I own nothing aside from Charly and the storyline that my imagination has been harboring. All Maze Runner characters and initial storyline belong to James Dashner.

A sudden jolt thrust the girl back into consciousness. Momentum knocked her to her knees, her hands bracing herself on the cold, metal floor. It was pitch black aside from the flashes of light that shone quickly as they passed by. Was she moving…upward? Logic escaped her head as the sound of wrenching machinery filled every cavity, the awful lunging of the box threatening to make her sick.

She tried to collect her thoughts, inhaling in short, shaking breaths. There were no doors to the metal box, only a set of large doors above her bound together with an iron lock the size of her fist. Her fists…

She looked down, studying the hands that felt so unfamiliar to her, turning them over and over. They reached hesitantly to the hem of her olive green shirt, fingers pinching and pulling the frayed ends. They grazed over the material and up to her collar where she laced her fingers behind her neck, mouth now agape. The realization that she had no idea who she was hit her like a bucket of ice water. Her stomach dropped as she slumped up against the wall of the ever moving box, numbness overcoming her. Not even the slightest memory of her parents, attending school, birthday parties, or even what she had for breakfast came to mind. It was as if someone had taken a metaphorical blackboard eraser to her very existence up until now.

Another shake of the box quickened the girl's heart rate, sending her thoughts scattered once again. But now there was silence only broken by her staggered, hastily breathing. And voices. Faint and far away sounding, but voices nonetheless. Panic and adrenaline took over. She patted down her black leggings checking for any pockets then felt around the sides of the room, searching for anything she could protect herself with. Her left hand found the side of a crate, but she furrowed her brows upon reaching inside. Empty.

Tucking strands of hair behind her ears in frustration her wrist brushed up against her chest, making a crunching sound. The girl paused, looking down at a pocket in her shirt that had until now gone unnoticed. Slowly, she reached into the pocket and pulled out a small piece of paper that had been crumpled up into a small ball, carefully unfolding it as the voices grew closer, louder.

There was fresh ink on the paper, she could smell it, but the darkness made it almost impossible to make out any wording. She scooted hastily over to the side of the box where a red light flashed on and off in unison with blaring alarm. Holding the paper to the faint light, she was able to read the message.

Get in the box. Get them out. Don't trust WICKED.

And then she was blinded. The once muffled voices were now clear as day, but one by one they died down, falling silent once again. Instead, their shouts had turned to hushed whispers. Hastily, the girl tucked the small piece of paper away safely in the band of her leggings and glanced up at the dark figures that were now coming into view.

"Pull him out already!"

"What's wrong? Is he dead?"

Shouts began to emerge from the crowd, but the figures who were closest remained silent, and she could now see that she was surrounded by boys of all ages, staring down at her with eyebrows raised like she was some sort of captive animal in this box.

"Shut your shank mouths!" one of the boys from the front yelled, his dark toned arms glistening with sweat. "It's….it's a girl."

The hushed whispers began again excitedly, but the girl had begun backing herself into the corner of the cage, eyes now filled with fear and uncertainty. This isn't happening she thought over and over to herself, almost as if by telling herself this and shutting her eyes, she would be whisked back home, wherever home was, and all of this metal box nonsense would be nonexistent. She shut her eyes hard, willing the voices to stop yelling and the eyes to stop staring, but to no avail. She opened them again, her eyes now following the arm of the boy who had spoken up, his hand outstretched to her.

"Up you get. Let's go, greenie." Though his eyes were kind, his words were stern, a sense of authority accompanying his presence. She continued scoot backward, her back finally meeting with the unforgiving metal side of the box. Trapped

"No," she uttered softly, and her eyebrows shot up in surprise. Until now, she hadn't even heard her own voice, and the sound had her taken aback.

"No, s'alright," a boy with ruffled, lengthy blonde hair said quietly, his face expressing concern. He too reached out a hand, but the girl continued to dig her heels into the smooth metal floor, willing the metal sides of the box to somehow give way. The sense of captivity was overwhelming and she felt her breathing start to increase once again. The figures blurred once again, but not before the first boy had jumped down into the box with her. But his heavy boots didn't make the clank of collision she was expecting. Instead, the sound was a muffled thud. He was moving in slow motion. It was as if someone had shoved her head underwater, as voices again became muffled, quieter, her vision darker. He moved closer, bending down and wrapping his arms around her to lift her from the space.

Then everything turned black.

—

Her eyelids felt heavy as she strained to open her eyes with a groan. She was in a bed, tucked away under a worn quilt, staring at a wood paneled ceiling. Taking a hand, she pulled back a corner of the covers and looked to her side. A boy.

