AU: Chapter is scheduled for revision.

Eyes fluttering open, I am immediately blinded by pale, white sunlight, and I squeeze my heavy eyes shut again, the sudden brightness shooting pain into the back of my eyes. I bring my fists to them and rub out the sleep and soreness, yawning as I attempt to recollect the events that took place yesterday, which had left me staring up at the sky from under some wreckage. It only takes a moment for the screeches of the Cranks to wrack my brain, and, piece by piece, everything aligns in my head and the occurrences of the day before become as clear as the sun above. The breakout, the false sense of freedom, the Cranks crashing through the hallway.

I grunt as I sit up, holding my head as I open my eyes to squint and look around at the others, all sleeping. My spine is stiff from lying on the hard ground.

Aris, slowly rising to consciousness, but not quite yet awake, mumbles something in his sleep, shifting from a position of hugging his jacket tightly around himself to pushing away at it, the heat beginning to settle in, even though the sun seems to have only been up for two, maybe three, hours. I'm grateful to see that he is free of any Crank-induced wounds. If he, the only person left from our Maze, was hurt, I don't know what I would do. In truth, he is all I have left from the beginning stage of my new life, the only life that I can remember. I can't let anything happen to him, especially since we swore to watch out for each other.

With that in mind, I begin to skim the other sleeping figures, and, as I do so, I am relieved to see that no one else seems to have been hurt by the Cranks while we slept.

Except for Winston, of course.

I can see him wheezing shallowly beside Frypan in his sleep, the color drained from his face and the sweat making his hair stick to his forehead. Trailing my eyes down to his stomach, I can see that they had bandaged him last night, but the blood has made its way to the exterior of the wrapping.

I shudder at the sight. I hope he'll be okay.

I hear some shuffling from behind me, only to see Newt curling up on his side, fast asleep, one arm under his head and the other extended out on the ground, as if his subconscious is grasping for something.

Jumping with a start as I hear a snap from somewhere out of my peripherals, I look back in the opposite direction to see Thomas sitting up, angrily shooing a crow away from our supplies. "Hey! Hey, get out of here!"

In response to his yelling, I can see the others jolting to consciousness with a panicked start, which I'm sure only doubled up on the anxiety induced by the Cranks yesterday. They sit up groggily, one by one.

I sigh, looking up at Thomas as he already gets to his feet. "They seem to be gone for now," he mumbles, looking out into the opening of the remainder of the building. "We need to get going."

Nodding, Newt silently sits up, carefully rising to his feet.

Fry walks over to Winston, offering him a hand and pulling him up to his feet cautiously. Wincing in pain, Winston lets out an agonized grunt, clasping his other hand onto Fry for support.

"Hey," Aris mumbles, rubbing his tired eyes and tapping my shoulder with his free hand, "are you okay?"

Taking a deep breath through my nose, I give a small nod in response, pursing my lips together.

Sighing, he gives my shoulder a pat and carefully rises to his feet.

Once I've checked my pack for all of my supplies, I zip up my backpack and toss it over my shoulder, standing upright and following the others in a line as we walk out into the open, surrounded by a city in utter ruins, some buildings nearly buried in sand. I gape as I step off of the concrete and onto the dirt ground, looking up at the collapsed, towering structures. "Woah..."

"Shuck," Minho mutters under his breath, "looks like WICKED wasn't lying about everything."

"The earth is definitely scorched." Newt nods, scrunching up his nose as he examines our surroundings.

The sun beats down on the pale surface of the wasted earth, the heat waves rising from the ground, causing anything along the horizon line to dance with the blistering waves. The surrounding structures are skeletal, their framework exposed as their walls and windows have collapsed.

Feeling the heat settling into my skin already, I unwrap the scarf from my neck, leaving it resting upon my shoulders. The rubble crunches beneath my boots with each step, reminding me of the crunching leaves that would fall from the trees in the Heart. Thinking about the Maze triggers a swirl of emotions. Inside, so many girls were alive and well, but, then again, I don't think anyone would consider being trapped in a Maze with no memories as living.

We walk along the road, silent for a majority of the journey until Minho attempts to lighten the mood. "Hey, let's share some stories about the others for the Greenie members," Minho says, folding his arms.

I give Minho a puzzled look. "Let's start with you guys explaining what your weird words mean, like 'Greenie' and 'klunk'."

