Warnings:

Canon AU | Pre-canon | Foregone Conclusion | Character Death (canon and original - major/minor is down to individual perception) | Depictions of Violence and Death | Movie-verse canon | fusion of book and movie worlds | mentions/references of attempted suicide (a past event) | Accidents and bodily injury | mild to moderate swearing/language | present tense | first person narrative

I will put warnings at the top of chapters where they occur where possible.

I realise you probably clicked on this link because you want to read the story, but to help your own understanding and appreciation of it, please take a minute to read these notes.

...

1. I've not read the Maze Runner books. I plan to, but as books are almost always better than movies, I want to see the movies first. So, this story is very based on the movie-verse version of events. If you haven't seen the movie, some things will probably not make a whole lot of sense for you.

2. That said, I have used information from the Book (learned through research and the Maze Runner Wiki) to fill in gaps and expand. So the end result is a bit of a fusion of both worlds, but more heavily ties into the movie's canon.

3. All the names used, other than that of the protagonist, are either characters existing in the books (found on the Wiki), or from the Glader name wall, seen in the movie. None are names I've just invented for the heck of it.

4. Some elements of it are not based on information from the book or movie, but on my own theories and conjecture. I've done this where I've had to fill in gaps for myself to explain things or make the world richer. These theories are mine and I will try to highlight them at the end of chapters where they appear.

5. The main purpose was to explore Glader life and how it could have been a sustainable thing, in the years and months before Thomas arrived. I wanted to look at the Glade as a community before it was abandoned. For that reason, the story begins months before the events of the book or movie.

6. Following on from that, due to it being a look into the same world, and following the events of the Movie eventually, some things are a foregone conclusion - events, attacks, deaths and so on. Some will hopefully be new and surprising for you.

On that note - there are character deaths (though whether you'd consider them major, I can't really say), there will be violence which I don't always gloss over (Grievers; need I say more?), and there will be conversations/mentions around attempted suicide (you probably know who). I will do my best to put warnings in the notes heading the relevant chapters.

7. I've already written this entire story. Its long. Its basically a full novel. Its finished, and it just needs posting, so updates should be regular.

8. I've not read much Maze Runner fanfiction at all. I've read drabbles on Tumblr and maybe the first couple of chapters of one or two fics. Mostly I just got too absorbed into writing my own to read anyone else's. So any similarities you see are coincidental and not intended by any means.

9. There is a relationship that develops over the course of the story, but it is not intended as the focus. The focus was the world building and concept of life within the Maze as a long term thing (as mentioned above), though it is a character driven plot within that.

10. As it's a complete story, I cannot (and generally wouldn't) take on ideas and suggestions from you - the readers - about future events. However, I would love you to share your theories and hopes for unfolding chapters as I post and all feedback is greatly appreciated.

11. The title probably won't make too much sense for a little while. Feel free to speculate or mentally throw things at me.

Lastly,

This is not the first 'Girl in the Glade' plot, nor the first to feature this particular relationship, and it will not be the last, either. I wrote it primarily for myself as a world building exercise (that got wildly out of hand) that is very much character driven and it is what it is. If its not your thing, that's fine, but I'm happy with how I've developed the reasoning behind it and I hope some of you will enjoy seeing it through.

Thank you if you took the time to read this. Enjoy the story :)

Everything is black.

I feel like I've been drowning; my lungs straining, hacking coughs clawing up my throat and the memory of too much water pressing into my mouth as I screamed.

But there is no water.

Just an iron grill and a floor moving far too fast.

The electric whirr begins to build, and then cold blue strobe lights are flashing past, from above, until they're left far, far below.

I'm moving up.

The lights race faster; I feel the world lurch, along with my stomach. I grip the floor of my prison, fingers curled through the grill, looking for stability that isn't there.

And then I'm thrown into a corner. The box has stopped without warning.

My fingers feel numb from my tight grip on the metal and my body feels numb with the blank space that was the lost memory of drowning.

The shadows of the metalwork box are thrown under a green light. An alarm blares from somewhere above the rusted red panels that form a ceiling. In the glow of it, I can see barrels and boxes; crates and tins.

W.C.K.D

Whatever that is, it doesn't help the shaking feeling that's taken root in my chest.

There's a rustling beside me.

I move a burlap sack from a crate, only to see a white goose shuffling around inside.

I drop the sack again. A sob; half shock, half fear, traps in my throat. A tiny, tiny part of me wonders if this would be funny, if I were anywhere, anyone else.

On the other side of me, a tin has cracked open with the force of the stop. Inside, a tiny knife shines green. It's no longer than the palm of my hand, with a roughly whittled wooden handle. My fingers curl around it.

My vision blows out into brilliant white nothing.

…

It just takes a moment.

