Clangs, boops and beeps, shrieks, and unclear, hurried voices combined together to create a laboratory ambiance within her head.

Instantaneous memories—hallucinations, almost—bombarded her vision. They were ultimately confusing to follow. Second after second they flashed from one memory to the next, creating the inability to reference and capture what was going on, what they were memories of and who with. Objects and persons were shifting blurs, smudging colors together and warping weird pictures in her head.

One memory stayed consistent, as if on replay on a scratched disk.

Dirty-blonde.

The blurred figure kept slowly coming forward.

White coat.

So little of her face could be seen with the flashing images shooting before her. Stuttered syllables fidgeted out of her mouth, and it was difficult to understand what she was trying to say. The language was all unclear. Yet she managed to appear reassuring.

Unexpectedly, the words came coherent in a monotone voice.

"WICKED is good."

The haunting vision vanished. Then, more countless, random memories flooded the girl's mind.

Walking down a sidewalk.

Sitting in front of birthday cake.

In a classroom.

Spinning in a dress.

On a roller coaster.

Being hurried out of a house.

Fire.

Scraping a foot.

Hiking through snow.

Feet echoing on metallic floor.

Holding someone's hand.

Walking into a white world.

All of a sudden, the woman from before's face appeared up close—but it was still blurry for any features to be recognized.

She was saying something again. Only a faint "mmm" could be heard, then she was mouthing what looked to be "ow". Her hollow words slowly converted into speaking. The voice rang louder in the girl's head before the definite message was sent.

"Mal."

It set off a chain, echoing louder, then softer, then louder once again until the girl responded by whispering the name in her sleep.

__________

When Mal woke up, the rest of the Gladers remained asleep. The sky just began breaking from the darkness and had a dark blue color to it. It had to be five-something.

She sat up from the ground and immediately felt highly disappointed. It hadn't been a dream.

Mal shuffled to the gate and tried pulling on the bars, careful that no one would hear her—it wouldn't be nice to get caught in an almost-prison break. The gaps between the bars were big enough to squeeze her small hands through, so she extended her arm and maneuvered it in all directions, in an effort to find the latch that could open the gate and let her out.

Well, she couldn't reach the latch. But remembering that the bars were made of sticks and straw, she just decided to break her way out. Quietly, she succeeded in tearing one bar in half. From there, she was able to rip other bars, and she stopped once there was a big enough opening for her body to slither out. Proud of her work, she drew a sly smile on her face.

The Slammer alone was a foot deep into the ground, so it would be a struggle climbing out and not being heard while doing so. Mal sucked in her breath before cautiously clambering out.

The ground was icky and covered in mildew. She recoiled in her mind—couldn't the Creators have sent her up with pants? Her jean shorts and thin purple hoodie were idle in this situation. She didn't expect the Gladers to have a closet where she could just change into a new outfit, so she had to be content with what she had and work with it.

Mal stayed low to the ground, figuring what next to do. She surveyed her surroundings—everyone was still sleeping, some in sleeping bags and some in hammocks. Strangely, they all had this dead, strained look to them. What had they done in the Glade for two years, besides not finding a way out? Mal couldn't help but feel bad for them.

Deliberately, Mal got up and went into a tip-toed run to the closest Doors of the Maze. They were closed at the moment, and Mal stopped ten feet away. Here, the grass ceased to grow, and the remaining ground that led to the Door was replaced with sandy rock. It was unnatural like this at all four doors, probably to make it easier when they opened and shut. Mal still didn't understand how they moved, but went along with it.

In contrast to the silence of the morning, a soft buzzing sound met Mal's ears and she instantly flipped around. There was nothing. Mal looked back at the Door. The day was at the brim of dawn and it would strike six soon, but she couldn't necessarily wait that long. Mal was so desperate to leave that she found herself trying to manually open the Doors.

Mal tugged her hands at one side of the separation line of the Door, and yanked. All she got was scrapes on her fingers. "Come on, man! Open for me!" She applied more pressure and assistance by lifting and stomping her left foot on the wall as she continued to pull. That didn't work either. "Pretty please?" She jerked more and more.

