Disclaimer: I do not own anything except for my character and this idea. It all belongs to the wondrous and talented James Dashner. :3

Chanelle's breath hitch as she peeks at the corner of the corridor. The sight of the Griever does not scare her but it's stinging tail. She doesn't want to remember anything.

She slowly pulls her gun out of it's hilt and cocks it, aiming at the Griever. Minho looks at her with wide eyes.

"Don't, you'll catch it's attention. Let's just go back to the Glade before it realizes we're here," he says too quickly. Was he scared?

Chanelle chooses not to listen to him and aim the gun in the soft under belly of the monster. Then she fires.

The Griever bellows and turns to Chanelle and Minho's direction. It spots them, looking mad, and readies itself to run.

"Shuck! Let's go!" Minho grabs Chanelle's arm and runs at the other direction. Chanelle looks back at the Griever. It is already running after them. Chanelle removes Minho's grip from her arm and fires at the Griever again. She manage to shoot it at the front legs but it only seem to be annoyed and runs faster. Chanelle speeds up, getting her knife from her belt.

Minho leads them to the twists and turns of the Maze. Left, right, right, left, right. Chanelle is not sure now if Minho knows where they're going or not.

This is useless, Chanelle thinks. The griever wouldn't stop unless they kill it. She slides to a stop at the next corner and waits for the Griever to come. As soon as the Griever turn to the corner, Chanelle stabs it's glowing red camera eyes. It falls to it's side falling on Chanelle. Chanelle's eyes widens.

"Chanelle!" Minho shouts and Chanelle meets her old friend pain.

Newt's POV

I am up and about, tending to the Gardens with other Track-hoes. I have been feeling better. But I can't stop thinking if Chanelle is safe, or if she is gonna come back. Maybe she wouldn't make it.

I slap myself mentally. Slim it, Newt. She will make it. She has to.

I hear a loud cry and I turn to look at who did that. My heart drop as I see the bloodied people near the Door.

I put down whatever I'm holding and quickly run towards them, skidding to a stop as Minho puts Chanelle down. I pull her into my arms, removing some stray hair from her face. There is a sick looking stab mark in her stomach side and her breaths are turning shallow. I look at the stab closely and I realise what it is. A Griever stung. I kiss her forehead before glaring at Minho.

"What happened to her?" I ask angrily.

He looks beaten up and tired but I don't care at the moment, all I care about now is Chanelle. He stares at the floor.

"I-I'm sorry, Newt. There was a Griever and I told her to run but she stayed. She managed to kill it but not before it stung her," Minho says as he kneels down beside Chanelle and put his head at the crook of her neck. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

I look up and see the Medjacks running in our direction. I carry Chanelle and run towards them. They quickly stick the injection to her and her expression calms for a bit.

"Newt, we have to bring her to the infirmary. Let her stay there till she's alright," Zart says. I nod quietly.

"I'll bring her there." I say.

"You can't, Newt. Clint and I will bring her," he says and carries Chanelle to his arms. Clint accompanies him and they both head for the infirmary.

I stand outside the infirmary, worried for Chanelle's sake. I should have not let her go to the Maze today. And look what bloody happened.

The greenie alarm goes off. Great.

Minho looks at me and nods his head towards the direction of the Box. I sigh. Responsibilities first.

I walk to the Box, staying silent.

Minho's POV

Chanelle being stung is my fault. I didn't do anything and just stand in horror as the Griever falls over her and stings her. All I did is remove her from under the shucking monster and bring her back to the Glade.

Newt and I watch as Alby help the new greenie up. It is usually Newt who does the honors if I remember correctly, but now he isn't even paying attention and keeps glancing at Homestead.

The greenie is shaking as hard as shuck. And I could swear that he klunk himself at least thrice just standing in the midst of the other Gladers.

My mind wonders back to Chanelle. I really want to go back to the infirmary but even if I do, they wouldn't let me in.

I bet it's harder for Newt. I know he has been having nightmares and as proof he has bags in his eyes. And I also notice that Chanelle keeps on spacing out a while ago so maybe she's worried about him.

Newt turns around and walks back to Homestead. I sigh and decided to rest. It's been a long day.

Chanelle's POV

I feel pain course through my spine to my skull. It feels like some kind of beast is knocking on my head, trying to break it into a million pieces.

The blackness of my mind flickers as a memory from underneath my veiled brain surfaces.

In the memory, I was around three years old. I have my hair short and I was solving a rubics cube. I was in a room that has been decorated with antique royal furniture that it makes it look like an ancestral house. I sat on a queen-sized bed with sky blue covers, neatly folded and big enough for three people.

The door opens revealing someone who I think is my mom. She rushes toward me, looking behind her every once in a while. I'm sure that she's looking if my dad is there. I know that he already lost it, somewhere in my mind.

She knelt in front of me, her hands falling into place in the sides of my head. She kissed both of my cheeks and looked at the door once more before looking back at me.

