Night Visions (TMR) (Newtmas)

00 (*)

Thomas could say that he began his new life on his feet, surrounded by a chilly darkness and stale, dusty air. Indeed, he woke up trapped inside a rusty elevator, which went up for what seemed to be a whole eternity, unable to see a thing and remembering only his name. Yes, breathing became no less than a challenge as he curled up against the metal walls and listened to the chirrups of the mechanism as it raised him to wherever he was being taken. But it still wouldn't be the truth. Maybe some new lives began that way, but not Thomas'.

Another idea might be that he began his new life panicking. True, he shouted and called for help until his throat sored up and he could only produce husky whispers, and then he banged his fists against the walls and the floor until his knuckles bled. Still, it wasn't how he began his new life. Only how he nearly broke both hands.

After the seemingly endless elevator ride, there was a violent pull, and then the cabin suddenly went eerily still. Scared by the little control he had over his circumstances, Thomas blew a last breath of air on his bruised knuckles and looked up, earning an unbearable itch in his eyes as his vision clouded with massive black patches. Bright lines of light stuck across the elevator like needles. With a grimace, he turned his head and raised an arm to shield himself from such pain, which wasn't little after all the time he had spent in the dark.

Noises over his head. Voices. They talked in English, but what they said made no sense. Thomas couldn't figure even half of the words, and for a second he wondered whether it was really his mother tongue being spoken up there.

"Look at that shank."

"How old is he?"

"Looks like a klunk in a T-shirt."

"You're the klunk, shuck-face."

Slowly, Thomas' eyes adapted to the light, and what had been blurry blacklit figures morphed into human people. His cheek burned when a rope was thrown into the elevator, presumably to help him get out, and hit him generously. Rubbing his face, he clenched his teeth and steadied himself before grabbing the thick braided vines and climbed his way out. Once done, he looked around, and it shocked him to see only children and teenagers, all dressed in worn clothing. Some held hoes and sickles. Two had their hands dirty with what he hoped wasn't blood. There was one holding a menacing-looking knife, as if he were to either slaughter Thomas or chop a carrot into perfect slices.

"Nice to meet ya, shank," one of them finally said. "Welcome to the Glade."

Somewhere in the crowd, there was a snort. "Look at the Greenbean," chuckled a scratchy voice. "Gonna break his shuck neck checkin' out the new digs." Several boys laughed. What was so funny about his words? Thomas was beginning to decide he didn't like the Glade much. A quick glimpse was enough to spot several massive walls, with equally massive openings leading into corridors. Maybe he could make a run for the nearest exit and leave all these people behind. He would worry about food and other small details later, when there weren't over fifty pairs of eyes watching him.

Someone cleared their throat. "Shut your hole, Gally," snapped a deep voice.

The dozens of strangers around Thomas stilled, and started muttering to each other shortly after. Some stared, frowning. A tall kid with blond hair and a square jaw sniffed at him, his face devoid of expression. At the front of the crowd, a short, pudgy boy fidgeted back and forth on his small feet, looking up at Thomas wide-eyed. There was a thick, heavily muscled Asian guy with his arms folded as he studied Thomas thoroughly, his tight shirtsleeves rolled up to show off rounded, perfect biceps. Back straight and dark eyes showing no mercy, a dark-skinned boy raised an eyebrow. Thomas recognised him as the 'Welcome to the Glade' guy. Around, countless others shifted their weight from one leg to the other, or played with their fingers, or simply observed Thomas with expressions ranging from amusement to disgust. The blond boy's he couldn't figure out. He looked confused, but not like others. A specially-confused confused.

"It's a long story, shank," the dark-skinned boy said. "Piece by piece, you'll learn—I'll be takin' you on the Tour tomorrow. Till then... just don't break anything." He held a hand out, stepping forward. It was pretty obvious that he wanted to shake hands. "I'm Alby."

Thomas just stared at him until he catched the hint.

His heart throbbed. He felt as if he had been drugged. "Where am I?"

"If you ain't scared," Alby said, "you ain't himan. Act any different and I'd throw you off the Cliff because it'd mean you're a psycho." Visibly tired, he rubbed his eyes. "I ain't good at this—you're the first Greenbean since Nick was killed."

Thomas reconsidered sprinting towards one of the gaps in the walls and never looking back. Another boy stepped up and bumped a fist against Alby's shoulder—it was easy to recognise the blond boy from before, who hadn't taken his eyes off Thomas from the moment his head popped out of the elevator. "Wait for the bloody Tour, Alby," he scowled, with a mischievous grin nonetheless. And an odd accent. "Kid's gonna have a buggin' heart attack, nothin' even been heard yet." Then he bent down and offered Thomas a hand, his smile warm. "Name's Newt, Greenie, and we'd all be right cheery if ya'd forgive our klunk-for-brains new leader, here."

Him being the only who had been nice to Thomas, he did earn a handshake. Suddenly Thomas felt an urge to look right into Newt's eyes. They were dark brown and as warm as his smile. Thomas held his gaze for as long as he could without it being impolite or straightforward strange. Newt didn't look away either. Then he stepped back and took a quick look at the whole of him, a moment Thomas seized to do the exact same. Newt was taller than Alby but had to be younger, around a year or so. Fair-skinned and muscled, his eyes were the biggest highlight of his face. Eyes Thomas met again after the mutual check-out, feeling his mind stir and reach for memories that, given they had once existed, weren't there anymore. Or maybe it was just a particularly strong déjà vu. Whatever it was, it was also a beginning. Because that, or better he was how Thomas began his new life—looking into Newt's eyes.

New project! So excited yasss :) This is my first time writing in English, so don't be afraid to show some love (I mean it. Show some love pls) and, if necessary, point out any typo or mistake you see. This is undergoing a heavy edition/re-writing because God knows it needs it badly, and any help, well, helps. LUV YA <3