A pred that's infected by a parasitic fungus type of thing. It's not really outwardly visible; all their friends make jokes about how the pred looks like a 'cryptid' because of how pale and skinny they are, and that they seem to have some odd aversion to light... but that's just because the pred is shy and introverted, and besides, they say they work the graveyard shift at a local gas station, so it makes sense. Whatever pays the bills, right?
That is... until one day, one of their friends learns the truth.
On a late-night walk, they hear a scream that's abruptly cut off and muffled. The friend races towards the sound, thinking someone might be getting attacked and needs help--but when they round the corner to an alley, the sight they see is much, much worse than they could have ever imagined.
The pred, their dear friend, has some... black tendrils shot out of their mouth, wrapped tightly around some thrashing person and slowly dragging them into the pred's mouth, down their gullet. Black goo drips from the tendrils and, frighteningly, scurries off into the shadows. The friend knows they need to run, to move, something, anything... but they can't.
Within minutes, the pred's stomach is heavily distended and making strained gurgling sounds. One swallow and they shut their mouth, groaning and wiping away remnants of that odd black goo. They look up and spot their friend. They lock eyes for an uncomfortably long time, but then, finally, the friend breaks the silence:
"I won't tell a soul as long as you don't come for me. And keep whatever that... stuff... was away from me."
The pred lets out a disappointed sigh, as if they'd just dropped a plate and nothing more.
"Alright. Sorry you... had to see.... that." They say between pants. The friend backs away slowly, and then, they leave, trying their hardest to scrub the memories of that black substance and the pred's gurgling, squirming stomach out of their head.
