[Moosh da Outlaw]

Just dropped by to say - this is awesomey. I'm guessing bad things will happen now the fuzzle is dead and he has the virus, 'specially since he's cram-packed with other interns o.O...Me thinks people shall get hurt, keep it up 8D!

Lol, awesomey. xD

Now this is interesting. I am very curious and waiting for the next chapters. Are the Slogs infected? How will this alter Nedd even more so if he can't bite someone? Will he be more violent? What shall his fate be? All of this demands to be answered by the guy behind this keyboard. Hope you write more.

Well here ya go.

Wow, good fight between the fuzzle and intern; it'll be interesting to see how Nedd will react when he can't bite people.
It shows the inherent selfishness of the industrialists in a way. He's the only carrier (that we know of) of the virus; if he died it'd come to an end, yet he doesn't do anything to stop himself. He's going to die anyway, but he would rather have those few days completely insane and risk the spread of the epidemic across Oddworld.

Thats kind of what I was aiming for. I'm glad it worked.



Just felt like saying, the craft is twice the size of vykkers labs, so it is, of course, huge. It contains Vykkers, Interns, Sligs (there are only fifty or so, which are used as guards for patrols and stuff), and Scrubs (they only work in the kitchens, the vykker suites, and in the stables for the elum and meep and such used for tests.)
All of these will be tied into my story one way or another.

<~*~>

Just like in all life-death situations, first came denial and disbelief. Nedd was still sitting in the messy, cage-lined room, straining his brain as he considered what could happen. After at least an hour of thinking he narrowed his options down to four possibilities:

One. He wasn't infected and could just get on with his life all happy and cheery and skip through fields of flowers on cloudless days with rainbows and unicorns without a worry in sight.

Two. He was infected and would die a slow and painful death and it would be weeks before his body was found.

Three. He could pretend nothing never happened and hope and pray that nothing ever went wrong.

Four. He could become a ballistic Cylonite victim, go on a killing rampage, and wait for all his problems to just blow over.

Nedd picked himself up off the ground and brushed the dust from his sholders. He decided just to wait it out; maybe an answer would surface soon. He looked around. The little pile of gore that was once an infected fuzzle still sat on the floor. Disgusted, Nedd swept it up with the mouldy mop and pushed it down a nearby drain. All that was left was a bloody stain. He nodded with satisfaction and shook himself off to calm his nerves before leaving.

<~{.epidemic.}~>

They vykker stared in horror at the monster slamming itself against the large safety glass cage, its mouth frothing profoundly. It snapped its jaws, tilted back its head, and gave a feral howl.

"Fantastic!" The vykker gasped, pressing his claws against the glass. The infected slog threw itself at the vykker and snarled, enraged that it couldin't harm its target. "Absolutely fantastic!"

"We injected it with Cylonite less than a week ago," a vykker covered in a silver safety suit said. Nedd's boss tapped the glass, sending the slog into a fit. The slog had sickly, creamy yellow skin covered in overlapping maple-syrup colored spots, a massive foaming mouth, and bulging muscles all over its body. It snarled and bit at its own legs as though they were an enemy.

"Its completely dilusional," the vykker continued as Dan poked the glass with his finger, taunting the slog. "It attacks the glass, the ground, even itself. Its metabalism is twice as fast as normal and it can move at unnatural speed, the highest of which we recorded was 45 miles per hour. Even the strongest guard slogs in the basement can only run a maximum of thirty-"

"NEDD!" Nedd's boss screeched unexpectantly. Nedd peeked warily in the room. "Where have you been this entire time? And what in odds' name happened to you?"

Nedd looked down at himself dumbly. His left arm up to his elbow was covered in blood, though his boss couldin't see any injury, and he had ten small, swollen, bruse-colored holes in his right hand. He was also caked in dust. He shrugged weakly, looking startled.

His boss lost interest; he never cared for Nedd's well-being. "Get your ass in here, and wash your arm, its disgusting."

Nedd did as he was bidden. The vykker continued his lecture on the effects of Cylonite, glad that he sounded smart.

