Editing Hackforsatan19 (section)

===Take responsibility===
[https://plague.infect.site/?contaminant=2AD41061203ED8A987CDF7DF72510FD26B317D30EAEAA841205AD92FC868377A Link]
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"I'm so sorry!" you say. It comes tumbling out of your mouth like the last bitter chunk of vomit before the heaves go dry. He's screaming. "BITCH! YOU BITCH!" He's scratching at his eyes. He's writhing on the floor. Your first impulse is to grab the tissue box and frantically rip out enough to make a towel. But you're not moving.
 It can't be blood. It's too much. It's not your blood. He's bleeding. Blood that's definitely not your puke (which is definitely not blood). It's dripping out of his ears and mouth. No, it's gushing. He's having a seizure. 
People are gathering around the cubical, screaming. CALL 9-11! GET MITCH! WHAT HAPPENED?! OH MY GOD! You're frozen, staring at the pools of red blooming from nowhere beneath his starched white shirt. Someone shoves you out of the way. Cheryl, that bitch. She's probably been dreaming about a situation like this. Any excuse to hurt you. To be the hero. She crouches over Chuck. He's stopped moving. He's still bleeding.
Cheryl checks for a pulse, her fingers disappearing beneath a cascade of ruby red something. She jerks her head around and snarls at you, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, YOU CUNT?!" You open your mouth to say something, but she's already turned back to Mitch, positioning her hands on his chest just like the posters in the break room tell you to. You've read that poster at least a thousand times, waiting for the Keurig machine to beep. You don't remember a word of it.
"STAND BACK!" she shouts, all dramatic and self-righteous, the star of her own fucking show. She shoves down hard on Chuck's ribcage and a geyser of vibrant red erupts from his slimy, vodka-sausage mouth hole, directly into Cheryl's smarmy fucking face.
She screams, chokes, growls, spits, and vomits sheets of definitely-not-blood. Everyone is screaming. You grabs your purse, push your way through the throngs of button-downs and sensible blouses, and make a mad dash for the door. Behind you the screams seem to be growing louder. You hear a crash and a crunch and screaming and screaming and screaming. You don't look back. You push open the door and stumble out into the street. You don't look back. Or up. Or to the left. The horn blares and--
https://plague.infect.site/?contaminant=1497969018CDA17EF962EC3E2826ECA0E1B2D4D1E602B30ECE16726D6CE79861
(back to the start)
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