This is a little story that's been running around in my head for a while. Couple of things I should mention;

~I do not own any of the characters from the Maze Runner, the premise, nada. Just any oc's that pop up.

~Any song that happens to show up here is the sole property of the band/artist who wrote/created/performed it. I take no credit for anyone else's creations or brilliance, and any song lyrics that I use will be named and credited to the artist in the bottom comments. No infringement intended.

~The world is a mix of book and movie versions.

~To keep things on the up and up, I have adjusted the ages of the main characters up a hair. This story is set two years before the first book/movie, but the main characters (Newt, Alby, etc) are around about 15 or 16ish.

~I'm writing this on a boat-anchor kind of computer, and have no editing program. Apologies for spelling or grammatical errors.

~The rating on this story will be going up. It's going to get pretty dark, and have some heavy trigger warnings in later chapters. So that you know.

A harsh metallic screech and the ominous rumble, like thunder, broke the silence of the clear warm day. The gladers, recognizing the signs, simultaneously dropped whatever they were doing and ran to the box.

Something was coming up. Supplies, tools, a bit of food, weapons maybe. And fresh meat. Always fresh meat. A new face to add to the complement of boys already trapped in a little slice of green paradise. Paradise smack dab in the middle of a seemingly endless labyrinth of horrors.

Alby and Newt stood front and center, the rest of the boys gathered around in a loose circle. Together, they waited in silence until the box creaked and groaned into place, finally coming to a full stop. They shared a commiserating look, no words needed, and reached down to heave open the heavy, rusting grated doors of the box. It was time to welcome the newest arrival.

One never knew just how a new greenie would react to their abrupt and disturbing forced entrance into a new and terrifying world. A world where everything you were, everything you had, everything you've ever been has been taken from you. Even, for a while, your name. In time, the name would come back. Whoever had imprisoned them in this odd place of life or death had, apparently, deigned to leave them with that much.

The doors screamed as they were opened, a disturbingly alien cry in the peace of the glade. And then there was nothing; just silence. The two boys scanned the contents of the box. Barrels, rope, a couple of boxes. It looked like they had been sent some cloth, some salt, more gardening tools. A bit of wire, a couple of hammocks. And, just visible behind a crate of grain and flour, the legs of a prone figure.

Alby and Newt exchanged another glance; Newt shrugged. It wouldn't be the first time (nor the last) that a greenie had passed out on the trip up. Newt jumped down into the box, moving slowly, cautiously. It was always best to approach a new greenie as though they were a wounded animal; frightened and ready to lash out. More than one greenie had injured the helping hands extended to them before they could be calmed down enough to understand that the gladers were not the enemy. That they were all in this mess together.

The new arrival was slumped against the metal mesh of the far side of the box, legs straight out in front of his tallish form. His head was tilted back against the mesh, a wild thatch of wavy dark reddish brown hair falling over part of his angular face. Pale violet bags were etched deeply under his closed eyes. He looked decidedly the worse for wear; bandages with ominous rusty stains circled his throat and midway up his right thigh. His arms were stretched above his head, apparently holding him up in a semi-seated position, and appeared to be tied in place at the wrists with rough jute twine. Thin streams of blood had trickled down his forearms, drying into abstract patterns against the pale skin. He looked older than the usual greenies, at least 19 or 20. He also looked to be out cold. Or worse. Newt couldn't tell if he was even breathing.

Newt approached the man, less careful now that he had seen the restraint and the apparent lack of consciousness. He reached out and touched the jute restraints on the man`s wrists, then ducked a little lower and looked into his face. He held one finger under the man`s nose, holding his breath nervously. When he felt the telltale wisp of air over his skin, he exhaled in relief; the greenie was alive.

But why was he restrained? Why was he injured? They'd never been sent a wounded greenie before; everyone who had arrived in that cursed box had been hale and healthy, in at least decent shape physically. No one had ever been sent up in such an obviously damaged state.

"Have we got another fainter down there, Newt?" Alby called down to the blonde boy.

"Not exactly," replied Newt, "He's out cold, but...he's hand someone pound on him, and recently. He's barely breathing, and tied up like a pig down here. I need a knife or something to cut him loose."

Muttering rippled through the boys; no one had ever been sent up hurt, or restrained. This was unusual, and a little unnerving.

There was an echoing thump as Alby jumped down to join Newt in the box. Newt straightened and looked at his friend, seeing both the questions and the pity cross the darker boys face at the state of their new guest. Shaking his head, Alby took a gleaming hunting knife out of his belt.

"Well, let's get the poor bastard out of here. Introductions can wait." Alby sighed.

Nodding agreement, Newt stepped to the side so that Alby could have better access to the twine restraints on the man's wrists. Mindful of the knife's callous disregard for flesh, Alby carefully sawed through the twine as Newt held the man's hands in place. Tugging at the frayed cords, Alby tossed them aside until all were finally removed. Where the restraints had been, a band of angrily abraded red flesh was clearly visible on the pale wrists. As were the quarter inch heads of metal bolts that had been driven through the meat of the man's wrists and into a metal plate on the other side of the grated wall. The man had literally been pinned in place.

