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.*･｡. FLARES! .*･｡.
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001.
MEDJACK.

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MONTH PRIOR

Kennedy sighed.

"Day seven-hundred and thirty... a whole two years, and I still got no other girls in that damn box. What's a girl gotta do, huh?"

Brushing a hand through the knots in her hair, raking back the waves with her fingers as a comb, she continued her way towards the box with a forced smile on her lips. Only moment ago had she been interrupted by the greenie alarm while bandaging Winston's hand — again! — and sent Jeff and Clint ahead of her. They had quickly come back baring news of a boy.

Was it a crime to want another girl? Just for once?

   Shaking the thought from her mind, she approached the box in record time. There were a few boys gathered around, lingering to keep tabs on the greenie while they awaited her arrival. She rose a brow; "What do we got us, boys?"

"Young one," Gally said.

"Think he klunked himself," Fry added.

Kennedy rolled her eyes and grabbed Gally's hand, allowing him to lower her down until six inches remained beneath the souls of her boots and the box. She dropped down from the tarmac square with a light thump! and landed onto the metal base with both knees bent, as to ease the jolt of her bones that it stinted her kneecaps. A smile so sweet it was sickly, and a heart of shining gold were always what the newest greenies needed — or, so the group of kids found over the time they had all been in the glade. And that had been an awfully long time, for some of them. Kennedy included.

Arrivals had started running much more smoothly when the one, and only, girl of the glade had made her appearance. Since the boy who had come after her had stopped fending off all the other kids that came near him when Kennedy jumped into the box and soon hushed his hysterics, it had become a common occurrence for her to greet greenies. It proved to be comforting; when she got herself into the box and struck up conversation with whatever kid was the newest of the bunch; the current boys agreed that seeing a face as heavenly as Kennedy's in this midst of madness had calmed them, and they could only assume it was some kind of maternal thing. As if she were motherly — which, she supposed she was. Although the boys didn't remember their mothers, they knew they must have had one. Once upon a time.

   Kennedy could only assume that, in a time of panic, the boys craved their mother, and she was the closest thing that they had.

Either way, arrival went smoothly with Kennedy around. Thus, it had almost immediately been made her duty to greet each and every panicking soul that turned up, monthly.

   The rest of the boys had always been slightly too intimidating for job — especially Gally, who often liked to pretend the newbie had sent been sent to hell and that he was Lucifer (there was a lot tears with that one) — and, quite naturally, the terrified teens always felt much safer with someone who could be the opposite. Newt would have been good for the job, and he was when Kennedy was busy as a bee, but he hadn't quite the smile that she did. And, as according to the skinny blond himself, that smile was a must have.

Straightening her posture, Kennedy edged closer to the boy who trembled so harshly that his curls bounced atop his head. She was sure to make no sudden movements; the kid seemed terrified, and she wasn't sure of the last time a newbie seemed so scared. It must have been a long time ago.

"Hiya, greenie."

"Who are you?"

"Kennedy," she spoke softly. "How ya feeling?"

"Whe— where am I?" He whispered, voice shaky and uneven as he peered over and up at the girl.

"You're in the glade," Kennedy hummed. He was younger, she noted. Younger than most of the kids they had, here. Taking one small step forward, the girl smiled in hopes of easing those nerves even remotely. "Don't worry, we ain't gonna hurt you, or nothin'. Y'know— we've actually all been through this, too. Scary, ain't it?"

Nodding, the boy squinted; "What's the glade?"

"You're in it," she said, "It's not so bad, here. Everyone's nice, just like you and me. Well— apart from Gally, he's a giant klunk."

A scoff was heard from somewhere above them, to the left.

"Hey— I heard that!"

"You were supposed to!"

The kid snickered lightly, and Kennedy looked back at him with a grin on her lips. He was a cutie, she had to admit. A little chubby and greasy, but a real cutie, regardless.

"What's it like?" His eyes flickered to the top of the box, where the light shone in his eyes and made him momentarily blind. The boy blinked a few times, and then looked back to the older girl still in from of him. "I mean— what's it like, up there?"

Kennedy gently reached out a hand, "How about you come see it, for yourself?"

When he simply stared at it nervously, the girl flexed her fingers and gave them a playful wiggle. It got a small smile. A moment of consideration passed over him before he finally grabbed her hand in his smaller and chubbier one, and let her pull him up to a stand. The process played out as it always did, when a newbie showed up in that box. She coaxed him out with a smile, made him feel more at ease with her personality, and then swiftly handed the kid over to Newt (Alby was busy in the map room, today) once he was able to breathe without her hospitality as life support. Same plan, same day, same story. But it was always a different month with a different greenie, and not a single other girl.

