CHAPTER 20:

"You passed out for a moment." Gally said, his stoic expression hovering over her face, disapproving, "Get up then."

She huffed irritably, heaving herself upwards, "I'm fine. Need water and I'll be good. Why did you need me?"

"You forgot. But there's a bonfire on tonight." Gally responded dully.

She sighed- he was right, she had forgotten about the monthly initiation ceremony for the Greenies- Nico in this case. On top of the influx of political problems, Maze problems and mental problems, she's been struggling to keep up to date with the social aspect of her busy life. Not that there was much in the first place.

"Right, get things ready then."

"Wanted to ask if we could use the saws and tools and all. I know… I know, you keep 'em locked up now."

This was the closest thing to concern she'd get from Gally. A vague surface level acknowledgment of trauma and a brisk moving forward plan. Nothing like his old self.

"Course."

And that was that. Her confirmation.

He nodded, walking away with a military march, where she could already see Frypan's silhouette, stirring and sorting out the food.

She didn't know why she went to the Slammer; perhaps for some sort of closure, remorse, humanity? She didn't know, but before she could logically understand anything, her feet had carried her to his cell, squatting low so she could see his face.

"Came to gloat?" Frank asked, his face pale. He didn't look too good, she observed, feeling a slight drop in her stomach.

"No."

"Then why? Wanna carry on?"

Her lip curled in disgust, "Came to see if you regretted it at all."

He didn't speak.

"Did you." It wasn't a question.

She didn't know what she expected from him. His yellow teeth, dodgy disposition, crawling hands and sweaty smell. She didn't why she came to confront him, as if he'd bawl his apologies and wish she'd give him a second chance.

He grinned, "Feeling confident? Now you've got me trapped like a chicken?"

She grimaced.

"Did you."

His face stayed the same, a battle in his eyes before his mouth opened.

"I wouldn't have wasted my life for a useless shuck faced girl. But I don't regret it, to be honest. I'd have died anyway." He leaned forward, his face stark between the roughly made bars, "There's no way out. Quit killing all the Runners."

"Slim it, klunkhead. You're dead by tomorrow night."

She left.

"Looks like a Slicer." Minho settled, his drink sloshing good naturedly in his mug, the alcohol brewed strong and tangy that night.

Newt nodded, throwing back his own mug. He always revelled in Gally's brew, tossing them back one after another like water, teasing her for her light drinking habits, poking her ego so she'd get "piss drunk."

Still, he was always loose and relaxed and spoke freely- his accent became unintelligible under the influence of alcohol and it was amusing to see him try and converse with the very American Minho.

"Quiet tonight." Newt said, bumping her shoulder lightly.

"Same old, same old." she insisted, waving away his concern. Her heart was lighter and she didn't want anything dark tainting their childish teenage dreams, emulated through the rowdy scuffling, the burning bonfire and of course, the sharp, intoxicating alcohol. It was the very blatant sign of teenage socialisation.

Minho snorted emphatically from her side, shoving a mug into her hands, "Drink up, darlin'."

The phrase felt familiar, but she only rolled her eyes at his obvious defilement of her good, innocent, non-alcoholic ways, tipping the spicy liquid down her throat, almost choking in the process as it burned roughly.

Minho cackled at her face, seemingly finding her pain hilarious.

"It's always the same, ain't it Newt?" Minho snorted, looking over her head at the tall blonde on her side, "Red as klunk face. Shuckface always cries, without even knowing."

"It burns!" Adira protested, setting the jar aside as she felt queasiness hit her. Newt took her mug, somehow still sober.

"We know woman." Minho replied, letting Newt take his half empty mug. At the question in her face he elaborated, "I still have to run tomorrow. I'm not going out there with a hangover- I'll be Griever food 'fore you can say drunk."

Newt laughed before he limped off with a half-hearted excuse, his chocolate eyes trained keenly on the massacre of the Greenie- the true initiation of the Gladers- always resulting in a very drunk, very beat up Greenie surrounded by jeering boys.

"He drinks too much." Adira commented to the air.

Minho chuckled, his voice muffled.

"He must be stopped." she continued blandly, "All that alcohol. Sets a bad example to everyone, especially since he's second in command."

