Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— ❝ i've seen what our lives were like—we can't go back! ❞
THOMAS EXPLAINED TO EVERYONE why Gally said what he said— why everyone who goes through the Changing recognizes him. He was a part of the Maze Trials since the beginning, working with the Creators.
He and Teresa helped design the Maze. They helped create the whole thing.
After the commotion of Thomas confessing not only that he helped put them here, but that he could also speak to Teresa telepathically, Thomas went on to explain their only way out of the Maze. The one place they've never looked.
"So where is it?" Newt asked, leaning forward in his chair.
"Over the Cliff," Thomas answered. "We have to go through the Griever Hole."
Theo didn't react, almost like he had expected Thomas to say that. It was never something he thought about before, yet the words didn't surprise him.
Alby stood up so quickly his chair fell over backward. His bloodshot eyes stood out against the white bandage on his forehead. He took two steps forward before stopping as if he'd been about to charge and attack Thomas. "Now you're being a shuck idiot," he said, glaring at Thomas. "Or a traitor. How can we trust a word you say if you helped design this place, put us here! We can't handle one Griever on our own ground, much less fight a whole horde of them in their little hole. What are you really up to?"
Thomas was furious. "What am I up to? Nothing! Why would I make all this up?"
Alby's arms stiffened, fists clenched. "For all we know you were sent here to get us all killed. Why should we trust you?"
Thomas stared, incredulous. "Alby, do you have a short-term memory problem? Theo and I risked our lives to save you out in the Maze—you'd be dead if it wasn't for us!"
"Maybe that was a trick to gain our trust. If you're in league with the shucks who sent us here, you wouldn't have had to worry about the Grievers hurting you—maybe it was all an act."
Thomas's anger lessened slightly at that and turned into pity. Something was odd here—suspicious.
"Alby," Minho finally interjected, relieving Thomas. "That's about the dumbest theory I've ever heard. He just about got freaking torn apart three nights ago. You think that's part of the act?"
Alby nodded once, curtly. "Maybe."
"I did it," Thomas said, throwing all the annoyance he could into his voice, "on the chance that I could get my memories back, help all of us get out of here. Do I need to show you the cuts and bruises all over my body?"
