The mechanical whirring and clanking were what jolted the girl from her unconscious state. Her eyes shot open and as she sat up to draw in a deep breath, she immediately curled over into a fit of coughing. Her throat, dry and itching, burned as if someone had recently poured sand and boiling water down it. Through the tears that blurred her vision, she tried to get a glimpse of her surroundings.

For the most part, darkness enveloped her. The only light came from fleeting florescent lights whooshing past from the top of this cage she seemed to be in to the bottom of the cage, giving her the idea that she was ascending. But ascending from where? Another light passed and she focused on the chain-link design that separated her from the lights.

Once the thickness in her throat had been mostly cleared, the girl croaked out a pathetic, "Help!" The metallic sounds around her drowned out her voice. "Can anybody hear me?!" Again, it was as if her voice stopped at her lips.

Trembling, she slowly pulled herself to her feet. Everything felt so disorienting, even standing straight gave her an odd sense of vertigo and nausea. Her head spun and she tried to ignore the growing headache above her left eye.

She wished all the jarring movements and overwhelming noises would stop. Silence and stillness. That's what she wanted. And to figure out what the hell was going on and where she was going.

As if some unknown force had granted her wishes, one final screech echoed around her, causing her to clamp her hands over her ears to muffle it. The platform she stood upon rattled and came to an abrupt halt. The girl yelped in surprise, lost her balance, and tumbled to the surface that supported her. She drew in a hissed breath and pressed a palm to the dull ache on her thigh where the majority of her body weight had landed.

The darkness came again. Pure, maddening darkness without the relief of the lights. The girl waited, the only sound around her now coming from her own mouth in short, scared huffs. Then, a blinding line of light appeared above her, expanding with a grinding force. Her eyes burned at it, and she brought her free arm up to shield herself from the rays pouring into the cage that held her.

More voices filled her ears. At first, they seemed playful, mixed with some laughter and questions she couldn't quite make out; their voices sounded muddled as if they were underwater. As the giggles died down and her eyes adjusted to the harsh sunlight, she sat up straighter, tried to get her bearings.

"Is that... a chick?"

"What does it look like, shank? Doesn't look like any one of us."

The girl, now more horrified than she had been in the darkness, pushed herself back toward a corner of the cage as two boys dropped down onto the top of her enclosure. One, a slender blonde, crouched down to get a better look at her. The girl met his eyes, trying to rid herself of the knot of fear that had settled itself in the pit of her stomach. They were a warm honey brown, wide and curious as he tilted his head.

The other boy, dark-skinned with a frustrated grimace etched into his face, reached down to grip what seemed to be a handle. "We gotta get her out," he decided.

The blonde tore his gaze away from the girl, though she couldn't look away from him as the pair of boys wrenched open the top of the cage. Slowly, she stood and took in the sight around her. An army of boys, at least thirty of them from what she could see, surrounded the opening in the ground that she had emerged from. She couldn't tell how old they were; some looked very young as if they hadn't yet hit puberty, and others sported stubble on their face or actual beginnings of full beards.

And they all stared at her as if she were some sort of wild animal.

"What the hell are we supposed to do with a girl?"

"Slim it! Maybe she's entertainment."

"You're jacked, man!"

"They didn't even send up any supplies! What gives?!"

As the boys began to turn to talk amongst themselves, each with their own comment or idea as to why she was there, the girl pivoted, frantically trying to catch her breath, and stopped when she caught sight of the blonde boy. His held an outstretched hand toward her to help her onto the solid, grassy ground. However, instead of accepting his hand, she turned in the opposite direction, crawled up onto her hands and knees, and bolted between the sea of bodies, knocking some boys into each other and onto their backsides.

Getting through them proved to be more difficult than she'd anticipated; some boys had sturdier legs than others while some tried to reach down to grab her. She let out a piercing scream and kicked them away, almost certain that her foot connected with one of their noses. Once she made it through the majority of them, she pushed herself back onto two feet and launched into a sprint, shoving a few boys out of her way as she went.

