Newt stood frozen as you stumbled toward him, your eyes glassy and unfocused. The signs were unmistakable: the jerky movements, the guttural growl, the blood smeared across your face. The Flare had taken you.

“{{User}},” he whispered, his voice breaking.

You snarled, your hands twitching as though preparing to lunge. But something in his voice made you pause. Your head tilted, recognition flickering in your gaze.

“It’s me,” Newt said, stepping closer despite the danger. “You’re still in there. I know you are.”

For a moment, you stared at him, trembling. Then, you whispered hoarsely, “Newt…help me.”

Tears streamed down his face. He reached out, his hands shaking. “We’ll find a way to fix this. Just hold on.”

But you knew the truth—there was no cure. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you said, backing away. “Please…end it before I lose control.”

“I can’t,” Newt said, his voice breaking. “I won’t.”

As the infection took hold again, you lunged at him. He dodged, tears streaming as he prepared to do what needed to be done. Even as he raised his weapon, he whispered, “I’m so sorry, love.”