Disclaimer: I don't own The Maze Runner.
A/N: Hi, welcome to my second TMR fanfic! This story starts right after Thomas arrives in the Glade, but before Teresa appears and well, ruins everything. *smirks* Let's pretend there's a long gap between Thomas and Teresa's arrival, like a month instead of a day, k?
So in this chapter, Thomas is already quite familiar with his new surroundings but is still very curious and still asks 16517358 questions an hour yay. Also, this is before Minho, Alby and Thomas get themselves locked outside the Glade, which basically means before Alby gets stung by a Griever. Also it's before Ben got stung. So basically everything is still rainbows and butterflies in the Glade back when everything was normal. Alrighty read onnn
Chapter One: Supplies
"Supplies are here," Newt called out to nobody in particular, nodding out the kitchen window in the general direction of the Box. His odd accent rang out through the almost-empty kitchen. The blonde and his two friends Thomas and Minho were taking a short break from work.
"How do you know that?" Thomas looked up in confusion. He stopped chewing a bite of his cheese sandwich to strain his ears. "I don't hear an alarm or anything."
"That's because there isn't," Newt agreed, turning back to his own sandwich. "Alarm only goes off when a Newbie arrives."
"Then how do you-"
"It's 5pm, Tommyboy," Minho sighed, tapping his digital watch. "On a Wednesday. The Box sends up shuck supplies every week, same day; same time."
"How'd you know it's a Wednesday, then?" Thomas shook his head, brushing bread crumbs off his hands. He paused. "And don't call me Tommyboy."
"Us and a bunch of others were the only ones in the Glade originally. We decided it was Sunday on the day of our arrival," Minho ignored Thomas's last remark. "So for 2 years and counting, everyone here has been following the days of the week according to us."
"So you're saying it could very well be a Sunday right now and we would never know?"
"Precisely," Newt said as the same time Minho scoffed, "Does it matter?"
Just then, Winston the Keeper of the Slicers walked in through the door, his dark hair matted to his scarred face and his skin gleaming with sweat. Breathing heavily like he'd just ran the Maze, he trudged over to the refrigerator in the corner, after nodding at his seated friends.
"Dude," Minho said with his mouth full of food. "You look horrible."
"Thanks," Winston said sarcastically while pulling out a bottle of cold water. "You would too, if ya'd been runnin' around all day chasing hyperactive pigs."
Newt snorted, "Sounds fun."
"Aren't you shanks supposed to go fetch to the supplies right about now?" Winston replied before taking long, thirsty gulps of water. Thomas obviously knew the Bloodhouse Keeper wasn't adressing him.
"Yeah, yeah," Minho took a sip from his metal cup. "Keep your undies on, shuck-face. We're about to."
As quickly as Winston had appeared, he was gone again. Thomas sat up straighter. "There's a schedule for who collects the supplies each week?"
"Yep. Gally and Winsty were on duty last week." Newt explained. He gestured vaguely across the table at Minho. "This week is me and that bloody shank over there."
"Which is why I'm back an hour early from Running, see." Minho said.
"So when do I get a turn?" Thomas asked. "Getting the supplies, I mean."
"You don't, slinthead," Minho laughed. "Keepers only. And super important people like Alby and Newt."
"Hear that, Tommy?" Newt smirked. "I'm super important."
Thomas made a face at the blonde.
"Tell you what, man," Newt clapped Thomas on the shoulder, getting up. "You can come with us if ya want. You can be our buggin' little assistant."
Minho got up as well, kicking in his chair. "Sure, Tommyboy. We could use an extra pair of hands."
"I told you not to call me Tommyboy."
"What, this shank can call you Tommy but I can't call you Tommyboy?" Minho protested, pointing an accusing finger at Newt while his other clutched at his chest in mock pain.
Newt let out a short laugh, pulling the kitchen door open and blasting them with a warm breeze from outside. "Ooh, Minho. Ouch."
"I see how it is," Minho narrowed his eyes mockingly at both of the boys. "I got my eye on you two." he said simply before pushing past Newt and walking out into the sunlight.
"Our bloody joker," Newt rolled his eyes at Thomas before following his Asian friend.