She had no clue where she was going – there was so much to take in all at once. Gigantic stone walls decorated with lush ivy that surrounded the area on all four sides aside from large openings in each that led to nowhere, farm animals grazing in a ramshackle pen a few yards away near a thriving garden, a forest tucked away in one of the four corners. The girl's eyes locked onto the first sort of shelter she saw: a dilapidated shack, put together with haphazardly placed pieces of wood and rocks near workbenches of varying sizes and shapes. The sharp pain in her head grew with each step she took toward it. She ignored the snarky laughter and comments from the boys as some of them ran after her. The rest stayed behind to watch what was going to happen next.

"She's headin' for the Homestead!"

"Get her!"

"Let the Greenie go! She ain't gonna get far!"

"Betcha Alby'll get her first."

As soon as she approached the shack, the girl rammed the door open with her shoulder, her head whipping side to side to take in her surroundings. The interior felt even more depressing than what the exterior looked like: the walls were covered with dark peeling wallpaper, trickles of light poured in from the thin cracks in the walls between wooden planks and the holes that apparently served as windows. An unreliable-looking staircase made of logs, exposed nails, and silver duct tape sat proudly before her. Against her instincts, she bolted up the stairs, wincing with each squeak and crack of the wood beneath her feet.

Outside, the group of boys were quickly approaching the Homestead. They were eager, curious to get close to the girl. Maybe she knew the reason why they were all stuck here and why their memories were gone? That had to be the only explanation of why the Creators would send her; it had always been a boy every month for as long as any of them could remember. What if she truly was a boy, but sounded and looked like a girl?

"Hold it!"

The commanding voice brought the group of boys to a stop. Limping slightly, Newt jogged from behind the lot to stand between them and the two-story shack they were headed for. Before speaking again, he took a moment to peer at the Homestead and catch his breath.

"You can't bloody rush her like that," he said, turning back to the boys. "You're gonna scare her and make her klunk herself, if she hasn't already."

"So, what's the plan then?" another boy chimed in. He'd been one of the newer boys to arrive; he'd only been there for about two months. "Just let her hole herself up in the Homestead? I say we go in there and drag her Greenie ass out!"

Frustration shot through Newt at the kid and at himself. The boy didn't quite understand the ranking system in the Glade yet. It was either that, or he chose to ignore it completely. But he had a point: what was the plan?

After a brief moment of silence, Newt replied, "I'll go get her." The other boy opened his mouth in protest, but Newt cut him off before he had the chance. "If all of you shanks go bangin' in there, it'll make the whole thing worse. We don't know what she can do. She could be crazy."

Much to the boy's dismay, the others began to nod and mutter in agreeance. Newt gave them no time to change their minds. He turned on his heel and walked toward the homestead, his heart hammering away in his ears. He had no clue what to expect when he found her. She could be in there right now trashing the place or worse...

Newt shook his head at the thought that had popped into his mind: what if she'd already found a way to end her time here, like the boy who'd come up from the Box six months ago? The poor shank hadn't even been in the Glade a full day before finding a sheet to hang himself with. Or like he himself almost did when he first came into the Glade? His leg and heart ached at the horrifying idea of it.

Newt approached the threshold, pausing to glance back at the other boys. They stood in a collective stillness, watching and waiting. With a strong exhale, Newt entered the shack.

"Hello?" he called out, scanning the room for any damage. Other than constantly looking as if the place were falling apart, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. He began his climb up the stairs, taking each step carefully and avoiding the grating squeak of the fourth step. "You alive?"

There was no response, other than the usual noises of the Glade as some of the boys returned to their chores. Things still needed to get done if they were to continue to survive the way they had, new girl or no.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Newt had a moment of doubt. What if she wasn't even in the Homestead anymore? She could've hopped out the window and ran into the Maze. He hoped that wasn't the case; it'd be very unfortunate if she found out about all the horrors before anyone had the chance to warn her.