Other than that, it never changed.

Not since Kennedy had been there, anyway.

   It was a good role. Other than her medjack status, she was glad that she had gotten one that filled her with pride and warmth. She was lucky to have two jobs — not many in the glade did, only few of the keepers that were needed elsewhere. Newt had two jobs, his second-in-command role as well as keeper of the gardens, and she heard Gally was known to help out the slicers, here and there. His stomach was scarily steady. That was mostly it, really.

Comforting those in need had always been quite a strong point of Kennedy's, a strength amongst limited weaknesses. To say that she didn't enjoy looking after troubled greenies would have been a lie, for the gratifying feeling was one that she was sure to miss if it ceased to continue. To watch a greenie so weak and feeble blossom into a strong and confident glader had to be the best film to play in their little kingdom, right before her eyes. She would never pass up that opportunity, not in a million years; Kennedy flourished in that burst of panic, as her heart held the ability to extinguish that fiery fear burning the edges of someone's soul. She excelled when there was hysteria. She wasn't sure why, but she did. Kennedy was always good, like that. When greenies looked for the light, she was the one ready and waiting for them.

   Kennedy had always been a flare — bright eyed, sparkling heart, and ready to save a life.

   However, Kennedy couldn't hide the slight disappointment she felt each month. Despite the grin on her lips, she would always be heartbroken that the new greenie wasn't a girl.

It was a feeling that she couldn't quite describe. A hot, burning disappointment; a nauseating flip of her stomach, whenever that box was opened. She couldn't help it. With the endless list of said disappointments, came endless lists of angsty, teenage boys. Boys.

She loved the boys, of course, but they weren't like her. Not in that sense — Kennedy wouldn't trade them for a world, but when the sixth arrival since her own had been another boy, the girl had since always wondered why. It was a concept that always confused her deeply, a question that would never get an answer. Kennedy'd been asking it for years.

   Why had she always been the only girl?

"Kennedy!"

For a moment, Kennedy remained unmoving and in thought.

"Oi— Ken! Head out the clouds!" The same voice called, not so far from where she stood still pondering, as per usual. "Hey! Wakey wakey, angel face!"

She jumped out of her daze quickly, scowling at their taunting, and pretended to be brushing the imaginary dirt from her pants.

   It was no secret in the glade that Kennedy had a habit of zoning in and out, a preference to listen to her heart and soul rather than those speaking around her. Zoning out hadn't been purposeful— it was simply an occurrence from her the other boys in the glade had gotten used to. Kennedy wasn't ditsy; no, she had a strong mind on her and a fierce will power, but it proved hard to not get caught up in your thoughts, after spending a long two years in the same glade doing the exact same things.

   It gave her a lot to think about, really.

And time to do it.

   Spinning on her booted foot, Kennedy's warm eyes followed the the voice. She hadn't needed to look to know who it was, especially considering they had spent that long two years together, and thus a voice like that was unforgettable; she knew his voice like it was her own; but according to him it was less rude to look at him when they spoke, as opposed to the open air, or whatever pretty thing that she could see in the clouds.

"Newt!" She smiled at him as he drew closers, naturally cherry cheeks framing it beautifully. Kennedy then squinted at him with a playful glare, "I'll ignore ya calling me angel face, as long as you tell me how my greenie's doing."

   Newt rolled his eyes fondly, "Seems to have settled in fine, other than klunking his pants."

Kennedy grimaced, "Poor shuck..."

"Chubby little thing, he is." Newt remarked, though they often were when they first came up in the box. "I'll say, he's pretty good at adjusting, though. Even remembers his own bloody name!"

    "Already?" She furrowed her brows, excited at the idea but also confused by it. They all knew that it wasn't common for a greenie to remember their name so quickly — they certainly hadn't — and it usually took a couple of days. Although Kennedy was happy for him, all the same. "Good that, what was it?"

"Chuck."

"Chuck?"

Newt nodded, "Must be that charm, of yours."

   She merely laughed at the comment.

It was incredibly obvious that he had not recalled his memory so soon due to her doing, but she appreciated the ideas, nonetheless.

"Maybe," Kennedy shrugged modestly, watching as he began to walk, only taking a pause to tilt his head for her follow along on his right. The pair proceeded to leisure their way towards the gardens — when she really should've gone back the the medjack hut — and she prodded his skinny side with the tip her finger. "Wonder why it took you so long then— ay?"

