Thanks to a spark of inspiration, some free time, and some lovely reviews, I've managed to hurry up with another chapter for this story. I want to especially thank Wordmangler for his kind and insightful feedback.
I do apologize about there not being a lot of action in the first chapter beyond the HAM meeting. Perhaps this update will rectify that problem. Oh, and if you are a new reader of my stories, I should warn you. I tend to do evil things to characters I like.
There were plenty of people who would wonder who in their right mind would decide to experiment on themselves when it came to mutation, but most people were too afraid to take the risks necessary in the pursuit of science. Of course, those people also didn't end up with an insectoid head and being locked up for several decades. What could he say? Those who were bold enough to try something great sometimes ended up with unforeseen results.
For the most part, he'd long since decided that the benefits of his transformation far outweighed the downsides. True, his turtlenecks were now a little trickier to wear and his sense of taste was certainly altered from before, which in turn resulted in a very different diet. On the other hand, his intentions to make humans resistant to radiation and more durable against physical harm were certainly a success. The ability to scurry and cling to most surfaces was merely a pleasant surprise. What he couldn't have predicted was the disruption to his aging process and how he seemed essentially the same age he was at the time of his experiment (which was certainly better than the possible alternative since Periplaneta americana have only been recorded living 706 days at maximum). Even if he'd retained a normal rate of human aging, he'd be currently reaching the twilight of his lifespan (though the general demonstrated that even age wasn't an insurmountable challenge). Instead, he was instead seeing an improvement to his life after several years of tedious monotony. If it wasn't for his decision to subject himself to his experiments in 1961, he would not be sitting among some of the most intriguing and oddly-endearing companions he could have possibly imagined.
He listened carefully to Susan patiently explain to Bob that eating part of the calendar would not, in fact, make time go faster so that he could enjoy movie night. She was quite astounding sometimes and not simply due to her enormous size and strength (he'd naturally studied those traits quite extensively both in the process of trying to restore her to normal and after the events concerning the robot probe and Gallaxhar). She was a sweet young woman with a thankful mild temper. He could only imagine the chaos and destruction that could have unfolded if the Quantonium affected someone less concerned with doing the right thing, someone who might lash out at the world for the unfairness of her situation. In the wrong hands, the substance could make someone truly dangerous and monstrous. Instead, she would rather discuss the reasons why throwing a clock would not "make time fly" with a brainless blob than use her power to harm the innocent. There was a reason why it was so easy to think of her as Susan rather than Ginormica.
He, in comparison, could hardly even think of himself as anyone except "Dr Cockroach" by this point. He'd used that name far longer than the one he was born with, which was one he never recalled being fond of anyway. There were days, during that long and monotonous time period after he'd stopped his escape attempts and could barely keep his brilliant mind occupied, that he needed to remind himself that he wasn't always combined with the physiology of an insect. He'd been in his current state so long it seemed difficult to imagine what it was like back when he was merely a mad scientist with a flair for dance and discomfort with what was considered normal social interactions. Though he suspected his head would feel oddly light if he were to spontaneously change back to being completely human...
Shaking his head briefly to clear his thoughts of such fantastical whimsies, he decided to turn his mind to far more productive concepts. Self-reflection could be saved for another time. A far more beneficial activity would be to work on one of his inventions. Or perhaps he could borrow Bob for some studies. The last time he did any examinations of the sentient amorphous monster was back in the days where his equipment mostly consisted of two tin cans, four rubber bands, a coffee filter, the half-burned filaments from three light bulbs, a paperclip, and a size 12 left shoe. It could be informative to compare those results (and the sparse reports recorded by the scientists who studied him immediately after Bob's capture) to those he collected with more conventional materials.
"Hey, Doc," said Link, a large hand landing on his shoulder and pulling him out of his thoughts. "Zoning out on us?"
"I was not 'zoning out.' I'm merely contemplating a few ideas," he corrected.