"Cos that means anything." Minho muttered, turning to her suddenly with the air of remembering something important, "You've been remembering stuff, right?"

She nodded, angling herself to him as well, "Shucking wonderful memories."

"The hospital?" Minho asked.

"Yup. Looked right beat up in that."

He stayed silent for a beat, before a wide grin spread on his face, "Dude, I was still shucking hot back then."

She grimaced at him, rejecting his goofy grin, "If your definition of hot is a tortured string bean."

"Not your finest." he chuckled, taking no offence, "But like really, Ad. I was stunning. Gorgeous. I could easily pass as the best male model on earth. Epitome of attractive."

"Your cockiness never ceases to amaze me, Minho."

"Your resistance to my charms never ceases to amaze me, Adira." he retorted quickly, leaning back on the log, eyes full of mischief.

"What charms?" she asked dumbly, "Last I heard, Newt was the one with charm."

"Low blow, Ad. Bringing up another man in front of me? Not cool." Minho whistled, shaking his head in blatant disapproval.

"Effective at shutting you up though." she pointed out, dipping her head at his silent distaste, "I lose brain cells every time you open your mouth."

"That's just rude." Minho huffed, before leaning forward and tapping her head sharply, making her wince angrily, "I'm surprised there's brain cells left up there."

"And you call me rude?" Adira snorted, "You need to fix up your definitions, Min. Just like Newt said- your vocabulary is literally just random nonsense and a bunch of swearing."

"I-I am so offended. I invented an entire shuck language and you treat me like this? Where the shuck is the respect?"

Newt's limping figure re-entered the scene, his eyes wide with primitive excitement as he gestured sporadically for them.

"Look there, Nico's scufflin' with the Glade's wrestler himself!" Newt cheered enthusiastically, his accent practically indiscernible under his heavy tongue, "Wanna catch a glance? We never head up that a-way whenever there's a Bonfire. And the Greenie's so small, he'll need a hand outta the Pit."

Adira turned to Minho, who looked reproachful, "Let's?"

He rolled his eyes but stood up, offering her a hand up, "Fine, m'lady."

She shook her head in fake dissatisfaction at his attempts to sound like Newt as they headed to the cheering crowd, a mass of storming boys, a fray of flailing limbs and aggressive curses and shouts- either support or outright defamation. Points for creativity, she supposed as a particularly graphic yell flew by her.

Minho's figure walking out with the rest of the boys, actually mingling with other people, brought more than a few lingering, confused and awed stares- the Keeper of the Runner interacting with boys outside his close-knit and elite few friends would run the gossip wheel for a solid three weeks at least.

"Don't like this." Minho whined in her ear, glaring at a boy who had begun to approach the Keeper out of sheer curiosity.

"Don't be mean." she chided, "Go and…socialise. You haven't done that since the first Bonfire."

Minho sniffed haughtily in return, but nodded vaguely amicably to a passing boy- Winston- who, to his credit, responded with a normal grin.

"There, boy." Adira grinned, turning backwards to pat Minho on his head, much to his chagrin, "Good going."

Newt's hulking figure loomed up at the front of the crowd, his excited yells echoing back to them. Somehow, the blonde had gone through the crowd and they had only managed to reach the very edge of the rearing mass of people.

"Entertainment, eh? So exciting. There's not even any drinks…" Minho grouched, leaning to speak directly to her without breaking his vocal chords completely. They made their way to the thinnest section of the crowd, so they were facing the pit from the opposite side of where Newt was screaming incoherent phrases, spattered with his usual "Bloody hells!" and "Piss off ya mongrel!", which was by far her favourite term to have ever left the blonde's mouth.

"I thought boys liked this. Y'know fighting? You do it with Newt." Adira said, crossing her arms as a wave of blistering heat from the fire passed over them, carried by the wind.

"Yeah, but that's Newt." Minho grinned, "I don't like these shucks."

Adira opened her mouth to reply-

"Wanna have a go then, pretty boy? See how much you really don't like us?" Gally antagonised, somehow hearing Minho as the cheering crowd quietened in the wake of Nico's spectacular defeat. The Greenie himself staggered out of the pit, unnoticed as the boys' attentions moved to the stand-off between the two men.

