Thomas tosses the hood of his dark blue hoodie over his head, stuffing his hands into his pockets with a sigh. "Are you sure this is going to work?"
"I'm positive. I've been watching her route closely since I had found out that she was with WICKED." Gally explains, pulling his grey hood over his head, too, and stuffing the burlap sack into his pocket. "She'll be walking through the building we had entered after we exited the transit tunnels, meaning we've got to get across the city as fast as we can because we'll have to take a longer, more complex, secret route to get back here, given that we can't be out in the open carrying a girl with a pouch over her head."
"How long do you think you'll be?" Newt asks with folded arms.
"We're going to shoot for an hour. We'll only have two more hours following that until mandatory curfew, and I don't know how long it will take to get each of our trackers removed, so time is going to be of the essence."
"And if you're late?" I chime in, putting my weight on one leg.
Shifting his eyes to me, Gally says confidently, "We won't."
He jumps up and grasps the handle of the door in the ceiling, yanking it down and unveiling the dark night sky. "While we're gone, Brenda, I need you to memorize your assigned locations on the map I gave you because, as soon as our tags are removed, we're going straight into action with the plan."
She nods. "Got it."
Gally shifts his glance to Jorge. "I need you to-"
"Actually," Brenda cuts him off, "Jorge won't be staying with us much longer."
I distort my face in confusion. "What? Why not?"
"I've got some business to attend to, hermana." He explains.
That is so vague that I feel he may be lying.
"Come on, Jorge." Brenda says, turning on her heels and running to the map room.
Gally, brows drawn together, sighs as he averts his attention to Fry. "I need you to switch out the batteries in all of our walkie-talkies, and, given that Jorge won't be of use much longer, you need to make sure everyone's weapons are loaded and ready for tonight."
Frypan, standing taller, nods.
"Newt, (y/n)," Gally says, looking to us, "I need you to have our uniforms laid out and ready to be dressed into as soon as we are back, alright?"
Nodding, Newt quickly turns and limps downstairs.
As I turn to follow, Gally grasps my left arm to stop me in my tracks. "(y/n)."
I give the boy a questioning look.
"Keep an eye on him. Got it?" He says in a low voice.
Pursing my lips together, I nod before breaking from Gally's grasp and rushing down the stairs, glancing back over my shoulder to watch he and Thomas jump up and climb out onto the roof, closing the door behind them.
Once I've reached the bottom of the flight, I turn left and stride down the hall, walking to the fourth door down where there are countless wracks of clothes and disguises that Gally and his men have managed to steal off of guards they've taken out, Newt already inside and fumbling through the clothes.
Sighing softly, I walk to a different wrack of WICKED uniforms, fumbling through.
"How's your bite?" Newt mumbles softly.
I ponder on it for a moment as I slide the uniforms down the rail. "I still feel fine." I say, shrugging slightly.

Feeling Newt's eyes shift to me from across the room, I hear him mumble, "Are you sure?"
Nodding, I examine each uniform as I slide through them. "Yeah, I'm sure."
Cringing slightly as I examine a light grey uniform with dark red patches stained on the chest, holes torn in the material from bullets, I push it along the rail, moving on to a navy blue uniform. Furrowing my brows together, I pull out the disguise by it's hanger, holding it up and examining it closely. No signs of wear and tear. Holding it against myself, I measure it against my body. It seems like it will fit.
Sighing in content, I hang it back up on the wrack at the very end to set it aside for a possible candidate for my own disguise before continuing to search through the uniforms. Next, I pull out a red WICKED uniform, examining it. This one is definitely meant for a tall, lean stature. "This looks like it'd fit you." I mumble, holding it up and walking across the room to Newt, showing him the uniform.
As I approach him, he looks it up and down, a small smile tugging on his lips as he chuckles softly.
Distorting my face in puzzlement, I avert my eyes to the uniform and then back to Newt. "What's so funny?"
"It does look like it'd fit me." He says, taking it and holding it up higher so that the pant legs do not drag on the ground. "And it definitely would not fit you. It's nearly twice your size in height." He jokes.
"That is such an exaggeration." I mutter, giggling and rolling my eyes. Folding my arms, I add, "Don't get cocky just because you're tall." I turn on my heels and stride back to the clothes wrack I was just searching.
I hear him continue to snicker lightly as he limps to the desk in the corner of the room and sets the uniform down on top of it. Watching him out of the corner of my eyes, I notice Newt freeze altogether just before grimacing in pain, inhaling deeply as he gently grasps onto his right arm, rubbing it as he purses his lips.
I crease my brows together. "Are you okay?"
He nods. "I'm alright." He seems to have to force himself to let go of his arm, clearing his throat before he quietly stands taller and limps back to his clothes wrack, returning to his search.
Parting the clothes in the center of the rail in front of me to give Newt a suspicious glance, I lift a brow. "Are you sure? Your arm seems to be bothering you."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine." He says reassuringly, pulling out a dark grey uniform with his left hand, his right arm draping at his side, and, looking the disguise up and down carefully, he draws his brows together. "Does this look like it would fit Tommy?" He asks, changing the subject and lifting the uniform up.
