Newt opened his eyes, his breathing labored and rough as he shot up into a sitting position. He glanced around, sweating and confused. He found himself in a well-kept bedroom with white walls and a wooden floor, laying in a large bed, atop a soft mattress. He glanced out of a window to his right, squinting through the bright sunlight streaming in. Newt's mind was racing. Memories came flooding back; his infection, the fight with Thomas, the knife that had gotten lodged into Newt's chest... How was this possible? How was he here? He died that day. Newt rubbed his temple, recalling his fateful demise. Thomas had been forced to kill him, as the virus had taken control of Newt’s mind and body, leading Newt to become murderous, unstable, manic. Newt squeezed his eyes shut, his heart becoming heavy with both grief and anger for a brief moment. He was forced to snap out of it when the door to the bedroom he was staying in suddenly opened. A rather pretty young woman, around Newt's age, came in, smiling gently at the very disoriented young man.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Newt demanded as the woman came to stand next to his bed, his voice shaking slight. He was afraid but he didn't show it. He schooled his expression, his brows furrowed as he watched the woman, his gaze hard as he waited for an answer.