I'M SO SORRY! I lost interest in this story a few months ago and stopped updating, but I'm back and determined to finish. It'll take a while, but it'll happen. In the meantime, thank you so much for your patience.

I'm using more elements of the books in this chapter. For movie fans, beetle blades are little robots that spy on the Gladers. (One makes a brief appearance.)

Enjoy chapter eight! (Finally.)

...

The commotion heading up the stairs of the Homestead made Alby clench his fists. He'd had far too much excitement for the day, thank you, and would happily throttle anyone who tried to bother him and Newt. The Runner was sitting up, frowning at his injured leg, eyes far away. He'd calmed down remarkably quickly once Alby had found him, and managed to limp to the Homestead with Alby so he could get his injuries taken care of before they got infected, but since then he'd just… shut down. He had barely said a word. He hadn't reacted at all when Clint said he wouldn't be able to run until it healed, like he hadn't heard. Normally it bothered Alby when his friend put up a cheerful front when something was clearly bothering him, but this was way worse.

The noise was getting closer, someone crashing into every wall as they scrambled upstairs. Alby glanced back at Newt, who still hadn't moved, and then launched himself into the hallway, tacking the intruder into the wall.

It was Minho.

Alby let go instantly. "Is Ben okay?"

Minho nodded, breathless. "He's outside… with Ethan. Newt?"

Alby jerked his head towards the room he'd come from and pulled Minho in after him with a hand on his shoulder. Newt was finally looking up, a relieved half-smile on his face. Alby sat down with a heavy sigh as the Runners embraced; as good as it felt to see his friends in one piece, they still had a long way to go before they ran out of problems.

A beetle blade scuttled around his chair, startling him out of his thoughts. He kicked at it, but it just took shelter in the corner. Alby couldn't bring himself to care enough to do anything about it.

"Buzz is in the Slammer," Alby told Minho as they broke apart.

Minho took a seat. "Shoulda left him in the Maze." His voice was thick. Alby pretended not to notice.

"Right," Newt muttered, "he would've just stayed in the bloody Maze if we left him there." He was looking down again. So was Minho. Alby joined them, unable to stand the sight of their grief, let alone try to manage his own.

"So what do we do?" Alby forced a shrug, knowing neither of them were looking. "We can't just keep him in the Slammer forever, but we can't let him out."

An alarm blared, ringing across the Glade. All three looked up and exchanged glances. The Box was coming up way off schedule. Like we don't have enough to deal with. Shucking Creators.

Alby stood. "Stay here," he told them both.

Minho snorted. "No way."

Newt stood up, leaning on his left foot. "Like bloody hell."

Alby pushed him back into the bed. "You're hurt, you need to rest."

"So you think you can stop me?"

He took a breath to keep arguing before he saw the look in Newt's eyes. He looked awake, determined, for the first time since he'd gotten back. He wasn't about to ruin that. Grumbling, Alby led the way to the Box.

A crowd had already begun gathering, and in the time it took for the Box to reach the Glade, nearly every Glader had gathered around. The only people missing were a handful of Slicers; Buzz's friends, Alby noted.

Then the Box was there. The top opened. Alby stepped up and jumped down. There was a single bag in the Box, long and thin. That was all.

The Box rarely came off schedule, but when it did, it only had what they needed. He remembered the beetle blade in the Homestead. Buzz was a problem they didn't know how to handle. What kind of solution did the Creators have in mind?

Alby grabbed the bag and let Minho help him out. He pulled the top open and looked inside.

A set of long metal shafts sat there, the tops grooved so they could fit together into a long pole. At the end of one was a strip of leather with a button snap on the end.

Alby took the end of the leather strip and fastened it at the base, where the other snap was. It formed a loop, sized perfectly to fit around someone's neck. A collar.

He turned around and raised his voice so the rest of the Gladers could hear him. "Keepers are having a Gathering in ten. The rest of you, get back to work."

The Gladers clamored for attention, trying to get their questions answered. Alby left without a word.