Disclaimer: I do not own The Maze Runner.

A/N: HII I'M NOT DEAD! I'm sorry I took so long to update ahh. I've been pretty busy with family stuff recently, so I didn't have much access to my laptop as I've been out quite a lot. This chapter was also quite difficult to write. I had to analyse my actual copy of The Maze Runner to see how I'm gonna approach this chapter.

I tried to make it as interesting as possible without having to repeat too much from the book. Also, it's a bit short, sorry. I'm also sorry if it's a bit boring. Hopefully the next chapter will be longer and have a bit more action! ALSO, I decided to make the parts taken directly from the book Bold and Italic, so nobody gets confused haha.


Chapter Three: First Clue

The next evening found the Gladers grouped together on the floor of the courtyard, near the Box. They were seated in a large semicircle surrounding a few chairs arranged neatly at the front, where the book will be read aloud. Thomas sat up front with Minho, while a few other people he knew sat behind with their own groups of friends.

The conversation with Alby and Newt yesterday crossed his mind again for what felt like the umpteenth time that day. They had pestered him for a whole hour on whether he knew anything about the arrival of the strange book or if anything seemed familiar. He was shocked when he found out it featured himself as the main character and had swore he knew nothing about it. ("I'm the same as you guys," he had protested. "Honest, I don't know anything.")

The whole thing seemed so unreal and, well, ridiculous.

If things were normal right now, everyone would be at work; pulling weeds, feeding pigs, building fences, mapping the Maze, etc. But here they all were—well, most of them— seated cross-legged and chatting with one another in the middle of the Glade. Nobody seem to mind, though. If at all, they seemed to be enjoying the break and were taking the opportunity to catch up with their friends.

According to Minho's watch, it was almost 5pm. More and more Gladers were filling up the empty spaces now, as the agreed meeting time ticked closer.

"Hey." Chuck plopped down in the empty spot on the other side of Thomas.

"Hey, buddy," Thomas nodded as Minho flashed him a grin in greeting. "Where've you been all day?"

"Sloppin', what do you think?" the kid rolled his eyes, embarrassed. His cheeks colored slightly. Everyone knew Chuck worked as a Slopper, generally viewed as the worst job in the Glade. It was a job title given to those who kept the place clean and polished. They cleaned toilets, shower rooms, the kitchen and not to mention the Blood House after a slaughter was done.

Thomas felt bad for the poor kid, not to mention a little awkward. He immediately steered the conversation to a better topic.

"So, uh, who are those chairs for?" he pointed at the furniture up front. The question was more directed toward Minho, he realised belatedly.

"Alby and Newt." Minho replied, looking around for them but to no avail; they weren't there yet. He turned back to Thomas. "The other chair's probably for the poor Keeper who needs to lead the reading today. We still haven't decided who."

"You sound pretty confident it's not gonna be you." Chuck snorted to his right.

"Well, even if it is, who cares?" Minho said with his signature smirk. "I'm sure I'll be able to make this whole reading thing look hot, yanno? Unlike the other sissies."

"In your dreams, slinthead." Chuck scoffed and added generously, "I keep tellin' you—you're an ugly shank."

Thomas caught the snatches of easy banter passed back and forth between his two friends, not really wanting to take part in the small talk. He found himself zoning out and began thinking again about the talk yesterday.

During a lull in their conversation, however, Minho smacked Thomas on the shoulder to catch his attention. Chuck turned to chat with another Glader a few rows behind them.

"Hey," The Runner leaned closer and whispered, "I forgot, how did the talk go with Alby and Newt last night?"

Thomas's stomach clenched with unease. "You knew about that?"

"Of course I do," Minho said incredulously. "Last time I checked, I'm a Council member eligible to attend Gatherings."

"You mean I was discussed yesterday?" Thomas felt his face heat up. He groaned inwardly. For some reason, he was under the impression that the matter was only between Alby and Newt and him for now. "Dude, I swear, I don't know anything about the stupid book, okay?"

"We all figured you'd say that," Minho shrugged after a while. "Worth a try, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"We were hoping you would find the book familiar or something," he explained. "To give us some kind of clue what we're up against."

