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Walter Snark, aged 23, had always been a rather... off-beat character. In his house, you'd be lucky to have permission to sit in your granny's house. Clear, plastic sheets covered couches, chairs and even tables. 

The scent of bleach and anti-bacterials saturated the air to the point of making your nostrils want to bleed. Walter was so afraid of anything filthy...that it even lead to some unhealthy decisions. His doctor once told him to avoid washing his hands more than three times a day, because of how he would wash his hands to the point of being dried and even cracks forming along his knuckles. 

Where did this phobia stem from, one might ask? It all happened one day in '93 when Walter was eating a hot dog. As he was about to take his fourth bite, his mother suddenly stopped him. "You can't eat that!" she answered. That fly just landed on it! Throw it in the trash and I'll get you another one.

It was from that day on that Walter began to view things differently. Even if it was just one, small, tiny, inconvenient  germ that touches you. The smallest thing in the world, even, you would become a hive for some horrible sickness within only a matter of months, weeks, or even days. Over the years, Walt began to lose friends, family and even faith. "Who needs them, though," he said. "When they're around, I just have all-the-more chance of getting sick."

Twelve years later, sleeping on the couch of his NYC hotel room, Snark had a terrible dream. He dreamt that, while taking a long, steamy shower, he had a terrible itch on his lower regions. Eyes closed from having his face drenched in sweat and hot water, he reached down to scratch his...down there. Relieving the pain with his fingernails, a warm, sticking substance overwhelm his hand.

Reaching his hand up to where he could see, the blood covering his hand was causing a burning sensation on the rest of his skin. Before he could even scream, the burning sensation spread to the rest of his body. Screaming while his fingernails dug everywhere, Walter peeled off his skin as if it were honey, and continued to melt until the curtains were sautéed in his blood.

Walter suddenly woke-up with a horrible headache. He breathed a sigh of relief as he realized that his horrible ordeal had all been a nightmare. "Thank God..." he muttered. "The only thing there is to do now is for me to indulge myself in some treats."

As Walter walked towards the door, he pulled out his key and attempted to unlock, he noticed a note sticking-out at the bottom of the doorway.

"Greetings, Manchester Motel Reside,

"We're sorry to inform you that a quarantine has been initiated for the entire motel. It's been suspected that a Greg Simulton, aged 38, has escaped government laboratories and is currently staying in our motel. He is carrying a flesh-eating virus that is transmissible through a microbe.

We encourage that you stay within your rooms as much as possible. The staff has been forced to lock every single entrance/escape from the building until further help arrives. Remain cautious."
—Simon Stockholm

There was a knock at the door.

"Could you let me use your phone? I need to call the doctor."

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