Giving the mad scientist a sharp-toothed smirk, he commented, "I would have thought you could do that without staring into space like Bob. Aren't you supposed to be the smart one? Maybe you're finally losing it."
Dr Cockroach's antennas twitched briefly in annoyance. Even after decades together, there were days that he honestly considered regretting the completion of Link's education on the modern era and the English language (though Bob and Monger apparently did enough damage already to ensure that he spoke with an American accent and idioms). At the time, he'd been desperate for any possible activity to provide mental stimulus. High intelligence rarely dealt with prolonged captivity well without something to occupy its time and teaching his fellow monster, planning escape attempts and revenge for his incarceration, and devising methods to perform experiments with minimalistic materials certainly kept his mind busy.
Of course, if Link was still using the awkward sentence fragments to communicate, he'd only be able share comments like that with Insectosaurus (who was clearly a moth rather than a butterfly if anyone actually noticed the feathery antennas and the indications that he was originally a mutated silkworm), Still, even on the days when the pisimian (which sounded far more official than "fish-ape," though he intended to propose the scientific name of Kollikodon pseudopisces whenever he got around to publishing his research on that topic) acted in a manner reminiscent of the physically-imposing brutes of the scientist's childhood days, Dr Cockroach generally preferred to keep things the way they were.
Besides, Link didn't mean any harm. Unlike those hooligans who thought taking candy from smaller children by force was an acceptable action. That didn't mean, however, that he couldn't make his annoyance with the comment clear.
"You do recall that month I inadvertently turned your scales pink," he remarked calmly. "Keep in mind I could replicate that result quite easily."
"Okay. You know I was just messing with you, Doc," Link said, holding his hands up in surrender. "No need to break out the mad science."
"I know. Besides, I doubt Susan would be happy with either of us if we become involved in a petty feud or an immature prank war over something so minor," he said. Then with a slight smirk, he added quietly, "Though I shall be sure to save the idea in case a certain weatherman gets any ideas. It should have similar effects on hair."
As the mad scientist enjoyed a brief evil laugh, Link gained a predatory smirk at the idea. Even before the events of San Francisco, all the monsters felt fond and rather protective of their newest member. Then Derek broke her heart after she believed in him and loved him. If she hadn't later stood up to that man concerning his behavior and ended the relationship on her terms, it was only a question if it would have been the mad scientist or the ancient pisimian that tracked Derek down for the necessary "conversation." And if the weatherman should ever develop any ideas of harming Susan in the future, possibly using his connection to the media, none of them would hesitate to remind the man of why messing with monsters was a foolish idea.
Of course, General Monger already visited Derek concerning the reasons why it would be wise to leave the topic of Ginormica alone. And having the newest member of the president's senior security staff "politely" suggest being quiet undoubtedly would leave a lasting impression on anyone with reasonable intelligence.
As if summoned by the mad scientist's thoughts, the giant portrait of the president on the wall split in half and Monger flew in through the revealed portal. The man truly loved his jetpack.
"Mail call, monsters," he announced, soaring straight into the middle of the room.
Another door opened, this one on the lowest level of the common room. A jeep rolled in with a large canvas bag in the back. Why the general would insist on using his personal jetpack rather than ride in the jeep, the mad scientist could only guess. Of course, he tended to laugh manically at regular intervals. Who was he to judge a man's eccentricities?
"More letters from Modesto Elementary?" asked Susan, leaving her conversation with Bob in order to delicately lift the mail bag out of the jeep.
"Affirmative, among other correspondences," he said. "I'll leave you to it."
This time, he flew down to the level of the jeep and soared out the same way they did. Once more, it raised the question of why he didn't ride with the jeep in the first place, but no one really expected a sensible answer to that question.
"Lovely. Perhaps my scientific journal with the article about a recent study on the changes in bee populations has arrived," commented Dr Cockroach as he scurried over to start sorting the mail.