"I don't get it," Thomas ran his hands through his hair. "I can't even remember my last name. You think I'll remember some random book?"

"C'mon, Thomas. Use your shuck brain," Minho rolled his eyes and poked the side of his head for emphasis. "You're the newest Greenie here. In the same month, a book arrives about you. Are you saying if you were us, you wouldn't be suspicious? Not even a tiny bit?"

Thomas didn't reply. Panic flickered in his chest. He's right.

"All right, everyone be quiet," a voice called loudly from the front. The noisy Gladers looked up to see Newt walking towards them, Alby hot on his heels. A hush fell over the crowd, but only because everyone was eager for the activity to start. Upon seeing the leaders' arrival, the last few boys ran up to take their seat in the crowd.

"Keepers, get your butts out here." Alby ordered. He stood in front of his chair, arms crossed. "We're going to choose who leads the reading today."

"This is so unnecessary." Minho sighed and obeyed.

Once all the Keepers were grouped at the front, Winston asked in amusement: "What, are we gonna flip coins or something?"

"Not quite, boys," Newt held up a bundle of long white sticks in his hand. Thomas squinted. "We're gonna draw straws."

"No wonder I was missing a bunch of those." Frypan muttered, earning a few laughs from those close enough to hear.

In the end, it was Minho who drew the shortest straw, out of ten Keepers. Thomas and Chuck exchanged amused glances, chortling. Minho looked just as shocked, but decided it was bad luck and accepted his fate. Alby took the first seat, Minho the second, and Newt third.

"So here's how it's going to play out," Alby said loudly. "Minho's going to read the book out loud. I want absolute silence, are we clear?" he gave the crowd the evil eye before going on. "After each page, if you have questions or an opinion or whatever, raise your hand, and say it. Cause any trouble, and you'll be sent back to work."

"Right." Minho sighed dramatically when Alby didn't continue. He flipped through the first few pages and scanned the contents quickly. "Before I start our storytime, let me just point out that this book is freaking messed up. Like, it starts from Page 12 and there's only a few paragraphs given. Then from Page 12, the pages are missing until Page 20, and so on. I'm just saying; you're bound to get confused."

"Also," Minho addressed the nodding crowd. "On behalf of the Council, I might as well use this opportunity to tell you shanks beforehand that this book is written from the point of view of our Greenie right there." he pointed at a red-faced Thomas.

"You'll probably get what I mean after I start reading this klunk book." he continued talking. "Now, nobody knows why the shuck Thomas is special yet, so my advice to you shanks is that you might want to hold back your anger or hatred or whatever until we really know what's up, alright?"

Thomas knew what Minho had just said was to protect him, but all the same, it was still humiliating. His face burnt as he dodged the weird looks thrown at him from all sides. Even Chuck was gaping at him strangely.

"We got plenty of time for goggling later, little boys." Newt rolled his eyes. "Pay attention to Mommy Minho now."

Alby got out his notepad. Minho cleared his throat and began reading.

Newt had barely finished his sentence when a sudden, piercing scream ripped through the air. High and shrill, the barely human shriek echoed across the stone courtyard; every kid in sight turned to look toward the source. Thomas felt his blood turn to icy slush as he realized that the horrible sound came from the wooden building.

Even Newt had jumped as if startled, his forehead creasing in concern.

"Shuck it," he said. "Can't the bloody Med-jacks handle that boy for ten minutes without needin' my help?" He shook his head and lightly kicked Thomas on the foot. "Find Chuckie, tell him he's in charge of your sleepin' arrangements." And then he turned and headed in the direction of the building, running.

"End of Page 12." Minho looked up. "Now hush and let me read the next page as well."

The look was fast—only a few seconds—but it was enough to haunt him forever. A twisted, pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous. Tight, rigid cords of sickly green veins webbed across the boy's body and limbs, like ropes under his skin. Purplish bruises covered the kid, red hives, bloody scratches. His bloodshot eyes bulged, darting back and forth. The image had already burned into Thomas's mind before Alby jumped up, blocking the view but not the moans and screams, pushing Thomas out of the room, then slamming the door shut behind them.