The buzzing noise welcomed itself again. With failure and frustration, Mal's hands collapsed from the Doors and she gave one last forceful kick at them. Then she spun around, only to meet the bug that was making the buzzing noise. It had attached itself to the ivy of the wall and seemed to be tentatively watching her.

Mal scorned, "What're you looking at?"

The bug stayed put; this was when she got a good look at the thing. It was small and odd. It was shaped like a lizard, black like a beetle, had tiny wings like a fly, and buzzed like a bee. There was also a tiny red light glowing from the rear of its body. It was like the insect itself was a tracking device or something.

Mal gave the creature a long stare. "Ew! What are you?"

"Beetle blade."

Mal jumped at the voice. She whirled around and spotted an irritated Gally, his arms folded over his chest.

"That's what we call them. They're everywhere. They watch our every move," Gally said bluntly. He was standing a foot away and did not look happy—or maybe he just had a resting bitch-face. He continued and went straight to the point, "You're a done deal, Greenbean. You got caught. I thought I'd never see someone stupid enough to try and open the shuck Doors."

Well, this was awkward. Mal could only throw a cute smile and giggle awkwardly. "Psht, whaaaat?"

"Dude, me and some of the other shanks saw you going at it. The only reason I didn't stop you earlier was because it was funny. No one would ever try that klunk unless they wished to be called crazy." Gally paused, then scoffed bitterly, "Way to start your reputation around here, Greenie."

Mal scrunched her nose. "I thought I told you to stop calling me Greenie, eyebrows."

Gally slanted his eagle eyebrows and came forward. "Ya know, Greenie, you're gonna be punished for all you did tryin' to sneak out."

"No thanks."

He sneered. "Sorry Greenie, but I'm afraid you don't have a choice. You're uncontrollable. And around here, that ain't a good thing."

Offended, Mal crossed her arms and eyed Gally with sincerity. "Why?" she commanded.

"Why? You wanna know what happens to the uncontrollable ones?" Gally's voice was sharp in seriousness. He was closer now, almost looking over Mal. "They end up dead. It's the ones who are rebellious and chaotic that go that way. In the Glade, in the Maze, wherever. Now maybe you should start acting like a 'good girl' instead of an out-of-control freak? Because we've established order here, and I'm not allowing some sissy to change that."

Mal narrowed her eyes and lowered her voice in anger. "What are you saying?"

"We don't need some girl screwing things up. I'm telling you now, you're not gonna get special treatment, so I suggest to behave reasonably and do your part. Follow our rules and and don't complain and don't be a slinthead about it. You wouldn't wanna end up like the other guys. Good that?"

Mal spit out a harsh "Fine" before snapping away.

The light from the sky shone brightly over the Glade and just about everyone was awake. The crispy smell of bacon traveled from the kitchen to Mal's nose, and though she was tempted to grab some, she forced herself to stay put. She was not in a good mood this morning.

Then the familiar drone-sounding screech erupted like a bulldozer smushing gravel against gravel, and Mal literally leaped into the air.

Six o'clock. The Maze Doors were opening.

Her mouth dropped in sudden ecstasy, and she hurriedly sprang to her feet and sprinted as hard as she could to the nearest Door. 100 feet. 75 feet.

Five guys were running into the same Door. This is it, Mal thought, I'm getting out of here!

50 feet. Someone was yelling all of a sudden.

25 feet. Hollers and shouts now.

15 feet. A stampede of horses sounded from behind her.

10 feet. A huge weight smacked onto Mal from behind. Her feet slipped and she let out a blistering shriek before catapulting face-first on the ground.

She scrambled to her knees and angrily brushed the hair out of her face. She looked up to see the guy who shoved her down, and tears welled in her eyes when she saw Gally's ugly face hovering above her. She was about to cuss him out, but he swiftly snatched her by the arm and pulled her into a stand. "You crazy lady! What the shuck is the matter with you?!"

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Mal yelled defensively, and she shifted out of his grip and stumbled away from him. A slight crowd had quickly formed around them; others merely stopped by to catch a glimpse of the scene. Mal hadn't stopped shrieking.