Ever since the defeat of Gallaxhar and especially after the events on Halloween, the monsters were especially popular in Modesto. The children now regularly sent letters to all of them as part of their class projects, teaching the young minds the fading art of proper letter construction. Some merely expressed their fondness for the monsters, which was nice to hear regardless of the spelling and grammar of some of the students. Others asked questions that were eagerly answered. Granted, the mad scientist sometimes needed to clarify his explanations for the children. Not all of them were child prodigies who taught themselves enough about biology, chemistry, physics, engineering, and mechanics that there was no need for the more formal classes at the university on those topics.
Of course, not everyone could deal with the letters that easily. While he'd made certain to impart the skills of reading and writing to Link over the years, Bob was considered a lost cause from the start. As for the letters intended for Susan (and the rare one for Insectosaurus, usually from little girls with a fondness for colorful insects), there were the size issue. For practicality, Link tended to read Bob and Insectosaurus's mail to them while Dr Cockroach handled Susan's. Bob could at least be trusted to open packages without problems so long as someone reminded him not just eat the boxes. And made sure he remembered the instructions. He rather liked being helpful at opening them, so they let him. Susan's dexterity, unfortunately, was simply not precise enough to handle the tiny, thin objects or even the cardboard boxes. The scale just didn't work.
There were about seven packages this time, which were addressed to various members, and four piles of mail (none for Insectosaurus this time). He knew that Susan would prefer to start with the letters from the children rather than those from the paranoid conspiracy theorists, the overzealous scientists who couldn't even bother to notice she was a lovely young lady rather than just an experiment, vulgar young men who should never be allowed near anyone female, or the attempts to have her sign up for a credit card. Sometimes he tried to spare her the worst of the letters, but he didn't like the idea of concealing things from her. There were simply some things no gentleman would feel comfortable reading to a young woman.
"Your first letter is from young Mary Parker," he read. "She says she was wondering if you ate all your vegetables as a little girl and if that is why you are so tall."
"Aww... That's so sweet," smiled Susan. "Remind me to let her know I did eat all my vegetables growing up, but that's not why I'm a giant."
"Okay, Bob, your letter is from some kid named Peter Watson," read Link. "He says he thinks you are really cool, though the Missing Link is obviously better."
"Link," scolded Susan gently.
"Fine, fine," he muttered. "He wants to know if you could jump off a building without getting hurt."
"Uh... Forty-two. The answer is definitely forty-two," Bob stated firmly. "So what did I win?"
Chuckling slightly, Susan said, "Sorry, Bob, but there isn't any prize."
"Are you sure? What about in those boxes over there?" he asked, pointing at the pile of packages. "Could the prize be in there? Is it hiding? It is playing hide-and-seek? Can I play?"
"How about you check the boxes for us?" suggested Dr Cockroach. "Just be careful about opening them. Don't eat them."
"Okay," he nodded cheerfull.
"What did I say?"
"Eat them?"
"No, Bob. Don't eat them."
"Okay."
"Say it back to me."
"Say what back to you?"
"What I told you about the boxes."
"Oh, that?"
"Yes. What did I say?"
"Don't beat Jim."
The mad scientist closed his eyes and surrendered, "Very good. Go ahead and open the boxes. Gently."
He couldn't wait to see what his prize would be. Maybe it would be something really neat. Maybe a giant jar of pickles. He remembered talking about them before. That would be awesome. He couldn't wait to find his giant jar of pickles.
Was he related to any pickles? He paused a moment, trying to recall. Pickles were like salty cucumbers and cucumbers grew in gardens. Mom used to live in a nice garden. Maybe the cucumbers grew next to the tomato plants. He couldn't eat pickles then. It would be rude to eat his parent's neighbors. At least, it sounded rude. Would the giant jar of pickles mind? He'd ask Susan or Doc later. They probably knew.
What was he doing again? Oh right, opening the boxes. Not eating them. Don't eat the boxes until after opening them. That was important. There might be pickles inside. And don't beat Jim.
