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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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029.
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Janson looked like a rat.

She had already established that, but Kennedy couldn't help it — when she looked at him, she was reminded of how uncanny it truly was: the pointed nose, the beady eyes, the sharp, nasty teeth.

   Janson looked like a rat.

He was also late.

Kennedy huffed, sliding down in her chair and thrumming her fingers against the metal table in a light rhythm.

   Officer Kane had brought her to a blue room. Blue walls, blue table, blue chair. Even her clothes were very blue. Kennedy had a feeling it was a medical colour, cleanly, and thus fitting. Their new living arrangements seemed that way inclined — what, with all of the doctors and testing. It vaguely reminded her of the serum that Teresa was sent to the maze with, the sterile looking griever serum that temporarily saved Alby, but the odd coincidence was snatched away when the thoughts were replaced by her grief. Alby.

   She missed him.

   It had been all of a day, but Kennedy missed him like he'd been gone for years. He was already like a distant memory and Kennedy dreaded the day she could no longer remember the fine details — how he sounded when he spoke, the bad jokes he made, the minor wrinkles by his eyes when he tried not to smile at one of their jokes; the way he walked with pride, the way they fought like cat and dog but still loved each other, nonetheless. Kennedy couldn't fathom all the days that would pass her by without Alby in them. And Chuck, and Gally, and Clint and Jeff. And all the other boys they had lost in their mission to get out of the maze. How did she keep going? Her life got to go on from here, but what about theirs? How was it fair?

   Chuck was just a kid — why didn't he get to live?

   Kennedy's eyes drifted down to her wrist and to the little woven bracelet that he had carved her.

   Her eyes burned.

   It wasn't fair.

   "Kennedy— we finally meet again."

   Said girl sniffled, wiping at her nose and her eyes as she pulled her wrist from the table and into the safety of her lap. Her damp eyes narrowed into a stern stare, and she watched Janson stroll his way into the room as if she hadn't been waiting on him.

    "Yeah," she said, "Finally."

   If he noticed the sharpness to her tone, Janson made zero effort in acknowledging it. Rather, he shut the door behind him, and sat in the seat that was placed directly opposite her. She watched him, her eyes taking in his every movement, and her lip curled when his fake smile widened.

   She could read him like a book, something was off.

   Something about him just felt... grimy. Unclean. Like he was an accident; filth that had passed through into the sterile environment without being detected. Or, like something they were cleaning over.

"How are we feeling?" He asked her, accent strong, as he put a folder on the table with a firm slap! Janson opened it and flipped between the pages, reading through passages that Kennedy found difficult to make out, even when she leant over with a squint. "You seem well enough, from all your tests." He mused over whatever it had written, "Doctor Blanchard said you're not the most talkative; so we'll try to make this quick."

Actually, Kennedy was very talkative. She liked speaking. Not as much as Thomas, perhaps, but she had never shied from any kind of conversation.

It was just these people that Kennedy didn't want to talk to. They weren't trustworthy. Even if they had saved them from the maze, in turn from WICKED. But that didn't mean much to Kennedy; that actually meant very little. If anything, it made her more suspicious of them. Everything about this was suspicious.

But, quick sounded good.

The sooner she was out of here, then the sooner Kennedy was back with her friends. Leaving them was making her fidget; antsy.

She hadn't been separated from them, before. At least, not after they had all come up in the box. Her first proper memory was of Newt, on the day she arrived, and she hadn't left his side since — not for more than one day running in the maze. Newt and Minho were her constants; the ones who kept her in check; the only thing she had always had, and always (hopefully) would have. They were all of the memories she created in her new glade life, and they had thus ended up as the ones she would remember forever. That she'd really remember. Not just figments of light, and shadows, and body parts minus the face. She had never had a day without them and, as unpredictable as the future was, she didn't plan to. Kennedy didn't have memories of her parents, or her life pre-glade, but she always had Newt and Minho. Being away from them left her feeling weird and empty inside. It made her feel so alone.

