Prologue:
An ear-splitting, sudden alarm broke out, drowning out the low hum of activity and chatter. Almost everyone looked surprise, despite the fact that most of them had heard the sound dozens of times before. The others who hadn't looked even more shaken and almost jumped a foot in the air.
"There's the bloody alarm. Wonder why it's so bugging late." Newt said, giving a disgusted shake of his head as he spoke to the darker-skinned leader of the Glade: Alby. As the alarm faded off, the shock of the Gladers disappeared and they either returned to their business or crowded around the Box hole, waiting to see the Newbie's arrival.
Newt, along with his friends Alby and Minho, joined the mass of Gladers. Alby practically pushed to the front as Newt walked behind him, earning a couple of stares from the newer Gladers. A little, fleshy boy of thirteen or fourteen looked particularly curious and still shaken from the blasting alarm of earlier.
As they arrived, Newt listened to the low hum and clangs of the Box mechanisms. It seemed to grow louder within each passing minute.
"Wonder which Keeper he's gonna get." Newt said, not really to anyone, curious of who would show up this time. Hopefully someone useful.
"Hopefully a Runner. We need a few more of those." Noted Minho, who was Keeper of the Runners. Newt just chuckled, keeping his eyes on the closed cover of the Box. The hum was growing louder, accompanied with clangs and a metal grounding noise. It created a horrendous noise mixed together. Finally, a loud clang and screech seemed to stop it. The Gladers fell into silence, staring at the lid.
A low cry come from it, muffled from the thick cover but defiantly there. It was filled with panic and laced with fear, and sounded like it was ripping the poor kid's vocal cords to shreds.
"Someone help me!"
Newt's smile faded, replaced with a sad look. "Poor shank." He said quietly, leaning forward to open the heavy lid.
"Sounds like he ain't nothing but a sissy." Alby grunted, but leant forward to help open it. With a loud creak, the two swung the cover open and light flooded into the bleak, gray hole bellow. A small form was curled up in the corner, shaking and staring upwards like he was staring at the bloody pearl gates.
Newt felt the same stab of sympathy he felt every time he witnessed this, saw the panic and fear in the boy's face. The once silent Gladers erupted into chatter, laughing, pointing and yelling out things. Alby tossed down a rope, yelled something down. It was unheard in the rumble of voices.
Newt watched as the boy stared at the rope, then hesitantly stepped into it. Newt wasn't surprised that the kid didn't seem to trust him. Nobody would trust anyone if they woke up in a cold box and was suddenly surrounded by stranger. He helped pull the kid up and over the edge. As the kid was dragged up, the Gladers around them lapsed into silence, staring at the kid curiously.
He was probably about sixteen. Brown, loose hair that seemed to go to about his ears. Kind of tall. Interesting face. Alby stared at him as well, and the look of panic of the boy's face was obvious.
Alby's next words didn't help, only cast a shadow of confusion and shock across the boy's face. No wonder. They were possibly the strangest words he'd ever remember in his scrambled memories.
"Nice to meet ya, shank." Alby greeted him. "Welcome to the Glade."