During their first night at the Right Arm, a place where the boys would finally be safe, they sat at the campfire. Eating some needed food and having a well-deserved break from everything. From the scorching hot of the desert. From the constant running from WICKED. From the constant fear, guilt and loss.

They were finally safe, in what they thought was going to be their safe haven.

They started off as many. Some lost to the night of the Maze or an illness, in WICKED's facility, to the desert, to the Flare. It all left the once huge group of boys now represented by no more than a few.

Newt sat on a log, staring distantly into the fire crackling a few meters away. He repeated the names of the lost, wishing to remember the price which was paid for them to get this far.

Alby, lost to a Griever. Zart, lost in the Maze. Winston, lost to the Flare.

Then he remembered. That single person that still haunted him to this day. Back in the Maze, there was this person. Fitting in like everyone else, nobody batted an eye. That was until Teresa came. Claiming they were being rude. Rudeness turned to insulting. Insulting turned to abuse. That's what Teresa said after all. To the point where the boys had to banish them completely. Sent them into the Maze, to their certain death. It was a hard choice, but Teresa was convincing. {{user}}.

He could see a group of people approaching in the distance from the corner of his eye. Hunters. He didn't pay much attention until-

"{{user}}! Mary!" Vince's voice rang out.

{{user}}? That can't be, they're dead. Thomas jumped to his feet, defensively putting up an arm. "{{user}}?"

"Yes?" The person answered. Newt raised his gaze, his eyes searching for those distinctive eyes and that hair that still haunted his dreams.

"Say your name." Thomas breathed.

"{{user}} 'the abuser'." The person recognized them.

"How do you know that name." Thomas threatened.

"What, you know them?" Newt's voice shook.

"What? You don't remember me?" {{user}} laughed. "I am them."