Disclaimer: I do not own this amazing franchise know as the Maze Runner. All rights go to James Dashner, the author of the Maze Runner, and his publishing company whom he probably sold the rights to. This story is written purely for my entertainment with nothing to do with profit or recognition. "I write what I want to write, I write what amuses me, it's totally for myself."- J.K. Rowling.
Curled against a hard slab of concrete was a silent, still form. A gentle hand ran across the boy's back, for he had curled up with his face facing into the cement, eliciting a soft murmur from the small form. The small form was one of thirty forms, some taller and others smaller. Most of the boys were unconscious, though a few had woken to panic attacks with an even fewer number even remotely calm.
The calmest of the boys was also one of the tallest, for at around sixteen he towered over the other boys, save for a small number of them. Those who were calm enough tried to calm those panicking, while the unconscious slowly woke.
One waking boy in particular was panicking, with eyes snapping open and flaring with panic. He began to tremble, coughing slightly, finding his lungs clogged and mind blank with fear. Nothing seemed able to calm him in the midst of eleven others panicking, fourteen unconscious and a mere four resembling calm. As time passed, small gasps of oxygen reached the boy's lungs and slowly, very slowly, his lungs cleared, but that didn't stop the panic that was reaching the boy's mind and tearing him apart. Tiny shoulders shook with panic as a fourth boy who had finally calmed knelt over him, murmuring in quiet tones in a vain attempt to calm the trembling boy. In a long process, more woke to the blazing sunlight from above them, darkness nowhere within his vision. More boys were panicking while few were calming and the tallest boy tried to sooth them.
A sob shook the boy's frame as he heard an older boy speaking to him softly. The brilliant light sickened his stomach as tears traced his thin cheeks.
Then, in a single instant, the sunlight dimmed greatly, as if a cloud had covered the sun, jolting everyone from their panic for a moment, while a few were still out cold. The tallest boy stood and looked up, before shouting in a thick but warm accent, "Anyone here?" To most of the boys, the accent was so thick they just couldn't understand, but not to the still panicking boy curled against the concrete slab. He understood it perfectly, but moments later passed out, breath coming smoother than before.
As if in answer to the tall boy's words, a long, creaking groan filled the immense area as an immense part of the wall began to shift. Darkness reached through the doors and casting what seemed like shadows into the huge area.
The two or three unconscious boys slowly stirred, waking, blinking up at the light as the tallest boy hauled himself from the room.
" 'Ello?" He shouted, but his voice echoed back from something hard and big. "Anyone?"
There was no answer so the tallest boy began to help others stand from stumbling back in amazement at the sudden darkness. Finally, it was only the last unconscious boy, who was slowly and quietly stirring who was left trembling against the concrete slab, all but forgotten.
And he was panicking.
Yet none of the boys took any notice of him until he had fully woken and was staring straight up at one of the older boys, breath coming ragged and heart beating fast.
The boy who was in the smallest boy's gaze turned around, sensing a gaze on his back, to find a hard but terrified stare directly at his face.
The boy froze. "G-guys?" He asked, voice quiet and trembling in the silence.
Slowly, the tallest boy turned around, smiling. "Good, your awake, mate. Welcome to the land of the living." And the small boy froze, eyes darkening with mistrust, before he spoke in a trembling voice that housed the same accent as the tallest boy.
"What are you lot. Cannibals?"
And the tallest boy burst out into laughter. "Nope, we're confused guys staring at big walls."
It was plain to see in the smaller boy's face that he did not believe them in the slightest. His lower lip trembled in fear as he stared up, unable to move and perfectly silent. The tallest boy's face softened as he watched the tiny boy who was shaking and twitching as the smallest boy watched the older one with deep mistrustful eyes. The tallest boy raised his hands, showing that he did not carry any weapons, before slowly lowering them to his sides as the much shorter boy watched with the same mistrust in his eyes.
"Name's Nick, mate. We'd all be right cheery if you'd forgive us for forgetting 'bout you. Let's start with getting you calmed down." Nick's voice was soothing against the smallest boy's ears.
The small boy hesitated as he watched Nick, who seemed perfectly calm, before nodding quietly. With very little difficulty, Nick reached the smallest boy and began to murmur soothingly to him, trying to calm the boy before helping him stand on weak, trembling legs, as though he had swum for hours, possibly days, on end, or been running for just as long.
