Newt slowly came to, lying on the cold tile floor of the janitor's closet, his head pounding like mad. He sat up leaning on his hands, then carefully shoved himself over to the wall as his arms were trembling too much to support him. He sat there for quite a while, blankly staring at the opposite side of the room, waiting for his head to stop throbbing and his body to stop shaking.

His headache slowly faded away and the trembling ceased not to long after that. Newt was completely unaware of how long he had been in the room, for there was nothing in there that could indicate time.

"What have I done..." he sighed. Even though Newt still strongly believed Sonya, or Lizzy, was in fact his sister, he knew telling her had been wrong. Incredibly wrong.

"How could I be so stupid? Did I really think she would just believe me?" Newt straightened his back and looked up to the ceiling. "Hi! You don't really know me, but eh, I'm your brother. Just wanted to let ya know." He shook his head and looked down again, forcefully biting his lower lip to fight the tears that were already glistening in his eyes.

"How could I be so bloody stupid!?" he yelled out as he slammed one of his fists on the floor. "All I wanted was for her to know! But what did I do? I attacked her!" A sob escaped his throat. "I attacked her and now she's hurt! This is my fault, I did this to her!" Newt tried to slow his breathing in an attempt to regain himself.

"And now I'm all alone, locked in this little room, purely because of my own actions. After what I've done, I don't even deserve to be in here..." Newt let out a small whimper. "First to Thomas with that note. Then in the palace. Then on the motorway. And then to Minho in the van..." He paused for a moment, trying to suppress another sob. Suddenly, Newt's facial expression hardened and his tone grew cynical. "After everything he's ever done for me, that is my way of saying thank you. What a great friend I am! And now to her, a girl who's never even had the intention or the chance to wrong me. What did I do again? Oh, that's right, I hit her in the face! Why'd I do that? Because I felt like it! Why'd I feel like it? Because I'm a Crank! A bloody Crank!" Shaking his head, Newt stopped yelling. Panting from the sudden burst of anger, he coughed a few times. It left a strange taste in his mouth, sickeningly sweet with a hint of bitter. Newt frowned, puzzled by the origin of the peculiar taste. Wondering as to where it came from, he spat in his hand.

Newt gagged at the sight of the thick black saliva lying on his palm. The idea that it had come out of his own mouth petrified him. All he could do was look at the dark slimy substance which had now started slowly running down to his wrist.

"What is happening to me?" he whispered. He brought his hand down to his pant leg and frantically wiped off the saliva, leaving a dark smudge. Newt let out a desperate sigh. Feeling tears welling up again, he buried his head in his hands.

"First the mood swings, and now this... I guess I really am a Crank..." He was interrupted by a sob. Another followed, and soon Newt was crying like he had never cried before. Not even when he had been lying on the cold Maze floor. Not when Minho had scolded him for ending up there. Not when he had seen Chuck die. Not when he had learnt the smell of electrocuted Glader in the Scorch. Not after he had sent his friends away from the palace. This time was different. This time, the only thing he could do was hug his knees and continue sobbing.

"No, I don't have the right to be here," he said after he had calmed down again. "They shouldn't have locked me up, they should've locked me out. Out of this bloody station. Out of their lives. It's not safe here with me around." Newt stood up, one hand on the wall just to be sure. His legs were able to carry him again, so he let go of the cold wall and started slowly pacing along the shelves.

"I mean, I am dangerous. I can't control myself, not when I really have to." He softly nodded, as if already answering the question he was yet to ask. "And that's what matters, isn't it? I know what I'm doing right now, but when it comes down to it, I can't be trusted..." He stopped walking as he felt a new wave of sadness coming up. "Of what use to the group am I anyway? I'm only holding them back. If it weren't for me, they could've already been in a way better place. Somewhere... far away from me. Somewhere safe." Newt sat down again, now sitting against the opposite wall from the one he had just used for support. He closed his eyes and put his head against the cold concrete, hoping to wake up from this nightmare. All he wished was to open his eyes and be somewhere he could call home. Yet all he saw was a collection of cleaning supplies on a dusty shelf. And a small notebook.

"If only Tommy would've..." Newt's eyes suddenly widened. He hadn't been able to clearly recall everything that had happened on the highway; he could only remember what followed after he had tackled Thomas to the ground, but all that had happened before came back to him now. How awfully he had greeted Thomas, how crudely he had answered his questions. He remembered blaming him for creating the horrors of the Maze. And he remembered telling Thomas about his limp. Being washed over by regret, he put his head in his hands again and let out a whimpering sigh. "No. It's not his fault. It's mine. All because of that bloody note... If I wouldn't have given it to him, none of this would have happened. He wouldn't have tried to find me, so I wouldn't have been here preventing them from leaving this place. All could've been well, but I ruined it... Why'd I give that note to him? Why did I write it in the first place?" Newt knew the answer to that last question, but he felt too ashamed to acknowledge it.

"Everything I've said to him back there, all I've accused him of. It was horrible... I didn't mean a single word of it, but I have said it." Then Newt's eyes cleared of sorrow. His train of thought had changed to a different track, and Newt sat up straight again. "Well, there's nothing I can change about it now, but I can change what will happen, or rather, what won't. But there's something else I must do first."

Newt looked at the two filled pages one last time before he tore them out of the notebook. He carefully folded them before writing a name on each one, then put them in his pocket.

"They'll find them," he said with a tear rolling down his cheek, "and then they'll understand." Newt looked up to the shelf with cleaning supplies and recognised the warning sign for corrosive contents on one of the bottles.

"It's for the better." Filled with both sheer determination and pure fear, Newt stood up and walked over to the shelf.