A man who is more than a person sits alone in a room that is more than a prison. There is a knock on the wall by the toilet. Fair warning: this fic is going to be pretty bleak, and will feature 'human' experimentation.

Thrax didn't just die; he was liquidated in the most literal sense. Osmosis Jones is sure of this. So why does he have this deadened burning sensation in his cytoplasm? Osmosis Jones is going to discover that being dead is not the same as being gone. Warning: will contain mild body horror, themes of psychological abuse, slashy elements, and parasitic-style mpreg.