Pushing open the first door to his right, Newt listened for any sign that she was still here. If she was, she was very good at silence.

"Hello?" he tried again. He entered the room – Minho's room – and turned in a half circle before exiting. Out of all the Keepers, Minho was the most private about his room, so Newt made a point to not stay in it long at all.

He continued down the hallway and froze as a thud sounded to the door on his left. His room. Placing a hand on the closed door, Newt swallowed hard, forcing the lump of fear down. He mentally counted down from three before nudging it open.

The girl sat crouched in the far corner, a dull switchblade clasped in both hands between her legs. Newt glanced at the tip of the blade pointed at him and slowly raised his hands. "S'all right," he said softly, offering an amiable smile. "I ain't gonna hurt ya."

He felt a pang of pity for her as he did for all the boys during their first three days of arriving at the Glade. But this was different; he'd never seen the boys look so hopeless and wild, as if she could implode on herself at any given minute.

The girl refused to lower the blade she'd found in one of the other rooms. She didn't think it could do much harm if he came at her, but at least it was something. Studying him closely, she tried to calm the shaking of her hands. The last thing she wanted was for him to see just how afraid she was. People were capable of horrendous things when they used others' fear against them.

The boy studied her as well; his dark gaze trailing from her head to her feet, then back again. Her own gaze fell on a machete tied to his hip. Immediately, the boy reached down to place a hand against it.

"This probably ain't helpin' my case," he commented, pulling it from its bindings. Inch by inch, he lowered himself down into a crouch, setting the weapon on the ground.

He spoke with a strange accent that seemed familiar to the girl, but somehow as alien as she felt here. Had she heard something like it before?

"Give it to me," the girl demanded, forcing as much confidence into her voice as she could. It wasn't much. Her words nearly faltered and her throat still burned.

Nodding, the boy slid the machete toward her. She wasted no time grabbing the hilt, dropping the switchblade near her hip, and pointing her new line of defense at him. He didn't stand, but continued to keep his hands in the air so she could see there was nothing else on his person that could hurt her.

They locked stares and for a fleeting moment, the girl felt some relief. She studied him swiftly: he had a fair complexion, complimented by his tousled flaxen hair and dark eyes. The clothes he wore were tattered and dirty in some spots, as if he'd been wearing them for a few days. They seemed too big for him; his shirt hung from his slim body, revealing a muscled neck and a portion of his chest while his pants were secured to his waist by a piece of fraying rope. She couldn't place his age; he had to be somewhere between sixteen and nineteen, telling from his height and the distant sight of hair growing on his chin.

"My name's Newt," the boy said. "Do ya...remember yours?"

For the first time since being forced awake, the girl realized she hadn't even had a calm moment to think about something like that. She racked her brain for an answer to Newt's question, but instead of finding a name, a void met her. She dove further. How did she get here? Where was she? Who was she? It was as if someone had removed crucial pieces of the puzzle that formed her existence.

"I..." The girl blinked furiously, trying to rid herself of the tears of panic that began to gather in her eyes. Her hands started to tremble even more.

"S'okay," Newt offered patiently. "None of us remember at first. It'll come back to ya soon enough."

"Where am I?" she hissed. "What is this place?"

She watched his left cheek concave as he chewed on the inside of it. He was nervous, possibly afraid of her. That thought empowered her, though she knew if anything were to break out between the two, she'd either surrender within seconds or he'd end her. She hardly knew her own self, but something deep within her alerted her that she wasn't a fighter in any sense of the word.

"We call it the Glade," Newt replied. "Look, I know you're scared—"

"I'm not scared," she lied.

Newt took a moment before continuing, thinking his next words over carefully. "...we're all scared when we first come up. It'll get better, always does." He tried not to think of the boy who'd failed to end his life, or the one who succeeded, as he glanced around his room, looking for anything she could use against herself. For the most part, it was barren, aside from the rarely used bed and a trunk he stored his spare clothing in. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that she would refuse to give up both weapons she now possessed.