Staring at the disguise, I nod. "Looks like it."
"Good that." He says, limping back towards the desk to set it on top of his.
Frowning slightly, I keep my eyes locked on him, watching him anxiously.
He suddenly stops in the middle of his tracks, face distorting in pain, and he quickly tosses the uniform over his shoulder so that his hands are free, grasping onto his right arm again, wincing.
My face falls as I worriedly stride across the dimly lit room, rushing to Newt's side. "How bad is the pain?" I ask, gently resting a hand on his back.
He, with eyes squeezed shut, shakes his head. "It doesn't hurt- It's just sore."
"Newt," I mumble, "I'm not stupid."
He shakes his head again. "You're not, but it really doesn't hurt." He explains. After a few passing seconds, he slowly releases his arm with a light sigh of relief, the pain now a mere blip in the past, and he limps the rest of the way to the desk, setting the uniform on top of his. He turns on the lamp on top of the desk, taking a seat in one of the two worn-down, wooden chairs that are placed beside it. "Come here; let's take a look at your wound."
"I feel fine. You're in pain. If anything, I should be checking your arm."
"Feeling fine is not the same as being fine; that's what you told me. Now, come here."
"Newt," I groan, walking to the desk and plopping into the other seat with folded arms, "you're hurting, and I want to help."
"And you were injured, so I'm going to help you." He says simply, taking my left hand and pulling it under the light before beginning to unwrap it.
Sighing softly, I watch Newt's eyes as he works on the bandaging, quickly, yet cautiously, unraveling the wrapping.
Exhaling a heavy sigh, I clear my throat. "About the nightmare last night..." I mumble.
Newt's big brown eyes shift to mine. "What about it?"
"I... I had a dream that I was a Crank..." I mutter, unable to tell him the whole truth.
I mean, with all of the stress going on, I highly doubt that he'd want to know that my likely infected mind conjured up the horrific concept of him being a Crank. Fortunately, that was only my imagination.
He draws his eyebrows together as he gets to the last few layers of the bandaging, a little bit of red blood splotches stained in the wrapping, juxtaposing the white. "That explains the level of intensity of your screams, and I think you might have dug your nails into the bandaging in your sleep and reopened the wound." He explains as he removes the last bit.
I quickly lock my eyes onto Newt's, attempting to avoid the inevitable and watching his reaction, preferring to see his face drop in terror over my bite rather than getting to witness my flesh growing grotesque and veiny myself.
However, Newt's concerned expression fades and he lets out a shaky sigh of relief, a weak smile tugging on one end of his lips. "All clear." He whispers.
Averting my eyes to my left hand, I exhale deeply, easing slightly as I see the clear skin around the dark red wound. "Thank God..." I mutter in relief.
He nods, using his free hand to open the top drawer of the desk, fumbling around until he finds a new roll of wrapping. "Here we go." He says, holding the end of the wrapping to my palm and beginning to wrap the clean bandaging around my left hand.
"Hopefully it stays that way..." I mutter.
"Good that." Newt says with a warm smile, lifting his gentle eyes to mine whilst his hands work.
Merely making eye contact with him washes me over with a sense of peace, making it easier to breathe and for my body to loosen up just enough to not ache and stiffen with the rising anxiety over my fate and future. Even if I was beginning to turn, Newt's gentle, chocolate brown doe eyes would honestly provide calm through the storm. His soft stare alone could keep me sane. I feel a strange sense of familiarity in his eyes, yet I do not know why. I feel the warm sensation of a blush rise in my cheeks, and I manage to smile in return. Newt's special to me, and I'm honestly grateful that their group stumbled into the cafeteria over half a year ago.
He softly chuckles to himself, causing my heart to flutter, his crooked smile remaining as he returns his attention to my injured hand. However, in the midst of bandaging, he suddenly grimaces, dropping the remainder of the wrapping, it unraveling and rolling to the floor, as his right arm is rushed with yet another wave of pain. He squeezes his eyes shut, frantically gripping onto his bothersome arm with his left hand, squeezing it tightly.
"Newt," my face falls as I gently reach for his arm, attempting to console him, desperate to ease his pain.
He shakes his head rapidly. "I'm fine; I'm fine." He mumbles in a rushed tone, pulling his arm away from me and rising to his feet, anxiously limping a few strides away.
Pursing my lips together, I quickly gather the remainder of wrapping from the ground and swiftly wrap the bandaging the rest of the way around my hand as I stand. "You are far from fine." I say as I follow after him, worry laced in my voice. "Newt, what are you hiding?"
"I'm not hiding anything, alright?" He grumbles, his tone shifting.
Frowning, I reach for his right arm. "Yes, you are... It's your arm-"
He suddenly yanks it away, left hand still clasped to his arm, keeping his back towards me. "It's not." He mutters, limping a few more paces from me.
