𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐀 - TMR, Gally ¹

𝟢𝟢𝟥，𝐬𝐡𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐬𝐲𝐜𝐡𝐨

She can't help but smile. "Smart thinking."

He nods in approval. "Yup. And all the other people I talk with? Business talks."

"Sure, sure." Newt waves Camil away with his hand, but he doesn't leave.

"You must be extremely curious about what happened to my legs." He cracks a grin at the girl. "Story time!"

Newt palms his face.

"Alright. So. I was in The Maze, fighting creatures, until suddenly—"

"You came up in The Box with paralyzed legs," Newt corrects, emotionless. "Stop with all the lies."

"You've always got to ruin it, man!" Camil throws his hands in the air. "But yeah, I came up like this. They got me this chair after a month. A damn month of sitting down."

Her eyebrows fly up. "And you're still sitting now."

"Yes, but at least I can move myself." He nods. "I mean, Minho could've showed some respect with those arms of his and lifted me wherever I wanted to go, if it weren't for him being in The Maze all day."

She crosses her arms, pulling a face. "I think all of you have a little thing for each other, don't you?"

"Well, one and a half year of not seeing anyone but boys." Newt shrugs. "I'm surprised no one's gotten together yet."

Another small smile manages to form on her face. Then she turns around, because Camil has pointed at something, his eyes twinkling. "See what I mean?"

It's the place where Minho is still sitting. His arms are crossed just like hers, but they're for sure bigger than hers. Buff. With veins here and there, along with the tense pulsing of his muscles.

"How can running do th—"

"Don't know. But don't make his ego go up even more." Camil wheels himself in front of her, so she's forced to take her eyes off Minho. "So, what're your thoughts on this place yet?"

"It stinks."

"And...?"

"It's weird."

He gives her a glare.

"What do you expect me to say? That it's lovely and all? 'Cause it ain't, man." She shrugs. "I hate all these staring boys. The tree might've been even better. Listening to the gossip."

"Gossip? I'm in. Tell me." Camil points at the tree trunk that's lied down on its side. Newt sits down next to her, and she starts talking.

"So there were these two boys, talking about the leadership. Winston and Nick, were their names. Winston's The Keeper of The Slicers, right? And Nick was the previous leader until it got too much. Is that true?"

They stare at her as if she's said something crazy. Newt's face pales, and Camil's mouth opens, yet nothing but a small peep comes out.

"...what?"

Newt runs a hand through his hair, but with the slight shake, it doesn't fix much of the strands. "How do you know about Nick?"

"Winston called him that," she explains. "So I assume it was Nick. Is he here?"

Camil sniffs, rubbing his chin. "Yeah, I guess he is."

"Could I meet him? He seemed nice enough."

Newt and Camil share a glance, which makes the confusion multiply.

"With close by, I mean that he's in The Deadheads..." Camil starts.

"And if you want to meet him, go talk to his corpse," Newt continues.