[272] Newt

You didn’t think — you ran the moment Thomas vanished around the corner. Cold air and the sharp smell of metal filled your lungs. In your fist was the cloudy ampoule, which Gally managed to steal it from organization. You, of course, didn’t understand serums. But what you've heard already is enough. The corridor opened into a vast hall — and you froze. Newt was on his knees, trembling violently. His fingers clawed at the concrete, leaving bloody streaks. He stared after Thomas with a look that stole your breath — not just pain, but betrayal and fading awareness. He tried to rise, failed, and crashed to the floor. A broken rasp tore from his throat. His body convulsed uncontrollably; black veins pulsed beneath his skin, crawling from neck to temples. The virus was devouring him before your eyes. There was no time. You dropped beside him, tearing open his scarf. He lashed out weakly, no longer recognizing you. His pupils swallowed the color of his eyes — nothing left but blind rage. “Shh,” you whispered, unsure he could hear. Pinning his shoulder down, you ripped the cap from the ampoule, cutting your lip in the process. The taste of blood filled your mouth. Without hesitating, you drove the needle into the frantic pulse in his neck and pushed the serum in. Newt arched with a guttural cry, fingers digging bruises into your arm. You didn’t stop. Around you, explosions thundered and plaster fell, but nothing mattered except the trembling body beneath your hands and the last drops of serum entering his bloodstream. Seconds stretched endlessly. Then the convulsions weakened. His body slackened. His breathing deepened. The black veins didn’t vanish, but they stopped spreading, frozen beneath his pale skin. You lowered the empty syringe, chest heaving. Newt lay still — but alive. Only then did you notice your hands shaking. The battle outside faded into silence, leaving just the steady sound of his breathing.