Rubbing a hand along the smallest boy's back, Nick stood next to him, towering a foot and a half, probably over, the tiny boy with whom Nick shared the same shaggy, long blond hair.
Slowly the smallest seemed to calm very slowly, but he still had a glint of deep-seated mistrust flashing in his eyes, flickering back and forth with a dangerous spontaneity that seemed ready to blow at almost any moment. Which, of course, it was. After an awkward pause, the smallest spoke.
"What are you." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, one that demanded an answer with the quiet, scared yet commanding tones that blended perfectly within the thick accent of the shortest boy. Despite his small and lean stature it was easy to tell that the boy had the potential of a leader who understood his people.
One of the boys, an acne covered smaller one, sneered at the boy who had just spoken. "We're just the same as you, idiot. We're guys trapped in a giant, pricking walled in place!"
Nick gave him a cool look. "You're not helping the situation." He then turned to the smallest boy. "I, for one, only remember my name. I don't know who I am or where I came from, all I know is that my name is Nick."
Another tall boy nodded in agreement from the other end of the group. "My name is Alby. That is all that I know." This boy had dark skin and black hair with piercing dark eyes that seemed to stare right into your soul.
Introductions continued, some having names on the tip of their tongues, others having the perfect grasp of their names while others yet hadn't the slightest idea.
The shortest had his name resting at the tip of his tongue and it was making him anxious not knowing it, adding to the fear of losing his memories and awakening in a strange place with a group of boys who seemed as cold and dark as a cave past sundown.
After several long days in what Nick had dubbed 'The Glade', the smallest boy still couldn't remember a thing about his past. Most of his long hours were spend carving away at a chunk of wood about the size of a human brain. How the smallest knew that was the size of a brain he didn't know, nor did he particularly want to know. With long, dull movements, he fashioned small figurines. One was a girl with long hair twisted back into a bun, another a man with a sharply pointed beard and mischief glinting in the wooden eyes, a third a woman, taller than the girl, but with the same face and long hair. Finally was the smallest boy himself, with shaggy blond hair and a square chin.
During those several long days the Gladers (as they called themselves) had begun to specialize labor and without bundles of free time, they left the smallest be.
Nick had taken the place of leader, helping with the areas of work that needed helping with. Alby had become the second in command, doing the same as Nick did.
The Gladers had come to a leader of the smaller corps, the Keepers.
There was Zart, a towering quiet boy, for the Track-hoes who were in charge of the pre-setup farms. His only other member was Shane, a boy who simply loved to farm.
Minho, an Asian boy, was the first of the Runners, a group who explored what they had dubbed 'The Glade's Maze' along with George and Stephen.
A boy by the name of Thatch was Keeper of Choppers, the ones who gathered all the supplies and were kind of like messengers. Shawn and Benjy were the guys who were helping him.
The first Med-jack, or doctor, was Clint who worked with Jeff, Lewy and Mal.
Winston, the acne covered boy, was the Keeper of the Slicers, who had just Bruce and Swiff to help him care for the animals on the farm, along with prepare the meat.
Siggy, better known as Frypan, was the first of the Kitches, the guys who actually cooked everything. Lee and Alfy were the others who helped him.
Cole was the only Bagger, who kept fights from breaking out. They're job was pretty easy, so they also spend hours working in the fields, or other areas that needed help
There were then the Sloppers, who cleaned the place up every day. Marty, Adam and Theo were excellent with cleaning utensils, and it wasn't the easiest job, either.
Finally, there were the Builders, Zach, Ize, Churry and Cock who built everything and anything for hours on end.
The smallest spent most of his time sitting in a corner of the Glade, turning his figurines over in his hands. Some days he'd cry softly while the others worked. He didn't leave his corner and every few hours, Nick would come by to speak to him, trying to convince the smallest to come out of his corner.
It was on the ninth day in the place that screams were heard from the Maze.
The smallest looked up in a mixture of shock and horror as twilight began to fall the runners returned. Minho and George came back through different doors, their loud voices signalling their return.
They passed through the doors just a few minutes before the loud, grinding noise signalled the closing of the doors.
Stephen had yet to return.
The shrieks continued on into the night and it sounded like a person was being torn apart, leaving behind their haunted screams that refused to fade into the night.
