Scene 2

Our camera now moves slowly through a dying street, where millions (yes, millions) of wounded and dead lay moaning (the dead, too) and crying in the dirt. A young man in an a stylish jacket and cap rolls through the street with a cart. A body falls the the grow in from of him with a thud.


He quickly checks to see if there's a pulse, rifles through the man's wallet, and then throws him up on the cart with the rest of the bodies. Pocketing the money he found, he clangs his bell and begins calling out.


Mike the Vagrant: Bring out your moofed!

Bring out your moofed!
Bring out your moofed!
Bring out your moofed!
Bring out your moofed!

Some men cough to the side. He tips his hat to them cheerfully, and hands out a gallon of bleach.

MIKE: Keep that, you'll need it later.

[...cough cough]
Bring out your moofed!
Bring out your moofed!
Bring out your moofed!

A man walks out carrying a body. Mike looks it other and nods to the cart.

MIKE: Ninepence.

Bring out your moofed!
Bring out your moofed!
Bring out...

"Rewr!" A cat shoots in front of him, followed by another, and another, and another, and another.

"...your moofed??"

The cats keep coming, all strangely exactly the same. He could swear he'd someone who looked just like them, too... He raised his bell again.

Bring out your moofed!

A YOUNG LADY: Here's one.

MIKE: Ninepence.

DEATHBUNNYVORKON: I'm not moofied! They haven't got me yet!

MIKE: What?

PHYDEAUX: Nothing. Here's your ninepence.

DEATHBUNNYVORKON: I'm not moofied!

MIKE: 'Ere. He says he's not moofied!

PHYDEAUX: Yes, he is.


MIKE: He isn't?

PHYDEAUX: Well, he will be soon. His connection's very bad.

DEATHBUNNYVORKON: It's getting better!

PHYDEAUX: No, you're not. You'll be dead moofied in a moment.

MIKE: Oh, I can't take him like that. It's against regulations.

DEATHBUNNYVORKON: I don't want to go on the cart!

PHYDEAUX: Oh, don't be such a baby.

MIKE: I can't take him.


PHYDEAUX: Well, do us a favour.

MIKE: I can't.

PHYDEAUX: Well, can you hang around a couple of minutes? He won't be long.

MIKE: No, I've got to go to the Plot Chat Room. They've lost nine today.

PHYDEAUX: Well, when's your next round?

MIKE: Thursday.

DEATHBUNNYVORKON: I think I'll go for a glomp.

PHYDEAUX: You're not fooling anyone, you know. Look. Isn't there something you can do?

DEATHBUNNYVORKON (singing): I feel happy. I feel happy. Teehee!

WHAP! Vorkon collapses, unconscious. Mike pockets his stolen mallet.

PHYDEAUX (suspiciously): Where'd you get that from?!

MIKE: Took it from a moofied nurse. She won't be needing it.


MIKE (not quite himself from the blow): Great Googly Moogly!

TOHRU: ('spaces her mallet): Baka! [Disappears]

MIKE: Oww...

PHYDEAUX (smirks): Serves you right. Thanks, though

MIKE (rubbing his head): Not at all. See you on Thursday.

PHYDEAUX: Right. All right.

Dogs everywhere begin howling, as BG and his minions trot by, tapping their grenades. Phy and Mike stare.

PHYDEAUX: Who's that, then?

MIKE: I dunno. Must be a king.


MIKE: He hasn't got chocolate all over him.

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