Because, as much as Kennedy didn't want to show it, she was an easy target without them; a weak link.

She didn't stand as tall, and she wasn't as strong, and her words were much less confident. Kennedy had never had to be on her own before, and it was foreign to her. She just felt incomplete.

"What do you remember before the maze?"

Her brows furrowed.

"Before?"

"Yes."

"Nothing," she answered, honestly.

Janson waited, almost not believing her, before deciding to try and rephrase the question — as though she were an idiot, or that it may coerce her into sharing more information than she handed over to him. "Do you remember who you were?"

"No."

He arched a brow, which Kennedy smoothly mirrored.

She didn't understand why he was asking her that. No one had their memories from before the maze, well— almost no one had them.

"Thomas recalled that he supposedly worked for WICKED." It fell past his lips so easily, like he had been waiting to throw that out there, just to see her response. "I didn't think you guys would be so close, knowing he might've put you there."

"Doesn't matter," Kennedy shrugged. "Who we were before the maze and who we are now, aren't the same. It doesn't matter what we did back then, or who we were."

"What if it did?"

Kennedy squinted at the man, "It doesn't."

"Say he was remembering correctly," Janson drawled, "Who do you think you were? If Thomas worked for WICKED, where did it leave you?"

She'd be lying if she said she had never thought about who she was before the maze, that was all she ever thought about, but she'd never thought about it like that. Kennedy hadn't really had much chance to — she had only found out that Thomas and Teresa had a place working with WICKED in the last twenty-four hours, and it hadn't left her much time to think about who she was, if they both worked for the people who put them there.

Really, Kennedy always assumed that they were all victims; that WICKED had placed them in the maze for whatever reason, and that they were all in the same boat. But Thomas and Teresa knew they weren't in the same boat back then, and Kennedy now began to wonder whether the rest of them were the same. If they worked for WICKED, did they all?

In her mind, WICKED had always been the bad guys.

They were the evil; the ones who had ruined their lives in order to trap them in a maze of death.

But Thomas and Teresa were certainly not evil— at least, they weren't evil anymore. And they had been sent into the maze, like the rest of the kids had been. Kennedy didn't understand why the bad guys would send two of their own in, with no more memories than Kennedy and her friends. It didn't make sense to her. If they had sent Thomas and Teresa, did that make it possible that all the gladers had once worked for WICKED? Did Kennedy once work for the people who took away her life and her memories? Ava Paige said that they sent young people in as a means of testing how their immunity to the virus worked... did that include their own people?

Was Kennedy one of the bad guys, originally?

   She had no memories from before the maze— at least, not any that were tangible, or of greater quality. Kennedy wasn't sure who she was. Suddenly, her body jolted.

I'M KENNEDY, YOU'RE THOMAS,
AND WE'RE FIFTEEN YEARS OLD.

   Where had that memory come from? Well, she thought it might be a memory. It had popped into her mind when Thomas finally remembered his name, and it completed the format she had been using for years: I'm Kennedy and I'm fifteen years old.

   Why did it fit?

   Had she known Thomas?

   Maybe Kennedy was one of the bad guys.

Her thoughts began to spiral, eyes fluttering between her hands and her bracelet.

Chuck was just a kid.

Her eyes hardened and she looked back at Jansen. She stood by her point: none of it mattered. Whoever they were, whether they be WICKED or not, it didn't matter. Because regardless, they had all suffered. They had gone through hell. It didn't matter who had once worked for the enemy because their people had died— Chuck had died. An innocent, kind, little boy. He was gone, and that was all on the people who sent them there.

In that maze, they were all in the same boat. The minute they'd come up in that box, they weren't apart of WICKED anymore. It had severed their ties. They weren't the same people.

"It doesn't matter."

"Kennedy—"

"Tell me, rat-man." She leaned forward and crossed her arms, leaning on the table with an inquisitive face. The card flipped and now Kennedy was the one interrogating him. Janson listened closer than she thought he would have, face contorting when she gave an easy glare: "Do you know who I was, before the maze?"