"You weren't even around when I remembered my name!"

   It was true, what he had said. Kennedy hadn't been around when Newt remembered his name. Kennedy hadn't even arrived in the damn glade, yet. She hadn't, no, but that didn't mean that she didn't find it amusing to tease him.

   Kennedy had been the greenie right after Newt, during the early days of their glade. From the minute that the boy had jumped into the box to greet her, and then quickly retreated up to the top when she had thrown an apple at him, he had very much been her safety net. Newt was someone to keep her company, to talk to on the bad days. Someone who could deal with her temper and passion when it occasionally flew through the roof, a person who was able to sit the longest times in silence with her when she just needed someone to be there, but not speak. In the place they were, everyone needed a friend — someone who was going to have their back through thick and thin, and Newt had just so happened to be hers.

He was her everything, in that glade.

   Sometimes Kennedy was convinced they had known each other in their past lives — before the glade, before any of this. She liked to believe it even if it was kinda absurd, wondering if it had indeed been that way. Kindred spirits, they were; a dynamic duo of purest souls. Surely they must have met somewhere along the line in their crazy lives, but she would never really know for sure. That hurt her, the most. Never knowing.

   But the pair were watchful of one another, inseparable and stuck at the hip, and that was all they really needed.

"It took you two weeks!" She continued to tug at his leg, trying to frustrate him. It was working, too; something Kennedy had always found great joy in. "Surprised you knew it when I got here!"

"Bloody hell— alright!" Newt rolled his eyes at her antics, getting the point she was trying to make. "Maybe I would've remembered it earlier, if you were 'ere. It's the sparkly personality you got up there, y'know? Draws it out of people— I'm sure of it. Talented, shank."

   The logic wasn't quite there yet, not by a long shot, but Kennedy decided to let him go with it if that was what made him happy. He seemed very smitten with the idea, and it didn't look like he would back down from it very soon, so Kennedy had rather not ruin that. It was rare Newt was passionate about something these days, other than getting them all out of wherever it was that they were, and so she would happily let him have it.

Very happily.

    "Whatever you say, shank."

————

Sundown.

   A sigh passed from the pink of her lips, eyes following the figure smoothly jogging into the safety of the glade. Kennedy watched as Minho surpassed the walls to the maze with usually perfect timing, glancing up at the skyline and finding the sun in the same position it always was when he returned every evening.

   Minho would always return when the sun-rays just stroked at the top of the stone walls. No sooner, no later. Only precise and oddly specific. Every day without failure, Minho returned when the sun was setting in the west, just as he left when it was rising in the east.

They was his rules, after all.

   The boy was so precise with his movements, so exact. He'd never seemed to falter, nor stammer or fall. As the keeper of the runners, Minho was always on his toes at the peak of success, ready to leap into the unknown, and willing to run around the world if that had meant getting them some answers. Cool as ice, he had always called himself rather vainly, slick. And truthfully, while she called him big headed for the comments on his own excellence, Kennedy thought that he was slick. Although, she would never tell him that.

   His ego would probably just explode.

Shank.

   In their time in the glade together, Kennedy had never witnessed Minho mess up anything — no clothing, no timings, certainly not his jobs. He was calm and collected, pristine in time management, and ready for seemingly anything. The two had been close, during their endeavours amongst the years — the whole glade were close as possible — but the first gladers to arrive had always held a really special connection. Alongside Newt and Kennedy, Minho was one of the ones that were apart of that bond. They were the trio to be reckoned with. It was an interesting mixture; a plethora of all their ingredients that shouldn't have worked so well together if written on paper, but they did when in practise.

   Like a soft spring morning, Newt's soul sang like a summer rain, his presence a lullaby. His smile was for admiration, and his heart was always on his sleeve. Newt struggled with the balance between goodness and logic, and he was always second guessing most of his decisions, but he remained a firm believer in mind over matter. He chose his head when it was right.

   Minho differed in his approaches — as a smirk and a wink could work wonders for him. While Newt was sweet candy, Minho was a bitter lemon. His blunt nature kept him grounded; honesty was his best policy, no matter how much it could hurt; but, he wasn't a bad person. Just sharp, to the point, blunt. Minho's attitude could work up a storm and he was one to constantly add mote fuel to the fires, unfazed about the possibility for getting burnt. Despite being quiet and mysterious, Minho lived for the blaze. A damn pyromaniac, that boy was!

