~Sara~

"So, are you gonna yell at me again, or are you actually gonna bloody listen to me?" Newt asked, as if he were challenging Sara.

"Depends," she replied nonchalantly, pulling up a chair beside his bed and taking a seat. "Are you gonna tell me about your nightmare, or are you gonna insist that your life's worth nothing?"

Newt scoffed, squinting his eyes at her. "I don't know you. Stop acting like you're my bloody guardian angel or something." She was growing so tired of his comments, but she herself couldn't even understand why she cared so much to help him. "What's your problem with me? You say you're 'worried' but then you get so grouchy," Newt added.

Sara felt compelled to raise her voice even though she'd told herself to be patient. "Yeah, I am angry at you because I'm just trying to help you. And it's not like you're in the best mood lately. Besides, you look familiar, Newt. I feel like I knew you before all this. I felt it as soon as I saw you back in the Maze."

She mentally facepalmed at her own lack of good excuses.

Newt looked uncomfortable for a moment, as if he had something to say about the events from the Maze, but then stopped himself.

Sara took a deep breath, deciding it'd be better if she made an effort to be nicer. "Look, I simply wanna help. Just let me, I know what I'm talking about. And if you don't want to, I'm sorry, but I'm not giving you that choice anymore." Sara realized maybe being too nice would not be good either. "So... I'm listening. Let me in on this."

She crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest attentively. Even though he wasn't in the best mood, she was expecting him to talk to her. At least for decency.

Newt rolled his eyes and remained quiet for a few more minutes. The silence was unbearable, but Sara managed to stay put in case he finally decided to speak.

He began telling her his nightmare and right away, Sara could understand what it meant. She didn't know why she experienced a nightmare somewhat similarly, since she wasn't even a part of the experiment. She wasn't a 'subject,' and was only pretending to be one for her own safety.

All she could assume, however, was that Newt probably experienced a memory flashback. The events happening in the dreams, and the people involved in them, triggered some sort of recognition and familiarity in a remote portion of his brain. It was as if he were there, in the nightmare, somehow.

Something clicked in Sara's mind. She could see how the puzzle of people and events artfully built itself up in her brain. Newt had just had a flashback of moments before he was taken by WICKED. It had to be that.

That was why Newt seemed so traumatized back at the lab when Sara first saw him. She knew that Sonya was younger than him, and Newt and Sara were the same age. Sara could assume that he was old enough back then, to understand what was happening, and Sonya probably didn't understand as much.

No wonder Sonya was always more cheerful, and she never fully understood why her brother simply avoided her. He was cast with the responsibility of taking care of Sonya, just in case anything happened to their mother. The trauma must've been so appalling that he simply couldn't bear with it. He couldn't keep his promise, and that also clawed at him constantly. It all made some sense.

The realization made Sara think of her father. She wondered why parents made their children promise difficult things as soon as they knew they were about to die. They expected their children to stay true to the promise, but how could parents be sure their children could keep it?

Sara had only partially kept hers. She was alive, but her life was constantly at risk. And now she learned about Newt's experience with promises. He'd deliberately broken his. He felt guilty, but now he didn't remember he felt so. He couldn't remember anything from his previous life.

That explained his hostile behavior all along. Although he had no memory of that now, it was as though a shadow of it crept inside the secluded chambers of his brain, causing him to feel depressed in the emptiness of an unknown previous life.

"Sara!" Newt shouted at her, startling her, and interrupting her thoughts. "What is up with you?"

"Huh? What—what do you mean?" Her voice trembled.

"You just... zoned out. What are you thinking about?" he asked curiously.

Oh no.

And there she was again, regret eating away at her soul, while she debated on what to respond. She wanted to tell him everything but couldn't—it was still too early.

As Sara thought more about it, there was a significant difference between the two dreams. Newt could see the faces, barely, but he simply couldn't recognize them from the lack of memory. She, instead, only saw blurs rather than faces, silhouettes in place of bodies, giving no space for recognition regardless of her intact memories.

Next thing she realized was that she didn't ever remember being present in the scene she saw in her dream. Newt was most likely present in the scene of his dream; he just didn't remember.

Bingo.

Rebecca wanted her to see what she saw. She somehow gave her that memory, that truth—whatever it was.

She still had so many questions that she almost wished she would've waited more time to get into the Maze to have Rebecca explain in full detail. Yet if she hadn't come when she did, she wouldn't have been able to talk Newt out of jumping. It didn't make much of a difference given he did anyway, but things could've ended worse if he hadn't had her as a distraction at that moment.

