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"I seriously doubt they've been mailing our letters... they wouldn't want to get out the specific location of the Island. After all, even I didn't know where precisely I was going until I got on the helicopter. The only way on and off this damned Island. No wonder the guy looks like a professional killer, Moreau didn't want the only escape to be able to be dealt with." He chimed in with Cassidy's sigh. "I've sent probably half a dozen letters to Angelina.... now I bet she never got a single one... The took them from, me though." He growled, a very feral, canine growl. "They probably read them" he glowered.

He glared at Cassidy's indifference and cholera comment. And the dude had called HIM selfish?! "Thanks, Cassidy" he said bitterly. "Glad to know you care."

Ambrose loked over to the Dude. "So THAT's what they were talking about having gotten you from Amsterdam.." He had been wondering. He had assumed but hadn't known for certain. He looked around. "Judging from the money in this place, something tells me they have quite a BIT of said funding. Especially considering their expensive "gifts" to us, probably meant to placate us."

He kicked at the carpet. "I had felt... somewhat strange at least... ever since my first injection. Even if you COULD get off at this point before your 2nd injections, do you think there might still be risks...." He seemed to think about that. "Of course, I would that that at least for you, that might be a risk worth taking considering the alternative."

As he became more aware of his hunger, smells from the cafeteria began to reach Ambrose's nose... he lifted his head, sniffing audibly. It smelled like steak, his stomach elated. Silently, he wondered if the meal choice timing had anything to do with his current situation.

The Dude drunk from his bottle and gave Cassidy a curious look:"Ah. So you are gonna stay here out of solidarity? Okey. Fair enough."

Then he looked at Ambrose and grinned: "No worry, buddy, I am not going anywhere. I got nowhere to go. That $5000 deal - I needed that. And I REALLY want to kick Dr. Moreau in the nuts eventually. So you two vote for not raising a fuss with Moreau, huh? I mean, how do you know for sure that this injection stuff causes cancer? Maybe Aubrey made that up. She lied before."

"If it's true, that it's fatal to stay half... half-whatever-we're-going-turn-into," Cassidy grimaced, "then I'm not sure fighting is going to be terribly productive." She sighed. "But, I have every intention of finding out as much as I possibly can. I'm not sure how I'm going to do that," she admitted. "I doubt Moreau's gonna be really accomodating to our questions."

What-the-hell-have-you-injected-me-with was high on her list.

"s**t. I wouldn't have believed it if I wasn't living it." She shook her head miserably, still shocked.

Ambrose nodded, confirming the information that he had heard. "WEll, why not answer our questions now? What can we do if we don't like what we hear? Pout? Stop eating?" He crossed his arms. "Aubrey seemed to have answers for me last night, I just didn't like the answers she had to give me."

He nodded in agreement with Cassidy's summation of the situation.

""Well, I was thinking that by contacting someone on the outside that they might have more help in rescuing us than us escaping by ourselves. None of us can even fly a helicopter from my knowledge, and even if we COULD get some sort of boat they're too damn slow. They could stop us from air." He shook his head. "Don't get me wrong. I'm not against getting off at all - I just can't think how."

He scratched at his arms. "I don't want them to think I died.... I mean... It would probably be just as hard to tell them the truth.... but.... I mean..." he shook his head. "IT's just not right" He huffed.

His stomach began threatening to start digesting itself. "Perhaps we could... continue this over food...?"

The Dude finished his beer and stood up: "Well, let's go eat then."

And headed out the door.

((moving to cafeteria or calling it done for now? Just PM me ^_^))

Sitting on a solitary outcropping of the cliffs, feet dangling above the abyss, the Dude was pondering.

Freedom, Choice, Independence ... Those were concepts that he grew up with and they were important to him almost as much as life itself. Life was not life if it meant a caged existence, dependance on some snotty boss, inability to do what you knew was right. By injecting him with the high tech poison, Moreau seemed to have taken it all away from him. The Dude was at his mercy: never being able to leave, dependent on a man he detested for food and everything else, a guinea pig for the rest of his life. It all sounded very depressing to the Dude. Almost depressing enough to debate jumping off the cliff he was sitting on. But not quite. The Dude was never much for suicides. The life always had a way to come around for him in the end, and jumping off would take away that chance. Besides, sunsets in the Caribbean were out of this world.

But what to do?

