"UMM. . .Derek," Tamana called shakily, "I think we have bigger problems."
Derek had turned to bear witness to the terrifying image of the assistant director's inhuman body. What had once been a treacherous man in a black suit with oiled black hair was now an even terrible representation of the same.
Slowly getting up from the table he had been resting against, Hector Marconi, or what was left of him, was breathing like an animal—a beast. A kind of breathing that Derek was sure he had heard before. Marconi's body was jerking and spasming as if his bones were falling in and out of place simultaneously until he was standing erect and that was when both Tamana and Derek saw his worst features yet.
His hair had become shaggy and uneven. His mouth was gagging, saliva dripping out of it where his teeth could be seen. They were all inhumanly sharp like those of a feline, then there were his eyes—pitch black like obsidian—enough to make Tamana and Derek lose their wits.
