You never expected this. You just wanted to check on him—the poor guy sounded like he was in agony.

Instead of walking in on him laying in his bed like you expected, you see the mess that is his room; scattered objects splattered with dark blood, an empty bleach bottle, a shattered mirror. Then you see him.

There on the floor, frozen in place yet his bones unnaturally shifting underneath his skin, laid Adam Murray, his desperate, glowing eyes begging for release from his own skin.