Men and women alike writhed in pain on the ground of the birthing ward as babies slithered between them, smearing black goo everywhere.
Monica screamed in agony as her arm pulsated, the purple gargantuan pouch attached to it nearly bursting. The man beside her was already cold, despite his birthing-sack popping moments ago. A good thing; he would’ve died from the skinning, anyway. The parasite looks like you already, but it craves warmth and fresh flesh is best.
As the world faded to black, Monica saw her old colleague being injected with the disease.
Something in his stomach began wriggling.
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