   A beat passed. He forced a laugh.

"How would I know that?"

She shrugged once, "I dunno— you tell me."

    "Kennedy, I can assure you tha—"

    "You seem to be pretty interested in WICKED," Kennedy put on her best pokerface and leant back in her chair, "You seem like you know a lot about them too, which is interesting to me. Y'know, since you shot them all down." She reminded him of the bloodbath they had walked into, upon escaping the maze. "Why do you need to know more? Your men just killed them all."

   Janson sucked at his teeth, his tongue poking out as it ran across his lip. He was irritated; short tempered. She'd pushed his buttons.

    "You talk a lot more than Doctor Blanchard gave you credit for, Kennedy." He pushed out another laugh, but his eyes were lacking any genuine humour.

   Kennedy didn't respond, sensing there was more yet to come.

    "Perhaps we could talk about your friends," he proposed. The words made Kennedy stiffen, and he appeared to notice. "I heard you were willing to endanger everyone in the helicopter, to go and get those who were left behind,"

    "Maybe."

    "Why?"

    "They were my friends," she narrowed her eyes. "My boys. It's not like me to leave anyone behind."

    "And your loyalty is admirable," it sounded like her loyalty was more irritable than it was admirable, to Janson. "You've taken this leader-like role with your friends, right? They all seem to follow in your footsteps, and respect you. Even Thomas."

   What was this guy's obsession with Thomas?

    "We respect each other," Kennedy deadpanned. "That's how it works."

    "But they listen to you, don't they?"

    "I guess so."

    "Gotta be a heavy burden for a kid to bare," Janson speculated, a knowing look in his eyes. He was right. It was a heavy burden. It was visible in the tension of her shoulders, and the sour expression on her face, and the crease in her brows. Anyone could see that roles of leadership were a lot to take — especially for a kid. She cared for her friends more than she ever cared about herself, because she was her own last priority. Janson could see it clearly. "I don't know how you managed to do it, for so long. I struggle to run things, here. It's a tricky quality to take upon yourself, isn't it?"

   Her lips pursed.

   If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought Janson was hinting at the fact she hadn't done it for years; like he somehow knew that Kennedy hadn't been playing leader for very long, just in the last week. It felt like he was calling her bluff, or trying to evoke something within her. Memories? Pain? Lies? A part of her felt the man knew more than he was letting on: could he know about Alby? He couldn't, could he? What exactly had Thomas told him?

    "I would do it all over again, in a heartbeat." She told him, "If they stay safe, then any struggle is worth it." Kennedy watched his expression fade to a blank slate, "Wouldn't you agree?"

    "Even dying in a helicopter crash?"

   Hell yes.

    "A leader sticks by their decisions, rat-man."

    "Well said." He grit his teeth.

   She shrugged, again.

    "Look, Kennedy—" he started, "I know you're still settling in. I also know it can be hard to adjust; you wouldn't be the first." He'd continued before she could question what he meant by that, did this place have others too? "But we can't have you here, if you just intend on causing us trouble."

   Kennedy blinked, "Is that a threat?"

    "Consider it a warning," Janson challenged. "I'm just trying to level with you, Kennedy."

    "By threatening to, what? Kick me out? Take me back?"

    "This place runs smoothly. The last thing we need is you acting against us and your friends following in suit," he said. "We're only here to help you, Kennedy. You're safe from the maze; you need to start trusting us. We aren't the bad guys."

    "How do I know that?"

    "Because we saved you," Janson looked smug. "And your friends all seem pretty partial to warm beds and regular meals. I'd hate for them to lose their beloved leader, because she just couldn't comply; wouldn't you?"

   He hit a sore spot — her friends.

   He was right.

   Kennedy stayed silent and settled to glare at him with all of her might. This man had just threatened to get rid of her if she opted against cooperating with them.