He was sitting on the floor with his back up against a wall, elbows resting on his knees while he fiddled with a blade, running his hands over the metal. He was taller, she could tell, built strong and lean with tanned skin from the sun. His face, though dirty, sported teams of freckles and angled eyebrows. His light brown hair was cut short and blunt. He looked up at her.

"And there she is," he chuckled, getting to his feet and sighing. "Only out for an hour or so, right scared out of your shuck mind, we figured. Gally's the name, by the way."

The girl sat up, contemplated getting to her feet and making a run for the open door on the opposite side of the room, but she held up a hand to her forehead as pain shot through. She watched as Gally walked towards her, folding his arms.

"Well no need to look scared now, greenie," he laughed, studying her face.

"I'm not 'greenie', whatever that is," she shot back, avoiding eye contact. Gally laughed.

"Feisty little shank, aren't ya? Fiery just like that hair of yours ." He reached out and took a lock of her hair in his hands, and she was just as interested in it as Gally seemed to be. The deep, crimson strands shone with luster as he turned them over between his fingers.

"I don't even know what I look like," she whispered to herself, and Gally's eyes softened in what seemed to be empathy. He turned to the open doorway and took some strides forward before calling out to another room.

"Alby, guys, she's awake!"

"What are you doing?" the girl asked, her eyes widening again not with fear this time, but curiosity. She needed answers, now. "How did I get in here? Better yet, why am I in here? And who are all of you?"

She shot off questions at Gally, who ignored her as he strode back into the room. She made an attempt to sit up, to run out of bed to someone who would enlighten her with at least a shred of knowledge. She was fed up with being unaware. But Gally's mood, once playful and concerned, turned serious as he placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her back down to the mattress. She had no strength to retort.

Following Gally were three boys, two of which she recognized as the blurry figures who offered her hands upon her arrival in the box. The box. The note she thought to herself, suddenly aware of the small piece of paper pressing against her hip. She couldn't tell them about it. At least, not now.

"Who are -" she began, but was quickly silenced.

"Shut it," he demanded, which drew an eye roll from the blonde boy.

"Slim it, Alby," he jibed with a smirk, a thick accent clearly evident. "Buggin' greenies have questions, that's just how it is."

The girl shot him a look of thanks and turned back to the boy called Alby. "Just…please," she pleaded, sighing. "Tell me what's going on." He paused before continuing.

"You've met Gally over there," he gestured to Gally, who raised his hand. "I'm Alby, this is Newt," the corner of the blonde boy's mouth turned up in a smirk. "And this here is Minho." The boy with jet black hair nodded.

"And this," he gestured to the window of the room, "is the Glade."

She glanced outside at the greenery before her. It was a lawn, sprinkled with small, poorly made wooden shacks all surrounding a large building of the same style. A pen of cows, sheep, and pigs sat in the far right corner, and opposite was a field of crops, ranging from corn to tomatoes, beets to strawberries. A large, rectangular hole sat close to the main building, surrounded by unlit red beacons. The flashing red light of the metal box shone across her memory, and she realized this is where she must have risen up out of. Encompassing the entire enclosure was a wall; a bland, cement wall rising what must be hundreds of feet into the air. There was a gap that marked the middle of each wall, but peering into the gap, she could make out nothing. Beyond that, nothing was visible. Alby began to speak again, but the girl could not take her eyes off of the scene.

"It's a maze," he noted coldly as she stared out at the horizon. The girl was taken aback, breaking her gaze and turning to him, meeting his emotionless expression with sudden panic.

"What?" she stammered, throwing her legs over the side of the bed and walking almost unwillingly over to the window, nearly pressing her nose up against the glass in an effort to somehow find a finite end point in the distance, anything that showed promise of a way out. But her sudden burst of optimistic thinking was quickly clouded by the span of never ending concrete walls that shot hundreds of feet into the air. They were trapped.

"A maze," Newt repeated, and though her eyes were still fixated on the view, she colt hear his boots against the hard wood as he approached her. "And a bloody big one, at that. Don't know who put us here or why, just know we have to find a way out."

The girl turned around, mouth trying to form questions but mind failing to make sense of what was happening. She just couldn't put anything into words.

"Ahh, so now you're quiet?" teased Minho to the chuckles of the other boys, and the girl furrowed her brows at the dig. But there was a smile hidden behind his sarcastic words, and the corners of her mouth turned upwards in a grin. "What's your name, anyway? Remember it?"

"Charly," she replied without hesitation, shocking herself. The name fell easily from her lips, carrying strange familiarity, but how? She couldn't remember even an inkling of life before awaking in the box, but her name - at least, what Charly assumed was her name - was engrained in her memory.

