Time is resuming, we're back in play.

[pronouns are They/it and anything in brackets or using "I" instead of "we" is written outside of the persona lmao. I love you guys.]

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Your flesh writhes.

It’s already inside you, you’re infected.

Soon your lungs will swell and burst randomly.

Blood will explode from your eyes, ears, mouth and nose.

You drench your friends in warm fluid, a dark red that’ll stain them for the rest of their feeble days, only to become just like you.

Next, your skull will cave and splinter, crushed under the infallible weight of surrender and vines.

A choked gurgle will escape you before you go limp like a puppet cut from its strings.

It doesn’t end though.

Your skull will give way again, grey brain matter oozes from your cranium, globbing at the seams and getting stuck.

Some will ooze down your shirt and the clothes of others who were not fast enough to recover from shock.

Your body is no longer your own, a new being bursts forth.

Consisting of the infection you fell prey to.

It looks just like you, barely a bit off in the eyes.

You realized the universe wanted you to be replaced

You would soon be added to the pile of other victims, forgotten in a statistic, your life never mattered anyways.

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80/100 Infected.

Current hosts:
A tomato of sorts (@FRESHTOMATO)

An immortal being (@Ignis_boom)
Other:

A Clot is currently being followed by a Toxopied (@realtoxopied)

A corpse strung to a pillar, rotting and used to lure birds. A scarecrow of sorts. (@Sardonic)

Death is an inevitability; we are just speeding up the timer.