My eyes adjust to a blinding sun, high above and the ring of figures that crowd the opening above my cell – only silhouettes in the light.

Their voices are a jumble of strange words and phrases, jeers and laughs mixed with an odd feeling of bitterness.

"New Greenie!"

"Get Alby!"

"See what's for supper tonight, Lads!"

The knife handle is clenched so tightly between my fingers that my nails dig into my palm and I feel the sting.

"Whoa," one of them says, silencing the rest. His voice – it is a he; they all seem to be male – rings with shock. "Find Alby. Now. It's a girl."

My heart pounds.

Two of them reach in and pull open the top of my prison.

They seem to hesitate.

One of them stands to the front, stance wide. He has a stocky, powerful build, his light brown hair kept very short and his face fixed into an unyielding expression that makes the arch of his eyebrows all that more prominent. He shakes out his arm. It's a twitch that comes before action.

As he jumps down to me, feet first, I'm already moving.

I don't know how I know to do it, but I'm yanking the sack from the crate beside me and tossing it at the boy. Its only surprise that makes him stumble away; he's built too powerfully for it to be anything else.

As the sack moves, the goose inside hisses. I jam the tiny blade in my hand into the side of the crate and lever it against the rusted hinge.

The side breaks apart and the goose charges out. Its wings – bright white as the sky above spread in the cage and it makes its wild bid for freedom.

The boys above yell in shock, most of them rearing backwards.

I grip the side of the cage and jump off the broken crate until I'm standing on solid ground again.

A black boy with short-kept hair is wearing an apron made of sewn together leathers over muddied clothes. He holds aloft a wooden spoon. "Get that bird!"

Some of the boys turn for it, already in pursuit like it was their last meal.

Before I can make a break for freedom, another boy is there, blocking my path.

This one is an opposite of the boy I sacked in almost every way. He has a thin, wiry build, is taller by a few inches with a mop of honey blonde hair and dark brown eyes. His expression is a genuine one of wary sympathy, though his eyes are firm. They tell me that he will use the short sword he's pulling from the sheath on his back if he thinks he has to.

I move again, without consciously knowing what I'm doing. I raise my elbow and use my forearm, ramming it into his wrist. He's stronger than he looks, but surprise makes his grip loosen and the sword stays sheathed as he is knocked back a step.

In the confusion of the escaping goose – which was a plan I hadn't planned – no one is fast enough to see him stumble and me shoot out of the gap it has made between him and the boy in the apron.

I run.

Everything inside me is numb and shaking and blank but I know how to do this.

It's a flat out sprint and as it starts to burn, it feels like I'm breathing air properly for the first time.

There's a wall.

Everywhere.

Worry about that later. Keep running.

I can hear the laughs, the yells and the jeers behind me, growing ever fainter. I can hear the thunder of at least five pairs of feet following me.

The field is long and open; green and grassy right up to where it meets the towering mass of stone. Huts and other hand-crafted buildings have been made from natural resources, and they stand in small groups at the edge of a dense wood.

Woods are safe.

I don't know where the thought comes from. Some kind of echo of a memory that I don't have or that wasn't mine, but I listen anyway.

I veer off course, leap over an abandoned fire pit and find myself in the more comforting shadow of a leaf canopy.

The calls from the boys are muffled now. There are still footsteps in pursuit, but further back. And only three sets, if I'm thinking right.

No one can run forever. I stop on the spot, dust kicking up under the scuffed sneakers I realise I'm wearing, and I cast my eyes around. The knife is still gripped tight in my hand.

The ground is uneven, run through all over with thick, twisted tree roots, trickling streams of water and arranged stacks of pre-cut branches and twigs.

"This way!" Someone behind me yells.

I look around.

The person closest is still running; more of a jogging pace than a sprint. And though they're heading in my direction, I can tell from the way their eyes flit side to side that they can't actually see me yet.

Best to keep it that way.

I move again, cross a stream and snatch a branch that's been whittled into a small spike from a stack between some roots.

I run at a tree and reach up to grab at the lowest branches.

Somehow, this comes naturally, too.

I manoeuvre as high as I can, quickly. The knife in my hand scratches at my wrist and the bark on the spike in my other makes my palm sore.

The woodland floor below cracks and rustles.

Two people jog into the space below my tree.

One of them is a stranger; somewhat scrawny with dark hair and in a pair of shorts that probably used to be a nice blue colour. The second boy is wearing a thin white hooded sweater with a leather sword guard strapped to his back, his hair a mess of blonde across his forehead.

I freeze in the branches.

I recognise the wiry frame and blonde hair as belonging to the boy I pushed aside. He's probably not all that happy, I decide.

"I'll look this way," the stranger in the shorts says.

