Disclaimer: Refer to first chapter.

This does not take place in canon but is canon-compliant.

Sniffling softly, Newt wiped a tear from his eye. He hated the other children. He hated their laughter filled days and need to belittle him. Just a few hours before Sonya, a blond girl of Newt's age, had discovered that Newt was not immune. It was just another difference that separated him from the others. Newt hated being so different compared to all the other children at the WICKED headquarters. First of all, he was British with a thick accent that refused to fade. Second, he was very shy, compared to most of the other children, who enjoyed the noises that filled the cafeteria. He prefered a quiet corner and good book to constant chatter. Finally, Newt wasn't immune; he knew of three other children in the WICKED facilities who weren't immune and none of them had British accents or were shy. It felt to Newt that no one in the world understood his pain.

He continued quietly through the corridors, for he couldn't say silently as he was still sniffling softly. Finally, he reached the room he was looking for. This particular room was one Newt had never been to, situated in an entirely different wing than that he lived in, a room that he had heard the upper scientists speak of in passing and delight. It was a wing he had never explored before, J Wing. Newt had already explored most of the other wings, J being the second last wing there was and the last he would explore. A was for science-y stuff, B for more science-y stuff and all like that until E Wing. E was for the children to live in, G for research, namely a immense library that Newt adored, H for physical activity, I for the large cafeteria and finally J for a unknown purpose.

Newt was anxious to learn what was within the J Wing and probably wouldn't rest until he knew. What Newt did know was that J was the smallest wing in the WICKED facilities and that only a few of the top WICKED staff were allowed within. They all seemed to return pleased with something and that was what Newt wanted to know about.

As the eight-year-old boy crept along the corridor, he came upon a door that seemed promising. On the front was written 31J, the only thing that discerned it from the other doors running along the hall. Nervously, Newt twisted the knob slightly and opened the door. It creaked and he winced softly but continued onwards into the dimly lit room. Within was a lovely little space, perhaps nine foot across and seven wide. In the near corner to the right of the door was a desk with a chair neatly tucked into it. On the desk sat a small computer with a glowing screen displaying an article on the dangerous disease, the Flare. In the far right corner was a wardrobe with all the drawers neatly tucked in tidily with a small pile of books on top of the wardrobe. In the far left corner was what truly fascinated Newt. It was a bed built into the wall. A rug adorned the floor in that area, a deep blue in colour and there was a lamp tucked into the very corner, as though someone spent a lot of time there. What really caught Newt's attention was the soft murmuring that came from the bed. Previously unnoticed, what appeared to be a heap of messy blankets shifted until a head popped out from the blankets, rolling over until a lightly tanned, small face stared out at Newt, eyes wide in a mixture of confusion and delight.

Newt froze.

The boy snuggled deeper into the pile of blankets that cocooned him and looked at Newt curiously, though a hint of worry shone in his hazel eyes. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered softly. "What if the WICKEDs find you?"

Newt grinned over at the seemingly small boy, trying to hide his upset feelings that he felt inside. "They won't find me," he whispered back. "They never do. I'm sorry for waking you, mate. I'm Newt."

"It's fine," the boy yawned sleepily. "I'm Thomas." His voice was interrupted by another yawn. "Wh- why are you here?" He managed between yawns. His face was relaxed a sleepy, shadowed by the blanket he seemed to be trying to disappear beneath. Fluffy brown hair stuck up all over his head as the blankets rose and fell with his breathing. He seemed to notice how Newt hesitated at the door. "Come in. The WICKs don't enter my room without knocking and permission unless it's after six A.M. You can stay a bit if you'd like."

Shyly, Newt stepped into the room and closed the door behind him, glancing into the last corner where a cozy looking chair stood, made from a fuzzy hunter green material. "Thank you," he stated in his soft accent. "I was exploring. When will you comment on my accent?"