The next day, George found Stephen's body and a service was held in the forest where the smallest continued to hide. Ten long days and they had already lost a person.
That night, the smallest cried for a boy he had hardly known.
The morning of the eleventh day, the smallest woke with a faint impression in his mind. Nick had shaken him awake, when the smallest had jolted upright, eyes wild and panicking.
"Comin' out today, mate? Ya can't hide back here for forever, Greenie."
Greenbean. That was what the older, taller Gladers had taken to calling the smallest. Shoulders slumping slightly, Greenie shook his head quietly. "Still don't even know my name, Nick. I don't know what to do."
Nick just nodded quietly. He understood that saying that things would be alright would be lying so simply nodded gently and wrapped an arm around Greenie's thin shoulders as they shook with silent sobs.
Leaning into the seventeen-year-old's strong form, Greenie could feel that impression growing until it overwhelmed his mind.
It was just feelings, really. The tremor that passed through Greenie's hand as something cool and wet passed beneath it, yet solid unlike the cool water that slipped across his hand just like the feeling he had done.
Greenie often focused all of his energy on remembering, just a little something, in hopes of regaining even the smallest thing, like how wind felt on his face in the early morning.
The day passed on slowly, with Greenie turning his figurines over in his hand and he struggled to remember something, anything.
A few days passed that way and on the morning of the fourteenth day, Greenie knew that was the day he would know something. He didn't care what it was, Greenie just wanted to know, and halfway through the day, his wish granted by whatever almighty spirits controlled them.
The Glade was as busy as ever, with the builders pounding away on what they were calling the Homestead, a building of wood held together with ropes that Greenie had spied from the edge of the forests. That particular hour, Greenie was sitting on the edge of the forest, just out of sight, watching the business of the day when a blinding pain filled his head. Instantly, Greenie clutched his head as his eyes rolled back, passing out, but a single sound had yet to escape his mouth as the figurine of the girl rolled from his had, landing face up in the fresh dirt. Greenie was out cold.
In his dreams, troubled thoughts plagued the boy's mind.
What was happening? Why was he there? What was his name? Was the Glade a prison? Who were the other boys? Would they die there like Stephen had? How long until they were all gone? Who put them there? What had killed Stephen? Would it kill the others, too? What was his name? Was it his real name? When would it return? What was he meant to do? And hundreds of other questions swirled around in a chaotic mess of jumbled emotions.
Images of mysterious, swirling, dark water blending into warm, cream water matched up with seeing the creamy colour do the same to dark, hot coffee. Each tiny glimpse at the real world left Greenie trembling with fear and confusion, for he didn't understand what was happening.
The strangest feeling overwhelmed him, a mixture of confusion, tranquility and horror, pushing against his mind in a way akin to someone shoving Greenie back ten feet.
Slowly, another image surfaced. Waves lapping against a sandy beach. Then it was an immense forest, five times the size of the one he hid in, with towering branches that reached the clouds and immense trees that climbed up a mountain side, reaching up for snowy peaks. The feeling of wind rushing at Greenie's face, teasing at him before dissipating into the cool night breeze. And finally, the memory that meant the most to Greenie. The memory that twisted his heart into a hundred different pieces.
A gentle voice whispering in his ear, tickling his face. "Oh my child, my youngest child, my little Zachary, and now, my precious Newton, precious Newt, be safe."
And Greenie, looking on, watched as the tiny form of his three-year-old self hugged his mother goodbye, tears streaking down his face as a soldier roughly pulled him away. Greenie's younger self whimpered softly as he stumbled into a car, having been pushed, and kept from struggling by a strong doctor who restrained him in her lap.
The next scene was Greenie being led into a room that reminded the older Greenie of a jail cell. It was small with a bunk bed against one wall that had a boy sitting on the lower bunk reading a book. The boy looked around the younger Greenie's age, maybe slightly younger, but he looked like he was quite mature.
"Hello, Dr. Woods. May I ask who this is?"
The doctor smiled indulgently at the boy. "Hello, Thomas. This is your roommate, Newton, or Newt for short. Say hello, Newton!"
Three-year-old Greenie, or Newt as his name actually was, looked down, studying the floor, before his eyes flickered up, as blue as the ocean, and he whispered, "Hello, Thomas."
"Hello, Newt. How are you today?"
