Munch munch munch.
Slop slop slop.
Frank chowed down on that damn delicious dog. He always did love them chili wieners. His daughter wasn't a fan of the wiener delectables but Frank just couldn't resist. Plus, that new bratwurst place just opened up. "Scarecrow Sausages."
Scarecrow sausages always added colors to their sausages. The Nightshade Ninja Dog was colored purple. The Hemlock Havok Wreaker was a sickly but divine green. Frank's favorite, which he eviscerated there on the spot, was the Mutation Murderer Dog. It was a bright orange, practically pshining like treasure. Or like radiation. Orange radiation. Radiation of an orange hue and chroma, rather than green.
The sausage would get compacted inside his germ laden chompahs, them he would swallow. The forcibly conflated pieces of snackage then would be carried downward by oscillating muscles. It was like the throat would crap food yet to be digested into the stomach, a pre-shitting one could say. The shit inside the shit. Shitception.
The glowing mass of grotesque nuclear bratwurst and bread did not wait for the digestive soldiers to arrive. Little soldiers of nefarious revolution fortified themselves within the trojan remains. In a little bright orange room within the bright orange sausage ruins, tiny gelatinous people donned bits of bread as armor, dressing in heavy bread suits. They armed themselves with platinum colored laser rifles and started filing out of the food dump.
Outside of these ruins, in the vast stretching abyss of Frank's stomach, little soldiers dressed in white hazmat suits arrived. They wore something akin to flamethrowers, tanks strapped on like backpacks with tubes running to the nozzles in their hands. They would walk from sausage pile to sausage pile, blazing their weapons. The nozzles sprayed an acid, a reddish-bluish acid. It would eat away at the sausage piles, separating the good from the bad. Very little good could be extracted from these piles.
Then the soldiers exited the ruins. They caught one of the white blood cells, a soldier in the digestive system, by surprise. They fired the lasers into it and the body in the hazmat suit bubbled then popped, throwing chunks of blood and hazmat suit all around. Standing in place of the white blood cell was something rotten and lazy. A slacker.
Out in another part of Frank's body, a white blood cell and a pill rode along an intestinal track when the police captain shouted a message through the radio.
"All officers to the stomach! We're under attack by a virus! They're extremely hostile and likely to transform any cells they come across into slackers!"
"Not slackers!" Drix, the red and yellow cold pill shouted. "Jones, what are slackers?"
Osmosis Jones hit the brake and the gas pedal. The car swerved hard but Jones controlled it, bringing it around into the opposite intestinal track. He guns it hard, zooming towards the stomach, down highway 88.
"Slackers," He slides around a car on the track in front of him, "are what happens when a cell dies, but keeps movin'!"
Jones comes up on a construction ramp. The construction worker cells yell at him as he speeds right into it and plows into the air. He goes over the present track, falls, and lands further down the body on another track. He was heading for a vein.
"But how can a cell die and keep moving?! That's highly improbable. There's very few viruses that could cause such an occurence and none of those happen to be in Frank's city, if I am correct."
Jones hits a big red button next to the steering wheel. The car pulls a James Bond, transforming as they careen into a vein. Then they're zooming through the veins in a spaceship slash boat type of vehicle. With the help of the veins, the two are there quicker than heroin.
They climb out of the reverted car. The scene was bad. With the digestive system having been under attack, the food wasn't being digested. It was chaos. There were hills of undigested sustenances everywhere. There were hordes of humanoid cells, broken and tattered, arms stretched in front of them. They would moan loudly and slowly stagger around the stomach.
"J-Jones! What do we do?! We can't just leave them like this, can we?"
Other officers started arriving, closing in on the scene from other stomach entrances.
"Something's just not right. Where are the virus cells? We need to find a clue to where they went, and fast."
Outside the body, Frank was walking home from Scarecrow sausages when the sickness kicked in. He dropped to his knees. Something was wrong, he wanted to throw up, but didn't feel naseous. He looked at his hands, they were changing color, becoming gray. He falls all the way, groaning. People walk past him, but nobody gives him a second thought.
Then Frank's back to his feet. His body had changed. He had become entirely gray, and his hair had fallen out. All of it. His eyes had also become menacingly bloodshot, with the irises turning orange.
Frank snatches a person as they walk by. He snatches them by the coat collar with only one hand. The woman tries to break free, but can't. Frank leans into her neck, sniffs, then takes a large bite. He tears a chunk of her flesh away and chews it up, swallows it. Then he tackles her to the ground and as she screams, eats more of her flesh.
Back in the stomach, Drix finds a trail.
"Jones! It appears they were wearing some sort of bread suits! They have left literal breadcrumbs, see?"
He points to the ground, a literal trail of breadcrumbs leading away. The two follow the breadcrumbs all the way up to the body, to the mouth.
Back outside of the body Frank is ambushed by someone. The black suited man smashes Frank into a wall.
"Where's Scarecrow?!?!" He shouts into Frank's face. Frank knew that face anywhere, anyone in Gotham did. It was the Bat! The Bat-Man!
"I am more than human now, Bat! You'll never get answers from me!"
Batman smashes his forehead into Frank's jaw. Frank splutters blood all over the Bat's face.
Further in the mouth, Jones and Drix are caught in a vortex of movement. They had chased the virus onto the tongue and were about to engage in a mighty battle for Frank's heath when the spluttering suddenly lifts them off the tongue. They are thrown into the air and carried through the outer world.
Batman smashes Frank's face with a bat-fist, then releases him. Frank slides to the ground, blood dribbling down to his chest.
"Hehe... now you've got it in you, too. But you didn't get the Master infection. That means you'll be a regular slacker, just like everyone else!"
Batman knees Frank in the nose.
"My parents are dead! I will never be a slacker! Just will be served with a side of pain!"
Batman kneels down and starts searching through Frank's pockets. He finds a receipt for "Scarecrow's Sausages."
"Alfred," Batman stands again and places his forefingers to his ear, activating his communication device. "Do a search for a place called Scarecrow's Sausages. And prep the medlab, I think I've been got with one of Scarecrow's plagues.
A whirring sound pops into Batman's ear, followed by Alfred's voice.
"Yes sir, Wayne. I'll see you soon."