Who was Jim? And why couldn't he beat him? He was getting better at cards and Susan was teaching him how to play tic-tac-toe. Was Jim really good at games? Or was he really bad and Bob wasn't supposed to beat him because it would make him sad? And what did Jim have to do with boxes. After a little consideration on the matter, Bob just shrugged and turned back to the packages.
He happily picked up the first box he could reach, almost forgetting to be careful. They always tell him to be gentle with the mail. Don't eat it. Open it carefully. It was very important to do it right. And if he did it right, that meant he was important too. Right? That made sense. It certainly made more sense than why people drive on a parkway and park in a driveway.
It took a few minutes of picking at the tape to pull it loose from the cardboard, but the box eventually opened. Bob peered inside and saw a bunch of glass beakers and test tube things. Excellent. The new order of lab equipment had finally arrived and he could now finish a few of his waiting experiments.
…No, wait. That was Dr Cockroach. Something exploded when he was working a few days ago and needed new science things. And he didn't have to build all this doohickeys out of trash anymore. That was nice.
Setting down the box gently (glass breaks, he needed to be extra careful), Bob popped the pieces of torn off tape in his mouth. Then he "ate" them. Bob felt the tape dissolving, a nice kind-of plastic-y flavor. He could eat lots of stuff, but he actually had to decide to eat it or else it would just float around inside him. That was a good thing because it would be bad to eat anything he absorbed without deciding to. It would make hugging a lot trickier. And it might hurt his friends if he accidentally ate them.
He wasn't exactly clear on the idea of "pain." He knew it was a bad feeling and that it meant there was something wrong with them. And he sort of knew that if someone was hurt too much, they would go away forever. Like the ham he had for dinner last night. Nope, it was a good thing that he only ate what he wanted to eat. That way none of his friends would get hurt or disappear like ham. But the tape from the box was good.
Moving over to the next box, Bob noticed something. He wasn't completely stupid. He could read. A little. Sort of. Maybe. What was he thinking about?
Oh, right. Reading. He knew what his name looked like. He did. There was a thing. A line with bumps. Then a round thing. Then another bumpy line, though that one sometimes only had one bump. Bob. That was his name. And he could read it sort of.
It was on the box. His name was on the box. That meant the box was for him. Maybe his prize was inside, like how there was supposed to be a prize at the bottom of a box of cereal. Though he never found those prizes because he tended to eat the whole box of cereal at once, cardboard and all. But he wasn't supposed to eat these boxes, just open them.
This box had a lot more tape than the last one. Lots and lots of tape. He almost decided to speed things up by just eating the whole box and dissolving the cardboard to open it, but he wasn't supposed to eat the boxes. Anyway, it would also dissolve everything inside, so it would be better to open it the slow way. So he kept pulling off the tape.
As he pulled at the last stubborn piece of tape, the only thing separating him from his prize, he smiled. Even if it turned out to be a giant jar of pickles and it ended up being rude to eat them, it would still be neat. Or maybe it was jell-o, though he couldn't betray his precious green jell-o like that. Regardless, Bob was excited to see what was inside.
The instant he opened the cardboard flaps of the box, a clear liquid erupted out and splattered across his blue surface. Bob only had a moment to be confused before he felt something strange. The sensation, similarly unpleasant as the times he tried to eat too much, spread everywhere he was hit. It quickly grew worse, leaving him uselessly trying to ooze away from the bad feeling.
Then he realized that what he was feeling was pain.
And it kept getting worse, worse, worse.
All signs of a normal morning for the monsters evaporated the moment Dr Cockroach heard a sound he'd never imagined hearing in all the decades he'd lived in the underground secret base: Bob yelping in real and honest pain. That supposedly impossible achievement caused the mad scientist to drop the letters and sent his mind racing over possibilities.
"Bob?" said Susan as she turned towards where the blob had been happily opening packages.
