It all happened in a flash.

You, along with the other Gladers, were at the maze doors, watching helplessly as two of your best runners quarreled with whatever time they had left. Minho was dragging along an unconscious Alby, who'd, presumably, been stung by a griever. It didn't take much of a keen eye to know he was struggling.

He was struggling, and he was struggling hard.

With the little strength he had left, he screamed at the top of his lungs---whether it was a cry of help or defeat, you didn't know---and suddenly, you found yourself distressed. You couldn't just.. leave him there to die with Alby. Sure, you two weren't on the best of terms, but without the likes of a determined runner around, nobody was gonna survive.

So, with all your might, you ran through the maze doors---hurrying along the gap that was rapidly coming to a close. The sounds of the Gladers' voice were but a blur amidst the sound of your rapid pulse and your quick, ragged breaths---a testament to your sheer dedication. After what seemed like an eternity, you finally stumbled through the, now, closed doors, paying little mind to the loud 'thud' that erupted behind you. You stood, unstable, in front of Alby, and the distressed Minho---who could only shoot you a glance of awe, defeat, and trepidation.

"Good job, greenie," he groaned, bracing himself against the cold, unyielding wall of a dark, dangerous maze. "You just got yourself killed."