When there aren't that many people here he knows, at least beyond just a passing acquaintance, Chuck really isn't expecting the knock on his door. Company just isn't something he has very much of. Even more surprising, though, is the shout that follows. For Newt to be stopping by at least makes sense, but yelling for help — well, it still makes sense, but it gets him to his feet a hell of a lot more quickly, primed for a fight by the time he throws the door open. Whatever trouble Newt has gotten himself into, he doesn't want to let it get any worse.

"What? What is it?" he asks, then glances around the hallway. There's no one else there, save for a middle-aged woman across the hall who's glaring daggers at both of them. He's half-tempted to shoot some barb in her direction about how he's sorry they've interrupted her soap opera watching, or whatever mundane task it is that people around here do, but there are far more pressing concerns at hand. "Newt, what's going on?"