All attention was now on the blue shape that seemed to be cringing and sliding backwards from the pile of boxes, whimpering and yelping in confused pain. Occasionally an arm formed to scramble across his shape in a panic before vanishing once more. But as horrifying and unbelievable as it might be to see someone who was both a friend and supposedly indestructible in obvious pain, the scientist found the other symptoms to be far more alarming. Across part of his surface was a strange discoloration, a shade of gray rather than the normal deep blue, which was quickly spreading out across the monster. Furthermore, there was clear bubbling in those areas indicating the release of gas.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow," whimpered Bob, eye closed tight as he kept trying to escape the source of his pain.
His mind was racing. All signs indicated a chemical reaction. Damaging Bob with physical forces or heat were pointless, but causing a reaction on a molecular level was possible. The scientist had managed to alter it before temporarily, turning the brainless blob into a mind reader (though he'd been attempting to make his fellow monster explosive for an escape attempt since it wouldn't actually harm Bob). But he knew of some theoretical ways to cause a more impressive chemical reaction, though the substances necessary were not those that would be encountered on accident. This was deliberate.
"Ouch," yelped Susan, her attempts to reach out to the pained and frightened monster resulting in injury, a slight burn mark on her hand.
Exothermic then, not caustic. That narrowed the possibilities down. Halting the reaction required knowing what he was dealing with, but there was no time to study the substance. Based on past knowledge, the color change, production of a gas, and the release of heat, he could guess what he was dealing with. And with that knowledge came the most likely way to counter the chemical reaction.
He couldn't afford to worry about his friend at the moment or wonder about how his occurred in the first place. Time was not on their side, regardless of how it appeared to slow down as his thoughts raced. Relativity only did so much.
"Link, General. Now," he said shortly as he scurried towards his workstation with all the speed that his mutated body could produce.
He knew Link, who'd been staring in stunned horror at the fact something was essentially dissolving Bob, would follow his brief instructions. Now was not the time for questions or delays. Dr Cockroach grabbed various beakers of chemicals, going over the necessary reactions and structures in his mind as he combined them to form the proper substance. Still moving quickly, the mad scientist headed straight for the distressed monster.
The coloration changes were more extensive, giving him a very pale appearance. He also looked a lot smaller than normal, slumping down into a more puddle-like shape. And while his normal viscosity ranged between that of rubber and strawberry jam, Bob now looked closer to a fruit smoothie. As the scientist drew near, he could feel the heat radiating off him as the reaction continued within the brainless monster. And he knew that the reaction would continue until all of the reagent was gone. Until all of Bob was gone.
"This should help," he said in what he hoped sounded like a reassuring manner before he poured the contents of his beaker over what was left of their friend.
There was an instant reaction to his concoction, a flaky black powder forming along the surface. The creation of the precipitate indicated his hypothesis of the substance used against Bob was correct. And while some might still try to react with the Benzoate Ostylezene Bicarbonate that composed the monster, most of the reactions would now be between the other chemicals. It wouldn't be pleasant for Bob for a while, but it should keep him from getting any worse. The black powder would have to be cleaned up later, though.
"What in Sam Hill is going on around here?" asked General Monger as he flew in, a very concerned Link matching the speed of the jetpack.
Not looking up from where he was observing the now-pale-gray, mushy, and still slightly whimpering glob, Dr Cockroach answered tensely, "It would seem that someone intended to kill Bob. And they came far closer than I'm comfortable with, General."
How could the day have gone so wrong, so fast? Susan nursed the slight burn on her hand from when she tried to pick up Bob when he started crying out in pain. He wasn't supposed to get hurt. Not only because he was pretty much impervious to harm, but also because it just didn't seem fair to hurt someone so sweet and innocent. Bob wouldn't hurt anyone. He might occasionally give a hug to someone and have to be reminded of their need to breathe, but he was too nice to actually hurt someone. It all happened so fast. One minute, they are all distracted with their letters. The next, Bob is practically melting and Dr Cockroach is dumping chemicals on him to stop it. Thank goodness for having residential mad scientists around to fix horrible accidents.
