𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗡𝗡𝗘𝗥 𝗚𝗜𝗥𝗟 ᐅ 𝙣𝙚𝙬𝙩

𝘁𝘄𝗲𝗻𝘁𝘆 𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗

It's either that or Tommy.
Take your pick.

╚═══*.·:·.☽✧    ✦    ✧☾.·:·.*═══╝

"Alright, Gladers! Light 'em up!" Alby calls with a grin — the first time I've actually seen the shank smile since being here. I throw a torch into the pile of wood and debris, hooting and cheering with the other Gladers. Our laughter and chants reverberate through the Glade, creating a mismatched mesh of voices that brings a wild smile to my face.

"Gladers! Gladers! Gladers!"

It's strange for this to feel so natural to me, even though just a month ago I was in the Newbie's position, wherever he is.

My day with Minho in the Maze was confusing at best, both of us trying desperately to connect the links between the old pattern and the new one, and then had the unlucky job of telling the rest of the Runners. Their reactions were staggered, some relieved but most concerned. I didn't imagine good reactions by any stroke of luck, anyway. Hank's reaction was probably the worst — and most dramatic — of them all, storming out of the Map Room and slamming the huge door behind him.

Gally has taken the liberty of fighting pretty much every shank in the Glade except me, and when I raised my hand to go next, his eyes just skimmed past me. It made my night. And when I teased him about it, the shank pretended it had never happened. Gally was too scared to fight me. It was comical, but I don't blame him — even I'd be too scared to fight me. Gally certainly wasn't helping with my ego.

I'm sat near Frypan Winston and Zart, completely zoned out of their conversation about the similarities between Billy, Hank and a pig, and although the topic is an amusing thought, my mind is very preoccupied at the moment. Throughout the day, Ben's screams echoed around the Glade walls, and a group of us lingered under Homestead after the doors shut, glancing anxiously up at the window if we heard even the slightest movement. In that sense, I'm quite lucky to be a Runner... I'm not confined in the Glade, I'm not bound by the oath that we all took to stay inside at all times.

"Hey, Greenbean," Newt says, sitting next to me and nudging my arm gently, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"I'm not the Greenie anymore," I remind him with a smile. I'm not the Greenie anymore. Finally, everyone can stop calling me that ridiculous nickname.

"I'm never going to stop callin' ya Greenbean."

Or not.

"How generous of you."

He clears his throat, "You met the Newbie yet?"

"No."

"He's an alright shank," Newt says, nodding to a slumped figure by a log — almost indistinguishable from the darkness. His head is hung, picking at the grass underneath him. I tilt my head as I look at him; I can make out dark brown hair, perhaps black, but that could just be the sparse lighting. "Done asked four questions in the first minute I met him this morn."

I chuckle. "Is that how I was?"

"What? Annoyin' and confused?" I shoot him a mock glare. "Yeah. We all were. Soon as he got out of the box he made a run for the Maze."

"A Runner?"

"Thought so too, until he face-planted. It was great," he says with a little laugh. "Speakin' of, I should probably go an' talk to him."