Episode Three: “The Great Flu Invasion”
The first sneeze came at 7:42 a.m.
Sammi was in her dorm room, wrapped in a cardigan, squinting at her phone, trying to decide whether “I feel a little weird” meant “go to class” or “become a tragic Pre-Raphaelite invalid on the bed.”
Inside Human Life Works, however, the situation had already gone from “minor concern” to “somebody ring the bronze plague bell.”
At the Air Intake Division, Lila Lungley stood on the main respiratory catwalk, staring at the incoming reports.
“Scratchy throat,” said one clerk.
“Dry cough,” said another.
“Temperature rising,” said a third.
Lila narrowed her eyes.
“And the nose?”
The clerk swallowed.
“Congested, ma’am.”
Lila turned slowly toward the red emergency lever on the wall.
“Oh no.”
The Nose Works Flood
Up in the Nasal Canal District, the mucus engineers were already in a frenzy.
“More slime!” shouted Foreman Snottingham, waving a wrench. “If we can’t identify the invader, we drown everything!”
A younger worker raised his hand. “Sir, with respect, this also drowns Sammi’s ability to breathe.”
Foreman Snottingham slammed his fist onto the control panel.
“Sacrifices must be made in war!”
Pipes began gushing. Valves opened. The Nose Works filled with defensive goo.
Outside, Sammi sniffled.
Inside, the entire department applauded itself.
Then the first tissue arrived.
Foreman Snottingham stared up as the giant white square descended like a judgmental cloud.
“Ah,” he said. “The Surface World has responded.”
Immune Security Finally Gets Its Moment
For months, Sergeant Histamine had been bursting into rooms yelling “INVASION?” and being told no.
Today, at last, the door to Immune Security swung open.
A pale messenger staggered in holding a clipboard.
“Sergeant,” she whispered. “It’s real.”
Histamine rose from his desk.
His eyes shone.
“Say it.”
“Viral intruders in the upper respiratory passages.”
Histamine slowly put on his little helmet.
“All units,” he said into the speaking tube, trembling with professional joy, “this is not a drill.”
The Immune Security Office exploded into action.
Macrophages rolled out like big friendly garbage trucks with teeth.
T-cells put on tactical goggles.
B-cells opened the antibody blueprint archives.
Natural killer cells stood in the doorway looking far too intense.
Sergeant Histamine climbed onto a chair and shouted:
“Today, we defend the factory!”
A junior immune cell raised a hand. “Sir, can we defend it without making the whole person miserable?”
Histamine paused.
“No.”
Head Office Receives Bad News
In Head Office, Professor Hypothal Amus was trying to keep things reasonable.
“Let’s not overreact,” he said. “Perhaps it’s just a cold.”
A test report slid across his desk.
He read it.
His face fell.
“Influenza.”
Dora Dopamine, who had been quietly polishing her roller skates since the Eriko lab-partner event, peeked over.
“How bad?”
Professor Amus rang a bell labeled FEVER PROTOCOL.
In the basement below Head Office, giant furnaces rumbled awake.
The Heat Crew, led by a soot-covered woman named Fiona Fever, began shoveling coal into the body’s temperature engines.
“Up two degrees!” she yelled. “Make it inhospitable!”
Professor Amus called down, “Careful! We need Sammi alive and preferably able to complain poetically.”
Fiona shouted back, “No promises!”
Outside, Sammi pulled the blanket up to her chin.
“Why is the room cold,” she groaned, while her body became a tiny furnace.
The Heart Engine Room Gets Overworked
Forewoman Valentina Valve watched the pulse gauges climb.
“Again?” she said. “First crush, now flu?”
Captain Hem O’Globin came panting through the bloodstream carrying oxygen parcels.
“Roads are congested! Nose tunnels blocked! Lungs grumpy! Muscles demanding supplies!”
Valentina grabbed a megaphone.
“Keep circulation steady. No heroics. We are not trying to impress Eriko today.”
At the mention of Eriko, every gauge fluttered.
Valentina pointed at the Heart Engine.
“Do not start that. She is sick.”
The Heart thumped guiltily.
The Muscle District Mutiny
Down in the Muscle Works, the laborers had all thrown down their tools.
“Arms reporting heavy,” said the foreman.
“Legs reporting noodles.”
“Back reporting ancient curse.”
“Neck says absolutely not.”
The Muscle District union submitted a formal notice:
Due to influenza-related inflammatory nonsense, all nonessential movement is suspended. Walking to bathroom only. Dramatic flopping permitted.
Sammi tried to sit up.
Every muscle in the factory screamed.
Sammi lay back down.
The union approved this decision unanimously.
Gus Gastric Faces Betrayal
In the Stomach Department, Gus Gastric was staring at the breakfast delivery: half a banana and two crackers.
“This,” he said, “is not a meal. This is an apology.”
Penny Pepsin looked unusually subdued.
“We’re on reduced operations, Gus.”
“I know we’re on reduced operations, but where is toast? Where is soup? Where is the dignity of warm carbohydrates?”
Just then, a nausea memo came down the tube.
Gus read it and turned gray.
“Oh absolutely not.”
He slapped a hand over the emergency lever.
“No evacuation unless strictly necessary! We are not doing drama today!”
From the Intestine District, Vinnie Villus sent a message:
Please advise. Nutrient traffic low. Workers bored and slightly damp.