   She wasn't sure what he had planned if she chose not to abide by all their rules, but Kennedy knew it wouldn't be good — losing her friends was her worst nightmare and Janson knew that perfectly well. That was the agreement he had wanted to make: force her to silence, and hope to maintain the power. He saw her as a threat; in a way, Kennedy almost felt flattered. Was he that scared of a kid? It made her wonder why they were so desperate to keep the order. He had to be hiding something here, but what?

    "Do we have an agreement, Kennedy?" He asked.

   It didn't sound like a question.

   She nodded, stiffly.

    "Great," Janson smiled tightly. He stood from his chair, making his way to the door with his folder in hand.

    "You've been cleared to join the others," he informed her. "All your friends are already gathered in the food hall and socialising; I'm sure you must be curious about what else we have to offer you, and why you'd want to keep our agreements." Janson's words held a hidden meaning, one that she couldn't quite figure out since she'd found herself focused on the first part of his sentence.

    "Others?"

————

    "How long have you been here?"

    "Not long," the boy answered. "A day, or two."

   Thomas nodded slowly, listening to the pair speak as closely as he could. He wanted to remember every detail, to engrave anything useful in the back of his brain, but it was proving difficult— what, with Kennedy lingering on his mind. It had been a while since he, or any of the others, had seen her last. Teresa, too. The boys were swiftly evacuated from the medical bay, and the two girls were told to stay put for more testing. Thomas knew that Kennedy was soon to talk to Janson, if she hadn't already, and Teresa was whisked off; Thomas figured it wasn't anything too serious, being that she'd put a smile on her face as they had left the room.

   But now it had been a pretty long time since they had arrived in the food hall and found out that there were others like them; many mazes created by WICKED, with many kids around their ages. He found some of their faces familiar, but not very many. Enough that he felt guilty, and quickly looked away, before the guilt grew bigger.

   He probably put them in there.

   Thomas clenched his jaw and tapped his knuckles lightly on the table. He was getting restless, and Minho noticed it. His brows did a weird thing where they arched in the middle and Thomas almost asked how he did it, because he certainly couldn't arch his own two eyebrows in that way, but he pushed the thought away and did that very Thomas-like shrug of his shoulders instead. He couldn't be less discreet as to what was bothering him though. It was clear when his head tilted left to right, and back again, and his eyes flickered to all of the exits in hopes that someone would walk through them — it was a rather particular someone, too. The gladers had learnt that he was anxious when Kennedy wasn't around. They all were, but they knew that Thomas was anxious in a different way. In a way that all of the rest of them could see, but he was still unaware of. He acted weird — weirder than he usually did, which was pretty weird. This behaviour had presented itself more obviously, than before.

   When Kennedy wasn't near, they all felt strange.

   Thomas, however, found himself worried that she wouldn't find her way back to them.

   He didn't trust this place, not anymore than she did, and maybe the rest of them were quite fooled, but he wasn't buying it. All that talk about helping them? Nah. Kennedy didn't believe it, and if she didn't, then neither did he. Thomas trusted her.

   Not them.

    "That kid, over there?" The boy nodded toward a table on the other side of the hall, "He's been here the longest; almost a week."

   They followed his gaze and found a boy with a hood pulled up over his head, picking at his food mindlessly. He sat alone, nobody around to keep him company, and Thomas' eyes lingered in hopes of figuring out why. Everybody else was sat with at least someone — yet this kid sat completely alone and hiding from the world. Didn't he have anyone? Thomas' stare persisted for a second, noticed that when he tilted his head the slope of his nose was exposed, and that slope looked somewhat familiar to him.

   Probably just another kid whose life he had helped ruin.

    "His maze was nothin' but girls," the other boy told them, his lips twitching into a subtle smirk.

   Minho's head snapped up.

    "Really?"

   Thomas gave him a light kick under the table, rolling his eyes. He peered around at the girls on the tables surrounding them, his heart bursting for Kennedy's sake — he was certain that she would be totally beside herself.