Newt gave him a look of 'how old are you?' before replying. "I'm fine, thank you. Et tu? Ehm, sorry. And you?"
"Fine, thank you."
Looking pleased with the introductions, Dr. Woods smiled in an overly bright way. "I'll leave you two to get acquainted then!"
Newt looked around five in this one. In his hands was a piece of metal to which he twisted around, forming something that was almost like an origami statue. With hollow eyes the younger version of the real Newt stared at the animal in his hand, a cat, before closing his fist over it and sighing.
Suddenly Thomas was there. "You alright, mate?"
Newt nodded miserably. "I guess. I just wish that I knew more about where I came from and who I was before." A lone tear traced his cheek. "I mean, my first memory is when the WICKs came to my place to get me, so I want to know more."
Thomas didn't say anything. Judging by the look in the five-year-old's eyes, he didn't remember anything about his past. As though he had been in that place his entire life. So he simply sat next to his friend and offered the silent comfort as tears caressed Newt's cheeks in the darkness of what seemed like a prison of extreme weirdness.
Seven-years-old, this time. Newt's past self and Thomas were both seated in desks, staring at screens, their fingers flying across keyboards. Their faces creased in concentration and they both seemed to write out long essays. The title of each: The Flare; an Essay on the Disease Ravaging our World.
They worked in perfect silence, each one occasionally flipping to pages filled with information on this 'Flare'. After what felt like hours, Newt sat back, staring at the screen with the faintest smile across his face.
He seemed to have completed the immense essay. The seven-year-old's eyes drooped sleepily. Thomas next to him was still typing ferociously, and then, maybe fifteen minutes later, his gaze scanned the page, up and down until he nodded and clicked a button that stated simply 'SAVE', just as Newt had done.
By that point, both boys looked ready to collapse and the vision faded to nothingness.
Taller now, maybe nine, at most ten.
Newt and Thomas were both in a large classroom, just two of twenty or so boys.
They were all perfectly silent, listening to a teacher at the front of the room, teaching a math class. The teacher was talking about angles, which was rather dull to the boys, but none the less they were all the boys sat in perfect silence with straight backs and interested expressions. What felt like a half-hour later the class was told that they could go and all the boys all left in a straight, silent line.
As soon as they had left the classroom, the boys exploded into chatter. Some were laughing or cracking jokes, while others were complaining about having done the same unit in math the previous year and already knowing the subject.
Slowly, the groups split up and it was just Newt and Thomas walking dully back to their room with their bags filled with pages and pages of work to do.
Newt checked his watch dully. Half past three.
Together, the boys stepped into their plain, grey room, pulled out the pages of homework and began to work on it in an emotionless way, scarcely speaking, before Newt broke the silence.
"I wish they didn't give us all of this."
Thomas nodded in agreement. "It's ridiculous, but at least it's something to do in this place. I mean, Newt, we never do anything here aside from all of this work, so imagine what it would be like without all of it."
Newt groaned at the very thought. "Don't even speak of that, Tommy. 'Ould be absolute torture, that."
Thomas nodded in agreement. "Good that, mate."
"Good that."
And they worked on in silence for what felt like hours.
At around seven two meals appeared in a chute and the boys both ate their small meals before climbing into their beds and drifting off to sleep.
Eleven or so, probably in sixth grade or late in fifth, Newt's former self was lying unconscious on a cold, hard table.
Fear laced eleven-year-old's mind and transcribed to the older version's mind. Absolute, mind-blowing panic, washing all other feelings away and settling deep within Newt's soul.
Approaching the still form were doctors, about four of them, with a medical table next to the table. Dread settled against the older Newt's already terrified mind.
Then, ten minutes into a dangerous looking and painful experiment, Newt realized they were examining his former self's mind and an even deeper settled dread rested upon him like oppressive heat in a desert.
Newt tried to run away, far away, but found himself unable to move, frozen, watching as his skull had a laser that cut his skull open.
There were murmurs of fascination from the doctors who continued to examine Newt's brain as he bled out, believing that he would die.
Pain laced Newt's mind.
And it continued on for what felt like hours until his head was wrapped in long strips of white cloth.
Then they left, leaving a tiny, trembling form lying on a cold, hard table.
The pain continued on for a indiscernible amount of time.
