Author's Note: Salutations, fanfictionites (and Gladers)! I saw the movie for The Maze Runner about a week ago, and decided there was no way in hell I wasn't going to read the books before The Scorch Trials movie was released. It took me about three and half days, and I've been on an emotional roller coaster ever since.

Like many other readers of The Maze Runner Trilogy, I was completely broken by the events that unfolded. I'm writing this to cope with everything that happened (specifically in The Death Cure). This is coming from a huge Thomesa/Tomesa shipper (can't decide which I like better), so if are going to leave a review complaining about how much you hate Teresa and you have never liked her since she first came to the Glade, (first of all, I'll spam you with hate mail, and then) I'll dig a hole to Tartarus and slam dunk you into that pit. The sass is real. Hopefully this story will change your view of her, and you'll forget all about (that b!tch named) Brenda and Thomas ever being considered an item. * shudder *

You can read this story safely as long as you have either read the first book or you have watched the movie!

This first chapter is the first chapter of The Scorch Trials with additions from me all over the place, specifically on the conversation between Thomas and Teresa. I do not own The Maze Runner Trilogy. The cover photo is not my property. All goes to their respective owners. I do own the additions made to the plot in the beginning, and after a couple chapters of setting up this story, it will be all my own writing. Thanks for reading!

Summary: The time Thomas spent in the Maze couldn't have been real. He refused to believe that anyone with an ounce of humanity would kill Chuck. Not even Gally. Now, traversing through the Scorch, Thomas notices everyone acting... twitchy. Saying strange things, straying from the group, freezing mid-stride, randomly forgetting who they are and where they're at. Have the Creators seized control of all the Gladers sans Thomas, or is it just another test? Is anyone really who they say they are? Or are they just copies of the real Gladers? Thomesa.

The A.C.T. Experiment: Chapter One

She spoke to him before the world fell apart.

Hey, are you still asleep?

Thomas shifted in his bed, and he felt a darkness around him like air turned solid pressing in. At first he panicked. His eyes snapped open as he imagined himself back in the Box — that horrible cube of cold metal that had delivered him to the Glade and the Maze. But there was a faint light, and lumps of dim shadow gradually emerged throughout the huge room. Bunk beds. Dressers. The soft breaths and gurgly snores of boys deep in slumber.

Relief filled him. He was safe now, rescued and delivered to this dormitory. No more worries. No more Grievers. No more death. No more misery.

Tom?

A voice in his head. A girl's. Not audible, not visible. But he heard it all the same, though never could he have explained to anyone how it worked.

Exhaling a deep breath, he relaxed into his pillow, his razor-edged nerves settling down from that fleeting moment of terror. He spoke back, forming the words with his thoughts.

Teresa? Is that you?

No, it's another girl who can speak with you telepathically. Yes, Tom, of course it's me. He imagined her huffing and rolling her eyes sarcastically.

Thomas wasn't phased by her joking, in fact he'd expected it. It was something about Teresa he'd come to appreciate. What time is it?

No idea, she replied softly. But I can't sleep. I probably dozed for an hour or so. Maybe more. I was hoping you were awake to keep me company.

Thomas tried not to smile. Even though she wouldn't be able to see it, it would be embarrassing all the same. Even though they were no longer in immediate danger, it didn't feel like the right time to give in to his emotions. Teresa needed someone to be beside her through thick and thin, and that's exactly who Thomas would be for her.

Didn't give me much choice in the matter, did you? Kind of hard to sleep when someone's talking directly into your skull.

Waa, waa. Go back to bed, then.

Although Thomas was dead tired, he couldn't imagine leaving Teresa awake and alone. No. I'm good.

He stared at the bottom of the bunk above him — featureless and darkly fuzzy in the shadow — where Minho was currently breathing like a guy with ungodly amounts of phlegm lodged in his throat.

What've you been thinking about?

What do you think? Somehow she projected a jab of cynicism into the words. I keep seeing Grievers. Their disgusting skin and blubber bodies, all those metal arms and spikes. It was way too close for comfort, Tom. He could almost feel her shiver. How're we gonna get something like that out of our heads?

Thomas knew what he thought. That those images would never leave; the Gladers would be haunted indefinitely by the horrible things that had happened in the Maze for the rest of their lives. He figured that most, if not all of them, would have major psychological problems. Maybe even go completely off their rockers.

