Issac felt a bit...well, staggered as he watched Mary walk away. And what the heck...was there something hanging out of her pant's leg? He watched her sonter away. Yes...there was. Looked like a thing of fur, black, orange, white. It made him think of his calico cat back home, Patcher. Pretty, old broad she was. It made Issac smile.
Then he felt his back begin to tingle. Pins and needles, like he'd fallen asleep on a limb the wrong way. Heck, maybe it was that sweet stuff Mary had given him. He wasn't a connosiour, but that drink had been smoothe. He pitied the poor kid starting his drinking career on that stuff, but baby oh baby...
Baby oh...what the hell?
His hands were blackened, and were twisting up into slightly less-than-imobile claws. Dark, thick spikes were shooting out of his wrists.
His feet felt funny, and after a moment of fumbling, he saw the same thing was happening to his legs. And there was this aching, dull throbbing feeling running up and down his spine...
The pins and needles turned into really brilliant pain, lighting up the inside of Issac Garcia's brain like a christmas tree. His pants and shirt sleeves became baggy, but the chest of his shirt tore along the seam to allow for a new pair of spindly arm-legs surging out of his sides. His hair fell out in gouts and handfuls, and he had enough time to let out one terrified scream before his mouth twisted into a long, dangling, curling straw thing. His shirt tore even further as a pair of delicately veigned wings oozed into existance, then began unfolding themselves like some kind of cancerous rose.
The world pixelated as his eyes began to bulge. His nose faded away, his ears leingthening and thinning. they split, ferned, fanned out into almost elegant antenna, sencing sound and making no sence of it...no sence at all. His eyes continued to bulge, eating away his nose, taking up most of his head until he had two great red half-globes, honeycombed and jewel-like.
His pants ripped themselves to pieces as spires of fly-hair poked their way out of his limbs, and as his wings dried in the air he began to flap them in panic, creating a buzzing sound that caught the attention of those too deaf to hear his terrified screams. Then the last of his expensive wool trousers were torn away as a gittering blue mass spun itself out of Issac's spine and flesh. A few wittnesses...those few not already out of thier minds with terror...regcognised the shining blue abdomin of a blue-bottle fly, and as they did so the rest of Issac's horrific being snapped into focus.
Issac was still shifting, still changing, but if you blended man and fly, this was what you got. Fly enough to disgust, human enough to...
Someone fainted, someone vometed, and a woman's gentle voice rose in a prayer, a prayer that was quickly overpowered by two Hail Mary's and one "Our Father", three catholics, each holding rosaries no one else in the office knew they had.
And the Thing That Had Been Issac--and even more terrifying, the Thing That Still Was Issac, for his brain was still intact, even if he could no longer interprete the world around him, buzzed helplessly on the floor, man enough to terrify, insect enough to disgust, man enough to pity.
No one thought to look for Mary. She had recognised the disruption creating a human Fly would make in the office, and had moved on to the next target on her growing list.
The boss's door was closed, and the shouts of horror outside were loud enough to cover the shouts inside.