A story of Chef, and freaky stuff. I can't write anymore. Someone end me.

All characters belong to Total Drama, Jennifer Pertsch, Tom McGillis, and Fresh TV. I only own Lily (I swear I won't turn it into a ship fic on purpose!)

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"Hatchet," A doctor said, gently shaking the other man's shoulder, "Hatchet?" Chef Hatchet suddenly sprang into action as he pinned the doctor to the floor, keeping a firm grip on his neck. "Mr. Hatchet…please!" The doctor croaked out.

"Oh, sorry," The ex-marine said as he let go of him, "Old habits die hard."

"Dully noted." The doctor said, rubbing his neck, "We've got him stable." Chef Hatchet felt a little relief wash over. "He'll live, but…" He said, but stalled.

"But what?" The larger man growled, "What the hell's wrong with him?!"

"Your friend is suffering through a horrific mutation," The doctor explained, keeping his eyes on his clipboard, "Nothing too life threatening, just life altering."

"How bad?" Hatchet asked. The doctor opened his mouth to explain, but closed it again, looking back at his notes and then to Hatchet again. "Spit it out!" The larger man yelled as he picked the medical professional by the lapels of his coat, "How bad is he!?"

"I can't explain it…" The doctor said, breaking eye contact, "He's going through it as we speak."

"Show me." Hatchet growled.

"I advise against that." The smaller man answered.

"Show. Me." The ex-marine ordered.

"Sir, I really don't think you should see your friend in such a state." The doctor tried to reason, "I mean…I had a hard time standing there, and I've seen the victims of car accidents!"

"You better show me what's happening to Chris," Hatchet threatened, "Or you'll be eating through a straw in your neck!"

"Okay!" The doctor squeaked, "Fine, I'll show you!" The two men then walked through the double doors, the doctor fumbling with a key card to unlock the door beyond that. "Your friend is still exhibiting a bit of radiation," The doctor explained as he slid the card through the reader, "So you'll have to wear a hazmat suit."

"I already knew that!" Hatchet barked as they entered a locker room.

"Did your friend know that he was operating on a radioactive island?" The doctor asked as he took a hazmat suit out.

"Yeah," Hatchet admitted, "But he didn't know where else to host the island! Or didn't care; I just follow and do what I'm told."

"You need a better friend," the other man said, "That, or get out of television."

"You try quitting when you're bound to a contract!" The ex-marine said as he slipped on the headgear.

"Whatever…" The doctor uttered as he and Chef entered a chamber, "Contracts are just words on paper." The two waited as they were decontaminated, watching people in hazmat suits on the other side walk to and fro with something in their hands. The spraying finally stopped and the door opened.

Chef couldn't help but look around the room; it looked more like it belonged in a warehouse than in a hospital. It was large enough to hold a 747, holding many patients in thick, glass containers instead. Various beeps could be heard from EKGs and Cardiograms, all in various tempos and volumes. "Why is he here?" Chef couldn't help but ask, "Why are all these people here?"

"This is a special ward for those affected with toxic products and byproducts," The doctor explained, "They either could decompose into a mush or mutate into some hideous creature. Whatever the case may be, they are too dangerous to be around the other patients." A loud commotion was heard as several persons ran to glass container, shouting orders. "Guess one's melting now." The doctor commented.

"Will you just show me to Chris?" Chef asked, feeling a little sick.

"Don't you wanna see a man melt?" The professional offered, "It's kinda neat."

"Just take me to Chris," Hatchet said, "Before I puke."

"Okay, okay." The doctor said as they walked away. Chef dared to look back at the scene, looking away as a hand splattered on the glass, leaving a flesh-covered smear as it trailed back down. The two walked through a row, exposing Hatchet to mutated patients of all varieties.

"You said he was mutating right now, right?" Hatchet asked, trying not to lock eyes with the patients.

"Yeah," The doctor said, "We had to put him in an extra-large case." The image of Dakota flashed before Hatchet's eyes, remembering how bad her mutation was. "Not only that," The professional continued, "But we had to call a few members of animal control."

"Why?" Hatchet dared to ask. The doctor didn't answer as the two stopped in front of a glass chamber large enough to hold an elephant. He jerked a thumb, and Hatchet saw the reason why. In the middle of the chamber was Chris, holding a hospital bed over his head. "Oh…" He uttered as his partner threw the bed against the glass, barely causing a scratch.

"These little chambers are strong enough to stand against a tank shot," the doctor boasted, "So we don't have to worry about break outs." But Hatchet ignored him as he walked up right to the glass, watching Chris as he furiously kicked and punched at his chamber walls. He noted that Chris looked to be his height, maybe a little taller. "Hey, get the hell away!" The doctor said as he tried to pull Hatchet away.

"Can I go inside?" Hatchet asked.

"You nuts?" The doctor spat back, "You're gonna get ripped in half!"

"He's still my partner," The ex-marine said, "He'll listen to me."

"He ain't like a puppy you had back home," The doctor reason, "As said, he's mutating right now. Usually, its human reasoning that goes first and then the whole body goes with it. There's a big chance that you'll get caught when that happens, and you go from 'friend' to 'chew-toy'!"

"I gotta try." Hatchet uttered, making the doctor grunt and walk away. He turned to see the doctor talking to another person, losing interest and turning back to Chris again. He watched as his partner staggered to an opposite side until he collapsed on the floor. He felt a hand on his shoulder, making him look to see the doctor had returned with another man holding a tranquilizer gun.