Thomas blinked as though confused in his half-awake state. "Why would I comment on your accent?" He asked sleepily, yawning once again. His eyes were partially closed and his fluffy hair had strands hanging into his eyes, his face wearing a sweet and sleepy expression. He seemed slightly younger than Newt, though only by a year or so. He was probably around seven based on Newt's observations, probably just having turned seven. Thomas let out another yawn and Newt smirked softly, not at all tired, though it was a slightly sad smirk. The guy just seemed so innocent.

"Everyone does," Newt mumbled, looking away from the sleepy boy. "All a' them"

Sleepily, Thomas sat up, the pile of blankets falling away from him as he swung his legs out of his bed. "Don't care," he stated calmly. "Everyone's different. Sit. How long 've ya' been here?"

Sadly, Newt sat on the edge of Thomas' bed, enjoying the comfort that the pile of blankets gave him. "Three years," he replied as the brown-haired boy leant sleepily against him, nuzzling into the arm of Newt's fuzzy pyjamas. "How long have you been here?"

"Only two," was the lazily murmured reply. "I was five. Seven now. My parents were cranks."

Newt looked at the boy next to him, surprised. While he did look young, he didn't quite seem so young. He seemed smarter than most kids with the innocence still mixed in, a strange seeming combination. "I've been here three," he offered, answering the unspoken and possibly unmeant question. "I'm eight as of four months ago! My parents were both munies. I'm not."

"Both you're parents were immune?" Thomas asked, seeming intrigued. "I've read something about the possibilities of that. Something about how twice the amount of immunity genes could be something different- unknown. There was a little girl who caught the Flare a couple years back. It made the news since she lasted so long despite being only three. Studies have shown that most children under the age of five who contract the Flare will be dead within the first two months since their minds aren't as developed as an adults; this girl lasted four, unheard of before. A WICKED scientist did the autopsy and they found out a few things. Her parents were both immunes. Her genetic code was like none ever seen before, very similar to immunes but slightly different." He studied Newt curiously from his low vantage point leaning against Newt's arm. "There've been only a few people with two immunes as parents. One is that girl. One is an immune. And you. Last I checked, anyways. The point is there's at least two different possibilities. Newt, that girl wasn't killed by the Flare. When her hair started to fall out and she began to slur and crave human flesh, she killed herself out of her own fear. You know 'bout the munies, of course. As far as the scientists can tell, there's two possibilities for what a person born to two immunes can be like." He continued to nuzzle his head against Newt's soft pyjamas, seeming to enjoy their fluffy quality, similar to his own. "I reckon that if yer not immune, then yer like the girl."

He sighed sleepily and let out a yawn, resting against the taller boy. "They don't know what her genetic code meant exactly, but they do know a few things. I'm so glad I read about this! Anyways, it was a mixture of regular and immune. The link that had been identified as what stopped the Flare from entering their bodies was there, though it had only just woken up in some of the later stages of the Flare. About when the craving for human meat hit." Thomas shuddered and yawned again. "The rest of her genetic code was basically normal. A few of the regular anomalies that are often seen. Lactose intolerance, dust allergy and blah, blah, blah. Newt..." He paused almost nervously. "That girl would have survived."

Newt looked down at the boy beside him in amazement. That was fantastic detail that he had never heard before. It was as though Thomas were a storage room for files of information that might never leave. Yet despite that he still seemed like any other seven-year-old kid, innocent. It was a strange combination as Newt had said before, but there was one thing that he wasn't sure of. "I'm still different: accent, lack of immunity, British."

Thomas, exhausted by then, yawned once again. "I like your accent. It's somethin' different."

Sue me. *SPOILER ALERTS AHEAD DEATH CURE* Newt could have survived yet he killed himself before he did. The reason for both people who would have recovered being so mentally unstable (successfully suicidal, I suppose one would say) is that their genes make it more likely for them to be mentally unstable for some reason. I don't know! I'm just trying to seem at least slightly scientific here. *END SPOILERS*

Please review and give me ideas for future chapters. There will definitely be a few with Ben in them. He's awesome and one of my favourite characters, which may seem odd since he tried to kill Thomas, but I think he's awesome and had been a well-like member of the Glade.

Please review as to which two characters you would like to have meet. I'll take the first review I get and use others later.