Minho stiffened, straightening from his curled position by her ear, muscles immediately tensing for a fight. Gally had obviously had too much to drink, his face a blotchy red in the firelight, angry and irrational.

"You know I'd destroy you Gally." Minho smirked, "This pretty boy fights Grievers, not drunk klunkheads."

"Wanna see that for sure?" Gally spat, "You know you're all talk, Minho. I ain't seen a day where you've gone into the Pit."

Adira merely raised an eyebrow at the amount of testosterone hanging in the air, finally making eye contact with an unconcerned looking Newt. This had been coming for a long time, as far as she was concerned. Just by looking at the two, she could already determine the winner. Gally had strength, yes, huge muscles and a substantial height but that was all, really. Minho on the other hand had strength, speed, agility, cleverness and a tolerance to high stress, adrenaline inducing situations, something that would ultimately lead to Gally's defeat.

"I just said, you idiot." Minho returned, "I. Don't. Fight. Klunkheads. But since you insist, I'll decorate your shuck-ugly face. Couple bruises won't make a difference to ya anyway."

Gally's fists curled by his side threateningly, the veins popping up on his forearms. This would the fight to end all fights.

"In the Pit." Adira interjected, "I don't want anything on common ground. Otherwise I'll count it as breaking the rules."

"Sure, Leader." Minho saluted, grinning at her easily, furtherly enraging Gally.

Now she was at the front of the barely breathing crowd; never before had they faced such a scene, never before had they been slightly uncertain about the winner- it had always been Gally. But now, Minho in the ring was an image of cool confidence, of the real champion of the Pit. Who would win?

Gally struck first, blindly punching at thin air, his eyes screwed up as if in concentration. Minho's face screamed unimpressed, but he side-stepped smoothly, throwing one of his own heavy hits to the Builder's shoulder. The force actually pushed Gally off balance, thrown off by the sudden change in momentum, when only a second ago he's been flying towards Minho. He stumbled heavily, staggering towards the centre of the Pit as Minho jumped lightly on his feet, mocking him.

"Where's the damage, Gally? I need a fight, man." Minho whined, cracking his knuckles threateningly.

Gally's grunt resonated as he threw another punch at Minho, this time managing to connect it with the teen's side. Minho moved a little to the side, but otherwise looked gleeful at the contact.

"Atta boy!" he yelled, ducking as another fist flew his way, managing to awkwardly hit Gally's stomach. He didn't bowl over, grabbing Minho's head in a relatively weak headlock. Minho only twisted himself over in Gally's grip, grinning at the Builder, before slamming his hand into his nose.

Gally roared in pain, hands releasing Minho, who smirked, quickly pulling his leg up and kicking him square on the chest. Adira bit back a laugh.

He was a Runner. The shuck Keeper of Runners. Of course his legs would be stronger than anyone else's in the Glade- he'd played dirty by using his weapons against the practically unarmed Gally.

He fell with a flat thud onto the dirt floor, heaving himself with a glare as he spat efficiently into the soil.

"Better luck next time." Minho said sarcastically, pointing to Gally's torso that was decidedly out of the boundaries of the Pit, "And bring up a fight Gally. That wasn't even a punch."

Brushing his hair irritably, Minho grabbed Adira's arm, giving Newt a significant look as he pulled them out of the throng of gobsmacked boys.

"Ruined my shuck hair…" he muttered irritably, sitting down at the furthest log from the rampaging boys.

"Good fight Minho." Newt chuckled, "Nice to see ya put Gally in his place."

"The shuckface asked for it." Minho snapped.

Adira covered her mouth to hide the beginnings of a laugh.

"Don't laugh." Minho muttered, allowing a small smirk to show, "I bet you liked the show."

He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively and she straightened, looking him straight in the eyes. "Sure did, Min. Veryyy pleasing."

Newt giggled, finally intoxicated, clumsily reaching down to "whisper" in her ear, "Hush, Ad! Your girl is showing."

Minho laughed and Newt passed out onto her lap, whispering odd phrases in his slumber.