"You're lucky," The professional said, "They'll allow you in there for roughly fifteen to twenty minutes. This guy will pull you out when time's up, or when things go south."

"I have to go in there one on one." The ex-marine stated. The doctor shot a look at the man, and he nodded.

"Fine." The doctor surrendered. The trio then walked over to an extension on the case, where the doctor slid a different card through the reader. The door opened and Chef went inside. The first thing he noticed was that the case was sound-proof; all that was heard was Chris' whimpering.

"Chris?" He called, "Chris, it's me."

"Ha…Hatchet?" Chris croaked. Chef walked cautiously to his partner, keeping his movements slow.

"Yeah, it's me." He answered, "Don't freak out."

"It hurts…" The patient sobbed, "I can't take it!"

"Settle down," Hatchet uttered as he knelt, "It'll be okay." But he regretted those words in an instant. Chris's skin was forfeiting to forest-green scales, protruding through the flesh in patches. He still had a little hair left, but Hatchet could see something else growing under the scalp: a pointed bump protruded through a patch of hair.

"Please," Chris moaned, "Hatchet please…I can't be a monster!"

"You'll be okay…" Chef tried to soothe, "You're not gonna be a monster."

"I'm just some freak-show to these bastards!" He growled as he tried to roll over.

"Calm down Chris." Hatchet said as he sat his partner up, "It'll be okay. You just need to calm down. There's no need to act this way; you're acting like Ezekiel." Hatchet gasped at his realization. Chris glared at him, baring his newly developing fangs.

"Ezekiel isn't in here." He growled, "I am. Someone threw me into that toxic barrel. He got lost in a plane. So why the hell am I here while he's not?!"

"I'm sorry about that." The ex-marine quickly uttered, but Chris let out a snarl, silencing the other man. "Look, the doctors are doing the best they can," Hatchet said, "But you're not gonna get better if you keep acting like this!" Before Chris could retaliate, he cried out, hands reaching to Hatchet's suit. Hatchet pulled his partner close so his head would rest on his broad shoulder, feeling Chris' hands grip handfuls of his suit.

"Make it stop!" He screamed, "MAKE IT STOP!"

"It will pass!" Hatchet assured, "Just hold on!" But Chris buried his face into his shoulder, screaming muffled by fabric. The sounds of cracking made Chef look to see Chris' legs starting to twist around each other, quickly turning his gaze away. 'This is worse than I thought…' he thought as he stroked his partner's back, 'How in the hell am I gonna get him back to normal?' Suddenly, he noticed that Chris stopped screaming, yet the sounds of cracking bone were still heard. He gently jostled his shoulder, asking, "Chris, are you alright? Chris?"

The brunette looked up at his friend, tears slipping down his face. But what scared Chef is that a smile graced his friend's lips; a small, genuine, sad smile. "Chef…" he uttered, "Do you know that trick?"

"Wh-what trick exactly?" He asked, cursing himself for showing fear.

"You know what trick I'm talking about," Chris said quietly, "That trick that you can do…that one you told me about…that one you learned when you were fighting overseas." Chef widened his eyes, his breath hitched in his throat.

"Chris, no," he uttered as he let his friend go and scooted away, "No, I'm not gonna do it!"

"You're running out of time," Chris purred as he struggled to sit himself up right, "They're gonna take you, and I will never see you again. I'm going to rot for the rest of my days; going to be poked and prodded by day, left alone in this cage at night. That's worse than death in my opinion…and you're gonna let me suffer through that?"

"Chris, will you listen to yourself?!" Chef shouted, "Look, just be patient and let the nice doctors help you. You'll be better in no time, and everything will go back to normal!"

"The hell are you talking about?" His partner calmly asked, "You're talking like I have a broken leg. Look at me; I'm a monster. Nothing will ever be the same again. Look, if you have a hard time doing it, let's play pretend. Pretend I'm one of the guys in your platoon that just lost both of his legs due to stepping on a land mine. I'm in pure agony here, Hatchet; do it."

But before Hatchet could answer, the door opened and the man with the tranq gun appeared, pulling him away. "Time's up." He uttered, "Come on."

"Wait, hold on." Chef uttered, but the man kept pulling him back.

"I said time's up," The man answered, "Any longer, and you're gonna get sick. Besides, your friend is slipping." The two exited the chamber, people on the other side rushing over to the two.

"Do you feel okay?"

"Has your suit been punctured?"

"What was it like?!"

"Did he bite you?"

Chef growled as he shoved past the questioning professionals, rooting around until he found the doctor from before. He picked him up and said, "You better get him back to normal," he threatened, "Or I will claw down your throat, little man."

"Are you crazy?' The doctor chuckled, "We would be lucky if we could keep him sane. He'll never get back to normal!"

"Then try damn it!" Chef yelled, "Fucking try!"

"Look," The doctor said as he adopted a serious tone, "To get him back to normal is like trying to fix Chernobyl. It's gonna take a long time, and it will take a ton of money. And I doubt you have a few million dollars lying around in your hovel. Besides, it's gonna be risky; off the top of my head, we'll probably have to replace the whole body! So let's be reasonable; we're doctors, not miracle workers. And besides, he was a terrible person; more good than harm by keeping him here."

"He's also my friend." Chef uttered before dropping the man and storming off.

/

To be continue