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Ozzy and Drix: After the glory

It’d been years since the white blood cell had seen his friend. But now he didn’t want to see him. Or rather, for him to see what he looked like now.

As years went by the city deteriorated. Thick smog now infected the lungs, causing the many occupants to become as dark and awful as the place they took up residence. The liver became equally as grotesque; killing millions and changing the rest into the horrors you’d see in maybe the not-so-talked about lower areas of Hector. The brain had become almost as uninhabitable. For years of abuse of all substances slowly began to kill it. And after Lord knows how many years, it had begun to take effect on the once do-good infection fighting cell. Now he mingled with the low-life’s he once fought. He followed along with his horrid little friends, wreaking havoc in the still walking cadaver. His life was hard. In fact, he was now sitting on the disgusting street corner, waiting and praying for his termination. But something paused his expiration.

“Hey Ozzy.”

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