"Okay, so no changes."

"As usual." Minho nodded, leaning against the table, "I mean, there's only so much you can map with the Outer Sections but they're looking like they'll turn out to be the same klunk all over."

"Rotations changed?"

"Oh yeah, they repeat in the same way." Minho snorted derisively, "Same klunk again, dude."

"Keep at it." she sighed, working away a knot at the base of her neck, "Nothing more to say, I guess."

Minho shrugged, obviously put out as he filed away the assortment of maps into the corresponding boxes, leaving Adira to stare thoughtfully at the taut muscles moving underneath his thin blue shirt, a replacement for the same piece of clothing that hung loosely off her frame.

"We're banishing him today." Minho said lowly, not turning back as he pressed his hands against the benches, muscles tense.

"We are." she replied simply, automatically closing up.

Minho turned around, catching the hint of ice in her voice as she distanced herself. She was so predictable sometimes. If she had the choice, she'd never show a single emotion for the rest of her life, keeping herself hidden.

"Right." he whistled, sitting on the bench, "Why don't you stop being a shuckface and laugh a little?"

Her mouth quirked upwards against her will, but she walked over to him, sitting on the table that had recently been positioned between them. They faced each other, legs swinging, minds racing, hearts beating as one.

"I feel like the Banishing system is a little…counter-productive." she said, twisting her hair in her fingers absentmindedly. "I mean, I want to keep as many people alive as possible, not kill them."

"That was the aim." Minho agreed.

"Yup." she responded, popping her p, "Except it works. People want their lives, so they won't break rules. In theory."

"And you can't deny you're shucking glad he's Griever food." Minho grinned.

"No, I can't." she said, smiling a little ruefully. "I might feel horrible if I ever get the energy to."

"So…never."

She shrugged, pretending to look guilty, "Shoot me, Min."

"No shooting happenin' round here for as long as I live." Newt said, dramatically entering the Runner's Hut, his long legs reaching the two quickly. He sat next to Adira, "Honestly children, violent behaviour ain't gonna get you nowhere."

"Sorry Mum." Minho responded meekly, leaving the blonde looking exasperated.

"I don't know how many bloody times I'll have to tell the shank, but I'm not the mum of this place." Newt groaned, rolling his eyes.

"It's alright, we only respect you for your position…Mum."

Newt threw his hands in the air, evidently finished with their admirable bantering skills, "Right. Before I lose it, tell me what time we're shoving the kid out."

The mood sobered instantaneously. Adira answered slowly, "When the doors close."

"Right. But when do we get the kid out of the Slammer, who's actually doing the dirty work?"

"All the Keepers. And us too, Newt." Adira replied primly, ignoring Minho's glance of surprise. "And he's to be released in five minutes, by Bill. Sorry I wasn't clear before."

"Ain't no harm done." Newt said in a conciliatory tone, "I'll tell the shank for ya, make sure to be out in three or four minutes, Ad."

She nodded.

Minho looked up, "Keepers?"

"Like an official process, I guess." she explained.

He nodded, looking impressed.

"Let's head out, good that?"

"Good that"

"On my count!" Adira said, not needing to shout in the chilly silence of the darkening Glade. The air was filled with the grinding crunch of the concrete walls sliding shut, the grating sound peaking the Gladers' nerves as the Keepers stabbed long sticks at the unresisting Frank. It was a scene straight from the Lord of the Flies itself, the wild buzz ringing in their ears as the soft flesh of the human they were betraying yielded under the storm of cries for justice.

"3, 2, 1!"

Frank's mind suddenly switched, his panic catching up to him, as he turned around, only to be met with harsh opposition. They pressed on him, and his haunted, weeping face and his eerie cry of fear was imprinted into their memories forever. The final thud of the doors shut off his pitiful yell.

"Good as dead." Gally said, spitting at the floor, taking his stick with him as he marched away. His Builders followed, some of the smaller boys lagging behind as their scared, trembling voices conjoined in a harmony of questions, quavers of fear reaching Adira's ears.

She straightened, "Head off to bed. Like the shank said. He's as good as dead now."

