Agent Marshall

All Marshall feels is warm blood seeping onto the bed, wetting the blankets and sheets and mattress and it doesn't feel so bad anymore.

Feels kind of nice.

So why is he still screaming, he wonders.

Why is he still screaming?

Blanchard grips Marshall's shoulders, pinning him to the hotel room bed while Gordon loads the injector.

This could kill him, Gordon says, placing the injector into Marshall's bicep.

Mixing that sedative with this stimulant might stop his heart.

Just do it, Blanchard yells.

Marshall's screams break apart as his vocal cords shred,

Gordon does it.

Marshall's eyes shoot open, and he lurches upright despite Blanchard still trying to hold him in place.

His screaming doesn't stop.

His eyes take everything in.

Then they look down at the bed.

Blanchard follows his gaze.

Gordon does as well.

The two men move back away quietly as Marshall holds up two bloody stumps where his hands used to be.

Marshall screeches, the words coming out garbled and broken.

Blanchard's attention is drawn to the foot of the bed, where the end of the blanket is slowly darkening with blood.

Right where Marshall's feet should have been, the blanket deflates.