There was no difference between the sleeping Newt and the waking one.
They were identical, except one was drowning in an immense vat of water and the other watching in horror.
Tears streaked Thomas' face as he watched, crying softly as Newt glared at him in disgust and horror. The look in his eyes said it all.
"I trusted you."
And then Thomas broke down, tears streaming down his face. "I'm so sorry, Newt, so, so sorry. Please, please, please, please forgive me, mate." And the young teen continued to beg with his friend to forgive him.
And just as a hint of forgiving sank into Newt's eyes, the boy sank to the bottom of the vat and he was unconscious.
"Whoa, there, Greenie. You alright?"
Newt sat bolt upright, eyes swimming with his visions as his mind tried to process what he had seen. "N-Nick?"
"Ya hit your head or something, kid? Yes it's me, kid."
Newt relaxed instantly, resting back against the bed as his eyes closed and some of the tension relaxing from his body. Then the smallest boy realized in a single instant. He wasn't still hiding in the forest, but resting on a comfortable bed in a wooden building. Nick seemed to realize what Newt was thinking. "I went lookin' for ya bout two hours ago and found you unconscious in the forest, curled up against a tree, twitching and trembling all over. I figured I'd bring you back here so that we could know when you woke. You alright, Greenie?" Nick's voice was heavily accented with a slight lilt that made him sound strange compared to the other boy's neutral and very similar accents. He sounded like a sort of older sibling who protected and cared for his younger siblings no matter what.
"Newt." The voice was just a faint whisper.
"Sorry, mate? What was that?"
"Newt, not Greenie. My name's Newt."
Nick smiled down at the boy who looked enough like him for the two could be siblings and ruffled his hair gently. "That's great, Newt, that's amazing. Come on, let's bring you to meet the boys."
Newt already knew all the boys, or at least their names, yet the others knew very little about him. They knew that Newt was the youngest, smallest and quietest boy in the Glade, that he had hidden in the forest and hadn't recovered his name like they had.
So Nick brought Newt around, introducing him to everyone as 'Newt the Greenbean', to which they cheered and clapped the small boy's back, offering for him to joining each of their separate groups, each with its own leader, but Newt knew what he wanted to do. He was twitchy and could run quick as the wind, ready to do so at any moment. Newt wanted to, needed to, move all the time and burn the energy that was filling him and any of the other duties couldn't do that for him. Oh yes, Newt wanted to do something dangerous. He wanted to run like the wind through endless paths and explore on and on and on. Newt, formerly know as Greenie, the smallest and Zachary, wanted to run and become a Runner with Minho and George and formerly Stephen who then rested in the dark lull of death with his body buried mere feet beneath the ground.
But as Newt tried the different options, he found that he also could have been a Track-hoe or Med-jack, for he had the skills to do either with skill in the workings of a farm and calming of a person, both essential for their respective duties.
It was on the twenty-first day, a week later, that Newt would have the skill to become a Runner just like he wanted to.
Minho and George had been looking for a guy who was willing or wanted to help them map the maze and was also eligible for the place. They wanted a guy who was quick with both his mind and body. They wanted a guy who could run.
By the end of the twenty-first day Newt was the third Runner and Minho had even suggested that the smallest boy would be the best of the Runners within a few days, at most a few weeks. The older boy laughed as he wrapped an arm around the smallest boy's, the Greenie's, shoulder laughing as he slapped the boy's back lightly. "That, Greenie, was the some a' the best running I have seen, even from Georgie over here."
George had protested only so that he was shut by a look from Minho.
"That was awesome for a tryout, kiddo. Tomorrow we'll travel as a group and show you around a bit, then you're with me until you're a full Runner when I say you are." Minho has spoken it and it all made Newt feel amazing. He had been welcomed into the society of the Gladers as their newest and youngest member.
It was on the thirtieth day when a loud ringing ran through the Glade causing many-a-Glader to jump in surprise to cover their ears and the Runners to exchange glances and sprint for the nearest entrance to the Glade.
It took them ten minutes to return, but at that point the other Gladers crowded around the concrete spot they had arrived from. The immense steel doors were open and beneath was a metal cage that hung suspended in place with their supplies and speaking in a jumble, staring down into the pit at something that Newt could not see.
Pushing through the large crowd, the Runners reached Nick who was leaning over the pit, watching a boy whom Newt had never seen before stare up at them with quick ragged breathing.