He could try and fight this. The island was big enough and Moreau couldn't have possibly placed cameras all over it. That kind of feat of a**l retentiveness the Dude couldn't possibly even fathom. But so he'd hide - then what? How long would he be hiding in the bush until they rounded him up or he came out himself, defeated by hunger? Nothing against resistance, but what was the point of resisting if you really couldn't run anywhere. He doubted a hunger strike would solve anything, either. They'd probably just bash him over the head and put him on IV. But he couldn't just give up and let them have his way with him, either. Not again. Not yet.

Was Aubrey right? Was most of the beauty of this world built on suffering of the less fortunate? Nazi camps asides - all of art, music and science was, in a way, a parasite upon the body of humanity - a fantastic orchid sucking on the juices of a scraggly old cypress tree. The budget for the Titanic could have fed a small African nation, taken care of their health, their housing and water supply. The Dude didn't have any illusion about himself - he was a slacker. He worked only when he needed the money and didn't contribute much to the society. The fact that he would be made into a warthog or a beaver wasn't really a big loss to anyone but him. Even his parents, who loved him dearly, would still have his sister to take care of them in their old age. 'S not like he was around much before, anyway. Maybe this whole thing did mean some good to someone in the long run ... the genius was there, the Dude couldn't deny it. It's just the methods that Moreau was employing to achieve his goal drove the Dude up the wall.

His hand curled up around a rock that was laying beside him, the sharp edges of the black granite digging into his skin.

Moreau was taking away people's lives, taking away their hopes and aspirations. Couldn't he have found someone to volunteers for this? If this was truly revolutionary, truly done for the sake of progress and saving countless lives - wouldn't there be people who'd want ot help along? No. Moreau wasn't a selfless yet crazy geniushe presented himself as. He was a monster. Hidden on this island, away from the world and its ethics, he was creating a kingdom for himself, Moreau's own private world where he was undisputed king of the jungle. The human overlord and his private zoo. Thorn had mentioned that he was observing them. And Aubrey had come to his rescue after the snake bit even though he was in the middle of a jungle. So the cameras must truly be everywhere, then. The big brother was always watching here.

The Dude stared hatefully at the scraggly bush around him, trying to guess where the camera would be this time. He felt like a caged beast and that was what infuriated him. He would not let the monster forget that they were human. They were not Moreau's tin soldiers, his playthings that the doctor could control and change as easily as clay. They were human. Cassidy and Ambrose and Emelyn. Greer and Matt. They were people, not experiments. If his life wasn't worth much - their lives were. But the monster in the mountain didn't care. It probably pleased him to see people suffer and break. The Dude stood up angrily and threw the stone in his hand into the ocean as far as he could. He really wanted to cry and have a temper tantrum, like Ambrose. Complain to somebody. Have somebody hold him and tell him it'd be allright. A hug - that'd be so nice. He craved to feel human warmth ...

The wind foamed up the waves under him and threw the mats of blond hair into the Dude's face. Strangely cold and brash in the heat of a tropical afternoon, the ocean wind smelled of salt and freedom. Above the island a frigate bird was floating, free like the wind itself.

There was nowhere to run in this paradise. Lost within the Atlantic the island was a perfect paradise and a perfect prison. The least he could do is not to be afraid of the future. Right? If escape seemed impossible and mutiny unlikely, the least one could do was not be afraid, to not cry and plead for pity, like a child. If not him, then someone else would be here. If he drew the shortest straw of destiny again, then so be it. But he would never let Moreau forget the crimes he was performing here. Terrified but certain, the Dude knew what he truly wanted to do. It was desperate and foolish, but he wanted to look into Moreau's face and see if there was still humanity left within the monster. For that he'd have to walk up to him, have a reason to walk up close. And what better reason then asking to be injected?

The waves hissed underneath and suddenly the wind chilled the Dude to the very bones. So scary ... he didn't want to be injected and turned into something unnatural. He crouched down and hid his face in his arms. So very cold and horrible. So hard to do. So hard to find the strength to do it, too. But in a way it was a trial, a test of humanity, a test of instinct over logic. Crouching on the cliffs, he was rationalizing this to himself, still shivering in the heat of the sun.

Run and become a beast.

Face Moreau and remain a man.

The majority of the night that follows is a rather unpleasant one for The Dude, although painkillers would certainly help. It begins with a churning in his stomach, and apparently all of the excess food that he had been consuming during his duration begins to add on the pounds around his midsection. His skin darkens, begining to appear as if he had been spending all of his time here tanning. Pringling hair grows out in select areas of his body, including a few thick whiskers on his upper lips. Finally, and probably most painfully, a webbing of skin begins to develop between his fingers and toes...

((feel free to take the time to RP/describe out the changes as you wish :3 ))