"Newt!" a voice called from the first floor. "Ya got her yet?!"

Just as he'd predicted, the presence of another Glader did in fact make everything worse. The girl's breathing quickened, her eyes widened, and she instantly began to look for any place to escape. Newt's room hardly had a window for her to jump out of – it was simply a thin sliver between two pieces of wood.

"Hey, hey," Newt whispered to her, beginning to advance on her to...to...to do what, exactly? He had no plan if he got close enough.

Before he could have the chance, however, the girl swung the machete at him. Luckily, she was too far to make any contact with his body. Newt stumbled away, nearly falling onto his backside. "Tell him to get lost," she ordered. She gave up on trying to mask the fear in her voice. She was downright terrified of this place, of these boys, of him. "You too."

"Kick rocks, Gally!" Newt shouted over his shoulder. At first, he didn't move. He just stared the girl down, watching her past the point of the machete that could very easily end his life. The only sounds between the two were their ragged breathing as they listened to the boy downstairs scoff and his footsteps receding.

The girl narrowed her eyes into a furious glare. "Get. Lost."

"Okay, okay," Newt said, finally backward stepping into the hallway and toward the stairs. "This is my room, so don't trash it, 'kay?" He meant it lightly, but her glare did not lessen. "Stay as long as ya need. I'll make sure these bloody shanks don't bother ya."

As he left, Newt pulled the door closed behind him. The girl stayed still, waiting for more visitors, but it seemed that nobody else was going to come looking for her. He stayed true to his word, and as she listened to him yell at the other boys to not go near the Homestead, whatever that was, she slowly lowered the machete to her side. Her joints felt stiff and painful in places where she'd braced herself for the unknown. She sat on the bed, holding the weapon downward between her legs.

She stared at the door, still searching for herself. Reaching up to grab a lock of her hair, she rubbed the copper strands between her dirt-caked fingers and pulled them as straight as they would go, just past her chin. She couldn't even remember what she looked like. She hadn't seen any mirrors when she was desperately trying to find a hiding place within this shack. Did any of the boys know what they looked like, or maybe they simply just didn't care?

She thought back to her first exposure to the lot of them. Compared to them, how old was she, exactly? She ran her hand up and down her face, touching her narrow nose, her thin eyebrows, her sunken cheeks. There didn't seem to be much of that baby fat that flashed through her mind on another person. Whoever that person was, she couldn't place them. In her mind's eye, their face had been blurred. The source of her headache seemed to be from a fresh bruise surrounding her left eye that made her flinch as she pressed it. She felt a crusted scab on her lip and trailed it with her tongue. How old was that cut?

The girl had to be at least seventeen, she decided as she peered down at her breasts and her legs. A few scars decorated her skin, but nothing that appeared to be too serious. She wondered how she'd gotten them. Even her arms, aside from the new scrapes and scratches she now sported thanks to the trip up to the Glade and rummaging around the rooms of...what did they call this place? The Homestead? Even her arms were free from any wounds.

The adrenaline of the last twenty minutes began to wear off and her body suddenly felt sluggish. She leaned back onto the bed, yearning for sleep. Even if the bed had been at least bit comfortable – it felt as if someone had stuffed fabrics and old hay underneath a few blankets – she couldn't bring herself to do anything except watch the door, listening to the activity happening all around her outside of the shack.

Hours later, knuckles rapping on the door startled her from her daze. In an instant, she was back on her feet, holding the machete between her and whoever she was going to face.

"Leave me alone!"

The knocking came again.

⥈

Hey all! So, this is my first fic in about six years. I decided to give up fanfiction a long time ago due to just...y'know, normal things: jobs, family, life itself. 

Lately, though, the writing itch has been driving me crazy and I recently fell back into my old obsession of The Maze Runner and sweet Newt. So here we are!

I'm hoping to have a chapter out each week. If anyone is good at making covers, please let me know!