"I love you, Chanelle. Remember that, okay?" she said. I nodded, understanding the weight of the situation. "Go. Your father's gonna be here soon. He blames you. Now go."

I grabbed a backpack from under the bed and wore it. My mom looked surprise to see that I was ready but it's easily replace by brimming sadness and tears.

"Go," she whispered. I nodded, put the now solved rubics cube in my backpack and jump out the window without a word.

The memory is replace by another one. This time I look around five years old and I was running with a knife in my right hand and a gun in my left. And I am pretty sure five year olds shouldn't be holding those.

I hear laughing, screeching, yelling. Something click into my mind. This is Crank Palace.

Sure enough, I was running away from a crowd of Cranks. Cranks... Those are what they call them right?

I was now cornered, surrounded by the bloodlust of the Cranks. My eyes flashed from a corner to another, showing fear but not letting any tears flow.

"Little girl, you look tasty! Can I taste you?" A man asked, banging his head with a random rock while grinning. My face contorted to disgust.

"Not a chance, old man," she snarled and readied herself as the swarm of Cranks began to overwhelm her.

Another memory arises. This time it's a nine-year-old me with a guy in the middle of a conspicious, ominous forest. I was pointing a gun at him and he has his hands up in a gesture of surrender. My clothes were ragged and I have this sort of wild but not insane look in my face. My hair is longer than it formerly was, sticking out of it are branches and leaves.

"Take one step closer and I will bloody flip you," I said with my thick British accent, glaring at the guy. The guy inched closer slowly.

In an instant, the guy is in the ground, wheezing and coughing out blood.

"I'm here from..." he coughed. "I'm here... from WICKED..."

The look on my face softened a bit but it hardened again. "Well then, take me with you."

"H-Huh? Okay then," he muttered and stood up. He led me to a Berg and the memory faded away.

Next is me sitting in front of a computer layouting the Griever's image. I see myself adding the red camera lenses and describing the beetle blades. I look a little older, maybe ten or eleven. Another boy is behind me, his hands on the back of my chair.

"What's that?" The guy asked.

"That, Thomas, is what I call a Griever. I can't really tell you the details but I guess you'll find out soon enough," I shrugged. Another person, a girl, walked beside me.

"The Psychs are here," she said. I nodded.

"Okay. I'll be there after a few minutes," I told her and proceeded working.

Next is a thirteen year old me and... Newt, laying down a white bed with the light of the twilight pouring from the window. He was combing my hair with his fingers as I slept. He was wide awake. He looked at the door before looking down at me.

"I'll miss you," he said. He stood up and left me sleeping as I shivered from the lost of warmth.

Then it all fades away and I am back in the darkness of pain, red dancing in front of my eyes.

Newt's POV

Her screams are unbearable tonight. She sounds like an animal being slaughtered, trying to find a way out of it. Like what we do here in the Maze.

I couldn't sleep. Not that I could have with all my nightmares but I can't take my mind of Chanelle. I know she's brave but confronting a shucking Griever? She's more amazing than I thought. But she's in pain now.

I twist and turn as the night progresses. Her screams are going nonstop, and all I want to do is curl up beside her and cuddle her, saying everything is alright. But is everything really alright? I guess not.

I sigh and sit up. Just a small peek and I'll go to sleep. Promise.

I slowly get out of my tent, looking for any signs that someone is awake. When the coast is clear I make my way up the stairs which creaked ungratefully under my feet. I could care less, I want to see Chanelle.

I tiptoe to the room she is in. I breath in and out before looking inside. I shouldn't have.

Chanelle is tied up to the bed to refrain her from moving. She is screaming with her eyes closed, trying to get out of the binds. Her clothes are bloody and she looks very hagard. Her veins were visible, tinted green. I close my eyes and feel a tear slide across my cheek. Then another. I realize soon that I am crying.

I wipe the tears away and go back to my tent. This is or will be a long night.

Chanelle's POV

Wake up, damn it! I say to myself as I try to open my eyes. Wrong idea.

My eyes met the yellow light of the sun and I reflexively close them again. I lean on my side and open them.

I am in the infirmary. When the shuck did that happen?

I hear a door open and I see Clint(?) walk in. He looks at me and his eyes widens. He dashes out again. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Leaving me binded here? Yeah, sure.

Soon though, Newt is hugging me as Clint remove the binds. I hug back but recoil when pain visited my stomach. Oh right, stung by a Griever. I looked at Newt.

"How long was I asleep?" I ask.

"A week," he replies and kiss my forehead. A week? That's bloody long."Let's get your bandage replace."

I nod and he gives me a canteen of water. I feel dizzy. But I guess that's normal.

WICKED

Thomas sits in his bed thinking of the week ahead. He is excited and scared, along with a mix of pented emotions. He knows this is all for the greater good of humanity but he could not shake off the feeling that there's something wrong. He shakes his head and walk to the door.

One week.