   And with the sun and the rain came a rainbow — well, one that was crossed with a monumental hurricane.

That was Kennedy.

The girl was short and fiery, but she held a heart of gold in her chest that was made for beautiful explosions. Kennedy had the face of an angel, the temper of a flare.

She maintained her own dignity, and had always prided herself with the normality that she tried to show each greenie that came up in the box. Kennedy was only human, after all. They were all human, and they were all equal. Why act as though you were any more, or any less?

   Avast, it was a golden trio — they contrasted and complimented each other in a multitude of ways. Although unexpected by some ways, they were a family. The closest thing that they had to blood, and the only thing that they had ever known as a home. Perhaps it wasn't the same as a mother and a father, but Newt and Minho had been there for her when her family hadn't. Days in the glade could be hard, and Newt and Minho made them easier. Bearable. While it wasn't family by blood or genes, and it wasn't the same as having brothers by blood, that wasn't the point; it was different, but it was a family, nonetheless. It was her family. Different didn't equate to it being bad, or wrong. How could it ever be wrong? Families were a unit that loved each other unconditionally, and they had loved each other. Very much. In fact, Kennedy had never loved anyone as much as she loved those boys. Not to memory, anyway.

They loved each other.

She pursed her lips, and that was all that mattered— right?

   Her gaze continued to travel in synchronicity with their runners. Kennedy watched as Minho and Ben made for the woods, heading to the map room located in the very middle, ready to record all the maze's findings, for the day. If they even found anything, that was.

   Honestly, Kennedy doubted it. The runners had stopped finding things in the maze, a long time ago. Kennedy herself had been an asset to the runners. It was her decided job, with Newt and Minho. Not long after they had started the daily runs, however, had pains in her hips occurred. It was an agony that she was sure she had never felt before, even without any memories to confirm it. After all, pains like that were definitely unforgettable. They were pains Kennedy'd been sure she couldn't forget; they haunted her.

The medjacks had come to the vague, and uneducated, conclusion that the brunette might have been born with some kinda defect — where her hips hadn't formed in the way that they were supposed to, or something of the sort. They weren't really sure. How could they be sure? It was only a guess, an assumption, but none of their boys were real doctors. There was no medical training, or knowledge of the human body beyond naming their limbs, They were kids, much like the rest of them were, and a guess was their only choice. It had been the best they could do. Jeff also suggested her shorter frame wasn't able to withstand the same effort that the rest were, all those that were taller and stronger. Not that Kennedy wasn't strong, that would have been a lie. Each stride she took through the maze only made the pain worse, however.

It was jarring.

For a long while, Kennedy had cursed out the creators for failing to notify her of that condition. Whoever it was who had put them up there, better have a damn good explanation when they got out!

   It was only when she had resigned from her job as a runner, had she realised that running wasn't exactly any passion of hers, in the first place. She was fairly good at it, quick and nimble on her feet, but Kennedy had never truly loved it. The passion had been finding a way out — not the running. Kennedy didn't live for it.

   Not like Minho, who had a natural gift for it.

She could have sworn he never grew tired.

Running the maze in pairs had been introduced the minute the mechanical whirring sounds had been heard behind the walls, and whilst Kennedy often ran with Newt, she also ran with Minho. He was good at his job, excellent to say in the least. Both boys were, in fact. Their determination kept them travelling at a speed near light and it had been the same for Kennedy while she had been in there. You wanted to get out so badly, that despite how tired you felt in the moment, you found yourself unable to stop. You couldn't. It was indescribable.

   Although, admittedly, she was glad she would never have to step foot within that maze again. Kennedy wasn't sure she ever could go in there, not after the pain she felt the last time. The last time she had stepped within the maze walls, would most certainly be her last.

Worst day of her life.

It was the day that Minho had stumbled into the glade, shouting for her; a day she was sure she would never forget. It haunted the girl each night, forcing her to remember the fear on his face. She'd known it to be the only time that she had ever seen Minho falter in her years knowing him, and that expression of panic was present in even her latest of nightmares.

Kennedy knew that it would be burned into her memory, for the rest of her life. Despite the fact it had only lasted for moments, she knew she would remember it forever. The fear, the urgency. Minho hadn't needed to ask her to help him, for one look at his face and she was already running into the maze. Before she could stop and think, she had darted through the gap within the walls without an ounce of hesitation. She didn't even look back.

   Together the pair had hauled their Newt into the glade, ignoring questions of other gladers biting at their ears. Instead, they rushed him to the homestead and shut the door with a slam!

