Standing behind the filmy barrier of the Anti-Chamber, Specimen-I--a title my master has given humans tainted with Infeciegra--watches me as I watch it. Tilt to the left, the firecoated eyes follow. Tilt to the right, and they do the same. I can't tell if the creature is male or female, the body is so distorted, clothing hanging off it in tatters, loose around the emaciated form. The specimen smiles, happy to see new flesh, showing off chestnut-splotched teeth. It's been smiling at me for some time, but only because the chunks of flesh from the lips have either molded and shriveled away, or been ripped off to feed its own hunger. A sagging glob of saliva hits a forming puddle. The body stands crooked, but doesn't move. Nothing moves except those wide, horror-stricken eyes. They had bulged, as if too much liquid had been pumped into them, and no lids hide them from view. The skin is a mottled shade of bluish-gray, droopy below the eyes and with a darker tinge due to lack of sleep. Splashes of clean white appear where bones and skin push against one another. No hair covers the skintight scalp. The Specimen-I doesn't even breathe. I bet if the barrier wasn't there, the choking stench of decay would send me to my knees.

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