everything was going to be okay. Alby was going to fix all of their problems: if she asked him, he would make it all okay again. Everything would very quickly return to normal. He would help, he would take over, he would make the hard decisions so she didn't have to.

   Kennedy needed that, badly.

She tripped over her boots and stumbled into the room, hands reaching to tuck the stray strands of hair behind her ears, as they fell from her ponytail. When Kennedy looked at where Alby once laid restlessly, she was relieved to see that he was awake. In fact, he seemed better than awake.

   He was sat up straight, no longer reclined.

A ragged breath passed her lips.

    "Alby?"

He didn't speak.

"Alby?" She tried again, "Hey, it's me. It's Kennedy," she edged towards the bed and eased herself down, next him. She took note of the sheet clutched to his chest for comfort, "Can you hear me?"

Newt was the next to fall into the hut with Teresa, followed by Thomas and Minho, and Gally taking up the rear. There was an eerily short silence. The blonde then took the other side of Alby's cot, careful not to spook their leader as he approached.

"He said anything?" Minho watched closely.

Teresa sighed, "No."

"Alby..." gently, Newt gave him a nudge. "Alby, you alright?"

   Silence.

It was painfully silent, and Kennedy could see the concern that danced in Newt's eyes. It was the same concern in her own, and it only grew stronger when Alby started to tear up. His eyes welled a pool of tears and he sniffled, not moving to look at either of them. Kennedy gnawed at her bottom lip and reached to place her hand on his shoulder; she wanted to try and console him, as much as he could, for she had never seen her leader — her friend — in the state he was, currently. Luckily, he didn't flinch, of batt her away. But he didn't respond to it positively, either.

Lips pursed, Thomas knelt down in front of the older boy, eyes searching for some sort of reaction. Kennedy was tempted to push him away, briefly.

   He spoke, "Hey, Alby?"

   Nothing.

    "We might've just found a way outta the maze..." he kept his voice calm, "Do you hear me? We could be getting out of here,"

"We can't."

No one had expected his words.

Alby's head slowly tilted to look at Thomas, and his breaths got heavier. More laboured.

"We can't leave," he croaked, "They won't let us."

   They? Who was they? Kennedy tried to figure out who he could be talking about, and how he knew such a thing, but she came up with nothing. Her brows knotted together. She edged closer to the boy, "What're you talking about?" She gave his shoulder a soft and gentle squeeze, ducking to see his face. Her eyes flickered to Newt; he looked scared, running his hand over his mouth and tugging his lips around. "Who? Who won't let us?"

"I— I remember."

Concerned looks were exchanged amongst the gladers, and she tried to ignore the way her heart dropped. Without intention, Ken found herself staring at Gally. He was already doing the same, and their eyes met from across the room — she could see it in his eyes: the knowing. Gally knew what it was like, what it felt like to get stung, to remember things. He had gone through the changing, and there were bits and pieces he'd remembered. Things he wouldn't dare tell anyone else.

"What do you remember?" Thomas asked.

  "You."

Just like that, her heart shattered.

   The pieces fell to the floor.

    "W—what?" The boy stuttered, visibly recoiling.

"You were always their favorite, Thomas..." Alby whispered. It took seconds for his face to twist, turning stoic and stony. Clearly, Thomas was confused — they could see it in his face, and they all watched his mind get fuzzy under the pressure of those looks and stares. Alby hissed at him like a hungry animal, "...always."

As the case against Thomas gathered new evidence, Kennedy's ears perked at shouts coming from outside. She listened in, closer.

    "Guys!"

    "What the hell?"

    "Holy shuck!"

    "Where's Kennedy? Where's Newt?"

    "Jesus!"

   Kennedy squinted over at her blonde counterpart and then at Minho, both boys as confused as she was, and bit on her lip. The commotion was enough to worry her further, and it was her job to see to it, but she was hesitant to leave Alby. Her leader was looking sensitive, and he looked so vulnerable, and his words were seeming to be important. Kennedy wanted to know what Alby'd meant — Thomas was their favourite? Who was they? She didn't understand. Would she ever understand? Or, was this one big mess that held no decipherable answers? Maybe they weren't supposed to understand? She couldn't help but feel that, no matter how deep they dug, they would never fully understand anything about this place, about who had put them up there, or even about each other.

"Why did you do this?" He shook his head, while Thomas had subtly inched back. Shouts outside the hut grew louder and so did Alby. He was pleading with him, now; "Why did you come here?"

His head fell into his hands and he started to sob, rocking back and forth. He was so broken.

   This wasn't Alby; he had changed.

   It was too late.

Minho and Gally left the room with Teresa. All of the sudden commotion outside was getting too much to ignore. Thomas had returned to a stand and rushed to follow, while Newt was more of a hesitant character. He stood slowly, sucking on his teeth. He had to decide: leave and do his job, or stay with his close friend.

   Kennedy, on the other hand, didn't move at all.

How could she?

She couldn't leave Alby.

   Not like this. Not when he evidently needed their help.

Kennedy couldn't go out there; not without Alby. There was no way she could take charge of those boys, again— she wasn't even ready the last time! The last two days, the girl had been waiting; it had been forty-eight hours of waiting for Alby to get up, and take his power back. Leading was what Alby did. What he'd always done for as long as they could remember. Kennedy wasn't fit to lead that glade. She wasn't even totally sure why he had told Newt that he'd wanted Kennedy to take his place — it made no sense. She hadn't been a leader. Newt was a better fit, than she could ever be. No. He had to get up— Alby had to! This wasn't how it was supposed to go when he awoke: Kennedy was supposed handle things while he was out, and then he would wake up and fix it all before it was too broken to mend. Alby was supposed to fix it! Because he was Alby, he was their leader, and that was what he did; that was who Alby was.

Kennedy couldn't do this, without him.

    "Alby," she whispered.

   He continued to cry.

    "Alby— c'mon," she pleaded, "I can't do this. I need you," a tear trailed down her cheek, "You gotta help me, here..." she sniffed; it evoked no reactions, "Alby? Alby!"

"Ken?"

Her eyes stayed firmly on the sobbing boy. She was hoping, she was praying, that he would get up. Alby needed to get up. He had to get up, and he needed to fix everything. That was what he did, and she needed him to pull himself together and do it.

   But, deep down, she knew that he wouldn't. Because this wasn't Alby, anymore. Not the Alby they once knew.

   That Alby was gone. They had broken him, and now he would be gone forever. Alby was a shell of the man he used to be, and as she stared at him with a trembling chin, she found herself growing angry. Someone had broken him. They had broken Alby, and they had stolen him away from the people who loved him. He deserved better— they all did. In that moment, Kennedy promised herself a single thing: when she found the people who had broken Alby, that was when Kennedy would make them pay. She sought vengeance!

"Kennedy!"

Finally, she looked up at Newt.

   His eyes were red.

"C'mon," he said firmly, "Those are your boys, out there."

Kennedy blinked at him, they were her boys.

Kennedy's boys.

Nodding shakily, Kennedy sucked in a breath and jumped into action. She left the hut, glancing once more at Alby, and grabbed Newt's hand. With a tight squeeze between them, the pair rushed over to where the others had crowded, outside. There was mutual hysteria amongst them, and it thew Kennedy off kilter.

"Winston!" Kennedy stopped him as he rushed towards them, a firm hand on his upper chest. "Hey, slow down! What's goin' on?"

"It's the doors," he panted.

    "What?"

    "They aren't closing!"

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