As if to punctuate her point, the metallic screech of a Griever pierced the confused terror of the Glade and the boys scurried away from the walls, leaving Newt standing by her side.

"We shouldn't hang around here for any longer than we need." Newt said, "Ain't no saying if a Griever pops up those walls and spots us for tea."

She let her lips quirk upwards, "Tea?"

"Dinner. Whatever." Newt said, his face light, though unsmiling, "I change one thing and you all get so bloody confused."

She nodded, "Gotta adapt Newton."

His eyes misted over for a moment, blank as he reminisced the Banishing. "Gotta adapt."

They walked beside the treeline of the Deadheads, both quiet as they mulled over deep problems in their minds, both leaders united in their worry for morality and society. Frank's blood stained their hands, no doubt, but was it allowed to have no effect on them? She, for sure felt nothing. No joy, no shame, no guilt. Nothing. Just a faraway sadness that a boy's life had ended on such bad terms.

"Where's Minho?" Newt asked.

"I don't know." she murmured, frowning, "I didn't see where he went."

"The man disappears every shuck five seconds." Newt commented, absentmindedly reaching up for an apple. He offered one, the cherry red skin beckoning her attention and she agreed happily, relishing the snappy crunch of the fruit.

"You glad?"

She chewed thoughtfully, dropping to the floor, "No. I don't feel anything."

Surprisingly, Newt only nodded, his chocolate eyes serene and dark as the sun fell behind the Walls. He turned to her, his face concealed in the fading light, "I saw you talking to Frank."

Ah. There it was. The small nugget of information he'd been analysing over and over. A textbook over thinker, if there ever was one.

"Just asked him things." she said, smiling at him, "Nothing worth mentioning."

He looped his arm over her shoulder, pulling her in for a side hug as he nodded, "Alright then, Leader."

"We should get to bed." she muttered quietly, not moving from their position at the base of the tree.

"We'll sleep here." Newt mumbled reassuringly, "Been having…dreams, Ad. I'd rather not go back inside and have 'em all over again 'specially after Frank."

She didn't reply as her eyes shut on their own accord, her head falling into the familiar nook where she nestled her head near Newt's neck and shoulder, warmth and sleep falling over like a curtain in the Glade as they chose to put their trust in the law and order of the Glade.

Newt's serious face stared back at her, his warm chocolate eyes decidedly flat in the vaporising heat of the kitchens and the potency of the overdue news he'd just received from Minho, a couple hours back.

"Only brings on a whole lot more trouble, moving walls. Bloody brilliant, those Creators, I tell ya." he said, shaking his head disbelievingly, shoulders carrying the familiar haunting experience of Running.

Adira slapped him on the shoulder, grinning lightly, "Don't take it too hard, Newton."

"Right." he replied, rolling his eyes, "That's about as easy to say as getting out of this shuck place."

Adira sighed, hitting his head with her customary hard knock. Newt wasn't overly optimistic; he had a more rational, cheerier view of the world, but occasionally, he'd slip into pessimism so strong it put Gally to shame. A hard knock, good talking to and a dose of reality usually snapped him out of his darkness.

"Ain't no time for sympathies, Newt." she said, not unkindly, repeating the words she knew he wanted her to say, "It ain't easy, trust me, I know, but we gotta keep going, if not for us, then for them, the Gladers. Moving walls? Ain't go nothing on us."

Stepping back, she crossed her arms, "We need an action plan, something to prevent Runners dying if they go up to the Outer sections. Probably have to talk it over with Minho, too, but let's brainstorm, yeah?"

Newt nodded, scratching the side of his jaw, "Right. Onwards and upwards, then."

She could tell he was trying to brush off the worry and pain that the Maze brought him, fighting his inner chaos with a perfectly executed nonchalance, but she let him be, instead offering him work to distract himself.

"I'll talk to Clint, be back in two ticks." Newt said, suddenly, as he limped out of the kitchens, striding with a renewed sense of motivation. She didn't stop his determined walk, choosing to help around the Glade as her daily routine demanded. The Glade wasn't an easy place to live in, and everyone, even the Leader had to pull their weight around doing the laborious, physical tasks in the place. Sure, she had more to do than everyone else, but her authority only needed evidence, which she could only gladly provide. Working wasn't a chore for her, it was good for the mind, soul and more practically, her muscles and the burn through her arms and legs was welcome despite its torturous pain.