   Other than Kennedy and Teresa, he had never seen another girl before. None of them had. At least, not that they could remember.

   They seemed quite different to Kennedy and Teresa. Though it wasn't so surprising— the two girls were incredibly different, so all other girls must've been very different, also. He wondered whether Kennedy or Teresa would prefer to hang out with the girls instead; maybe they wouldn't want to hang out with five boys, anymore. All of them knew that this was exactly what Kennedy had spent years, on years, praying and waiting for: to be around other girls; he frowned. Was it wrong of him to not want them to do that? He felt selfish, if not a bit insecure. Thomas didn't want to lose them, but neither of them would do that to the rest of them, would they?

    "Yup." The first boy said, shrugging slightly with a joking smile. He chuckled under his breath as he looked between the boys, their gazes somewhat curious. "Some guys just have all the luck."

   They exchanged a glance.

   Suppose so.

   Before any of them could say anything, their eyes flickered over to Thomas as he leapt up from his seat.

    "Kennedy!"

   They watched him rest his hand on her collarbone and tug her into him, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as he steered her away from the guard, shooting him looks that weren't warranted in the eyes of anyone but himself.

   The two boys gawped at the interaction. With a girl.

    "Some guys really do have all the luck," one of them said.

   Minho snickered.

    "He does," Frypan patted him on the back.

   Thomas felt far better with Kennedy by his side, and when the pair were far enough away from the guard who escorted her, they came to a brief stop; "You okay? How did it go with the rat-man?"

   At first, Kennedy almost didn't hear him above the buzzing she heard in her ears. A hundred voices filled her head all at once and she tried to recall a time she had been in a room with such a large amount of people. In fact, Kennedy had never seen so many other kids her age, even when the glade was at its maximum capacity. As she stood there, she was completely stunned.

"What the hell is this place?"

"There were other mazes," Thomas told her what Minho had told him. "Just like us."

Kennedy's eyes trailed across the hall, looking at the many faces that she saw. Some kids were laughing, some were eating, and that made her smile — a proper smile, for the first time in who knew how long. They weren't alone, anymore. Kennedy felt the urge to sit and cry.

Most were boys, around the ages her boys were, and just like the newbies, they were all dressed in shades of blue. Ken's stare found itself falling upon one table in particular, and her eyes widened, as wide as they could possibly go. It was a table of french braids and ponytails, and fluttery lashes and strong, lean physiques. She could hardly pull her line of sight away, still unable to believe what it was that she was seeing: girls. A whole bunch of 'em. Multiple girls. That was all Kennedy could see, now. Girls! Actual girls! Real girls! Girls! Just like her, and just like Teresa. This time, Kennedy really did cry. Her eyes watered and she had to suck in a deep breath, in attempt to keep herself calm and collected — she just couldn't help it. The people who had put them in the maze had deprived her of contact with other girls for nearly three years and now suddenly, within the small space of a week, she had been faced with more than she ever remembered seeing in whole, entire life.

"Girls," she muttered. "Am I hallucinating, shank?"

"It's real," Thomas smiled.

Kennedy blinked slowly, watching as one of the girls turned in her seat and caught her eyes. The girl smiled and waved, spurring the rest of the table to turn, and they all were suddenly giving her the same kind smile and wave. Kennedy's lips twitched up into the sweet grin she always possessed and she shyly waved back at them.

A small piece of her felt bitter that all these girls had likely been with other girls in their mazes, while she was isolated with nothing but boys, though Kennedy reminded herself she was lucky. At least her boys loved her.

She'd never needed other girls, not really.

"Alright, Tommy." Kennedy sucked in a breath and got back to business, "Where is everyone?"

"Well, if you'd look to your left—" Thomas tilted his head, eyes rolling. "—you'll see the bunch of slintheads waving their hands to get your attention, and making us all look like idiots."

She grinned.

