The Hand of Fate
I do not own any of the characters or settings in the movie "Osmosis Jones". They belong to Warner Brothers. I do own everything else in this fic.
Rated PG for unsettling moments and mild violence.
PROLOGUE
A tall, shadowy figure strode the outer intestinal tract. The long, black coat he wore concealed the threatening features of his body. His face seemed emotionless as he traveled the outskirts of Frank's digestive tract.
The virus peered down a dark alleyway. He knew what a tight schedule he was on, but he needed to take a detour. Perhaps it was a shortcut; he didn't know the City of Frank as well as the other cells did.
The words of his former gang members echoed on in his mind. "Boss, we're the only ones left," he remembered one of them saying. "Maybe we should. incubate for a while?"
His own words were there alongside those of his accomplice. "YOU incubate," he recalled barking back. "I said 48 hours, and I'm going to make my deadline!"
He then remembered what he said as he walked away from the raging inferno containing his former colleagues: "Medical books aren't written about losers!"
He grimaced. As much as he hated to admit it, his comrades were right- the smart thing to do would be to get his strength up, wait until he became unnoticeable, and THEN make his move.
However, it wasn't all that easy. He wanted to set a record, and he needed to do it as soon as possible. Otherwise, he would never get that special chapter in the medical books.
The virus sighed in frustration. There had to be a way to incubate and break a record at the same time. Even though the elements were in his favor, he knew that the unexpected could ruin everything he had worked so hard for.
Suddenly, he remembered that he had a special reserve in his coat-pocket. He pulled out a small molecular sphere. Through it's translucent membrane, a collection of tiny strands could be seen.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pile of rotting cellulose. Despite its disgusting appearance, it contained the ideal conditions for the reserve.
The virus reached for the back of his neck. Underneath the collection of tentacles, which extended from his scalp to the base of his neck, were tiny barbs latched to his membrane. He carefully picked out one of the barbs, being cautious to not prick himself with either the barb or his own sharp fingers.
He gently placed the barb in the reserve. He then cast the reserve into the heap of cellulose and walked away.
The virus soon returned to the outer intestinal tract. He pulled his coat tighter and continued to walk up towards the brain. "Time to get back on track, Thrax," he told himself. "Get one step closer to the medical books."
Meanwhile, back in the intestinal alleyway, something was happening within the spherical reserve; the barb had activated it. The tiny strands of DNA began to multiply at a somewhat alarming rate.
Normally, the cell body would grow at a normal rate. However, it had been in Thrax's pocket for twelve cell-years, though; it was suspended in animation. Twelve years had gone by, and it needed to catch up, FAST.
Cells, as well as viruses, are able to reproduce in their more natural fashion; however, it is much more convenient for a virus to purchase a set of reserves or barbs (which require implantation somewhere on the body).
Thrax's mission was clear: to set a record for taking a human life within his species of virus, and possibly all viral diseases. He couldn't be distracted from that mission, no matter what the cost. These reserves helped him to accomplish his goal and take safety measures along the way.
Thrax had no idea what chain of events would take place due to that reserve. However, it would not have truly started without the help of a local doctor.
I do not own any of the characters or settings in the movie "Osmosis Jones". They belong to Warner Brothers. I do own everything else in this fic.
Rated PG for unsettling moments and mild violence.
PROLOGUE
A tall, shadowy figure strode the outer intestinal tract. The long, black coat he wore concealed the threatening features of his body. His face seemed emotionless as he traveled the outskirts of Frank's digestive tract.
The virus peered down a dark alleyway. He knew what a tight schedule he was on, but he needed to take a detour. Perhaps it was a shortcut; he didn't know the City of Frank as well as the other cells did.
The words of his former gang members echoed on in his mind. "Boss, we're the only ones left," he remembered one of them saying. "Maybe we should. incubate for a while?"
His own words were there alongside those of his accomplice. "YOU incubate," he recalled barking back. "I said 48 hours, and I'm going to make my deadline!"
He then remembered what he said as he walked away from the raging inferno containing his former colleagues: "Medical books aren't written about losers!"
He grimaced. As much as he hated to admit it, his comrades were right- the smart thing to do would be to get his strength up, wait until he became unnoticeable, and THEN make his move.
However, it wasn't all that easy. He wanted to set a record, and he needed to do it as soon as possible. Otherwise, he would never get that special chapter in the medical books.
The virus sighed in frustration. There had to be a way to incubate and break a record at the same time. Even though the elements were in his favor, he knew that the unexpected could ruin everything he had worked so hard for.
Suddenly, he remembered that he had a special reserve in his coat-pocket. He pulled out a small molecular sphere. Through it's translucent membrane, a collection of tiny strands could be seen.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a pile of rotting cellulose. Despite its disgusting appearance, it contained the ideal conditions for the reserve.
The virus reached for the back of his neck. Underneath the collection of tentacles, which extended from his scalp to the base of his neck, were tiny barbs latched to his membrane. He carefully picked out one of the barbs, being cautious to not prick himself with either the barb or his own sharp fingers.
He gently placed the barb in the reserve. He then cast the reserve into the heap of cellulose and walked away.
The virus soon returned to the outer intestinal tract. He pulled his coat tighter and continued to walk up towards the brain. "Time to get back on track, Thrax," he told himself. "Get one step closer to the medical books."
Meanwhile, back in the intestinal alleyway, something was happening within the spherical reserve; the barb had activated it. The tiny strands of DNA began to multiply at a somewhat alarming rate.
Normally, the cell body would grow at a normal rate. However, it had been in Thrax's pocket for twelve cell-years, though; it was suspended in animation. Twelve years had gone by, and it needed to catch up, FAST.
Cells, as well as viruses, are able to reproduce in their more natural fashion; however, it is much more convenient for a virus to purchase a set of reserves or barbs (which require implantation somewhere on the body).
Thrax's mission was clear: to set a record for taking a human life within his species of virus, and possibly all viral diseases. He couldn't be distracted from that mission, no matter what the cost. These reserves helped him to accomplish his goal and take safety measures along the way.
Thrax had no idea what chain of events would take place due to that reserve. However, it would not have truly started without the help of a local doctor.