[Moosh da Outlaw]

You really do have a flair for writing. And that's an understatement. I'll be waiting for the next chapter.

Thank you so much!

i'm actually getting into this, i'll be reading the next chapter.

Glad you enjoy it.

<~*~>

By the time that they had cleaned up all the foam, thrown it off the ship, re-painted the walls, replaced all the vykker's contaminated tools, disected a new elum, and caught the normal fuzzle he had released during cerades, Nedd was exhausted. That, however, didn't stop his boss from rapping our orders just as harshly as he always did.

"NEDD! WE NEED MORE FUZZLES!"

"NEDD! THIS SLOG BIT ME!"

"NEDD! STICK YOUR HAND DOWN THE GARBAGE DISPOSAL AND FIND OUT WHATS CLOGGING IT UP!"

Needless to say, Nedd was relieved when the day finally ended.

<~{.epidemic.}~>

The lights came on. Nedd groaned and sat up, only to smack his head against the top of his metal bunkbead. He groaned louder. Dan poked his head down from the top bunk quizzically with a look that read 'you do that every day; don't you ever think?'
Nedd forced himself to get out of bed. He, along with all 299 of his intern collegues, slept in a large, barrack-like room that, for no reason whatsoever, smelled strongly of lemon-scented air fresheners. It was cramped, always lit as brightly as possible, and was hot and sweaty. He hated it.
Nedd yawned as best he could with the stitches covering his mouth and left; the sooner he left that place, which he considered to be some complicated form of hell on earth, the better.
After nearly twenty minutes of walking, taking elevators, trudging up stairs, wandering aimlessly down hallways, and nearly getting run over by speeding stretchers, Nedd came to the large room where he always worked. He looked it over in confusion. For one thing, his boss was up before him and standing in the middle of the room, which rarely ever happened, and for another, every concievable square inch of the floor was covered in mouse traps. His boss rubbed his claws together, snickering evily.

"If this doesn't catch that fuzzle, I don't know what will..." He cackled. Brux peeked inside the room, grinning exitedly.

"I know!" He agreed. He had done the same thing. "That fuzzle will be dead, I know it will! Oh, it just makes me as jittery as a jackhammer to---"

"Okay," Nedd's boss said with a careless motion of his hand, "I really don't care, go away."

Brux skipped away happily. Nedd stared down at the floor, inquesting on how he could get across. There was absolutely no space to walk, no matter how careful he was. He tentatively raised his foot and nudged aside a few traps. One of the traps jumped up and snapped in the air, and Nedd fell back, trembling violently. His boss burst out laughing.

"Your pathetic! Now go get me a fuzzle."

Nedd got up and left before his boss noticed how embarassed he was. He couldin't help being terrified of everything that moved; it was in his nature. Nedd came to a dark, damp room packed to the brim with fuzzle cages sitting on shelves. They all snarled at him as he walked by, and he tried his best to keep to the middle of the room and away from them. He weaved around racks of cages and ducked under more hanging haphazardously from the ceiling, and quickly realised that he was lost. He turned around. Behind him all the cages looked the same. He couldn't even tell which way he came from. Nedd rolled his eyes. He was tired of things like this only happening to him.

Something scuffled across the floor.

Nedd looked around wildly, terror in his eyes. What had made that noise? Had a fuzzle broken loose? The sound grew louder, and a distinct growling sound rang in the air. A little lopsided shape jiggled in the shadows, silouetted by the faint light. Nedd backed up, his hands out in front of him, as though somehow blocking the shape. The shape mumbled and looked up at him with dark, luminous red eyes. It opened its mouth, revealing sharp teeth. Its tongue, throat, and gums were a sickly, decaying, aged-cream color.

NO! Nedd thought, running back. He pushed over a fuzzle-covered rack, and the cages clattered angrily together as they collided with the floor. The infected fuzzle emerged from under the rack. Its skin was blotchy and yellow and it seemed bizzarely swollen. It looked as though it had a bad case of mange. It eyed him spitefully and snapped its jaws, causing foam to fleck the ground. Nedd reached for whatever he could get his hands on. He grabbed a mould-caked mop and waved it threataningly in the air, trembling so vigorously that he could barely keep his grip on its handle.

The fuzzle sprang at him!

Nedd screamed and swung the mop, battering the fuzzle aside as hard as he could. It hit the wall and fell to the floor, suprisingly unharmed. It howled and sprang a second time, skidded to the left, and dove at him. Nedd swung the mop and missed. The fuzzle hit him square in the chest and opened its mouth to bite him. Nedd wrestled it to the floor and punched at it, missed it completely, and cracked his knuckles against the cement floor. He winced, still trembling. The fuzzle jumped up to his face, a fuzzy, snarling ball of terror and agony, and opened its jaws. Nedd slammed it to the floor. The fuzzle was temporarily stunned. He pummeled it again and again and again, screaming in raw panic, until blood drenched his fingers. Nedd fell down on his back in a daze, staring up at the cieling. The fuzzle was a bloodied lump of grizzle on the floor. Nedd held his right hand with his left, covering it as though he couldin't stand the sight. Then, carefully, he removed his hand. Ten small holes ran in a circle over the back of his hand.

What could he do? Who could he turn to? If anybody found out about this, they'd kill him; they were ruthless enough to do it.

He curled up into a ball on the floor, as limp as a dead fish, his eyes unseeing, expressionless. He had been bitten. He was infected.