"Greenie, just calm down!" Newt shouted.

"NO!" Mal angrily protested. "Greenie this, Greenie that! Don't you EVER tell me to calm down!"

Nick appeared beside Gally. "What the hell is going on here?!"

"SHUT UP!" Mal screamed at the leader of the Glade. Nick was taken aback. "Shut up, shut up, shut up! Why are you and your people trying to keep me here?! What's out there that you won't let me see? What are you HIDING from me?" She was nearing hysterics now. "Is it because I'm a girl? Is that why you're all so AFRAID of letting me out there?! TELL ME NOW!"

"Listen lady, we can't let you leave!" Alby spat harshly.

Mal shot him a death stare. She was fuming and breathing heavily. "Don't, tell me, what to do!"

Nick stood in front of Alby. "Hey! Take it easy, alright?"

She glared at Nick dangerously. "No! Not unless you tell me what the deal is here, right now!"

Nick almost rolled his eyes. "Please? I'm taking you on the Tour today, can't ya wait till then?"

Mal shook her head. "I'm not waiting anymore. I want answers and I want them now! And if I don't get them right now, I will gladly turn around and walk straight into that Maze!"

"Okay bye."

Mal snapped around with a grin. "Oh Gally, it would bless my day if I were able to take those eagle eyebrows of yours and shove them straight up your—"

"Okay, okay! Tour starts now!" Nick gave in.

Mal's entire face lit up. An agitated Gally stormed off.

Nick eyed the crowd, "What're you slintheads lookin' at? Get to work!" They followed his orders, which left him and Mal alone.

Nick pointed a finger right at her face. "And you, Greenbean. Don't pull a stunt like that again. I would've went ahead and Banished you for what you were about to do." Nick sighed, he was tired. "Let's just get this over with, Greenie." They went to the center of the Glade where the Box was.

"Actually, my name is Mal," she said with finality.

"Whatever, shank. I'll call ya whatever I want to call ya."

Mal scoffed "Fine then, Nicky-pie."

Nick began to lay down the rules. "First, don't call me Nicky-pie. That's weird."

Mal crossed her arms. "And shank, shuck, slinthead, and klunk isn't?"

"That's Glader language."

"Alright then."

Nick sighed, continuing on, "Second, no questions until the end, okay? Stuff'll get answered as we go along. We gotta move quick, though; ain't got time to deal with you all day."

"But . . ." Mal started to protest, but Nick shot a look at her. "But tell me everything. I want to know everything, and I'll guarantee you that I'll stop bugging everyone all the time. Honest."

"You're gettin' the same Tour with the same information that every Greenie has gotten."

"How about a pinkie promise?"

"No."

"But—"

Stopping at the Box, the first destination of the Tour, Nick ignored Mal and began. The Box was closed at the moment. It was double doors of metal lying flat on the ground, covered in white paint that was faded and cracked. "This here's the Box. Once a month, we get a Newbie like you, never fails. In all these years, boys have been sent to us, but since you're here now, maybe the cycle will be different for the next shank. I dunno. Anyway, once a week, we get supplies, clothes, some food. We don't need a lot—pretty much run ourselves in the Glade."

Mal nodded, eager to ask questions.

"We don't know jack about the Box, you get me?" Nick continued. "Where it came from, how it gets here, who's in charge. The people that sent us here don't tell us about these things. We got all the electricity we need, grow and raise most of our food, get clothes and such—but we don't know the source of all of it. It just lies in this here Box."

Nick kept talking, never bothering to look Mal in the eye. It was too much information to process for the girl in short time.

"Glade's cut in four sections"—he pointed to each corner of the Glade—"Gardens, Blood House, Homestead, Deadheads. Understand?"

Mal hesitated, then shook her head, confused.

Nick sighed, like he was being bothered already. He pointed his fingers at the northeast corner, where the fields and fruit trees were located. "That's the Gardens, where we grow the crops. Water's pumped in through pipes in the ground like it always has been, or else we'd have starved to death a long time ago. It never rains here. Never."

Next, he pointed to the southeast corner, at the barn and animal pens. "There's the Blood House—where we raise and slaughter animals."

