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"SAMSON. Hey, it's me. Thomas. You probably don't remember me. We were partners...we worked for WICKED together. We were--friends. When we learned the truth about the Maze Trials, what they were doing to our friends, we started working on a plan to help them escape. And...now that you've been sent down there, you're the key. With a little help from me, you're going to get them out, Sam."
Samson. Sam. The raven-haired boy in his dreams, Thomas, he had called himself, had returned his identity to him. Although nothing else Thomas had said made sense, one thing was clear now. His name was Samson.
He sat up from his cot with wide eyes, sweat dripping down his forehead. For some reason he was expecting Thomas to be standing above him, waiting to shake his hand or pat him on the back. But he wasn't. It was just a dream. Nevertheless, a smile washed over his face. He knew his name.
Samson couldn't help but wonder about the boy that had appeared in his dreams. Thomas. He recalled Thomas's nervous demeanour, the way he spoke in a hushed tone, anxiously glancing around the white room he was located in. But he couldn't even begin to understand anything he had told him. Thomas had crammed too many topics into one short dream. But according to him, they used to be friends. If he was real, if he wasn't some trick done by the people who had put Samson in the maze, Thomas was a figure from his past. And other than his name, the only thing that he had left of his life before.
But it was his last words that sent a cold chill down Samson's spine. You're going to get them out. This being only a dream, he knew it couldn't be true. It would be the Runners who were going to find the way out of the Maze, not him.
Forgetting about Thomas for the time being, he pulled his blanket off of his body and slipped into his shoes. He forced himself up, grinning from ear to ear. The first person he wanted to find was Nick, but the Glade seemed deserted. Samson trudged through the morning dew of the grass, making his way towards the Cookhouse. The chatter of the Gladers could be heard from inside the shack as he drew closer. He swung the door open and slid on the floor and into the Cookhouse. He searched the room for Nick and found him sitting at one of the back tables with Alby and another boy whose name he couldn't recall. Samson couldn't stop the growing smile on his face as he made his way toward them.
"What're you all smiley for, Greenbean?" Alby asked, raising a brow.
Letting out a laugh, Samson bit his lip and muttered, "That's Samson to you,"
Nick and the other Glader both lifted their heads and smiled. Alby laughed lightly, patting Samson on the back. Nick took a swig of water, holding his hand up. When he swallowed, he stood up and climbed onto the table, coughing like his water had gone down the wrong hole. The chatter in the Cookhouse winded down, and all eyes landed on their leader, who had his glass in his hand and a wide grin on his face.
