Deviation Actions
Literature Text
"Hospital," Paul muttered to himself. He required professional assistance.
The skin of his legs felt as though it completely tore loose from his muscles as he scrambled toward the room's telephone, leaving a trail of blood stained soap suds in his wake. As Paul clasped hold of the cream colored telephone receiver, the door of his room erupted inward. He heard an unpleasant tearing of flesh as his gaze jerked toward the gaping door.
A behemoth of a man lumbered into the suite. Each of his appendages appeared disproportionate to the others in length and thickness. What seemed like a series of tumors bulged from beneath his black turtleneck and slacks. As he stared down at Paul's naked body with a pair of lopsided and mismatched eyes, he grimaced, revealing a series of jagged, crooked teeth.
"You sodding git!" the man boomed as he strode forward and clamped hold of Paul's shoulder, veins of fluid agony shot into Paul's neck. "You would take Mr. Somerset's property?"
"What? No, what's—"
"I know Marcus delivered the Stigma to you. Where is it? It's worth more to me than your cankerous hide."
Paul's mind raced as the blistering infection crawled up his skin. "You mean the stain? It's on my trousers in the loo."
The lummox threw Paul to the floor and leaned back so that he could peek into the bathroom. Hunks of grisly tissue peppered the inside of the shower, but the man saw no sign of trousers in the room. Looking back at Paul, he let out a low growl like a parent restraining his anger at an unruly child.
Paul felt a myriad of hair follicles tear away from his scalp as the man hoisted him to his feet.
"Please, I'm very sick; I need help."
"You're not sick," the man said as he regarded the blotch of vermillion and indigo that burrowed through Paul's body. "But you may still infect others. I'm taking you to Mr. Somerset. He will decide what to do with you."
