RE-WRITE! Sorry if the notifications bother anyone. I hope you enjoy this story if you're re-reading it, or reading it for the first time! Updates will come every week. Please remember that "B.T." means "Before Thomas," (essentially flashbacks). Every chapter will have a "Before Thomas," section.

Enjoy!

"Who's that?" Thomas asked, catching a lone boy chopping wood far from the others.

Newt stopped and turned back to see what the Greenie was looking at. "That's Allen," he said with a hint of yearning. "He and his twin were one of the first Gladers here. Best leave him alone though, hasn't talked much since his brother died and smells like a pig. Now stop askin' questions and follow me."

Thomas watched as Allen swung his axe high in the air and let it drop down hard, splintering a piece of wood in two. The boy's clothes hung loosely off his lean frame, and now that Newt had mentioned it, Thomas could see stains all over the boy's clothes and skin. Allen's shaggy dark brown hair was so caked with dirt and grease, it would probably turn out ten shades lighter if he bathed. Thomas grimaced, slightly grossed out by the lack of Allen's hygiene, and followed Newt as he showed him to the Slicers.

From under the early morning shade of trees, Allen peered out over the Glade and caught site of the new Greenie and Newt walking closely together. He heaved a sigh, thought about all the boys who had arrived in the Glade and the few that had died in it, then continued on with his job of getting wood ready for the fires.

Allen had isolated himself to the dark clump of trees in the corner of the Glade when his twin brother Greg had died a year earlier. None of the other Gladers had objected to the move, in fact, hardly anyone noticed the absence. Allen was Keeper of Shadows; a self-appointed job with a self-made title. He would wake late in the day and tend to the graves of dead boys before cutting more wood and managing the fires while everyone else was sleeping. Allen then slept from early morning until late evening when he would start the cycle again.

It was the very simple and secluded life of a boy in the Glade, and nothing more.

After Newt had dropped the Greenie off with Winston he walked around the Glade once to check up on everyone and give a few orders. Before heading to his own station at the Gardens he was called over by Alby, who was leaning up against the porch of the Homestead.

"You get the Greenie goin'?" Alby asked, staring out towards the trees.

Newt looked over his shoulder at the slaughterhouse to see if Winston and Thomas had gone inside yet, "Yeah, Winston'll take care of him." When Alby didn't respond right away, Newt follow his line of sight. "Wat'cha lookin' at?"

Alby nodded towards the Dead Heads, "first time I've seen Al' in a while."

It was the third time today that the dysfunctional Glader had been brought to Newt's attention, and it was barely breakfast. "He scared the klunk outta me when I saw him next to the fire this mornin'," he said, watching Allen throw chunks of wood into a pile. "Didn't recognize that shank for a sec. Must've fallen asleep next to the pit or something. He's usually gone before I get up."

"Anyone talk to him recently?" asked Alby.

The blond boy shrugged, not really wanting this conversation to continue. "Doubt it."

Alby weighed the response in his head, trying to decide how to feel about this information. As their leader, he did hold a certain responsibility to keep up with each boy.

"He's happy out there, Alby." Newt tried to convince the both of them, "leave him."

B.T.

It was an obscure chance of fate the day WICKED had come for the twins. Little Greg had found his father's electronic shaver, and after sloppily cutting his own hair, he convinced his twin sister to shave off hers.

Greg had gifted his sister with a very short buzz cut before their mother found them in the upstairs bathroom giggling like crazy. "Look mommy!" the little girl squealed, "Now I look just like 'Eg!"

Their mother dropped to her knees in disbelief and cupped her daughters face in her hands. "Now I'm never going to be able to tell you two apart," she groaned. "Why'd you do this Greg?"

The little boy shrugged, still holding the humming shaver.

She glared at him, "if this isn't cleaned up by the time dinner is ready, you're not getting any desert." Their mother got off the floor and stomped back down stairs.

Greg's shoulders sunk down in shame as he cleaned the mess of long brown curls off the ground with a huge pout on his lips. "Don't be sad, 'Eg." His sister chirped beside him, "I like it." She gave him a pat on the back, then skipped back to her room excited to show their dad when he came home.

Later that night, while the family of four was settling in, a man in all black kicked down their front door. He and his friends ran through the house with flashlights screaming for everyone to get up. Greg help on to his mother, while his father tightly sheltered his sister. The men clad in all black barged in to the room where they were hiding and tore the twins away from their parents. There was no shortage of cries or yells for help.

"Greg!" Their father yelled after them, "Greg don't get separated. Do you understand me?" The deep voice of his father travelled far as the twins were pulled out of the house kicking and screaming. Greg didn't understand, not entirely. He was too young. But protect his sister he would- at all costs, with no excuses.

The twins were thrown in to the back of a rather large armored truck where a handful of other kids their age sat huddled in corners crying.

"Thought it was supposed to be a boy and girl." A man's voice asked from underneath his mask to a shorter soldier standing next to him.

"Don't be stupid, David. That's a set of identical twin boys if I've ever seen 'em."