Thomas gently grabbed her hand and gave her a light tug, "Did Janson say anything weird to you?" He asked, their walk slow. "His personal guard dog didn't look too happy."

"Nothin' I wasn't expecting, I guess..." she said, shrugging.

Apart from threatening to kick her out.

As they approached the table, there was a roar of Kennedy! from all the boys, and Frypan quickly stood up and gave her a hug. She hadn't been separated from them for that long, but it was sweet to know that they missed her in that short time as much as she missed them. From over Frypan's shoulder, she sent Thomas a look— that clearly indicated that she would tell him about Janson later, if their new situation permitted them with some time alone.

"We missed ya!"

"Where've you been, Ken?"

"Damn, she-bean!" Minho whistled lowly, "You seem popular."

He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and pointed over to a different table, where a group were watching the interaction with curious eyes. In fact, a lot of kids were watching it. It had to be the first time that the rest had seen a maze that consisted of more boys than girls. At least, that's what it looked like to them, and they were all correct. Kennedy gave Minho a shove; "Slim it, shank."

He raised his hands in surrender and ruffled her hair, "Glad you finally made it, Ken."

"Me too, Minho." She admitted.

"You good?" Newt finally asked, being the last to greet her. His concern washed away when he found her looking to be in one nice piece, just like they had left her in.

"Yeah," Kennedy sighed softly, content when his arms wrapped around her. She felt so at home; settled, calm. Like they had never even left the glade. Her heart ached for a minute, recalling all the boys that they had lost, that she could no longer hold in her arms, and she squeezed her eyes shut to prevent any tears from falling. In that moment, Kennedy missed them more than ever. How had they only been gone for a day? Newt held her tighter than before, as if he was able to sense her sudden distress, and Kennedy nuzzled her way further into his arms. She took in another breath and let it out through her nose, slowly. She nodded her head, "I'm good, Newt."

"Good that," he said.

"Good that."

Kennedy looked around and frowned, "Teresa?"

"Getting tests still," Thomas said.

   As the boys went back to their seats at the table, Kennedy made sure she was sat between Newt and Thomas, Minho sat on his left.

   She was faced with two kids, neither owning a face she remotely recognised, and Ken arched a brow when she noticed the gormless staring they were both participating in.

    "What? You shanks never seen a girl, before?" She asked.

    "Huh?" One stuttered.

    "This is Kennedy," Newt introduced. "Our leader."

   They seemed to snap out of their trances, blinking wildly, their minds quickly forgetting their confusion over a shank and what the girl meant by it. At first they worried they'd offended her with that staring business but when they noticed her sugary smile, they were more comfortable and visibly relaxed.

    "Hi," Kennedy smiled.

    "Hi,"

    "Hey."

    "I'm David," the first introduced.

    "Riley," the second.

    "They actually haven't seen a girl before," Minho explained. "In their maze, it was nothin' but boys."

    "We escaped a couple of days ago," David explained.

    "How many of you?" Kennedy questioned.

    "Not enough," Riley answered, sucking on his teeth. "Nobody would let us go back for the others." It sounded the same as when the gladers had left their own maze. "I guess we didn't have much time to get outta there."

    "I'm sorry," she said.

   Both boys nodded solemnly, shrugging it off as best they could.

   The boys briefly explained their experience to her, and told her as much as they knew about this place. It wasn't much different to what Janson had said, which bothered her slightly, but she made it work. Apparently these kids had been rescued in similar ways; that was what it looked like, anyway. Kennedy listened closely, trying to find any discrepancies, but there were none to be found.

   She hid her disappointment.

   Apparently it was only her and Thomas who disliked it here.

   Kennedy chewed on her bread as their group listened to plenty of David and Riley's stories about their own maze; turns out, they called themselves the unit — not gladers — whatever the hell that meant.

    "What about the rest of you, who escaped?" Kennedy couldn't help but ask, after hearing that exact story.

   David and Riley shared a look.