When she was done sharing her dream with Newt, he suddenly gained interest in the conversation, as if they were solving a crime or a mystery. She couldn't blame him; she felt the same way. Only difference was that she knew more, and knowing the truth was far more terrifying than simply speculating, like he thought they were both doing.

Recalling her own dream, Sara felt a freezing shiver travel down her spine. Why did all those dreams involve murder in them?

"Well, do you think it's the creators trying to show us something?" Sara perked up, momentarily forgetting Newt was still talking to her. "What could be so important that they feel we need to know?"

Sara searched for the easiest way out of the conversation. "Well... maybe they want to test if we remember things from our past?" she asked, and he shrugged. "Will the others ask us about this—I mean—aren't nightmares pretty common around here?"

Newt pursed his lips and shook his head. "Well, they're common, but probably not like what you and I saw. We just have to act cool about it and they won't ask."

That seemed easy to do.

"Good," she said.

"Yah, they don't really care about that. They just want to stay clear from the annoying Greenie." He wore a satisfied smirk as he replied.

Surprised at his first hint of humor, Sara smiled and went along with it. "You're a slinthead, you know that?" She playfully stuck out her tongue as his smirk widened. She guessed he found her use of their language quite ridiculous, which was probably the first thing they ever agreed upon.

It seemed like round two with him went better than expected. There had been a lot of tension between them ever since she went into the Glade. It was nice to change the routine.

After a few moments, Sara's eyelids were involuntarily drooping, and Newt noticed.

Mocking her, or so she thought, he muttered, "Maybe that's enough for one night. Go back to bed, shank. I want some sleep too—don't think you're special."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Wow, you're gonna start again? I've been told that twice today already." A sense of guilt washed over her as she took a glimpse at his face. The huge, dark bags under his eyes indicated he needed sleep more than she did, and that she was depriving him of it the more she lingered around in the room.

He didn't look like he wanted to keep playing around anymore.

"Well, maybe that should tell you something about yourself," he snapped.

"Fine, sorry. I'm out." She raised her hands in defense and quickly stood up.

Sara rushed out of the room; her pride once again stricken by Newt's indifference. It seemed like anytime he tried to be cheerful, he subconsciously reminded himself that it was a forbidden privilege for him, causing him to retract himself and go back to his grouchy attitude. It was quite annoying. He simply refused to let himself move on and at least feel some happiness, no matter if temporary, given the current circumstances.

"Well, goodnight to you as well, Sara."

Sarcasm. It was the last thing she heard from him before closing the door and walking away.

Are you kidding me?

❀❀❀

The next day, instead of being tenderly woken by the early traces of dawn, Sara met the concrete ground of the Glade. The impact tore away her remaining vestiges of sleep as she scrambled to her feet despite the pain on her thigh, wondering what brought her such a marvelous awakening.

She heard a high-pitched, snorting giggle as she turned around.

"Rise and shine, Greenbean!" Chuck shouted.

She dusted the dirt off her clothes, glaring at him. "Did you just push me off my freaking hammock? You know how much sleep I got last night, shank? I've still got a few hours to go."

He gave her a warning look. "Alby doesn't care. You're already late. Besides, one's gotta find some entertainment these days. Can't really have much of that when you're a Slopper." He shrugged.

Sara ignored his comment, mainly due to exhaustion, and because she urged to get ready and finally get going with a job for real. She would accept anything that would keep her away from Newt for a while. Well... besides being a Slopper. She felt bad for Chuck on that one as she remembered Minho's description of every job.

Sara noticed a bag full of clothes that somebody probably retrieved from the box and set beside her hammock. The thought of someone actually walking in on her as she slept, even for as simple of a gesture as leaving her some clothes, made her uncomfortable.

She definitely hoped the hut would be built soon so then no one would actually see her sleeping. If someone needed to give her something, they'd just leave it outside her door.

Sara barely had enough time to snatch up a comfortable outfit for the day, before Chuck grabbed her hand and dragged her to the showers. He did guard the door for her, however, which compensated the rush and lessened her anger.

The cool water was refreshing as it made contact with her skin. It washed all the sweat off her body, taking a few of her problems along with it down the drain. Everything naturally seemed easier to carry out after a shower for some reason.

After Sara got dressed, she and Chuck went to fetch themselves some breakfast. They gobbled up their food before parting ways; Chuck to his Slopper duties, and Sara to search for Alby to have him direct her on her next job trial.

As soon as Alby glanced at her, his already-grumpy mood only seemed to worsen.