Minho snickers. "Oh, yeah. It's slang us guys made in the Maze," he explains.

Of course. A group of boys are trapped in a Maze, and their priorities lie in making up slang. No wonder why they took longer to escape.

"'Greenie' is basically a newbie," Minho begins, puffing out his chest, proud of himself for acting as a teacher.

"Ah, I see." I nod, giving him the attention that he clearly feeds on. "We just referred to them as Newbies."

"How creative of you," Minho says sarcastically, causing Aris and I to laugh. "We also have 'slinthead', which basically means idiot, to put that into kinder terms. 'Shank' is both positive and negative, I guess. Like, 'quit being such a shank'."

Adjusting my pack's straps on my shoulders, I continue to nod intently at Minho, genuinely intrigued by such a silly concept.

He grins widely as he moves on, "Klunk is our censor word for sh–"

"No inappropriate words, Minho," Newt cuts him off flatly from the front end of the line, following behind Thomas without bothering to glance back at his snark friend.

I laugh lightly, understanding what Minho was going to say. "It's alright, I can put two and two together."

Minho nods. "Anyways," he says, emphasizing the word in a sassy manner as he rolls his eyes at Newt, "that leaves us with our last word, 'shuck'," he smirks mischievously, "and shuck is pretty much the clean equivalent of–"

"Inappropriate, Minho!" Newt suddenly snaps with great urgency, attempting to censor his friend and shooting a wide-eyed scowl over his shoulder.

Minho lets out a loud cackle, putting a hand on my shoulder. "If you can't tell," he says in a low voice, leaning closer to me, "Newt is the one who invented most of the slang. He didn't approve of my mouth when I came up in our Maze."

Why does it not surprise me to hear that Minho likely has the mouth of a sailor?

I look over at Newt, who's muttering under his breath in frustration, arms folded, and I cannot help but giggle softly. "It's pretty obvious."

"Good that," Minho agrees with a slight nod, straightening up as he continues to follow behind the blonde.

Just as the group returns to quiet, listening only to the sounds of our shoes crushing the rubble on the ground, Winston's breaths begin to stand out, growing heavier.

Glancing back at Winston, who is being supported by Frypan as they walk, my stomach leaps to my throat. It seems as if the color continues to drain from his face with each passing moment. His shirt is glued to his torso from all of his sweat, and he looks as if he will collapse.

Newt, evidently noticing Winston's struggle increasing simply by the sound of his breaths, looks back as well. His face subtly shifts to a more serious expression, concern narrowing his eyes. "How you holding up back there, Winston?"

The ill boy slowly lifts his brown irises to glance at Newt, revealing the bloodshot veins in the whites of his eyes. "I'm alright," he replies, breathless.

"Are you sure?" I question, frowning. "Maybe we can take a break?"

He tiredly shakes his head in response. "No, no... Don't. I'm fine..."

"Alright!" Minho exclaims, clapping his hands together once before placing them behind his head as he walks. "How about we share some stories? I already recommended doing so, did I not?" He asks, completely shifting the situation back to a lighthearted topic. "We like Story Time, don't we, Newt?"

Creasing my brows together in puzzlement, I avert my attention to Aris, who is already looking at me in confusion. Why the sudden jump back to happy conversation?

Newt, without looking back, simply nods in reply. "We sure do."

Distorting my face even more, I shift my eyes to Newt up ahead, taken aback. By his response, it seems as if this is routine.

"Yes, we most certainly do; isn't that right, Fry?" Minho pushes.

Frypan grins widely with approval, chuckling softly. "You can never go wrong with that."

"Winston," Minho calls to their unwell friend, turning and walking backwards to get a good look at him, "blink twice if you agree."

"I'm not locked-in, you shuckface..." he mutters, though I can see a small smile tugging on his mouth.

"That's the spirit!" Minho exclaims, strutting to stand between Aris and I and resting a hand on each of our shoulders. "And, fortunately for us, we've got two Greenies who know absolutely nothing about our days in the Maze." He pauses, averting his eyes to Thomas at the front of the line. "Or should I say four Greenies? Because Teresa and the ugly shank in the front know squat about what it was like spending months upon months in the Glade. But, then again, Thomas was real quick to acting like he owned the place."