She remembered it all, but time had caused it to grow hazy with heartache. As though there had been water inside of her head and had slowly started distorting the image. No one else needed to know what had happened out there, what had occurred within the depth of the walls that fateful day. It wasn't anyone's business, other than their's — only Alby was told, and that had been more than enough; no one else required that knowledge. He was their leader; he made the rules. Non-runners had never been allowed to step foot within the gravelly walls, but this day was an exception. Kennedy had been a runner, she knew her way around, and she had saved a boys life; it had been the life of their dear friend, Newt. In those unprecedented circumstances, Alby had been more than willing to let it slide. Very lucky, Kennedy had been.

She didn't feel it.

Not even today.

   Many sleepless nights had followed the incident. She wasn't able to rest knowing that her friend had been feeling so horrid, so very and utterly lost, depressed, and she hadn't even noticed. Either she was a bad friend, or the boy was a sickeningly good actor.

Luckily for her, caring for Newt had been a distraction. It made her feel good, inside. The warmth of fixing someone she cared so deeply for had overpowered the sorrow of not being able to help him in the first place. Like she should have. It didn't fix it, but it did make her feel better. Somewhat.

   She would hold him as he cried, plagued by the fears his own mind created. It tormented him both day and night, in light and in dark, and in the moments he felt as thought he was drowning.

Kennedy was always there to pull him back to shore.

   They hardest part had been the realisation that Kennedy wasn't able to stop the nightmares Newt had, nor the liquid silver that cascaded upon his pale cheeks. She knew that she couldn't save the boy from the evil of his own mind, but she could give him a reason to live. To overcome it. She was that reason, Minho was that reason, Alby and Winston and Gally. Newt loved the gladers. They were that reason — why he should keep going, keep living, keep breathing. He needed a reason, and they were it.

   Even these days, Kennedy recalled the nights that Newt would tell her that she didn't have to look after him — the many times he had demanded her to stop wasting her time and happiness looking after a lost cause. Every time he would ask her why she did it, why she wouldn't simply go away like he begged and screamed for her to, Kennedy would always respond with the same thing.

You would do it for me.

And, he would.

   As Newt grew stronger, his smile had gotten wider and that had been something profoundly beautiful. Even if it rarely reached his eyes. His limp was a constant reminder of it all but he had tried to overcome it. The leaders of the gladers had promoted him to their second, once he was healthy enough to walk again — it kept him busy, and was a role worthy of occupying his mind from anything bothersome. It had worked, too.

   It had appeared that Newt was made to be a leader. He fit the job well, having already been respected by their little family.

He was a good soul with a pure heart, all that he had needed was the two that had saved him, a purpose to hold on to, and he was much better. Newt had always been good with responsibility.

   After a while, Kennedy and Newt had gotten used to not living their days within the maze walls. They had busied themselves with other jobs around the glade, the boy finding some peace within the gardens when he wasn't playing second-leader. Kennedy had felt nothing but sheer joy when he had been announced as keeper of the gardens, and he had felt the same.

   Newt hadn't smiled so beautifully in months.

   Though, that was where the two were differed. It seemed to be all things medical, that ended up being Kennedy's calling. She had an intuition for patching up cuts and aiding bruises, and they had realised how good she was during Newt's incident. She had helped him each day, tending to his injuries and even teaching him to walk again, and it had been fulfilling. It was during the ordeal that she had realised that she wanted to continue helping those around her when they needed it, despite the worst injuries only ever being the beaten up thumb of a builder. It was as though everything had fallen into place, and she had realised what she was meant to do in the glade.

   A spark had been ignited within her centre. Kennedy had been made for helping people, and she wanted to save anyone that she possibly could.

   Kennedy scoffed to herself as she picked at the grass, now that Minho was out of sight and no longer around to entertain her. She remembered that her fiery temper and attitude had been a worry for the job she had demanded at first. Some gladers saw it as a bit of a liability, seeing as she had punched Ben only a week before her request, saying that it had needed to be discussed amongst all of the keepers.

But Kennedy was trustworthy, not a single soul could doubt that, and a blaze was only ever set loose if she was provoked. She wasn't dangerous, Kennedy was passionate. They could all see that, even if they had their eyes closed. So, naturally, they'd had to soon give in.

It was Kennedy, after all.

    "Well, she-bean..." Alby had said, "You're a med-jack, now."

   If she couldn't help her friends by finding a way through the maze, then maybe she could help by fixing their broken parts.

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