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MINHO HAD BEEN RIGHT ABOUT ONE THING. Samson actually was a good sprinter. He was able to keep up with the Runner through all the twists and turns of Section Five, which surprised both him and Minho. They quickly developed a routine of non-stop running for twenty minutes, and then a quick break to eat or simply catch their breath. Minho hadn't brought anything to map out what they saw, and Samson was going to ask him why he hadn't, but after their third break, he'd figured it out on his own. Minho had told him back in the Map Room that there was nothing else to solve or map out. Samson's plan was their last hope. All they were searching for now, was a Griever.

On their third hour, Samson began to grow tired of running. He figured they didn't need to run, they just needed to wait for a Griever. He stopped in his tracks for a moment, resting his hand against the wall to catch his breath. Minho stopped and turned around to face him, rolling his eyes.

"Come on!" he said breathlessly.

Samson shook his head. "You said you've never even seen a Griever before."

Minho exhaled sharply, wiping the sweat from his shiny forehead. Samson could only imagine what he looked like. He felt disgusting and desperately wanted a shower, or a bed to sleep in. Four hours of sleep hadn't been nearly enough.

"Sure, I've never seen one before, but I think I know where we can find one," Minho said. He took off around the corner and Samson groaned, hoisting his pack back up on his shoulders and going after him.

They didn't make any more stops for another half hour. Minho had stopped for only a moment at one point, only to tell Samson that he needed to catch up. Minho turned down a corner that was marked with the number six on the wall above them. They were switching sections. Samson decided not to question Minho's actions.

When they finally stopped again, they stood in front of what seemed to be a dead end. Minho pushed Samson back to prevent him from going any further towards it. Samson examined the dead-end from where he stood, peering down into the deep and dark hole, when he realized it wasn't a dead-end at all. It was a cliff.

"What?" was all Samson could muster. He was out of breath and very confused.

"That's the Cliff," Minho huffed. Samson turned to him and rolled his eyes.

There wasn't much to see. If anything, it reminded him of the Box Hole, just dark and bottomless. This only made Samson think of Nick. He quickly turned away from the Cliff and shook the thought away, reminding himself that he was doing this for Nick, and for every other Glader that had been lost at the hands of the Creators.

Minho spun around and sat down behind him against the wall. He opened up his water canister and took out the rest of his sandwich. Samson joined him, taking his strawberries out of his pack and offering some to Minho.

"How much farther do we have to run?" Samson whined, already dreading the end of the break.

Minho smiled. "We don't have to run anymore. Now, we wait."

Samson cocked his head at the Runner. "Okay...just sit here and wait."

Minho nodded, taking another bite out of his sandwich. He watched him for a moment. And as he did, Samson was more certain than ever that he was able to see past the tough-guy image that Minho tried so hard to upkeep. He was afraid, just like Samson. He could tell by how much his hands were shaking. And his eyes, how they darted around in every direction eagerly. A wave of guilt washed over Samson. He wished he hadn't dragged Minho into this mess.

"Because Ben got stung in broad daylight a couple of days ago, there's a chance one'll be coming our way soon," Minho said. He packed his things and stood up. "I'm gonna go keep watch down there," he pointed down to the corner where the two of them had come around not too long ago.

Samson sat back against the wall and his mind wandered back to the Glade and his friends. He wondered what they were doing and thinking. He pictured their reactions when they'd found out that he'd gone into the Maze. As for Leo and Clark, they already knew this had been Samson's plan for a while. But Gally and Newt were a different story. They were probably going to get upset with him when he returned, and he would just have to brace it.

If he returned. Samson thought of Ben, with his wild eyes and animalistic behaviour. Instinctively, Samson spun around behind him. Ben had just been banished the night before. There was a chance he was still alive out in the Maze, somewhere. Samson gulped, staring down into the Cliff in front of him.

"Sam!" Minho suddenly called, snapping him out of his daze. "Get over here!"

Samson quickly packed his bag back up and threw it over his shoulder. He ran towards Minho, crashing right into his chest. Minho pushed him away roughly, but when he tried to apologize, Minho put a finger to his lips and pointed directly ahead of them.

A Griever was slowly rolling right up to them. It made grinding and whining noises as it did, and they only grew louder and louder as it drew closer. Suddenly, it sprung to life, coming out of its cocoon. Four metal legs popped out from each side of it. A long sharp leg hung from the middle; that had to have been the stinger.

Samson watched it closely with wide eyes. Seeing the Griever sparked a memory. He'd definitely seen one before. He didn't know where or how but its appearance just seemed familiar. So much so that Samson found he couldn't look away.

"We need to run," Minho whispered to him.

Samson shook his head, not taking his eyes off of the monster. He swallowed hard.

"Now's my chance."

Minho grabbed Samson by the shoulder and forced him to look up. "I think you should rethink this plan. Look at that thing! We're both gonna die out here." Minho was shaking again, his eyes pleading for Samson to listen.

He sighed. "You go. Come find me when you know the Griever's gone,"

"I don't wanna leave you here," he said, but his eyes said something else. He was jumping up and down where he stood, ready to run if he needed to.