"What the bloody hell are you lot doing?" He asked, confused as to why they wouldn't be helping the new boy. "Let's get the newbie outa there before he decides to climb out himself and runs into the maze. Then we've got a problem." And his words spurred action, and Nick dropped down to the Box, as it had been named in the midst of boredom by bored Gladers of two weeks before.
" 'Ello, mate! Name's Nick and this place is what we call the Glade."
The newbie was trembling when something dawned on Minho's face. "Oh no! What are we going to call him until he remembers his name? Nick? Can we hold a Gathering?"
Newt jabbed his elbow into his friends ribs, causing the older boy to wince and complain quietly.
Nick shouted back up at the Keeper of the Runners. "No! Well, not now anyways. We do need to decide if Newt'll be Greenbean forever or if it'll be a term that's handed down from newbie to newbie."
Newt grumbled softly, "None of you have been here any longer than me."
"I heard that, Greenie!"
"Don't call me Greenie!"
There were teasing jeers at Nick for having the Greenie, Newt, the tiny fourteen-year-old, fight back at him, but Nick hardly noticed, focusing on the new boy before him.
"Come on, mate, let's getcha outa this lift-ride from hell." As usual, Nick calmed the newbie without much trouble and he was soon standing next to Nick among the Gladers.
"Now, we can hold a Gathering. Hey, can somebody give the newbie the tour?"
Shawn, the sixteen-year-old Chopper volunteered along with Newt, so they gave the tour together, stressing greatly the importance of their three rules.
"Alright, man, we only have three rules here in the Glade. The first is never harm yourself or another Glader. That one's difficult for this klunk-for-brains over here."
Newt stared at him blankly, not picking up on the sarcasm. "Oh, come on, mate! We both know that I have a better mind than you do!"
Laughing slightly, Shawn continued. "All of our society only works if we have trust in each other and ourselves. Second is due your part. Again, if not everyone does their part, some won't be trusted which will lead to dark days. Last is to never, never leave these walls. That is especially hard for death-wish over here," he said, batting the back of Newt's head teasingly. It was as though Newt had become the younger brother to the other Gladers who were becoming all too protective of the smallest boy.
Seeing the confused look on the newbie's face, Newt explained calmly. "I'm what we call a Runner. Currently, we're a group of three who goes out every morning to explore the outside and comes back before sundown every night. We don't know much yet, but we can tell you this. You don't want to be found by what lurks out there. Minho, George and I, we're the Runners, have started calling them Grievers and they aint pretty. We don't know a damn thing about them and we've only lost one boy to them so far, but we're talking something that will kill you painfully. Poor Stephen was heard screaming for hours before it all cut off." A soberness surrounded Newt as he remembered the boy who never seemed to stop smiling. "Enough of that dark stuff, though. What can you tell me 'bout yourself, mate?"
The newbie shook his head. "I can't remember anything."
"Don't worry, it'll be back in a few days, unless-"
"Don't speak. Just, do not speak."
How long it had taken for his memory to return was still a sore spot for Newt. He didn't like being reminded of the pain of knowing that he was so different from the others. All he wanted was acceptance into their society.
Shawn just laughed. "Newt here's like our annoying younger brother who is way to smart for his age, or something. Seriously, the Med-jacks are sure the guy's got photographic memory or somethi-"
Newt whirled to glare at the friendly yet insensitive older boy. "Shawn, shut up." The Greenie despised it when people spoke of his 'excellent memory' when he was around to suffer the pain of knowing that his memory still hadn't returned to him the way it had to the others. It came in visions that Newt weren't even sure were true.
"Slim it nice and calm now, G- ehm Newt. There, now that feels better, right?"
Reluctantly, Newt nodded as he focused on his breathing and allowed the coming chill to sooth him, seeping into him and washing away the heat of day in the Glade. Twilight was nearing and it was one night when they didn't have to worry about someone not returning. The Runners had all sprinted for home when they heard the newly dubbed 'Newbie Alarm'.
The newbie was watching the exchange awkwardly as they walked past the fields. "Oh, these are the fields."
The tour continued on that way, Shawn and Newt arguing, the newbie acting confused, then the occasional explanation for what something was.
That night, more visions came to Newt.
