Different | The Maze Runner / Newt ¹ ✓

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Disclaimer:

I do not own The Maze Runner or any scenes in which you die from the Gladers' attractiveness.

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I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to pound on the doors of the box that brought us up there and demand that I got sent back down and my memories returned. The problem was, I didn't know which one I wanted to do most.

I started to take short, strangled breaths that barely escaped my lips before I had to gulp for more air again. My hands were shaking so badly that they felt as if they were vibrating. My face was growing hot, like it was on fire, and my eyes watered. It took me a moment to realize I was having a panic attack.

I put my hand on Thomas's shoulder, causing him to land his gaze on me instead of the rickety building in the corner, of which he was previously staring. As soon as he saw me, his brown eyes widened to the size of small planets. He knelt in front of me, his hands on either one of my shoulders. I gripped onto his forearms tightly as if that would anchor me back to reality.

"Hey, hey, what's wrong?" he asked frantically, his voice soft as his eyes searched mine. I tried to speak, but my chin wobbled so badly I couldn't form words. I shook my head instead.

"I," I squeaked out, choking back a sob. "I—"

"Shh," Thomas was whispering now, trying to gauge if anyone was staring at us. "You need to calm down."

"I" — I breathed as deeply as I could, but my lungs still spasmed in protest — "can't!"

"Try," he commanded gently. "Dylan, just try."

Both of our eyes widened after he said that. It felt like a punch to my gut, a new window opening in my mind. Dylan? Had he called me that? Was that my name?

Dylan. I tested the words out in my brain, and I felt something click. It was my name. I remembered my name!

"Dylan," I whispered, my chin wobbling less but tears still streaming down my face. "Dylan. That's my name." I was starting to calm down at that little piece of information I had about myself. "Thomas, how did you know my name?"

Thomas looked just as shocked as I was. "I - I don't know," he answered truthfully.

I wiped my eyes on my dark blue shirt, which was soft to the touch and had sleeves that ended at my elbows. My pants were gray jeans, and black combat boots were on my feet. My hair, which when I held up to my face, was a dark brown color the shade of bark on trees. It was tied out of my face in a french braid down my back.

A weird clicking sound caused Thomas and I to look up. A flash of silver and red caught my eye just before it scooted around the other side of the trunk. Without a word, Thomas scrambled to his feet and followed it. He didn't seem to find anything, though, when he returned to my side with a confused look on his face.

"That was one of them beetle blades," a young male's voice said.

A kid was standing to our right. He was about my height (which, again, was quite short) and pudgy, and was around twelve, maybe; the youngest I'd seen in the group so far.

I wiped my eyes with the backs of my hands, embarrassed that someone had seen my breakdown. I stood up, dusting off my clothes before asking, "A beetle what?"

"Beetle blade," the boy replied, pointing at the top of the tree, where that thing had disappeared. "Won't hurt ya unless you're stupid enough to touch one of them." He paused as if deciding something. "Shank." He didn't seem comfortable with the word somehow, like it had been foreign to him until recently. I guessed he was fairly new, considering it didn't sound like he had quite grasped the Glade slang head-on.