    "They—"

    "Good evening, gentlemen!" Janson strolled into the food hall, some shitty clipboard in his hands as he stood front and centre. It evoked scowls from Kennedy and Thomas, just his mere presence was enough to frustrate them, while everyone else in the food hall turned to watch him with eager expressions. "And ladies," he gave a dazzling grin that caused Kennedy to cringe. "You all know how this works. If you hear your name called..." he paused, looking his way around the hall, "...please rise in an orderly fashion, join some of my colleagues stood behind me..." another pause, as he steadily searched the room, "...where they'll escort all of you to the eastern wing." His eyes finally landed on Kennedy, and he smirked.

    "Your new lives are about to begin."

   New lives?

   Kennedy's brows knotted, confusion palpable. She glanced over at David and Riley in hopes of asking questions but neither of the boys paid her any mind. Rather, they — along with everybody else in this room, asides from the gladers — were watching Janson with pleading eyes and eager smiles.

    "Connor."

   A boy stood, high-fiving his friends as he rushed to the front.

    "Evelyn."

   Her friends cheered.

    "Justin."

   Another cheer, another boy at the front.

    "Peter."

As he waved farewell to his friends, Kennedy couldn't resist her expression turning even more sour.

Where were they going? Janson had said this was some sort of halfway house, but she had thought they were supposed safe here. Why would they be sending the kids to some place, else?

    "Allison."

Her eyes travelled the crowd, taking in all of the kids who were clearly anticipating that they would be called next, and found her gaze lingering on a boy with his hood tugged over his head. Other than herself and her friends, he seemed to be the only one here to take no interest in the list. In fact, something about the ways he'd slipped down in his seat and hid beneath the shadows cast over his face made her think he was hoping for the exact opposite than other kids were— it was like he was trying to go under the radar, because he didn't want to be one of these chosen few.

Feeling eyes on him, the boy tilted his head and met gazes with Kennedy from across the room. He stilled, and the two remained, eyes focused on one another and unable to look away. The kid was strangely familiar to Kennedy; like she had met him somewhere, a very long time ago.

Kennedy finally blinked.

He turned away.

Her attention went back to Janson, who was still going.

    "Squiggy—" that one got a laugh, and Janson chuckled as he waved for them to slim it. "Alright— settle down," he read off the next name, "Franklin..." one more, "And Abigail."

   Multiple kids groaned.

    "Now, now— don't get discouraged." Janson assured the other kids, "If I could take more, I would." His words confused Kennedy further, take them where? "There's always tomorrow, isn't there? Your time will come,"

Once again, his eyes landed on Kennedy with a pointed glint in them. She knew it was some sort of threat looming over her head, just like the last one, although she couldn't figure out what he had aimed to threaten her with. His eyes flittered to Thomas, the same look buried within them, and then turned back to his crowd. They watched the chosen teenagers slip through the large door posted in the back of the room, behind Janson and his colleagues, soon gone — almost as though they had never existed.

"Go on, eat up." Janson said.

Then, he was gone too.

"Where are they going?" Thomas pried David and Riley for some information when they swivelled back to the table, sighing.

    "Far from here," David huffed. "Lucky bastards."

    "Some kind of farm," Riley expanded. "A safe place. They can only take in a couple of people at a time," he shrugged at all their curious expressions, "They don't tell us much about it, just that it's where we'll go next, after being here a while. They took almost all of one maze, in two days. Only the kid with the hood is left," their table glanced over at him, collectively. "Poor loser, he is. Must miss all those girls."

   Kennedy snapped back to them, "Girls? He was in a maze of all girls?"

    "Yup."

    "One hundred percent girls."

    "Maybe you two got mixed up," Winston suggested, his tone in clear indication that he just was joking about.

    "Maybe..." Kennedy muttered, lowly.

   She tried to make her staring discreet, and it became far easier when she noticed an eerily familiar mop of raven curls pass by the window on her left. Kennedy blinked, a crease forming in between her eyebrows, and she practically jumped from her seat; "Teresa?"