He had curled up where he always did, in the same place that he always did. The young Runner couldn't rest properly anywhere else; he'd jolt awake panicking with his breath coming in ragged gasps, having woken some poor shank with his panicked screaming. Yet that night, Newt did not sleep as well as he'd have liked. He dreamed his strange and brilliant visions.
Newt was about six, curled up in a corner while fiddling with a book that lay in his hands.
It was a copy of The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy and it was obvious that Newt wasn't enjoying reading the thick text.
Again, the younger version of himself flickered through the pages before snapping it shut and looking at Thomas, who sat nearby, with pleading eyes.
'Hey, Tommy, can you give me the summary?' But Newt hadn't spoken, yet the older Newt had heard it in his head. Then Thomas did the same, speaking without moving his mouth in a way that involved no sound, only words that popped into his mind. They were telepathic, and Newt remembered how...
'Thought you'd never ask, brother!'
Thomas had pulled out a tablet and began typing into it quickly. Within a matter of a few moments and several authorization codes, there was an immense and boring looking summary of the large book that was far too much to ask six-year-old to read and comprehend as if they were fifteen or even older.
The Wicks, as they called people who worked for WICKED, didn't have a system to see if their students had cheated so Newt could easily get away with simply copying directly from a website.
The two close friends, practically brothers, could communicate in their minds. The future Newt then knew how and he planned on trying it. He wanted to know more about this boy named Thomas who was his honorary brother.
Newt woke early the next morning, way before the Wake Up. Focusing hard on the face of Thomas, he closed his eyes, envisioning a void with only the tanned face, dark hair and deep blue eyes of his honorary brother.
'Tommy? Are ya there?'
No answer, but Newt suddenly felt a presence flood into his mind.
'Newt? Seriously? Seriously? This is awesome! You remember how we can communicate! Don't speak of it, though. If the WICKs find out, they'll cut us off, so just keep the telepathy to yourself. Hey, did the Swipe work?'
'What are you talking about?'
'I'll take that as a yes but wow, I am so excited! Oh, the Swipe is the way they wipe your minds. It is essentially a chip that blocks your long-term memory from working, so you don't remember anything from before then. It doesn't harm your mind and can be removed through the right process.'
Their accents were identical, same as there voice patterns and the way their minds worked.
Thomas stopped speaking, or thinking, Newt supposed, and the lapsed into an easy silence, both just enjoying the presence of someone they knew so well, or at lest sort of knew so well.
Newt continued to sit in the forest until Thomas retreated to whatever he was doing.
Dawn was then breaking and Newt stood, stretching, to find Minho and George. The two boys could be found outside the West entrance, the newbie, Ben they had learned, watching with curiosity. "We're Runners," Minho stated simply. "It's our job to explore the outside and try to find a way out. We'll do whatever it takes to get out." All three Runners set their jaws, leaving Ben behind, and set out into the Maze, running the routine run around the Glade before they would return to map it out once again. They had begun to ask for paper and writing utensils as a way to help them know if their was a way out. Naturally, the Creators did send the materials to them along with a note reading 'You'll never find a way out, Minho.', in all its creepiness. The Runners didn't particularly care, of course, but it was still creepy and annoying. Not to mention they sent the same note up each month with a different name on it each time.
Ben wandered off to find Nick who had planned on finding Ben's place in the Glade that day. Or within the next ten days. Either way worked.
As the boys were running, Thomas' voice entered Newt's head once again. 'Hey Newt? Your one of those guys who runs around the Maze all day, right?'
'Got that right, mate!' Newt answered brightly and could almost feel Thomas grin with delight.
'Perfect. Okay, Newt, there's a place that the WICKs call the Cliff. It's pretty much a vast void of nothingness, except for one spot. Through that spot is something called a Flat-trans. It's a flat, shimmering but almost invisible surface that can appear and disappear randomly. Through there is the HQ for WICKED. It's also where the Grievers come from, so if you can, avoid it, but it could also save your life. If you're ever stuck out in the Maze during the night, either head for changing limbs and get the Griever caught in it, or head to the Cliff. That wait-and-dive thingy is perfect for it, but it won't kill the Griever. That thing'll survive but it won't be coming back.'
This entire story is written out and I don't intend to give you any more of it until we've got a review. Maybe. I might just put it up now cause I want to.