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“You’re sure you want to do this?” Hermann’s voice comes. It’s not judgey, or condescending, just checking in. He’s always so careful to check in.Newt nods, runs a hand through his hair. “Yeah,” he says.And he is – Newt is more sure about this than he’s been about just about anything since the Precursors were kicked to the curb. He’s sick of not recognizing himself in the mirror. Sick of seeing their face staring back at him.It was their face. His body was their body. He was as nice a suit as the ones they made him wear, so nice they wore him to the prom for ten fucking years.He’s made his body fit him once before, he can do it again.