He had gone to bed in the dormitory full of Gladers. He was certain of this, but despite that; Newt woke up in an almost empty room.

Almost.

Newt's eyes shot open as a scream tore him from his sleep. A feminine scream. Now, some Gladers had some 'puberty-is-ninety-percent-complete' voices, but never a scream that girly.

Falling from a bed in a hurry, Newt was half ready to spring up from his feet and fight off whatever was causing the scream. It took him a moment for remember that he wasn't still in the Maze; he was safe. For now.

As safe as anyone can be when a girl stood over him, knife in her hands and ready to swing.

"Who the bloody hell are you?!" Newt shouted, looking up at the girl that stood over him. She was small, mousy looking with a long-ish face. Her eyes were locked on him, wide grey orbs that looked as if they'd seen it all. Freckles smattered her fair skin like paint, a mess of curly red hair that she somehow tamed into a high ponytail. Her expression was hard, but every feature on her face was soft and rounded. None of that caught Newt's attention as much as the knife she held in her hands.

"I s-should ask y-you the same thing!" the girl shouted back at him, voice unsteady as if she hadn't talked in weeks. "I g-go to bed a-alone and wake u-up with your shlem s-self in my r-room." The girl continued, grip tightening on the dagger.

Newt gave her a puzzled look before shrugging it off. She must've had her own language, just as Newt and the Gladers had. But that wasn't the main concentration of his focus.

"So did I!" Newt yelled back at her, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm. He wanted to look around the room for any sign that the Gladers had been here, but he was afraid that would come off as suspicious and that she'd take a swipe at him. The girl, white knuckling her dagger, didn't budge. She glared at him with as much fury as someone at a five foot frame could have.

"Well n-now you found y-your danky a-ass in my room!" She yelled into his face as if this was his fault. The girl lowered her dagger, instead pointing it at the boy's throat. "S-so you b-better start t-talking," she taunted, giving the blade slightly more pressure. "Or i'll skin y-you, Narc"

Newt had no idea what she was actually saying. Shlem? Danky? Narc? What the bloody hell was this girl even talking about?
Her stutter made her seem less threatening, but that didn't shine over the fact that she had a knife at his throat.

Newt couldn't even think where to begin. He was just as confused as she was. He went to bed in a room full of the Gladers that survived the Final Stand at the Maze, and now he was alone with this psycho. Newt told her his story, the main parts anyways, about the Maze and coming back with the saviors and the Gladers. She listened, not showing a single emotion on her face.

"I don't b-believe a w-word you're s-saying," She told him defensively, though the tip of the knife lessened pressure from his throat. Newt tried not to look relieved. Something in her eyes told Newt that there was more than just suspicion in her system.

She looked at him, almost wildly. "Why a-aren't you c-changing?" She asked, a slight hint of fear creeping into her tone. Newt blinked at her.

"Bloody hell you mean? Change into a shuckin' unicorn?"

The girl didn't answer. The knife pressed slightly harder into his throat. "You're a N-narc!" She shouted, voice nearly cracking at the last word. Whoever she was, she talked about 'Narcs', whatever they were, the same way the Gladers talked about Grievers. "Narcs s-show what t-they want, a-and then they b-bag you," She continued, voice hardening. The look in her eyes vanished into a cold, hard whirlwind of grey pooling into his own eyes. "I t-thought I was d-done with you. Why haven't y-you changed?" She snapped, annoyance flooding her tone.

"Maybe because I'm not a bloody Narc!" Newt snapped back, still holding his hands up. This girl, whoever she was, was the most untrusting person he'd ever met. To be honest, he understood where she was coming from. He didn't trust her either, after everything that had happened at the Maze with the Creators and their stupid Variables. Whatever experience she had with these 'Narcs' couldn't be too far off from how he felt about Grievers.

All understanding aside, he wasn't a bloody Narc. How could he prove that to her? Especially with the knife at his throat?

Newt cleared his throat. After being at the Glade, he'd learnt how to talk his way out of tricky situations with people who appeared to be unstable. "Look, I don't know what a Narc is. Some kind of monster?" He asked. The girl looked momentarily shocked, covering it up with a scowl. "The w-worst kind" She answered him, not knowing that she had given a piece of herself to the boy in front of her.

Newt nodded gently. Maybe he could get somewhere, now. "I've had my fair share of monsters, too. Bloody Grievers. The Creators did it to me. To my people"

The girl swallowed a lump in her throat. If he was speaking the truth, then who knows how many people he had to fall back on? She couldn't help but to feel a pang of jealously. She'd been by herself for three years, and this guy had possibly a whole army of friends?

Slowly, she lowered the knife from his throat, stepping back so he could stand. Newt obliged, rising slowly as to not startle her. His frame was a full head and a half taller than her, but she kept the same defensive scowl.

Now that he was standing, a new feature of her's became clear. A scar starting at the left side of her chin; Newt's eyes tracing it from there all the way down her neck and ending at her collar bone. He and all the Gladers had their fair share of scars and cuts, but he'd never seen anything like that.

The girl must've noticed his stare, because she placed a hand on her neck and scoffed. "J-just because I b-believe you d-doesn't mean I trust y-you, Danker" She snapped, balling a fist at her side. Newt scowled right back at her.

The two stood silent for awhile. Newt took the opportunity to look around the room. It seemed to be the same dormitory that he had slept the night before, except every bed (besides his and one across the room) were untouched. Newt took in the room before resting his gaze back at her, only to see that she was already looking at him. She wasn't just staring; she was studying. Almost gaping, as if she hadn't seen another human before.

"Newt," He told her, shrugging. "I'd give you a handshake, but i'm pretty shucking sure you'll chop it off"

The slightest hint of a smile appeared on her face, but it vanished as quickly as it came; the scar rising up and then falling into place as she did so. Newt was about to ask her for her name before she spoke up.

"Penny" She told him, voice much smaller than before. It was hard to believe that a voice as hard as earlier and a voice as small as now could belong to the same girl. Then again, he didn't know much about her. When she spoke, words stumbled awkwardly from her tongue, like talking was something foreign and odd to her. Judging by her expression when he mentioned the Creators, Newt figured that whatever happened to her in the past was one of WICKED's workings. He almost felt bad for her, but why should he feel bad for a suspicious stranger who held a knife to his throat just moments before? 'Stab-first-questions-later' type people weren't people that Newt fancied being around.

Newt nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "So I told you about that shank Maze, now where did you come from?" He knew it was a risky question. If it wasn't for the knife at his throat and the threat to skin him, Newt wouldn't have been to joyous to talk about his experiences at the Maze. It was only a day ago. How could that be? It felt like a lifetime ago, but the memories were still as clear as glass.

An indifferent look fell upon her facial expressions as Penny remained silent. Newt couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed at her constant pauses, but speech didn't seem too easy for her, and he knew first-hand that talking about Trials wasn't easy by a long shot. Her face kept the look of indifference, but her eyes were a tell-all. Her grey eyes swirled with hesitance, thinking hard; probably about whether or not she could trust Newt. After another minute of silence from Penny's end, Newt was sure he wouldn't get an answer. Fine, he thought, why do I need to know more bloody stuff those WICKED shanks did? But then again, if he knew where she was from, maybe it could help him figure out where the Gladers were and how these two ended up together during the night.

Newt didn't expect an answer and was about to ask her if she remembered anything suspicious about the night before when Penny spoke up. Her grey eyes seemed to dull, facial expression doing the same. The one sentence seemed to cause a visible deteriation in her mood. Newt felt a bit bad for being annoyed at her silence. Her voice was tight and tense, and she didn't stutter a single word that had fallen from her tongue.

"I came from the Stranded"