And above it all, Thomas had one image burned into his memories as strongly as a branded mark from a searing hot iron. His friend Chuck, stabbed in the chest, bleeding, dying as Thomas held him.

Thomas knew he would never forget that. How could anyone be so cruel? Sometimes, he doubted that reality. Not even Gally would so much as think about killing Chuck, even if it meant getting back at Thomas.

Shaking his head, Thomas scolded himself for being in denial. He pushed the gnawing feeling that Chuck's death wasn't real on a mental back burner.

All he said to Teresa was: It'll go away. Just takes a little time, that's all.

You're so full of it, she said.

I know.

How ridiculous was it that he loved hearing her say something like that to him? That her sarcasm meant things were going to be okay? You're an idiot, he told himself, then mentally kicked himself, hoping she hadn't heard that thought.

I hate that they separated me from you guys, Teresa said, longing laced in her voice.

It was becoming more and more difficult not to jump out of his bunk and search for Teresa. Just to be with her for a couple minutes at the very least. Thomas understood why they had taken her away, though. She was the only girl and the rest of the Gladers were teenage boys—a bunch of shanks they didn't trust yet.

Guess they were protecting you.

Yeah. I guess.

Melancholy seeped into his brain with her words, stuck to them like syrup.

But it sucks being alone after everything we went through. Where'd they take you, anyway? She sounded so sad that he, again, wanted to get up and look for her, but he knew better.

Just on the other side of that big common room where we ate last night. It's a small room with a few bunks. I'm pretty sure they locked the door when they left. See, told ya they wanted to protect you. Then he quickly added, Not that you need protecting. I'd put my money on you against at least half these shanks.

Only half?

Okay, three-quarters. Including me.

A long stretch of silence followed, though somehow Thomas could still sense her presence. He felt her. It was almost like how, even though he couldn't see Minho, he knew his friend lay only a few feet above him. And it wasn't just the snoring. When someone is close by, you just know it.

Despite all the memories of the last few weeks, Thomas was surprisingly calm, and soon sleep overpowered him once more. Darkness settled on his world, but she was there, next to him in so many ways. Almost… touching. Suddenly, he found himself appreciating one thing WICKED had done to him. This connection with Teresa was the only thing keeping him sane.

He had no concept of time passing while in that state. Half asleep, half enjoying her presence and the thought that they'd been rescued from that horrible place. That they were safe, that he and Teresa could get to know each other all over again, memories or not. That life could be good.

Blissful sleep. Hazy darkness. Warmth. A physical glow. Almost floating.

The world seemed to fade away. All became numb and sweet. And the darkness, somehow comforting. He slipped into a dream.

He's very young. Four, maybe? Five? Lying in a bed with blankets pulled to his chin.

A woman sits next to him, her hands folded in her lap. She has long brown hair, and her kind face is just beginning to show signs of age. Her eyes are sad. He knows this even though she's trying very hard to hide it with a warm smile.

He wants to say something, ask her a question. Why was she sad? Had someone hurt her? But he can't. He's not really here. Just witnessing it all from a place he doesn't quite understand. She begins to talk, a sound so simultaneously sweet and angry it disturbs him.

"I don't know why they chose you, but I do know this. You're special somehow. Never forget that. And never forget how much" — her voice cracks and tears run down her face, although she still smiles — "never forget how much I love you."

The boy replies, but it's not really Thomas speaking. Even though it is him. None of it makes sense.

"Are you gonna be crazy like all those people on TV, Mommy? Like… Daddy?"

The woman reaches out and runs her fingers through his hair, and she caresses his cheek softly. Woman? No, he can't call her that. This is his mother. His… mommy.

"Don't you worry about that, honey," she says. "You won't be here to see it."

Her smile has melted away.

Too fast the dream faded into blackness, leaving Thomas in a void with nothing but his thoughts. Had he seen another memory crawl up from the depths of his amnesia? Had he really seen his mom? There'd been something about his dad being crazy. Or... going crazy. The ache inside Thomas was deep and gnawing, and he tried to sink further into oblivion.

Later — how much later he had no idea — Teresa spoke to him again, bringing him back from his less than peaceful rest.

Tom, something's wrong.

Ending Author's Note: Like I said, next chapter or two will be roughly the same chapters as the novel so I can set up the story with my changes. From there, expect some major and exciting changes. Also, the title is a work in progress. So as you all read if you have any suggestions, just let me know!

Until the next chapter...

-A.M. Williams