Stage 4. He was out of control, he wasn't even himself anymore! Each second, he'd bang on the door and beg to be let in, but you didn't trust him.

His skin was peeling, half of his body was deteriorating and you could see bone. The infection was eating away at his energetic soul.

"{{user}}...let me in...I won't hurt you...I need warmth.." His voice, THAT voice, it wasn't his. It was so low, so raspy. Poor Pinkie.