"Good that," Alby said gruffly. He rubbed a hand behind his neck roughly, taking a few steps towards the door. "You hungry or anything? Dunno how long it's been since you've eaten, we'll get Frypan to serve you up some klunk before we get on to the tour."

"I'm not hungry," Charly said blankly. She didn't know what she was right now. The maze, the glade, the box. The note. Again, its words flicking across her consciousness. She had a burning suspicion that it meant something, that for some reason her existence here was important. At least, it could be. Nevertheless, the thought of everything was making her sick, and the bed again began to look incredibly appealing.

"Would it be okay if I just…stayed here? I'm sorry, I just…this is a lot." Charly stammered, words tripping over one another.

"Whatever suits you, greenie," Alby replied simply, turning again to walk out of the door. "But I can't have you bein' useless for too long. I'll take you on a tour after you eat, and you'll start keeper training tomorrow." Charly didn't bother to ask what this was, instead crawling again into the bed and hugging her knees to her chest, unzipping her black boots and dropping them off the side onto the floor.

"Just promise me ya' wont go running your shank mouth asking questions until the tour, right?" questioned Minho, grinning. She nodded reluctantly and rolled her eyes, to which the boy returned a cheeky grin.

"Good that."

The footsteps and voices faded from behind her as the boys walked back outside, wooden door swinging shut behind them. Charly ran a hand exasperatedly through her hair and fell back into the bed, sleep coming to her spent mind quickly.

—

"You need to eat, greenie."

The clank of a dish against the bedside table woke Charly from her restless slumber. Weary eyed, she glanced at the plate that had been set before her. Chicken breast, mashed potatoes, and steamed carrots, and while it didn't look appealing, it smelled delightful.

Newt stood next to her bedside, arms folded over his chest and lengthy blonde hair standing up on all ends. Charly sat up and pursed her lips together, frustrated.

"Charly," she corrected him, raising her eyebrows, but her stern words were met with a chuckle.

"Nope. It's greenie, love, until another shank comes up in that box." He sat at the end of her bed and sighed, gripping the quilt with his large hands. "Eat, I mean it. You'll need your strength and Alby'll be up here in a few to take you on your tour."

She snatched the plate and set it on her lap, cutting into the carrots feverishly, unaware as to how hungry she actually was until now. Newt looked surprised, then his face burst into a smile, laughter ringing out through the quiet room.

"Bloody hell, you might be the only girl here, but looks like you'll fit in just fine," he quipped between laughs, leaning back across the bed and resting upon his forearms. Charly halted in the middle of shoving a forkful of mashed potatoes into her already full mouth, staring at him with wide eyes.

"Yu meam I'mng de unly -"

Seeing the confused look on Newt's face, she stopped herself, swallowing before finishing her sentence. Charly paused.

"You mean I'm the only girl here?"

"Yeah!" Newt exclaimed, mirroring Charly's shocked expression. She groaned, letting her hand with the fork fall down into her lap.

"How many of them, err, you guys, are there?" she asked hesitantly

"'Round forty or so, I reckon," Newt smirked, clearly amused by Charly's reaction. "Does put you at a little but of a disadvantage. No worries, we aren't too bad. Well…most of us aren't." He winked coyly then quickly got to his feet, clapping his hands together.

"Forty? I can barely deal with you right now," she retorted, returning the half-empty plate to the bedside table and throwing the covers off of her legs.

"Ha, ha," Newt answered sarcastically, though Charly could see a grin tug at the corners of his lips. "Hilarious, you are. Really pleasant."

"As are you, such a lovely young man."

Newt rolled his eyes and strode out the door. "Up you get, greenie, Alby's on his way!"

"Charly!" she chimed after him, and he peeked his head through the doorway once more.

"Charly."

And there we go! That's the first chapter of The One Good Thing over and done with, out for the world to see! I really hope you guys enjoy it. I've written so much over my life, but nothing that I've had a complete vision and passion for like I've experienced while writing this one. Needless to say, it's really exciting to finally upload it – my first upload on this site as well. I have about 10,000 words on this story already, so uploads will be coming quickly (knock on wood) from here on out for the next couple of weeks, I'm sure. Please, please, PLEASE do not be afraid to make suggestions in terms of writing style or even storyline; although I have a pretty fleshed out outline of the entire novel, I'm open to taking on different aspects of plot that strike my fancy.

I won't make this too long, because who even reads author's notes anyway? I hope you love Charly as much as I do, and that I bring the preexisting characters into a light in which we have yet to see them.