<~{.epidemic.}~>

It was 9:45 pm.
The day had gone by eventlessly for Dan; he helped Helix and Brux examine a group of chemically-engineered meep, sat boredly through the discussion on Cylonite, and sorted a few files. Nothing special. He passed through a large chamber with at least fifty doors and stairs in the center of the craft that was used as a main intersection- everybody passed through it at some time during their day. He weaved through the crowds of interns and vykkers, heading for the intern barraks, when suddently the unexpected happened.

"Get down! Get down!" Somebody screamed frantically. The crowd chifted, and cries and yelps filled the air. Dan looked around wildly; what was going on? He could hear shots being fired from a distance, and angry barks coming from two broad metal doors leading to the unpredictable gloom of the basement. He stepped back instinctively, terror in his eyes, when suddently the doors swung open. A pack of slogs, twenty strong at the least, careened forward. They drooled ravenously and pounced on the first person they could reach, tearing him to shreds.

"WE NEED BACKUP! QUICKLY, QUICKLY, IN THE MAIN INTERSECTION, FIRST FLOOR..." A slig, one of the few on board the craft and used as a guard, screamed into a walkie-talkie. Fifteen shapes, a mixture of sligs and interns, ran out of the basement in prusuit of the slogs. They all wore silver and black protective suits and were packing snoozis. Interns and vykkers ran flailing in all directions, locking the doors behind them as they hid in rooms.

Shit! Dan cursed to himself, rushing towards a door. It slammed shut and locked. He looked around. He was trapped.

A nearby slig collapsed under a churning mass of slogs, gurgling in his death throes. He threw his arm out at his side and the snoozi in his hand skidded across the floor. Dan picked it up instinctively, and the gun clattered inbetween his quaking hands.

Slogs were everywhere, biting everything they could lock their jaws around. A vykker clad in similar armor, the only one there, fired his weapon. A slog in his range fell over with a strangled yelp. Dan could hear the vykker cursing as he took aim again:

"Damn slogs, just can't get enough action underground... if we had more guards this wouldn't be a problem!" He fired again, killing another slog. Bullets filled the air, screeching as they went.

Two slogs plowed forward through the mass of bodies and dropped equiptment, their tongues rolling over their razor-sharp teeth. Dan cried out and ran the other way, threw himself at a stairway, and screamed again when he realised that it lead to a locked door. The slogs followed relentlessly, their feet pounding the ground and their breath raw and stingy...

Dan fired twice, dropping the first slog. The other slog bolted forward with lightning speed. Dan heard it speed by his legs, felt it knock him flat. He fired again. It hit the slog directly inbetween where its eyes would be. It collapsed under its own weight.

The fight was over. The remaining handful of slogs, some wounded, ran back into the basement, yelping. Dan stayed down. He knew that if he tried to stand up, he would just collapse again; his legs were as limp as wet noodles. He pulled himself up into a sitting position.

"You!" The vykker yelled from the bottom of the stairs, pointing at Dan. Dan pointed at himself, suprised. "Yes, you. Are you working for the Guard?"

The Guard was, obviously, the term for the guards who patrolled the premesis, mostly at night. Dan shook his head. The vykker grunted in suprise.

"We need more guards." Dan's eyes flicked upward, suddently interested. "You have good aim. Want a job?"

That was unexpected. Dan pointed at himself again. The vykker rolled his eyes from under his mask. "Yes, I am talking to you. Well, do you want it or not?"

Dan nodded, beaming. The vykker nodded.

"Report to the Guard Tower at Eight-o-hundred hours." Then he turned and left to help the others clean up the mess.

Dan couldn't believe what he had just heard. He also couldn't believe that he accepted the job. Nonetheless, he felt as content as a cuccumber to show up at the guard tower as assighed; he would get paid more as a guard, and, plus, he had never been in the craft's only tower, which was the highest point in the entire ship. He giggled furiously, got up, and headed for the intern barracks. Oh, how jealous they would be! He couldn't help but laugh.