A story

She backs away from you abruptly, pulling out a switchblade from her back pocket. Her hands are shaking. "Shit, I knew something was up with you. You're infected, aren't you?"

You open your mouth to reply, but some sort of pink slime comes out instead. The slime is viscous, almost solid. It sticks to your face, and when you try to wipe it off, your hands get stuck in it. The woman shrieks and runs away, down the soup aisle. A couple of people inch out of the neighboring aisle, brandishing various blunt weapons.

They don't look friendly.