But now Dr Cockroach was saying it wasn't an accident. He said someone tried to hurt him deliberately.
"What are you talking about?" asked Monger, eyes glancing between the scientist and the pitiful-looking blob.
"I've had decades to understand Bob's molecular structure. I know which chemicals will react with his unique makeup, though anyone who knows his full name and has taken enough chemistry classes could make an educated guess or two. The important thing is I know exactly what would cause him to abruptly start falling apart like that, which is also why I know what would halt the chemical reaction," explained the mad scientist. "There is no way that he would start reacting like that by mere chance or accident. The substances that would be required are not common outside of a lab. And I know better than to keep such things anywhere that he might come into contact with them. So when I say that someone deliberately tried to destroy Bob, it means that there is no other option."
"And just how would someone attempt such a thing," he asked, a sharpness in his tone that suggested that he was taking an attack on one of his monsters very personally.
"Bad prize box," said Bob quietly, his voice a muffled, tired, and pained sound that caused a lump to form in Susan's chest.
Dr Cockroach scurried over to where the packages were, peering inside one of the open boxes. His antennas flattened and a frown formed on his face.
"Clever trick," he muttered before glancing at his audience. "Someone rigged a canister in this box to spray out a liquid when they opened the package. That's how Bob was affected. I suppose we should be grateful he didn't just absorb the box."
"They definitely meant for Bob to have it," growled Link, glancing at the label. "The thing's addressed to him. And when I figure out who sent this, I'm going to make the wish that Gallaxhar got a hold of them."
"While certainly an appealing proposal, I doubt they were kind enough to provide a return address," Dr Cockroach stated.
Susan glanced uneasily at the gray shape and asked, "Is he going to be all right? I mean, he looks... smaller."
"He lost some mass when it was released as a gas during the chemical reactions, but he should theoretically be able to recover it over time," the mad scientist answered. "Theoretically, of course. I recommend a great deal of rest until his molecular structure is stabilized, followed by small and frequent meals to allow him to make up the lost mass. It'll take time, but it should return him to normal eventually."
"Hear that? Nap time for Bob. Doctor's orders," said Link, trying to sooth the smaller gray glob that was looking around uneasily with his (smaller) eye.
Taking care to make sure she wouldn't end up with another burn, Susan gently slid the liquid-y monster into her hand. It felt wrong. Bob was normally thicker than this. But she didn't want to upset him any more than his close encounter already had, so she kept a reassuring smile on her face as she carried him over to the door for his room. Even if she couldn't really fit inside, she could at least slip her hand inside.
"You try and feel better, okay?" she said.
"Okay," he mumbled, sounding like he was already falling asleep as she poured him into the cushion-covered, bowl-shaped depression he tended to use as a bed.
Turning her attention back to the rest of her boys, Susan heard Monger already shouting out orders that seemed focused on tracking down wherever the package came from, increasing security, and examining all future mail for possible threats. She wrapped her arms around herself as the man flew out the door with his jetpack, a look of angry determination on his face that seemed to echo in the expressions on her fellow monsters. None of them liked the idea of someone attacking one of their own, let alone someone apparently coming so close to destroying them. But while they looked upset by the events of the last few minutes, she couldn't help the growing feeling of guilt.
"This is all my fault," she said quietly.
Apparently she didn't say it quiet enough because Link looked up at her and asked, "How could this be your fault? You're not the one who decided to mail some kind of... Bob-melting goop."
"It wasn't goop," muttered Dr Cockroach, but Susan started to explain before he could elaborate further.
"In the article Clark Lane published, I told him about Bob. About all of us, but I mentioned his full name. Benzoate Ostylezene Bicarbonate. And if they figured out how to hurt him because of his name like Dr Cockroach said they could, then it's my fault. They used what I told him, what I let him publish, to hurt Bob."
