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You stare at the screen. You can't look away. It's your job. You can't risk missing anything. Three people enter the containment chamber, part of some test. As they stand there, staring at nothing, you stare at the screen.

There's a flash of movement, something dark. The men in orange jumpsuits stand transfixed. They can't look away. They can't look away as a dark claw appears in front of one of them, tears down his front and then vanishes. Fabric and flesh shred and blood splatters. There's no audio, you can't tell if he screams, but he doesn't move. He just stares, a red pool forming at his feet. The other two men stare as the claw reappears behind the first and runs down its back, slower this time. Strips of flesh curling away under long nails, blood drip drip dripping to the floor. The claw vanishes again, taking the flesh with it. Your eyes begin to itch, but you can't look away.

Two claws this time, one on each side. Claws running circles around the shoulders, slicing through flesh and adding more blood to the now-red jumpsuit. You're thankful for the lack of audio as each claw pulls up the flesh on the shoulder and yanks downwards, tearing large, ragged strips away from the arm down to the wrist. Exposed red muscle twitches briefly. The men don't move, don't react. They just stare at the claws. You stare at the screen.

More of the thing slowly becomes visible as it slices and tears. Long sharp claws attached to gangly arms, dark matted fur glistening with the results of its work. Nothing special. You've seen worse. But this time you can't look away. One of the claws touches the lower lip of its victim and slices downwards. Through the lip, over the chin, down the neck and chest and all the way to the navel. And then again, slightly to the left. The sliced lip sags downwards briefly before the thing seizes it and pulls downwards. Flesh separates slowly as the creature works. You're thankful for the lack of sound, but you can't look away. The horror before you searing itself into your mind.

It is fully visible now, hunched and bony and covered in sticky dark hair. A black, pointed tongue darts out from a black pointed snout to lap at the raw exposed muscle as it continues its work. Slice by slice. Strip by strip. Drip by drip. Two men stare transfixed as a third who cannot possibly still be alive is flayed, piece by piece. A dripping mass of muscle somehow still standing in place, lidless eyes wide and staring. Nothing exists but the soft glow of the rectangle before you, a window to a world of pain and suffering. Your eyes are dry and itchy, but you can't look away.

Minutes pass. Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Eventually the skinless body of the man collapses to the ground in a wet heap. The thing follows its movement downwards, staring at the mess briefly before looking upwards, towards the camera. Towards you. You can't look away. Its thin lips pull backwards, revealing serrated teeth, in what you can only assume is meant to be a grin.

It walks over to the second of the three men, and begins its work again.

You stare at the screen. You can't look away.

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