9

You step back from the door and interact with your phone, pretending you're too preoccupied to get the door.

"David, David, David…you're hearing me but not listening," Patrick says into the phone as he walks to the door. "You can't believe everything you see on the news…"

He swings open the exit door. A short man stands just outside, staring up at the sky, and at first glance, you determine he must be in shock—a large strip of his cheek is peeled back, exposing pink flesh and gray bone. No blood leaves the wound, and his skin is crusted and folded like a shedding snake. His shoulders are slumped, his legs bowed inward, and a striped blue shirt hangs loose and open with a green stain splattered across his chest.

He cranes his neck, his eyes flicking downward—big, brown orbs in a web of red veins.

"Nice makeup, guy. The horror movie is playing at the next theater…AHHHHHH!"

The short man lunges at Patrick, grabbing at his throat, mouth stretched open as if to bite your agent. Both men scream and fall into the lounge, Patrick falling over boxes of t-shirts, and the short man beside him. Patrick rolls away, knocking over a stack of Danger posters. The short man swipes his hand at your agent, cutting three equal-sized slashes through his shirt. Patrick yells out in pain as three lines of blood appear. The short man staggers as he stands, his legs rigid and straight.