Thomas's stomach flipped at the mere sight of the metal Box, now only about ten feet away. The memory of waking up in the dark, stuffy elevator, only about a couple of weeks ago filled his mind. He quickly pushed the thought away.
"Right," Minho cracked his knuckles and leaned down to wrap his fingers around one of the metal handles on one side of the shaft doors. Newt grabbed the other. "Let's get 'er open."
With a loud, rusty screech, the doors were yanked apart. Thomas grimaced as a puff of dust from inside the Box rose into his face. Minho was the first to jump into it, making a dull, echoing thud when his feet slammed into the bottom.
"Food, clothes, blah blah," he stated. "The usual klunk." he began throwing up bulky packages of items into Newt and Thomas's waiting arms a few feet above.
"Wait a minute," Newt squinted, leaning as far as he dared without falling into the lift. "What's that?"
Minho searched the seemingly empty Box. "What?"
"Behind your foot, you shank," the blonde insisted. "In the corner."
"Oh." Minho bent down to scoop up the package that almost went unnoticed. "What the shuck is this?"
"What?" Thomas demanded as Newt threw a rope down to help Minho out. "What is it?"
"I don't freaking know, dude." Minho clambered to his feet once he was back on solid ground, clutching a flat rectangular item in his hands. The Box immediately clanged back down to wherever it came from after the shaft doors were firmly shut again.
All the supplies lying next to the Box and forgotten, the two other Gladers gathered around their Asian friend. The boys were quiet.
"Is this a joke?" Newt asked in confusion.
Minho held up the tattered book against the blue sky, as if doing so would answer their questions. "Who the shuckballs is James Dashner?"
"The Maze Runner," Thomas read the title aloud on the fading cover. It had a photo of tall stone walls, exactly like the ones in the Glade. "What maze runner? Do they mean like, the Runners or something?"
Minho began flipping through the crusty, yellowing pages. The three squinted at the pages reflecting the soft sunlight into their eyes.
"No bloody way," Newt muttered. "Our names are in this."
"This is a shucking story," Minho said slowly. Thomas could imagine the gears in his friend's brain spinning as he tried to make sense of the situation. "A story… A book… with us in it."
"Our Glader words are in it too," the blonde boy let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "Doesn't make klunkin' cow sense."
"This is insane," Minho snorted. "What, they want us to read a freaking book while we need to figure out a way to get out of this hellhole?"
"Hey," someone called loudly from behind them. The Gladers turned.
"What are you shanks doing? The Builders are demanding for more wood supplies." Alby shook his head, walking up towards them from the direction of the Homestead. He squinted. "Y'all look like a bunch of giggling girls huddled together like that."
"I'll tell ya what's going on, man," Minho spoke up, closing the old book and tossing it at their leader. Alby caught in in surprise, mid-step. "That came in the Box today."
Alby examined the book. He looked up and gave them a questioning look.
"Don't know. Some kind of story thing." Thomas offered. "All of us are in it."
"Lots of pages missing," the dark-skinned boy noted, flipping the pages. Then he stopped abruptly and looked up, like he just thought of something. "We need to read this," he quipped. "These are clues, you slintheads. To get out of the Maze."
"Why would the Creators send us clues?" Newt asked.
Minho nodded and said, "That's like throwing a treat to a shuck dog anyway for not completing its trick."
"I don't know," Alby looked down at the book again with curious eyes. "But it must be. We need to analyze every klunk page. Make sure we don't miss anything important. This may be our only ticket outta here."
"This is crazy." Minho's eyes were wide.
"We should inform the others," Thomas spoke up. "Call a Gathering or something, if we want to take full advantage of this book."
"Good that, Greenie," the leader nodded. There was an excited glint in his usually hard eyes as he glanced at the fellow Gladers in front of him. "I'll keep the book somewhere safe. Now scamper back to work, you shanks. Lots to do."
A/N: There you go! First chapter. To be honest, I don't even know where I'm gonna go with this, but yeah I'll go with the flow, I guess, and see where it takes me bahahhahaa. Please review, don't be a silent reader! Thank you x