"Slaughter?" Mal blinked.

"For food and such."

Mal thought of the beef she ate last night at dinner and immediately became disgusted.

Then Nick pointed at the tall, odd, rickety wooden building that Mal had seen too many times before. "The Homestead, or living quarters that barely anyone uses, but we keep adding to it anyway when we get materials and klunk. Ain't pretty, but it works. Good use for the Med-jacks since they're stationed there. Often the Keepers sleep in there too, but most of us just sleep outside anyway."

Closely beside the Homestead was the Slammer, as Mal recalled. Nick told her, "Over there's the Slammer. You've been there before so you know the ground rules." They glanced at each other. "You're sent there if you're behavior's outta whack, you fight a Glader, you break a rule. Worst comes to worst, you trespass into the Maze and you receive Banishment. That's it."

Finally, Nick pointed to the southwest and last corner of the Glade, the forest area with sickly trees and benches and hammocks. "Call that the Deadheads. Graveyard's back in the corner, in the thicker woods. Ain't much else. You can go there to sit and rest, hang out, whatever."

Nick cleared his throat, indicating that he was changing subjects. "Lot to do around here, you know. You'll spend the next week or two working one day apiece for each job Keeper until we know what you're best at. Slopper, Builder, Bricknick, Track-hoe, Cook, Bagger, Slicer, Med-jack—something'll stick, always does."

"What about a Runner?" Mal asked.

"What?" Nick said. Then, to Mal's shock, he laughed. "No way. You ain't never gonna be qualified for that."

Mal wanted to say something back, but she knew it wasn't a good time for it. She didn't want to fight anymore with this guy; he was the supposed leader and boss of the Glade. So she just shook it off. "Whatever, show me more."

Nick went along with Mal's order and walked them up to the North Door between the Homestead and the Gardens, the door that Mal previously tried to escape through.

They stopped ten feet before the Door's opening. "Out there's the Maze. Now, you listen real hard and you listen real well. Ain't no goin' out there for you, shank."

"Well why not?" asked Mal. This was what she was waiting for all along!

"This ain't no 'because I said so' answer. This is the real deal, kiddo. Nobody—nobody—is allowed in the Maze, except for the Runners. Lock this in your head, got that? That's the Number One Rule. If you break it, there's no way you can be forgiven—it's Banishment for you, hun. If you aren't killed by the Grievers, then we'll kill you ourselves. Do you understand me?"

Mal gulped. "Y-Yes."

Nick continued, utter seriousness in his voice. "Number Two Rule, do your part. We don't need any slackers. This is your family now, you gotta help it. And Number Three Rule, never harm another Glader."

Nick sighed. He was thinking for a moment before he continued talking. His voice calmed down. "As peaceful as it is, it wasn't always this way. We had dark days. Had an incident with the first bunch—turned into a bloody war. Lost a lot of boys to fear, to panic. Been two years since then; we don't need anymore conflict. We've come far from it, established order, made peace . . ."

"I'm sorry." Mal kept humble. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you're not like the others. You're curious—too curious. Your arrival has got a large portion of our boys believing that the Creators are trying to send us a message. About what, I don't know yet. Just don't tell the others, but I'm beginning to worry about the downfall of our Glade . . ."

Mal didn't know what to say, so she just nodded.

Quietly, Nick led Mal to the West Door, between the Homestead and the Deadheads. They stopped in front of the right-side wall of the Door, where the ivy stopped and the gray stone of the wall was clearly visible. Nick handed Mal a knife. "Don't poke yourself with it," Nick warned her. "You're one of us now." He motioned to the wall of inscribed names.

Mal noticed that lots of the names had been crossed out. "What happened to them?"

"Like I said. Dark days, Mal."

She felt a shiver down her spine, but she shook the feeling away. She pressed the knife's point into the stone and signed her name. The first female name on the chart.

__________

3201 words what?! Thank you to everyone who took the time read! Sorry it was so long omg.

So Mal's part of the #gladerfam now :) If you enjoyed this chapter, don't forget to VOTE! Also, any thoughts/opinions? Let me know in the comments!

Thanks!

Amanda