You, Thomas, Newt, Teresa, Brenda, Jorge and frypan had finally found the right arm after days of travelling.

On the top of a mountain, you, Newt, Thomas and Minho sat near the edge, staring down at the scenery below. The tents, the bustling people, the safe haven.

"My legs bloody hurt." Newt mumbled. Minho nodded in agreement. "I got used to it in the maze but... Not here."

The wind blew in your faces, you sat in silence, staring down in the distance of the scorch.