Quiet is Violent {Newt | The Maze Runner}

1. Fight or Flight

2 years ago, they sent up a girl and a gun. The girl was quiet, all dark eyes and dark hair, cut so it brushed her cheeks and stuck up in odd directions when dry, but it was wet, clinging to her cheeks, and there was water in her lungs. She was lying flat against the cold metal grate of a cage that rattled beneath her. Her clothes were cold and stuck to her, so she curled up into a small ball in the corner of the cage, coughing roughly until her lungs felt as though they were on fire. Her breath was coming in shuddering gasps for almost an entire minute before she closed her eyes, took a deep breath and forced herself to breath normally, to assess her situation. There was nothing around her but crates and piles of gardening equipment, she wasn't sure what the crates were for, why she was even here, or who she was, but the feeling in her gut told her to run as far away as she could from this place. There was something beside her, cold and metallic and she held it close. It was heavy and its weight triggered something in her stomach twinged before she realised what it was and she dropped it like it had burned her. A gun. A fucking gun.

The cage clattered to a stop and she felt her breath hitch in her throat, but she tried with all of her will, to stay as still and as blank as possible. She was bathed in a deep, crimson light, followed by a green one, before bright, natural sunlight streamed into the cage as the doors were lifted open with a groan. She stared at the wall in front of her, bare toes curling nervously into the wire of the floor, not looking at the faces of boys peering down at her. It was barely a moment before was a pair of boots in front of her, attached to a boy, who leaned down to bark at her.

"Get up, Greenie. Its just day one." His voice was rough, but he waited. She remained impassive and small, hands wrapped around her knees. He grabbed the front of her shirt, lifting her up in one movement, her hands hung limply by her sides, toes barely grazing the bottom of cage. She looked at him and he stared back, chocolate eyes looking into honey ones, and remained impassive, voiceless, toes wiggling, trying to reach the grate below her. He sneered at her, before looking her up and down, evaluating and realising in the one movement, and promptly dropping her. She landed, rather than crumpling, on her feet, staring up at him, almost a foot shorter, gaze shallow despite her constant evaluation of the situation. He huffed and squared his shoulders.

"You gonna help me or not?" He demanded, reaching for a crate, passing it to one of the boys above them. The girl quickly bobbed down, picking up the gun and tucking it into the back of her waistband, before hefting up a stack of tools. It was solid work, only a few minutes, which left some boys to take supplies up to whatever sort of camp setup they had, while the others milled around the edge of the cage, waiting for the girl.

Once the supplies had been lifted up, she scrambled up, surrounded by the boys, watching her. She didn't speak a word, merely avoiding their eyes and gazing around at her surroundings. There were walls, that was the first thing she noted, walls taller than she had ever seen, not that she could remember anything; tall, concrete, built like a fortress. To her left, large, green expanses of forest, with small camps and buildings with domesticated farm animals scattered about. The boys were mocking her, jeering and leering but the girl just waited for some sort of signal.

The boy who had shouted at her in the cage, they called him Gally, quieted the boys, but a taller, dark skinned boy joined them. The girl saw her chance as all attention was on the other boy, she bolted for the forest, her legs carrying her as fast as possible. She didn't know why she was running, all she knew was that she had to get out of there. She could hear them shout out behind her ('We've got a runner!') and there was the thump of footsteps that indicated a pursuer not far behind her. The forest wasn't exceedingly thick, but she was snagged on some of the underbrush, as was her pursuer, and there was the telltale shout of swearing behind her, but she didn't stop to look back. There was a moment where she almost knew she was going to be caught, his voice was close, his footsteps were too, but the forest came to an abrupt halt and she ran face first into the wall, a blast of pain followed by a single memory. She was followed by her pursuer and they both ended up pressed to the wall, or, more accurately, the girl was pressed to the wall and her pursuer misjudged his speed and ran into her.