07:00; Bite has almost entirely healed. Odd.
08:00; Doctor Nation returns to check on his patient. Seems decidedly eager for a man whose job entails the inspection of pustules and boils – particularly as, due to the emergency nature of my malady, I don’t have to pay him. Eager, yet shows no overreaction to my abbreviated & acclerated recuperation. Suspicious.
09:00; The Good Doctor spilled under an interrobanging () . Apparently my condition was sufficiently serious as to prompt practical application of a super-serum that had until been extremely experimental. ‘Universal & Natural: Discovered Ectopic Additive Derivitive’ Serum is Doctor Nation’s latest creation. This barely causes me to pause in my interrogation from the bedstead – nobody uses such a winding name if it doesn’t End The Earth (!) and are intending to hide behind boredom. That was how my ‘Perfectly “You-Reasoned” Aim of Mutual Industry Demonstration’ Scheme (Pyramid Scheme) worked.
10:00; Apparently, the serum is a high-powered revitalising tonic, available as ingestable potion & administratable lotion. It regenerates cellular tissue at the level of the repetitive telemear chromosones. My God. That sounds even more boring and mystifying than the name. Genius!
11:00; The Good Doctor has also consulted on my mutant stoat notes. He seems well versed with fantastic biology. Compliments my innovations. I am flattered, and defer sufficiently that he doesn’t notice my palming his serum. Should make good study material. Hmmm. Needs more depleted uranium.
12:00; . . .
13;00; . . .
14:00; . . .
15:00; Okay, the bounder did spot me palming his solution. There probably was more to that trick than that cockney pickpocket taught me – remaining untaught when I had his hand cut off. The ‘good’ Doctor Gave me the wooden cudgel treatment to the back of the head. Apparently Butler believed the Doctor carrying my unconscious body down the backstairs to his pox ridden conveyance was due to my ‘having a relapse’. When I get out of this, I’m having Butler chemically castrated for the good of the species. Sterilisation is a good first offence reprimand.
16:00; Doctor Nation has lectured for an hour on the creation of his U.N.D.E.A.D. serum. Word is that the serum can turn on and off the mitochrondrial apeptosis reaction of the body’s cells. If you went to a real school (i.e. one which was not free), you would know that apeptosis is the death of individual cells. Control over it is the power of life and death.
Cancer cells are cells in which the apeptosis function has ceased – those cells, useless, harmful, (like Butler’s brain) don’t die and reproduce more just like them to kill the host (like Butler in general).
If you could turn their apeptotic function on at will . . . Cancer-be-gone.
When a body goes into shock and ‘dies’, all the cells turn off – there isn’t even the oxygen to trigger apeptosis, leaving the body in stasis. Preserved. Its when the raging snot med students flood the body with oxygen like the oversexed teens they are, that is what gives the body the one last burst it needs to die.
If you could turn their apeptotic function off at will . . . Shock-death-off.
He laughs too much between speeches to be a good doctor. A competent evil one, certainly, he fixed my arm after all, but …
Oh Great Satan, my arm.
17:00; Okay, I’m not a zombie. He treated my arm with a weakened form of the serum, keeping back the infection. It’ll do it again apparently, but it seems I’m vaccinated against its full effects. Oh yes, as mentioned, the full effect is full-blown zombiism. Seems Dr. Nation learned the technique on the front lines. When he observed that the infantry left out in the cold and slowly warmed survived, where the officers immediately by the fire died. He saved the infantry he loved and he saved the officer he hated . . . later. He shows one of them. Which is more horrible? That the officer seems young, or that the maggot in his ears seems old?
18:00; It appears the good Doctor is something of a socialist. Well that explains everything. Helping the sick, treating the elderly, working pro bono publico! I will not deny a man those pathways so twisted in science and nature, so reviled by God and Satan, so cataclysmically insane that the morality of its effects can be judged only by the survivors – but socialism, the pinky upon the red fist of Communism! Never! Unless I was being paid, of course.
19:00; The town is surrounded by undead soldiers, ostensibly being billeted unto us by military furlough. To get past customs the rotting flesh and pustulating sores were put down to a new virus picked up by the entire crew on Dutch shore leave. Most of the bodies are hidden the bordello known as ‘La Pantalon Rouge’. When they strike and the entire town is turned with his voodoo perfume, a Zombie City shall rise to march on London. Is wrong to say I wish I had thought of this first. Yes? Then I wish I had thought of this first. He expects to be sipping tea with the royals by dinner time tomorrow. All of the royals, excepting those that were beheaded – seems it would be in poor taste. No larynx, apparently makes an underconversationalist of even Charles the First.
20:00; He asks if I will join him. He knows I am of like mind and intellect. He was tempted to turn me when treating me, but upon seeing my notes and hearing my demented cries of fury and revenge, he knew we could work together. ‘For Science!’ he cries, offering me a mug of the solution to make me immune to even the full-scale oncoming attack. I ask him what exactly it is. Ah. Thats ironic. The good Doctor was being praised for his work with the community. With a parade. At noon today. He slowly released the aerosol version of the serum from his own celebratory balloon. My Beezlebub, that is ironic evil. I don’t do as much of it as I should. He prompts the offer again. The entire town is dead already. Tomorrow will see a zombie dawn, with or without me. ‘Hopefully you will see sense’. Well that settles it. ‘For Science!’, I reply. Bottoms up, I swallow.
21:00; I talk with Nation concerning the future. Rule by Science, Science by Perfection, Perfection by Zombies. Excellent, excellent. Nationgrad and Quatloopolis (Moscow and London respectively), shall become new centres of learning in an increasingly ordered world. No mating for genetic cretins like Butler, mating every seven years for the useful but untidy gene pools, and lots of propagation by the mental and physical elite. For genetic diversity within in such an elite there shall be a triple as opposed to a couple (two women to each man for optimal progeny). Colonisation of Mars (with a crew of beautiful women, as necesary to populate a new planet). Social release for pent up urges of the mob will be the ritualised hunting, killing and eating of the people who bullied Nation and I in school. And so on. Good thing we men of science are not hampered by the emotional drives of petty sex and violent vengeance that so many other world leaders are.
22:00; Smoking cigars. Had my dirigible brought around to fuel for a second pass with the serum.
23:00; Finally, the prototype mutant stoat fetus I swallowed (when Nation was distracting himself with his plan) has finally been activated by the super-growth properties of the swallowed serum. Fully grown stoat leapt from my throat and ate half of Nation’s face. Distracted him sufficiently for me to leap to my stolen dirigible.
00:00; Side with him? Never! Dear Azarael, the man said ‘Hopefully you will see sense’. . . . He used an adverb at the start of a sentence, you bile worm. Intellectual utopia indeed. One can only imagine he said he ‘graduated medical school’ rather than ‘graduated from medical school’! Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve a dirigible to steal . . . again.