"Wow," Thomas calls back, glancing at Minho with a lifted brow just as Teresa snickers in response.

"Let's see," Minho ponders for a moment, but it seems more for show rather than to actually choose a topic. His mind is probably made up. "Should I talk about my first day in the Maze? Or should I tell you about the time Frypan gave us all food poisoning?" He asks Aris and I.

"Shuck you, Minho." I hear Fry chuckle from behind as he adjusts Winston's arm draped over his shoulders.

"Ooooorrrrr..." A small smirk tugs on the corner of Minho's mouth, and I see his eyes lock onto Newt, who's keeping to himself as he walks along the road. He seems to be hobbling slightly. "Maybe I should share the time that Newt", the second his name is mentioned, Newt freezes in his tracks, "accidentally ended up–"

Newt, obviously aware of where Minho is going with his story, turns on his heels and attempts to clasp his hands over Minho's mouth. "Don't you dare, you bloody shank!" He shouts as Minho pries his hands off. "And stop calling it an accident! I know that you were the buggin' slinthead behind it!"

Minho, unable to stop laughing, keeps shoving Newt's hands away. "I told you, Nick was behind it, too!" He exclaims defensively.

"That doesn't matter!" Newt snaps, his accent thickening with his frustration.

I giggle softly as I watch the two of them fight over this seemingly embarrassing story, and I'm relieved to hear Winston managing to laugh as well.

However, Thomas isn't laughing, and he slows to a halt in his tracks. "Guys?" He mumbles, but I hardly catch it over Minho and Newt's bickering.

"Come on, Newt, it's hilarious! I think the girls would especially enjoy the story!" Minho teases, pushing Newt's hands away from his face.

An itch is triggered.

Newt, clearly flustered, gapes at his friend for a moment before snapping, "That's not funny, Minho!" He shoves at his friend, but Minho, with as broad as he is, does not budge.

"Okay, but what about Winston?" Minho asks. "Don't you think that your humiliation would lift his spirits? He's unwell, you know–"

"My spirits are already lifted by Newt being on the brink of fighting you," Winston mumbles with a weak laugh. Shifting his eyes to mine, he adds, "Newt is always kept together, but there is just something about Minho that can push his buttons..."

The smile on my face widens all the more.

"Guys," Thomas repeats, turning to look back at us with concern. He stands frozen in place with Teresa stepping beside him, a worried look in her blue eyes. Although I attempt to shift my attention in their direction, the silly argument blocks my view.

"Quiet, Winston, you are not in the right state of mind," Minho protests sassily, only causing Winston and Fry to snicker even more as Newt tries to cover his mouth, once again. "Your rejection of such a wonderful story does not count, and, frankly, you're not making any sense–"

"Guys, shush!" Thomas suddenly exclaims, causing Minho and Newt to freeze mid-fight as the others finally look to Thomas, falling silent.

Distorting my face slightly in both confusion and concern, I tilt my head slightly, trying to hear for any noises in our surroundings. With no one speaking a word, I can make out a faint whirring sound, and it gradually increases in volume.

Listening intently for a few seconds, his body tense and on edge, Thomas's eyes widen. "Hide!" He suddenly orders.

My heart immediately jolts, and I dart my eyes to Aris, who meets his eyes with mine in sync, before frantically turning my head in search of a place to hide, which is a bit complicated when you're standing in the middle of a barren road.

Frypan has Winston lean against him with all of his weight so that he can get the two of them hidden as quickly as possible.

The faint roaring sound of the wind begins to grow, filling me with dread. I don't know what it is that's coming, but something in my gut tells me that it has to do with WICKED.

"Anyone see a place where we can actually hide?" Fry calls, growing antsy as the booming noise begins to echo off of the skeletal remains of the towers.

Thomas catches a glimpse of a shelter that is made out of the collapsed portions of one of the nearby buildings, a hiding spot under some rubble. "There!" He shouts, pointing towards it on the side of the road before bolting ahead.

Before my brain can register the location that Thomas indicated, a hand securely grasps onto mine, and I am swiftly pulled in the direction of the tiny shelter of ruins: it's Newt, again.

"Aris!" I call back to him, waving him behind with my free hand as Newt guides me ahead.