"Good mornin' Adira." a small voice greeted from somewhere beneath her, hesitant but eager.

She looked down, surprised to find the Greenie, Nico, watching her with a hopeful expression on his pale, almost aristocratic features. Judging by the eagerness in his actions, she assumed that he was already going through the hard month as a Greenie, complete with Grievers and intense initiation bullying with Gally's ugly, squashed face leering at his mortification. She could stop the boys from causing physical harm, but bullying? It was beyond her scope of capability and considering that the teasing only lasted for a month, she let it be, stepping in, only, when it escalated.

"Morning, Greenie." she replied, pleasantly, even offering a small smile. She couldn't explain the emotion, but she had a distinct need to guide Nico, protect him, even. Based on her past, she didn't find it too preposterous to speculate that she had known Nico pre-Glade; after all, the feelings she had associated with Newt weren't a hoax. Then there was Minho, of course, but that had been induced by the Creators after they'd shucked up and given them double Swipes.

Nico's pale face broke into a magnificent smile, teeth and all as he walked up beside her. A stab of anger shot through her as she observed the hidden fear in his eyes and the trembling in his hands, the usual tell-tale signs of a Greenie trying to fit into the harsh routine of Glade life. The boy wasn't much older than her- the youngest in the Glade, probably- and he was slightly shorter than her, although lanky, the way pre-pubescent boys were.

"Trying out today, aren't ya?" she asked, suddenly realising that Newt was preoccupied with his conversation with Clint. No one had been prepared to guide Nico around the Glade and she was vaguely shocked to find guilt resonating within her for the thoughtless action.

"Trying out? For…for what?" Nico asked, his voice high and young.

"For jobs, Greenie." she said, turning to him, hands on hips. "You need to work 'round here- everyone works, slacking ain't tolerated one bit, otherwise it's the Slammer for you."

"Newt told me." Nico replied, nodding with a sombreness that could only ever be procured from a young, sensitive mind, innocent and untainted. "Told me the three rules of the Glade."

"Best you remember them." Adira warned, "Ain't no place here for rule breakers."

Nico nodded and she remembered that he had been very much present at Frank's Banishing. Clearing her throat she continued, "I'll take you to the Slicers first-"

"Slicers?" Nico interrupted, converting into an apparition, "All that blood?"

She managed a grin, covering up her genuine guilt for sending him into the Blood pit. Other Greenies, she hadn't been so lenient with, but Nico…there was an aura around him that compelled her to keep him far, far away from danger and decay. Still, she couldn't play favourites.

"S' a tradition 'round here, Greenie. All of you try out at Winston's for a day- see how long you last."

Nico seemed to stagger in his steps, but he quickly trotted up to her side, following her brisk stride with admirable composure, "I'll do it then, but you can't blame me if I go vegetarian."

She smiled in amusement, "That's an argument you have to have with Fry. The man sorts out the dinner rotas and trust me- if there ever was a meat-lover, it was Frypan, swear on the shuck Creators."

Nico grimaced, waving in solemn goodbye as he walked into the aptly nicknamed Blood pit, where the steely tang of blood wove the fibres of the very structure erected to house dead animals.

Watching his back turn away and meet Winston, she allowed herself to slip out of sight, heading towards the Gardens, where she usually started her mornings, often getting a report on the state of the vegetables from Calvin and at around lunch, reporting the news to Frypan.

The wet soil's scent was normally a calming smell, bitter, earthy and grounding and she was relieved to be ensconced in the familiar aroma again as her work started.

"Adira!" Calvin's voice rang out, as he jogged over to her, "Tell Fry the crops look good, no need to worry this month."

"Good to hear Cal." She nodded, "I'll tell Fry."

"Can always count on you." Calvin replied, smiling in gratitude, before yelling at the Track hoes to continue working hard, the revengeful sun bearing down on their backs, searing its mark into their skin. Just another day. Another day of endless work and fading hope. But a brave face and distarction would solve it. Hopefully.