    "What?"

    "Kennedy?"

    "What are yo—" Thomas moved to see what she was looking at, eyes widening when he spotted the girl. "What the hell...?" His words were cut short when Kennedy walked away. "Ken—"

    "Hey! Teresa!" She hollered.

   Several kids watched her create a scene, peering with curiosity; she ignored their stares and paced towards the window quicker, as fast as she could take herself with aching hips.

    "Teresa!"

   Said girls finally twirled with a shocked face, their eyes meeting just as she was guided out of view of the window separating them in the hallway and the food hall. Kennedy cursed and rushed over to the large doors that the chosen kids had vanished through, aims to catch up with Teresa and find out where she was going. When it had occurred that Teresa joined them in the glade, Kennedy made a promise: that she would defend Teresa with everything she had. An empty piece of her heart had been filled when Teresa came in that box and even though they hadn't known each other long, Kennedy was still adamant in her promise. Teresa was her only girl friend. As her friend, and her leader, it was up to Kennedy to assure that they were safe and accounted for — especially Teresa. After all, she waited years for that piece of her heart to be filled, and now that it had, her intentions didn't involve letting go of it, so easily. Kennedy decided that Teresa would be her best friend; she would protect her.

   And that's what she was going to do.

    "Teresa! Hey!" Kennedy pushed her way toward the door and she could vaguely hear Thomas follow. "Tere— oof!"

   She stumbled as she slammed into a much larger body, her stare darkening as she looked up at them. Officer Kane. Kennedy frowned at the man and tried to step around him, only for him to shove her back many inches. Kennedy glowered and snapped at him with an angry expression, "Hey!"

"No so fast, kid." He scoffed, "You don't have access, in there."

"I don't care," she grunted.

"You should."

"Let me past—" Kennedy tried to get around him again, but it was harder than she anticipated. Once again, she was shoved back and away from him. She nearly tripped. "Listen, shuckface! I wanna see my friend, and she's back there!"

"I've already told you," he leaned closer to her face and made a good job of intimidating her, "You don't have access, shorty."

Kennedy's face dropped, falling to neutrality.

She nodded her head and shuffled backwards, humming. For all but a moment, it looked like she would actually cooperate and do as he said. He looked satisfied as she span on her heels; like he'd won.

No chance.

Kennedy quickly shot around and made a dash for it, trying to slip past him and make it to the door. But Officer Kane was faster than she was and gripped the back of her shirt in his palm, tossing her to the side like a rag doll. Unable to stay on her feet, Kennedy hit the floor and groaned when her hips blossomed in pain; there'd definitely been some sort of pain there before, from running miles, but now it was beyond excruciating.

   The cafeteria erupted into a buzz — anger, shock, surprise, even a few hollers for her to get up and fight back.

    "Go on!"

    "Nice!"

    "Girls are so cool!"

   Her friends, however, weren't as pleased.

"Hey! Back off, man!"

"Watch it, kid!"

"Back off!" Thomas yelled, pushing Kane with force.

Hands reached out to sweep Kennedy from the floor, and there was little to no surprise when she found herself leaning up against Minho. He looked worried as he inspected her.

"She-bean?" He asked, slowly.

It was then Kennedy realised he had been speaking to her, with lips moving but no sound coming out until just now. She made an evidently confused face, and Minho asked her if she was alright, a second time. When she nodded too quickly, he squinted and let his eyes flitter to where his hands rested on her hips; "Ken..."

"Slim it."

Minho had no time to argue when Newt intervened, pushing a hand against Thomas' chest.

"Look— that's our friend, back there, and we just wanna know where they're taking her. Alright?" The blonde settled the tensions.

"They just have to run a few extra tests," Kane revealed, after another huff and glare at Kennedy and Thomas. "They'll be done with her, soon enough."

"Is she okay?" Thomas demanded.

"She's fine," he hissed at them. "Now scram."

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