Gus sent back:
Prepare for broth. Believe in broth.
Livinia Liverwright Takes Command
At the Liver Refinery, Livinia Liverwright had cancelled all nonessential meetings and tied her hair back with a black ribbon.
“Status?”
Edwin checked the ledger.
“Inflammatory signals high. Fever active. Appetite low. Medication incoming, possibly acetaminophen. Also tea.”
Livinia nodded.
“Tea is welcome. Medication must be processed carefully. No panic.”
A siren sounded.
“Another hot toddy?” Edwin asked nervously.
“No,” Livinia said, reading the label. “Ginger tea.”
The entire refinery relaxed.
Livinia stamped the file:
SUPPORTIVE LIQUID. APPROVED.
Then she added, more softly:
Poor Sammi.
Even the chemical refinery had feelings today.
Eriko Texts
At 11:18 a.m., Sammi’s phone buzzed.
She lifted it with the effort of a dying monarch accepting a treaty.
It was Eriko.
Eriko: You weren’t in lab. Are you okay?
Inside Human Life Works, even the flu stopped for half a second.
Dora Dopamine kicked open the door to Head Office.
“MESSAGE FROM ERIKO!”
Professor Amus shouted, “No stampede! She is feverish!”
Dora was already sprinting.
In the Cheek District, Blushina and Rougebert looked at each other.
“Do we paint?”
“She has a fever.”
“But Eriko texted.”
They compromised with a faint tender glow.
Sammi typed:
Sammi: flu :( i have become a tragic mucus goblin
Eriko replied almost instantly:
Eriko: Stay in bed. Drink water. I can send you notes from lab.
The Heart Engine Room made a dangerous little ka-thump.
Valentina Valve slammed a wrench on the console.
“Steady!”
Then another message came in.
Eriko: Also, tragic mucus goblin is a historically important phase of human civilization.
Sammi laughed.
It turned into a cough.
Every respiratory worker panicked.
Lila Lungley shouted, “Worth it! That laugh was worth it!”
The Fever Dream Committee
By afternoon, Sammi fell into a strange sleep.
Inside Head Office, the Dream Department took over because apparently when the body is sick, the Dream Department is legally allowed to become avant-garde.
Sammi dreamed that she was in a medieval cathedral made of saltines, and Eriko was a calm abbess explaining the iconography of soup.
A giant antibody shaped like a knight bowed before them.
“My lady,” it said, “we have defeated the viral dragon in the left nostril, but the right nostril remains contested.”
Eriko handed Sammi a golden spoon.
“Art history,” dream-Eriko said solemnly, “began with broth.”
Sammi nodded as if this made perfect sense.
In the Dream Department, a junior artist asked, “Should we make this less weird?”
The director laughed.
“She has the flu. Weird is the assignment.”
The Battle Turns
By evening, the immune response began finding its rhythm.
B-cells started producing antibodies with little stamped labels: Anti-Flu, With Extreme Prejudice.
Macrophages cleared debris.
T-cells coordinated strikes.
Sergeant Histamine, who had caused at least 40% of the unpleasantness, stood proudly on a pile of paperwork.
“We are winning!”
Professor Amus looked exhausted.
“We are winning, yes, but perhaps tomorrow we could win with less theatrical swelling.”
Histamine considered this.
“No.”
In the Nose Works, Foreman Snottingham ordered one more defensive mucus surge.
Lila Lungley shouted through the pipes, “Enough! She needs to breathe!”
Snottingham sniffed. “Fine. Reduced flood status.”
Sammi, asleep under three blankets, managed one clear breath.
Every department cheered.
The Care Package
At 6:35 p.m., there was a knock at Sammi’s door.
Her roommate opened it.
Eriko stood there with a small paper bag.
Soup. Tea. Electrolyte packets. A photocopy of lab notes. And, because Eriko was Eriko, a tiny sticky note attached to the soup that read:
For restoration of the tragic mucus goblin to full art-historical function.
Inside Human Life Works, Dora Dopamine simply fell to her knees.
“She brought soup.”
Gus Gastric stood in the Stomach Department, eyes shining.
“Soup,” he whispered.
The broth arrived warm, gentle, and glorious.
Gus took off his hat.
“Workers,” he said, overcome, “today we process love.”
Penny Pepsin dabbed her eyes.
“It’s mostly sodium and liquid.”
“Do not ruin this for me, Penny.”
Night Shift
That night, Sammi slept.
The fever furnaces turned down slightly.
The immune patrols continued their rounds.
The Heart Engine steadied.
The Nose Works gurgled but did not flood.
The Liver Refinery hummed quietly over tea and medicine.
In Head Office, Professor Hypothal Amus updated the status board:
Condition: Flu
Mood: Miserable but romantically supported
Mobility: Blanket-based
Crush status: Intensified by soup
Recommended treatment: Rest, fluids, kindness, Eriko’s notes
Dora Dopamine taped Eriko’s sticky note to the wall.
Sergeant Histamine looked at it suspiciously.
“Is this foreign material?”
Livinia Liverwright, visiting from the Refinery, smiled.
“Yes,” she said. “But the good kind.”
And deep inside the sick, sniffling, blanket-buried factory of Sammi’s body, all the workers kept going — grumbling, sweating, flushing, filtering, defending, repairing — because Sammi was their whole world.
Even when she was a tragic mucus goblin.
Especially then.
No comments:
Post a Comment