"You're late," he grumbled.

"Maybe 'cause I stayed up trying to help your friend. A 'thank you' would've been nice, but you can't always get what you want, am I right?" she retorted.

Alby glared at her. Maybe it wasn't such a smart idea to get the leader of the Glade to hate her without getting to know her first, but sometimes it felt better to get on his nerves out of spite. It was inexplicably amusing to her.

"Greenie, don't try to outsmart me. You ain't in a position to demand anything. Nobody even trusts you here."

"Gee, thanks." She gave him a fake smile.

Alby gave her a suspicious look. "There's something fishy about you, I can feel it. But I'd need actual proof. Still, don't think we're friends because I helped ya out against Gally, Greenie." Sara clenched her jaw at his response, but mainly at the mention of Gally.

She also hated that nickname, 'Greenie,' and she felt bad that she almost wished a new person would enter the Glade just so she could escape the name-calling.

"I need a new job..." she said, looking him dead in the eye, "...now."

Sara could almost catch a glimpse of a smirk beginning to form on his face. Almost. "Got so tired of the Med-jacks already? Clint stink too bad?" He was always angered by anything that came out of Sara's mouth, and now he was trying out his own joke?

Sara didn't find the humor in it and simply answered the question. "I just... I think maybe it's not the right job for me. And I wanna stay away from certain people."

"You mean Newt?" Alby raised one eyebrow. "Greenie, what's up with you two? Why are you so interested in him anyways?"

Her eyes widened. "Interested? I'm just trying to be nice."

Alby only rolled his eyes. "You act like you know him, and you're always in the hut with him. He doesn't really want us—his friends that have known him since we've had memory—to get close to him lately. Much less a girl who barely met him two days ago. Not to mention, we can't tell if you hate him or care about him."

It was a little intimidating for her to hear it from someone else because she couldn't even explain why she cared so much. But she wasn't obsessed—absolutely not.

"I simply wanna help. It just makes me mad he doesn't want any of it when he totally needs it. And if I worry about him, it's because he's the first person I ever saw when I was in the Maze. I saw what kind of situation he's dealing with."

Alby was growing impatient. Arguing with Sara was never a hobby he could stand for long.

"Yeah, whatever," he said. "I don't have all day, so here are your job options: helping Frypan in the kitchen, Zart and the Track-hoes with the gardens, or even be a Slopper. I doubt you'll want the Baggers; don't want something too morbid for you, right?" Sara blinked back at him.

"Baggers? What—"

He kept going. "Can't choose Builder either 'cause Gally openly established he hates your guts. Or with Winston 'cause you don't look like the animal-slaughtering type. Unless you're good at any of those jobs then I'm assuming it's a no. Just sayin'." Sara waited to see if he was done with his list but he wasn't. "Oh, and being a Runner is completely out of the question. So, what d'ya wanna try next? I'm lettin' you choose which one you want first. Wasn't like that for the other shanks, so consider yourself lucky."

Well, Sara, you have a sea of options left.

She stared back at him with disbelief. She hated that he assumed she didn't want to do certain jobs—or worse—that she wasn't capable of doing them.

Who said she wouldn't be useful as a Runner? She wasn't as athletic as Minho, but she considered herself to be fit. She'd trained, but none of them knew this. That she didn't feel like running away from the Grievers again, or risk being stuck out there when the doors would close, that was a completely different story.

Or what if she wanted to be a Builder? She could literally hammer down Gally's head whenever he was being annoying, which was often. Although all she'd get by doing something like that would be to get thrown into the pit.

Giving out a heavy sigh, she was slightly disappointed that Alby was probably right.

"You know, I think maybe gardening might be my thing," she told him.

Alby bowed his head and laughed; a sight so rare that she had to do a double-take to make sure she wasn't going blind. If she wasn't mistaken, it sounded rather mocking.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothin'," he replied, shaking his head as if dismissing the subject. His smile disappeared as rapidly as it'd come, leaving Sara to search her brain trying to figure out the source of hilarity.

"Liar."

"Forget it, Sara," he said, waving her off. "Anyway, gardens, huh? Well, you can start by talking to Zart. He'll tell ya what to do." He pointed to the gardens. "If you think you want the job, Keepers and I will take that into consideration after you've tried one job a day. Otherwise, just wait until you try all of 'em, and see which one suits ya best."

"Right, Track-hoe," she awkwardly repeated the unfamiliar word. "Pretty title."

She started heading in the direction that Alby had indicated, and by the time she looked behind her shoulder, he was already gone.