Chapter IV

Physically and emotionally drained, Tom Depaola returned to his home drenched by the pouring rain. Picking up his new package from Jack Threads from the lobby, his Jordans made a squelching noise as he climbed the four flights of stairs.

Entering the apartment, Tom doffed his wet clothes and sat on the couch in a fresh beater and fashion sweat pants, his expert fingers quickly rolling a spliff.

Ian Turner, manbunned, entered the room, his gangly form hanging on to the door frame for support.

“Hey, buddy”

Tom grunted in response, rubbing his shoulder.

“You look kinda tight, buddy. Let me fix you up real good?”

“Aw yeah. Hells yeah,” said Tom.

Leaving his perch, Ian sat behind Tom, his long fingers tracing the internal musculature of Tom’s sculpted back. Suddenly, Ian’s fingers wrapped around Tom’s throat and squeezed.

“Zeit zu sterben , #fuccboi!,” Ian whispered.

Eyes bulging, Tom flailed wildly behind him, slapping weakly at Ian. Tom remembered. Reaching into his fashion sweatpants, he found his self-flagellation stick and quickly rammed it into Ian’s belly. The foul fecal odor of Ian’s sensitive guts filled the air and the long fingers receded from Tom’s throat.

Tom whirled around furiously, his breath quickly found. With a strength found only in the seriously pissed, he grabbed hold of Ian’s lower jaw and pulled. A sick sucking sound and Tom held a chin in his palm. A torrent of blood and teeth rushed from Ian’s mouth, soaking his Knicks jersey as he collapsed against the couch.

Panting, Tom looked away before he vomited.

Rusty.

Rusty had infiltrated his home, corrupting those closest to him.

But where was Rusty?

A slow laugh from the couch.

Ian sat up, spewing bloody foam from his ruined mouth.

“Sie denken youve gewann, #fuccboi?” gurgled Ian, his tongue struggling to form words without front teeth. “Rusty wird sich durchsetzen, buddy.”

Ian’s eyes grew dull then flared red with a whirring hum. Beneath his head, telescoping metal rods extended and found their purchase on his torso. Extending to their full length, Ian’s head ripped itself from his body.

Moving at an alarming clip, Ian’s head scuttled out the open window, leaving Tom steely eyed amongst gore.