Everybody exchanged wide-eyed glances with one another when Minho was done, their gaze shifting to stare as those mentioned on the pages. Some gaped, shock written on their faces. Thomas felt uncomfortable. Chuck looked awkward that his name was included.

Alby held up a hand, silencing the low murmurs that broke out after Minho had stopped reading.

"This is harder to figure out than we thought," Newt shook his head. sighing. "It's too bloody confusing. We need a more systematic way to do this, or it's not going to work."

"I think you gotta summarize what you've read, man." Winston shouted from the back. "It's hard for us to remember what we've heard the second you finish reading. We can't help much like this." Shouts of approval responded, Alby's threat for their keeping quiet forgotten.

The leader nodded, rubbing his temple. "We'll try anything. We need to break it down, bit by bit."

"Give me a minute, then." Minho grunted, turning back to the book.

"I'll help." Newt scooted his chair closer. The two boys bent over the book, discussing in hushed whispers as they analyzed the pages. The others were silent, waiting; watching.

"Bloody simple klunk, actually." Newt straightened after a few minutes. His face was grim. "Here we go again. Listen up."

Minho sat straighter in his seat. "So, in this scene, we got Newt and Thomas talkin'. In the middle of their cosy little chit-chat, this terrible scream happens." he paused to make sure the others were following him; they were nodding intently. "It says here that the scream came from the wooden building." Minho nodded. "That's gotta be the Homestead."

"We don't got nothin' else." Alby agreed, scribbling down notes. "Gotta be the Homestead."

"Okay. So this scary shriek comes from the Homestead," Minho improvised, glancing down at the book. "After the scream, Newt says, can't the bloody Med-jacks handle that boy for ten minutes without needin' my help?"

"I don't talk like that, idiot." the blonde muttered. Minho had used a high-pitched voice to quote him, who ignored him.

"Then Newt tells Thomas to find Chuck because he's in charge of his sleeping arrangements and runs off. That must mean Thomas is a fellow Newbie in the book—as he is in real life." Minho added as an afterthought. "Take note, ya shanks: according to Book-Newt, the screams are coming from a boy. A Glader, obviously. He also mentions that this screaming boy is in the care of the Med-jacks, so, just as obviously, we can conclude here that this boy is sick."

Thomas felt his stomach tighten with unease as he listened. Excited chatter exploded around him again.

"Shut your holes!" Alby shouted. The Gladers shut their holes.

"As for Page 20," Newt said loudly, "It says here, Alby jumped up, blocking the view but not the moans and screams, pushing Thomas out of the room, then slamming the door shut behind them. That must mean Tommy wasn't allowed into this room in the first place, judging from the way Alby reacted."

"I'd say this room is in the Homestead." Minho exchanged a serious look with his blonde friend. "Where the sick boy is at."

Newt nodded, turning to stare at the other boys. "Our guess here is that Tommy bloody went into this room or something for a certain reason, which made Alby mad." he glanced down at the book again. "Before he was shoved out of the room, Thomas got a glimpse of this sick boy."

"…Pale figure writhing in agony, chest bare and hideous…" Minho continued apace quoting the gruesome description of the ill boy from the book. "…Sickly green veins… purplish bruises… red hives… bloody scratches… bloodshot eyes…"

"Gross." a boy groaned loudly.

Alby suddenly stopped writing, his pencil frozen in his fingers. His dark face turned pale in the weak sunlight as he turned to stare at Minho and Newt, realisation filling his eyes. Minho gave him a nod, confirming the leaders' thoughts.

"As gross at it may be, shanks," Newt said to the Gladers. "This may also be our first clue."

Everyone was silent.

Minho wasn't smiling. "Someone's gonna get stung by a Griever."


A/N: Thanks for the follows and reviews and favourites for the previous chapters! Tell me what you think of this one, I'm nervous x

UPDATE: Please take note that in this story, I changed the time frame a bit aka the time between Thomas's arrival in the Glade & Teresa's. (I made it a month instead of a day.) Besides that, Ben hasn't been stung by a Griever yet; neither has Alby, k? Long story short: everything was rainbows and butterflies in the Glade, besides, y'know, the weird arrival of the book and all.

PS: MERRY CHRISTMAS! ...Or in Glader-style, MARRY NEWTMAS!