"Minho, go! I'm not gonna stand here and argue with you! This is what I came to do." Samson retorted, his tone firm. Minho's eyes widened in fear when the Griever roared to life from behind them. Samson had spoken a little too loudly.

He shoved Minho, hoping that would get him to run, but he was frozen where he stood. He nudged him again. "Go! Minho, please!" Minho snapped out of his daze and glanced down at Samson. For a moment, he frowned back at him, looking like he was going to try and protest, but then, he was gone.

Samson spun back around to face the Griever and took in a deep breath. This was it. The Griever shrieked and Samson didn't know whether or not to charge it or just stand where he was and let it take him. He began to think about Ben again, and his friends. How scared they probably were for him. How scared he was.

Before Samson could register anything else, something stabbed him right in the side of his torso. He'd barely felt it at first, but as soon as the Griever pulled the stinger out from his waist an unbelievable pain reverberated through his body and Samson cried out, his voice echoing between the walls. The Griever stood hovered over him for a moment, drooling down on him, but it stayed put. Samson reached down to hold his wound, wincing at the touch. And then he was screaming.

The Griever stepped over him and shrunk back down into its beetle-like state, rolling right over the Cliff below them. Samson rested his head against the wall, whimpering. He hoped Minho hadn't run too far. Tears began to blur his vision and his throat felt as if it was going to close up. Samson tried to take deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself down, but the pain was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. At that moment, he believed he would die where he was.

He tried calling out for Minho but it came out as barely a whisper. After some time and extreme difficulty, he managed to prop himself against the Maze wall. By then, he was out of breath completely. Samson's hands shook and he swore he could hear his heartbeat inside his ears, beating a billion times per second, drowning everything else out. Samson lifted his shirt slowly, running a hand over his wound. His own blood, which had turned a sickly russet colour, stained his fingers. Samson's hand fell back down at his side and he emptied his stomach right onto the Maze floor, screwing his eyes to tears and leaving his throat dry. He wiped his mouth clean and tried to scream again, but nothing came out.

Instead, Samson let out an agonizing sob. Everything hurt. He wanted nothing more than to be back in the Glade with his friends. He tried to distract himself from the pain by thinking of them. All of this would be worth it, he told himself. He managed a weak smile. Going into the Maze, getting stung, and going through the Changing, it all served a purpose. It would save his friends.

But with Minho nowhere to be found, Samson immediately assumed the worst. If Minho had left him, or if he'd been stung himself, Samson would never be saved. Perhaps he'd die right there against the Maze wall. He'd never see his friends again, let alone save them.

Just as Samson was beginning to let the pain win, Minho appeared from around the corner. He cautiously approached him, kneeling down next to him wearing the same terrified expression he'd had on when Samson had seen him last.

"Okay, Sams. We've got twenty minutes. We gotta go," Minho reached forward and grabbed Samson's arms. He swung them over his shoulder and lifted him up by the waist. Samson cried out in pain again when Minho's hand swiped over his wound.

"T-twenty minutes?" he said weakly.

Minho hoisted him up, holding Samson underneath his armpits. "We can make it," he said. "Can you walk?

Samson stood as tall as he could, for Minho. He rested his hand on Minho's shoulder for support and nearly fell into him. Minho grabbed him by the waist, holding him up as best as he could.

"I can try. But I can't run. What if we-" Samson's wound began to feel as if it was burning. "We can't."

Minho spun around and began to walk at a fast pace. He took Samson's hand and pulled him along. His body was on fire, and he knew there was no way he'd be able to go any further. He pulled back on Minho's grip and fell to the floor.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

With a grunt, Minho persisted, grabbing Samson and pulling him back up on his feet again. He tried to push the Runner away, telling him it was all hopeless, but Minho didn't listen. He pulled him along, starting off into a light jog. Samson wanted him to stop. He couldn't take the pain.

"We need to get you back to the Glade!" Minho shouted. "Come on, Sam!"

Samson shook his head, falling to the ground again. "I can't," he whimpered, looking up at Minho. "Please, it hurts."

"We can't get stuck out here," Minho growled. "We'll die."

"Just leave me, then! Save yourself!" Samson shot back, an unwarranted feeling of rage suddenly seething through him. "I know you want to." he hissed.

Samson didn't mean to say it. He tried to tell himself it was only the Changing that was making him act out like he was.

Minho groaned, clenching his fists. "Let's go. Right now," he grabbed Samson by the collar of his shirt but Samson pulled back, pushing Minho away from him using all of the strength he had left in him.

"Get off of me!" he roared, digging his fingernails into Minho's shoulder.

Minho cried out in pain and dropped Samson, who blinked back at Minho in disbelief. He'd hurt him. He'd hurt his friend. Minho snarled back at Samson, who tried to sputter out an apology.

"Samson...I'm doing this for your own good," Minho said. He cracked his knuckles and took a step toward Samson.

Minho forced out a laugh. "I can't believe you talked me into doing this. This entire plan is crazy," He ducked down to Samson's level and grabbed him by his shirt again. Before Samson could do or say anything, Minho punched him square in the jaw.

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author's note!

this chapter was fun to write ngl. BUT THE NEXT ONE--it's so cool bc sam goes through the changing.

don't forget to vote and comment please, i'd really appreciate it :))

love always,

chloe