Taken aback slightly, I stop in my tracks, but I don't show that I'm hindered. "You really shouldn't be hiding something that's harming you-"
"Why does it bloody matter if I do?" He snaps suddenly, throwing his hands in the air as he turns to face me.
Clenching my jaw, I stand taller in a defensive manner, balling my fists. "Because something is obviously wrong with you, and I want to be able to help you."
"You don't get it. You can't help me, (y/n)!"
Pursing my lips together tightly in frustration at his sudden change of attitude over me wanting to help him, I snap back, "I might be able to if you would just tell me what the shuck is going on!"
"That would not change the fact that you cannot bloody help me!"
"You don't know that!"
Breathing heavily through his nose, Newt turns and stomps towards the door.
"Hey!" I snap, striding after him. "You are not leaving until you tell me what's going on!" I demand, rushing past him and standing in his way, blocking the door. "What's going on? You've been on edge, and your arm has been a bother for the past- what- three shucking days?"
"You can't fix it, (y/n)! You can't fix me!" He retorts vaguely, livid.
"I can't fix what, Newt? What about you can I not fix?!"
Snarling slightly, he closes his eyes and forces himself to take a deep breath, struggling to calm down. "Get out of my way, (y/n)." He growls through clenched teeth as he opens his brown eyes again, narrowing them at me. They've gone cold.
I refuse to stand down. "Not until you tell me what's going on." I snap, folding my arms and holding my ground.
"(y/n). Get out of my way."
Pressing my lips tightly together, I scowl, shaking my head. "No, Newt."
The next instant is a blur due to the sudden shift and speed. Newt roughly grasps onto my upper arms with a firm grip, slamming me against the closed door. "I SAID GET OUT OF MY BLOODY WAY!"
Wincing as pain bursts throughout my back from the hard, wooden surface of the door, I stare into Newt's angered eyes with fear, my chest heaving suddenly as my breathing rate begins to drastically heighten, my stern stature immediately vanishing as it is replaced with panic.
He tightens his grip on my arms, making me feel as if his hold alone is cutting off my circulation.
"Newt," I whisper anxiously, my heart beginning to race, "whatever is going on, I can help you... If you would just let me-"
"YOU CAN'T SHUCKING FIX ME!" He screams in my face, causing me to flinch.
Staring into his rage-filled eyes, I take a stuttered breath, trying to fight the urge to cry out. "Newt, please, just listen to me-"
He does not give me a chance to finish, and, with terrifying speed, Newt pulls back his right fist.
My heart stops as soon as I register the threat, and, gasping in air, holding in the breath, I squeeze my eyes shut to brace myself for the blow.
The sound of Newt grunting from the full force that he puts into the punch follows, along with a loud cracking- no, snapping- sound of thick wood. Trembling in utter terror, I slowly open my eyes, trailing them down Newt's arm to see that his fist has completely busted through the hard, wooden door, directly beside my head to my left. I dart my eyes to Newt, staring at him with wide eyes. That blow would have been fatal if he had hit his target.
He returns the glance, staring back at me with a terrified expression, panting through parted lips. His clear eyes dart back and forth between each of my own, and I can feel the horrified adrenaline radiating off of him. Shifting his attention to his fist, he slowly pulls his hand out of the hole in door. "I... I'm sorry..." He mumbles, holding his right hand as blood begins to surface on his knuckles. He stumbles backwards slightly, breathing heavily, his chest heaving.
Attempting to catch my own breath, I quickly scan my eyes up and down Newt, my entire body shaking. He was going to hit me. He would never do something like that. "Newt, I..."
He lifts his eyes back to me, and, within a mere second, tears swell up in his brown, doe eyes. "I'm so sorry, (y/n)..." He whispers in a trembling voice. "I'm so, so sorry..." Wheezing anxiously, he sinks to his knees, staring ahead as if he's witnessing his entire world fall apart before his eyes. As if something had taken over him, and he was forced to watch.
I'm immediately flushed with panic for Newt, and I quickly rush to his side, sitting on my knees in front of him. "Newt? Newt, what's wrong?" I ask, shakily cupping his face and lifting his head to make him look me in the eyes.
Then, I see something I've never seen before: tears running down his face as he breaks a sob, his facial expression distorted in pain and sorrow.
Newt's crying. He's genuinely crying. He's always kept a stone cold stature and blinked back tears whenever he was broken, but now this... This is Newt in a complete and utterly shattered state, and it honestly terrifies me to see him like this more than when he was violent.
"Newt..." I whisper, heart aching as I brush his tears away with my thumbs. "Newt, what's going on? Please, tell me what is wrong?"
"I'm sorry... I'm so sorry..." he chokes out before hissing through clenched teeth in pain, clasping his hand onto his right arm.
"N-Newt?"
Taking in stuttered breaths, starting to growl through the pain to force himself to stop sobbing, Newt slowly slides up the right sleeve of his maroon coat, exposing his arm, and my heart stops.
Dark purple and green veins run along his right arm, branching out up to his wrist like a leafless, dead tree in the cold of winter. A symbol of death itself.
Newt is infected.