"My dear, there is no way you could have possibly known this would happen," the mad scientist assured, his antennas flattening. "You had the best of intentions. And if someone was determined to do us harm, they would have learned Bob's full name and molecular structure regardless. Now that monsters are known to the public, it isn't exactly a heavily-guarded secret."
"Just because someone decided to be an idiot and thought hurting our friend was a good idea to ensure a long and un-painful life doesn't make it your fault, Suzie," said Link. "They're the ones who messed with us. And they're the ones who'll have to deal with me whenever we figure out who to beat to a pulp."
Susan felt rather divided by that sentiment. On the one hand, she didn't want to hurt people if she could help it and she definitely didn't want her friends to do something they'd regret. Or would cause everyone to be terrified of them again (as opposed to merely some people). And if they did try to beat someone to a pulp, they'd probably be locked up for another fifty years. On the other hand, she hated the idea that someone would purposefully try to destroy the sweetest and most innocent monster in the entire base. And while Susan knew she didn't have a particularly volatile temper, trying to kill her friends certainly sparked it. At the moment, her anger at the attack was buried under guilt and worry about Bob. But it was only a matter of time before the desire to lash out at those who hurt him became more prominent. And she knew how effective her anger could be when she actually allowed it to control her actions. The last person who tried to kill her friends was Gallaxhar, after all.
"What I'm concerned about, however, is motivation," commented Dr Cockroach thoughtfully.
"Kind of obvious, Doc," Link said. "We're monsters."
"I understand that there will always be those who fear and hate those who are different and that is certainly enough motivation for an attack, why would they target Bob specifically? Unless they happened to live in the city blocks he attacked upon his initial creation and has held a grudge for the property destruction for fifty years, he is actually one of the least likely of us to have provoked such a thing. At least, on an individual basis."
"What's your point?" he asked, crossing his arms.
The mad scientist glanced around at his fellow monsters uneasily, "I'm afraid they might not be satisfied with just attacking one of us. They could intend to destroy all of us."
Okay, I definitely want to say I put some actual thought into devising a more appropriate name for Link's species. Kollikodon is a genus of an extinct monotreme (egg-laying mammal) called Kollikodon ritchiei. All they actually found of the skeleton was a few teeth and other tiny bits, so they don't know exactly what the species would look like. What they do know is that this species existed 100 million years ago and is assumed to at least be semi-aquatic. It is in the same suborder as a platypus and the fossil was found in Australia. Considering there would still be millions of years between the time period of Kollikodon ritchiei and Link's time period, that's certainly long enough for some migration to North America and some evolution. As for the species name for Link, pseudopisces translates into "fake fish." Perhaps not the most creative nomenclature ever devised, but it is certainly better than some of the real ones. Gorilla gorilla is the scientific name for a particular species of gorilla, after all.
As for the common name that Dr Cockroach thinks is more appropriate for Link's species, that's due to a suggestion by Wordmangler. It is sort of a pun of "pisces" for fish and "simian" for ape, meaning pisimian still essentially means "fish-ape."
No, there doesn't seem to be an actual elementary school in Modesto called "Modesto Elementary." However, since they essentially portrayed Modesto as a generic small town in the film rather than base it on the actual location, I felt using a similarly generic name for the school would be all right.
I figure Bob has to be able to decide whether or not to dissolve something he absorbs. Otherwise, Susan's mom and Derek would be gone just like the other things Bob ate. And while "Benzoate" and "Bicarbonate" are real chemicals with actual structures I can study, "Ostylezene" is not. But we're going to pretend it is a real chemical structure with understandable properties. We're going to pretend that Osylezene is something that they could teach in college chemistry classes, sketching out how they would react with different acids, bases, esters, ethers, etc. Of course, if all three were real, then I could have worked out exactly what it would require to cause some chemical reactions. Which would be a lot of work for me. So I simply drew upon the various chemistry labs I've taken and did my best.
Don't expect another update for this story for a while. I just wanted to go ahead and give you a chapter with a little action. This fast update is the exception, not the norm. But feedback is appreciated anyway. Thanks.