"While she's in the wood not much can go wrong," the taller boy says. I find I'm surprised that he has a distinctly British accent. "So long as someone's watching the Doors."

I frown.

What doors?

Shorts leaves, now just walking, stumbling a little over the ground in a way that makes me think he's not used to running across a field after someone.

And it's at this rather odd moment that I realise the numbing emptiness inside me goes far beyond my shock in the last fifteen minutes.

I can't remember my own name.

The other boy below me turns and walks in another direction. He picks his way around with more surety, but I can see a slight limp in his stride.

Old injury?

I sink into my spot, back against the trunk and legs either side of a branch. I let the tension rush out of me. I'm shaking.

There's nothing in my mind, but it's on overload anyway. How did I end up here? Why did I end up here? Why are all the others boys? Who am I? Who did I used to be? How can I know how to run and climb but not know how old I am?

I feel a burning behind my eyes, and the warm path down my cheek as a tear falls. I press my eyes closed and suck in a breath. I bite back the aching emptiness and swipe away the tear.

I will not cry. Not now. Not for this.

I refocus.

My fingers and arms are scratched from the hasty climb. I realise I'm wearing some kind of thin sweater, and I can see the grazes up to nearly my elbows when I peel back the loose sleeves. There's a band around my left wrist; a snug fit. I pull at it and it snaps back. Elastic. The sneakers I realised I wore earlier are grey, and I'm wearing jeans that fall over the tops of them, the ends fraying and the knees worn pale.

I don't remember the clothes, but I don't remember anything, so it doesn't really say much.

I reach up to the back of my neck and pull around my hair. It's chocolate brown; longer than my shoulders by a good handful of inches and in a bit of a tangle, which doesn't surprise me. There's a leaf and a couple of tiny twigs caught in it.

"…know you're scared…not here to hurt…"

I tense again, pull my legs up and curl around the trunk. The voice came from below, but somewhere off a little. It's muffled by distance and leaves and I can only pick out parts as the voice's owner wanders closer.

This boy is older than the others. His skin is dark, head bald and he wears a worn shirt with long sleeves. A pendant on a leather cord hangs from his neck. His voice is low and gruff but honest.

He works his way closer to my hiding place, not looking up, but looking around him, as though I might be hiding under a root.

A stupid place to be if who knew how many boys were all looking for you.

"Hey Alby!"

He stops, and so does his monologue of assurances.

The boy with the sword on his back jogs up, shaking his blonde mop of hair.

"Newt," Alby greets.

"No sign," he reports.

I wonder if hysteria is starting to set in as I hold in the urge to snort and say 'no shit'.

"Billy's been stood by the doors since she came up. She hasn't showed up again so at least we know she hasn't left the Glade."

Alby nods.

Newt claps him on the shoulder. "Minho and Ben are back," he continues. "They've gone to Runner's Lodge and then they're going to help search."

"What about the goose?" Alby asks.

I raise an eyebrow. It seems like an odd question to me, but then again – what do I know?

"Frypan and the guys got it. They've shut it in by the goats. He wasn't too happy that we might not get a nice dinner."

Alby cracks a smile at this, and it seems out of place, like something he doesn't do too often. "She let it out?"

Newt shrugs, a smile crossing his features and it looks more natural on him. "Yeah. Jammed something in the side of the crate and broke it out. Used it as a distraction."

"Does she know anything? Did anyone talk to her?"

"There wasn't really time," Newt admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Gally jumped down to her and she just threw a sack at him, set the goose free and jumped out. I tried to block her and she knocked me to the side. Took off in a dead sprint and then veered right for this part of the woods. No one's seen her since."

"And you've looked everywhere?"

"I searched that way a bit," Newt indicates where Alby's come from with a jerk of his head. "Headed back across the field and got some of the others positioned. I've just come back from the Doors."

It's at this point that another boy shows up, jogging up to the pair of them and shaking his head. His skin is darker, too, curly black hair in a shock at the top of his head and thin frame supporting a satchel.

"Been all around the huts," he says. "Nothing."

Alby's jaw flexes. "We'll have to find her before dark. The Glade's not that big."

Newt sighs. "It's not long until sundown. We just need to watch the doors, make sure she doesn't get stuck out there. Think about it, Alby; we're probably scarier for her than being alone in this place."

"We have our laws," Alby answers firmly. "No one harms another Glader. It's safer with us."

"But she doesn't know that," Newt returns, somewhat gently.

I grip the knife in my hand.

My life is a blank slate. All of it. I have nothing to lose. And the worst that can happen to me is death. The sharp edge of the blade rests against the scratched skin on my inner wrist. I'll make sure that the worst thing that can happen to me is death.

And when Newt throws his head up, with something like amused exasperation at his friend, and his eyes catch mine, I don't look away.