"Slag me," murmured Newt, disgusted. "What the bloody hell did they do to this guy? Why?"

"I don't know," hissed Alby, "but we're not about to get any kind of answers until sleeping beauty wakes up. See if you can loosen that bolt any."

Both boys took a firm grasp on a bolt, both turned with all their might, but their fingers kept slipping off the slick metal heads. Try as they might, neither could find enough purchase to budge the bolts by even a hair. Finally, both admitted defeat.

"Useless," Alby spat, swiping the back of his had across his forehead to clear the sweat that was dripping in his eyes, "Shucking things won't budge at all. And I don't think we have anything around here that will grip those weird squared off heads enough to get them to move. Looks like the only way to get him off these ugly bolts is to pull him off."

Newt winced. "You sure? The bloody bolts have a fair head on them. He's goin' to bleed like mad if we have to pull them through."

"It's the only way." Alby insisted, "He's already hurt. If we don't get him out of here and up to the top, I doubt he'll last the night. We'll have to take the chance. We move quick enough, get him patched up quick enough, maybe we don't have to bury him in the morning. Lean him forward, hold onto his head, support the arm at the shoulder. I'm going to pull the left first. Let's just hope he stays out for this. On three. One...two..."

Newt moved in closer, grimacing as he slid his hand down to the man's shoulder to hold it firm. Fervently hoping that this gruesome act would do more good than harm, he placed his hand on the side of the man's neck and tried to ease him forward. Hopefully it would all be over in an instant.

The man opened his eyes.

It all happened in a flash, just as Alby yelled "Three!" The man curled his body inwards and, quick as a snake, pulled his left leg up tight to his chest, lashing out with a hard strike to Newt's hip and knocking the boy into a wooden chest. Newt skidded back and went down like a sack of grain, stars exploding in his vision from viciously rapping his head on the floor of the box.

Alby pulled the left arm free.

The man arched his back violently against the wall of the box, head thumping back against the metal. Blood spattered in a shocking red rain as the man wrenched his arm free of Alby's grip, causing the stocky boy to stumble back, and curled it to his chest, his hand visibly trembling. He hadn't made one sound during the brutal act, his lips firmly closed. He breathed in ragged little puffs, harsh and loud in the sudden quiet.

"Sod it!" Newt exclaimed, rolling over and pushing himself up to his knees. "Looks like our friend's awake. Mite bit stronger than he looks, too."

Alby stepped over and offered a hand to his friend, pulling the blonde to his feet. For a moment, both stood in silence and stared at the wounded man, a wet red blotch from his bleeding wrist blossoming on his battered beige tshirt. Lifting his hands in front of him, palms out, Alby took a cautious step towards the man.

"Hey, take it easy. Take it easy. I know you're in pain, I know you're confused. We're not going to hurt you. I'm Alby, this is Newt. We're going to get you out of this box, get you fixed up. We're going to help you. Easy now. Can you tell me your name?" Alby spoke softly, calmly, keeping eye contact. He took a step forward, and another. Newt stayed where he was, warily watching as Alby approached the trapped man.

When Alby was almost within reach of the man, the guy cocked his head. His clear pale green eyes showed calculation, confusion and pain, but no fear. "Okay. That's okay. I know it hurts like hell," Alby spoke gently, "but the only way to get you out of here is to pull you free. If we can get your other arm free, we can get you out of this box, get you cleaned up. Okay? It'll only hurt for a minute, then we can help you. Just for a minute." He reached a hand out towards the man's right wrist slowly, gingerly.

The man whipped his left leg back up, planting his foot squarely in Alby's gut, stopping the boy's forward motion. He either didn't have the strength to shove Alby away, or that hadn't been his intention. Looking the boy right in the eye, the man gave a scant shake of his head, nudging him back a step with his foot before he slowly lowered his leg.

"We have to free your hand so that we can help you. Let us help you." Alby implored. Again, the man gave that slight shake of the head. Alby sighed in frustration, and turned back to Newt, who was watching and waiting patiently.

"Let's give him a couple of minutes to think. He's not going anywhere at the moment. Get one of the med-jacks down here with some bandages, have them bind that wound up so that he doesn't bleed out on us, get some food and water in him. I'll work on getting these supplies hauled out and taken back to the homestead."

Nodding, Newt heaved himself up out of the box. He looked around at the curious and concerned faces of those still gathered around.

"Alright boys," he said, "you heard Alby. Jeff, get some bandages and whatever from the med-hut, we need to fix this guy up. Frypan? Any leftovers from breakfast? See what you can rustle up, would you? I'm off to find a spare water bottle. Builders? Start hauling the new supplies back as Alby hands 'em out. Everyone else, move along for now. There'll be plenty of time to gawk at the new greenie when work's done for the day. Off you go."

Newt strode off towards the homestead (and the extra supplies stocked there) as the crowd broke up and dispersed back to their various activities. A new greenie, one who came up in a seriously unusual way, was of great interest to everyone. There was still work to be done, though. The tomatoes were in desperate need of a good weeding, the thatching on multiple buildings needed to be repaired, there was meat to process and firewood to gather. Life, weird and painful though it was here, must go on.

If you feel like it, let me know what you think. Cha.

~Ruby