The Greenie had a sharp, angular face, with a pointed nose, light eyes, and a tuft of light brown hair. When he came up in the Box he was crying. When Alby whisked him away for the tour, he was blubbering about the knife he found in the Box.

He had asked (well actually screamed) if he was meant to kill himself with it.

Newt spent the rest of the day in his hammock.

The fire roared higher and higher, with laughter mounting higher and higher as well. The Greenie fit in well, and all past hysteria had been forgotten as he did flips in the dancing ring. But Newt sat secluded from the crowd, a glass of Gally's specialty dangling from his grasp, a cloud of dark thoughts circling through his mind, certainly not matching the aesthetic of the evening.

"Hey shuckface, this is not a time for pouting," Alby appeared in front of him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to his feet.

"No, Alby…"

"Listen, I think Greenie would be a good Runner. He's tall and strong. I think you should go talk to him. His name's Hawking."

"What sort of a bloody name is Hawking?"

"I could say the same with the name Newt." Alby shot back.

"He doesn't look much like a Runner. Maybe a Builder. You gotta have smarts to memorize the Maze, and from the looks of him, he looks like he needs directions on how to stand up." Newt knew he was being mean. He didn't care.

Alby's expression darkened. "Well if you're so smart, why don't you go show him what an intelligent conversation looks like?"

Newt grumbled, but stood up, walking slowly towards where Hawking was laughing alongside Gally.

"Hawking."

The other boy turned, an easygoing smile on his face. "Oh hey! Newt right? Alby told me to talk to you."

"Yeah. C'mon."

Newt led Hawking to a quieter spot away from the fire, gesturing to a log to sit on.

"This place is great, isn't it? I mean, the guys, the dancing, the garden…"

Newt felt an instant rush of hatred towards the taller boy. "It isn't all fun and games y'know. You gotta pull your weight. And the only way out of there is through that Maze. Which, by the way, is filled with mechanical spiders that can kill you."

"Well, I-"

"And you liked losing your memories? Anything from your past life, forgotten?"

"No, but-"

"You like being trapped in here with no way out?"

"I thought you said we just have to get through the Maze!"

"Just?!" Newt exclaimed, and let out a hysterical snort of laughter. "You're not a Runner." He stood up and started walking away from the fire, towards the forest.

"Hey wait a minute!"

But the British boy ignored Hawking, making a beeline for the dark, wooded area. What a bloody bastard. He was okay with losing his memories? Forgetting them was what Newt grappled with every damn day. He always tried suppressing it, trying to fill the hole, but he couldn't.

And how could he?

He must have had a family, people wondering where he was now. He must have had friends, a proper bed, good food.

A wonderful life.

He didn't remember who he was.

He didn't remember where he came from.

He didn't even know why he talked so bloody differently than all the others.

It was a hole that was impossible to fill.

And now he knew that there was no way out of here, no way back to even the possibility of his old life.

He felt empty.

Useless.

Worthless.

He didn't know he was crying until he tasted the saltiness of his tears on his lips.

"Newt!"

Newt turned to see Alby running up to him, an livid expression on his face.

"The hell is wrong with you man?" Alby pushed Newt on the chest, causing him to stumble backwards.

"I don't care if you are the Keeper of the shucking Runners, you do not! Talk to your fellow Gladers like that!"

Newt's face scrunched up in an angry scowl, but he wiped away the tears hurriedly with the back of his hand, turning his head so Alby wouldn't see. But the black boy's face softened, and he looked at his friend with concern.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, okay! Why does everybody keep asking me? I'm bloody fine!" Newt yelled.

"Fine! You want to be that way? Don't talk to anybody until you kick whatever mood you're in. Because unless you shape up…" Alby shook his head in disgust. "Then nobody will want to associate themselves with you. Especially me."

Newt suddenly felt like he had been punched in the stomach. Through all these times, the Gladers had stuck together. Newt had had dark thoughts before, but he always had that small lifeline that at least Alby and Minho would be there for him.

And now?

He could see Alby wearing a face of pure fury. He could see Minho, having come running at the voices, wearing an expression of disappointment.

And Newt snapped.

With a yell of fury, he drew his hand back, and hit Alby square in the face, sending the leader tumbling backwards onto the grass.

Damn him and his Glade.

Damn him and his order.

Damn Minho and his Maze running.

Damn the Creators of the Maze.

Damn the loss of memories.

Damn everything in this whole bloody life.

And as Newt ran back to the Homestead, he knew what he had to do.