The blonde boy hurriedly crouches beneath the slab of concrete that acts as a shield from unwanted eyes, and, watching for my head, I quickly scramble underneath the protection of the ruins as well, hiding beside Newt as he carefully shifts his grasp from my hand to my upper arm to make sure that I keep upright as I situate myself.

Stumbling into the shelter immediately after me, Aris crouches down in the shadows at my other side, patting my shoulder. "I got your back," he reassures before using his hands to keep himself balanced on his toes.

That comment clicks in my head. The person who held onto me yesterday, that had to have been Aris. He's the only one that's known me since the Maze, and he's been set on keeping track of me and vice versa.

However, before my brain can think on that further, the roaring of the wind draws me out of my thoughts, growing to that of a beast, and I watch as Thomas checks that all of us are safely hidden from the far right end of our huddle. Peeking out from underneath the ruins, I can see a Berg flying overhead, the huge contraption soaring with its four propellers keeping it high in the sky. It looks ominous, the dark vehicle juxtaposing the bright, pale clear sky.

"It must be WICKED," Teresa mumbles, shifting her blue eyes to Thomas.

He nods, clenching his jaw tightly in rage as his irises do not waver from the Berg above. "They're clearly looking for us."

. . .

I pant heavily as I make my way up the massive mountain of ruins, layers upon layers of concrete slabs stacked onto one another, forming a scattered stairway and reaching up into the sky. Stopping for a few moments to steady my breathing and wipe the sweat from my forehead, I peel off my scarf and swing my bag in front of me, unzipping it and stuffing my scarf inside. Dropping my pack at my feet, I peel off my jacket and stuff it into the pack as well before rolling up my sweater sleeves and tossing the bag over my shoulder, once again.

"You doing alright, Winston?" Thomas asks, looking back at the boy that seems to be falling apart before our eyes.

Winston nods, wheezing heavily as he slowly stands upright to expand his lungs, attempting to get more oxygen. His face is so pale that it almost looks grey, and his body is completely drenched in sweat. I can only imagine how bad the wound is beneath his shirt and bandaging.

Frypan, who has been slowly following behind Winston, climbs to his friend's side, patting the ill boy on the back encouragingly. "You need some water?"

His chest rising and falling rapidly, Winston nods, unable to verbally reply between his heaving breaths.

Without a moment of hesitation, Frypan opens Winston's pack and hands his friend a canteen of water.

After taking a swig and an extra moment to breathe, Winston returns the bottle to Fry and continues to follow behind the others, shakily grasping onto the next piece of wreckage to climb onto.

"You good, (y/n)?" Minho asks, snapping me out of my stare.

Averting my eyes to the broad boy, who is now down to his black t-shirt and jeans, hands on his hips, I nod reassuringly and return to climbing. I grip onto the next slab of concrete as tightly as I can as I hike up the mountain of ruins, carefully stepping up from one chunk of what used to be a building to another.

In the midst of climbing, my foot slips from under me due to not getting a good enough grip on the concrete, and my legs fall out from beneath. With a yelp, I quickly scramble for balance with my feet, having to grasp even tighter to the next ledge with my hands.

"(y/n)?" Aris calls from further ahead in concern, which causes the others ahead to look back at me with worry.

Luckily, I manage to get fixed in one place safely before I can fall or get hurt, my right foot resting securely atop of another block of concrete. Looking up at Aris, I force a reassuring smile. "I'm good!"

Frowning slightly, Aris hesitantly nods before turning back around to climb the rubble.

"Careful," I hear Newt say from behind.

Turning to look back at him, who's scarf is untied, draping across his shoulders, and his coat sleeves rolled up, I nod. "I've got it," I pant between controlled breaths.

Looking up at me with one eye squinted, the front of his hair beginning to gather in strands from sweat, Newt pauses for a moment to read my face. His brown eyes subtly shift between each of mine, and then he simply nods in return.

As I revert my eyes to the incline and continue to climb, I mumble, slightly embarrassed, "I am fully capable of handling myself, you know?"

"I trust that you are," he replies genuinely with a quiet grunt as he hoists himself up onto the next step.

I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks again.

As I finally climb onto the top of the mountain, I turn around to help Winston just as Fry passes his friend up to get onto the peak as well. In sync, the two of us get on our hands and knees and reach over the ledge for Winston's hands, and, struggling to stand in place, Winston weakly reaches his