He freezes. I force myself to breathe steadily out. My heart pounds against my ribs enough to hurt.

"Or…maybe she does," Newt says, his voice cracking.

Alby frowns at him, looking around. Newt nudges him and nods upwards, eyes still fixed on me.

Alby spots me between the branches.

"Jeff, tell the others," Alby says quietly.

Jeff - the boy with the satchel - nods and hurries away throwing me one worried look.

Alby holds up his hands and moves forwards.

"We're not going to hurt y-"

I don't consciously think about it. I grab the nearest branch with one hand, the knife pressing into it, and my other arm swings. The whittled spike I took from the woodland floor flies through the branches and misses Alby's shoulder by less than a foot, cracking into the tree behind him and bouncing down.

He stops on the spot and Newt's eyes dart between us.

My voice comes out with a kind of hoarseness that I think means I haven't used it for a while. Maybe my not-memory of drowning has something to do with that.

"Stay away."

"Can't do that," Alby says without missing a beat. "Let's start with something simple, okay? I'm Alby. I'm a friend. This is my buddy, Newt. Do you remember your name? Anything about yourself?"

No.

"I remember how to throw a knife," I say, half seriously. "And how to climb trees."

I swear that I see Newt crack a smile for a moment.

I'm not even sure that I know how to do those things; I don't have memories of them…but somehow I've done it anyway.

Reflex or muscle memory, I assume.

But where did I come from that these were necessary skills?

"Okay," Alby says slowly. Apparently he's only going to focus on the positive right now. "Okay, that's a start. You'll get your name back in a day or so. Everyone does. Everyone here has gone through the same as you."

I doubt that a little bit, but I don't say so.

"We have three rules here," Alby continues. "You do your part; there are jobs for everyone and something will fit. You never hurt another Glader – and they'll never hurt you. And you never go beyond the wall."

And if I disagree? I want to ask, but again, I stay silent.

There's running footsteps and more boys appear through the trees, stopping a small distance from Newt. I recognise one of them instantly as the boy I threw a sack at.

His expression is fixed in a more hostile way, eyes fiercely cold as he folds his arms and looks up at me.

The knife in my hand presses into the grazed skin and I hiss quietly. I force myself to loosen my grip. Just a fraction.

"You know we've been looking everywhere for her," he says, voice twisted with dark frustration. "I say we throw her in the Pit."

"Gally," one of the other boys warns him. "Come on, Man. Shuck off."

This boy is Asian; his eyes upturned slightly, skin olive-toned and hair jutting forwards above his brow. He looks like a person who would smile easily, were he anywhere else.

"What's beyond the wall?" I ask.

There are a lot of questions in my head, but this is the one that makes it out first.

The one called Gally throws up his hands and turns away, like he's just done with the whole situation. The Asian boy shoots a quick look at Newt, but his eyes drop to the floor and he stays quiet.

"You can't watch me forever," I say.

"A maze," Newt says. Alby shoots him a look, but Newt just stares back at him a moment before he continues, "The Glade is in the middle of it, and every night, the doors close until morning. If you get stuck out, you don't come back."

He's not saying it to scare me. I know that. And yet, it's not the full story. I nod.

I'll play by your rules for now.

Alby turns back to the group. "Okay, guys, everyone back to Homestead. Time for the bonfire. We'll catch up."

Looks are shared, there's a few mutterings, but everyone turns and leaves.

Only Alby remains, still standing where he froze when I threw a stick at him.

"So…think you can come down?" he asks. "I'll show you around, get you settled. I know it's not easy, but everyone here only has each other. You'll find a place with us. You're only a Greenie for a month."

I hesitate.

He's probably twice my size, at an estimate, and despite the fact that no one seems to realise I have the knife, I know it won't do much good after the initial surprise. But despite that, I feel like I can trust what he says; that I won't be harmed, that being so lost inside your own mind is not new to anyone here.

I let out a breath and quietly slide the knife into the elastic band on my wrist. It will stay there, safe. I pull the sleeves of my sweater down over my aching hands and slowly move off of my branch.

Alby stays still as I navigate down, more carefully than how I climbed, until I swing from the lowest branch and land on the floor with a thud.

My arms ache, my legs feel shaky, my stomach is churning and my mind echoes with everything that I don't remember.

Alby holds out an arm, gesturing off to the side. "Come on."

And he starts walking first.

I consider turning and leaving, but it's fleeting. I follow him from the wood.

Chapter 2 - Teaser

"First day, Greenie," A boy says to my right. "First girl, too. How does it feel?"

Maybe it's me, but it feels like the noise level drops.

I turn to look at him. He's a stranger to me; not pointed out and named by anyone so far. "I don't know," I say to him. "How does it feel to be a boy?"

-To be posted during the week-