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[A half-naked man is currently trudging through the Nexus. His shirt is tattered and hanging limply from his malnourished frame and his loose pants barely hold up around his midsection. There is also evidence that he is, or has been, bleeding from his bandaged left arm – the sight of the covered wound is disturbing in itself. His eyes are bloodshot, pupils dilated from the lack of sleep and current high from recently invading the MNU laboratories. That information is largely irrelevant to the inhabitants of the building, but he shows no signs of going by unnoticed. His foul-mouthed curses echo off the white walls surrounding him, trapping him and provoking a more survivalist instincts to surface.]

[Wikus scours his surroundings for a sign of food and shelter. He looks entirely shell shocked by the recent events he has succumbed to – and there is very little that can be done to save him from his current predicament. All he is aware of is Christopher being no longer at his beck and call. Anyone could still be out to get him, but as it stands, it doesn’t appear as though he is in Johannesburg anymore.]

Where the fok am I now?

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What?

[Rooster hears a voice in the nexus that he's never heard before. He hasn't quite noticed that he isn't in the strange nexus that he's gotten used to. Perhaps he's finally wandered too far...]

Who's that, there?

[Hearing another person's voice - an American voice - causes Wikus to jolt. Using whatever he could procure as a weapon, the beaten man wraps his relatively clean right hand around the nearest lampshade and holds it against him as a form of protection. He visibly shakes as he stares at the opposing man before him.]

Don't come any closer! I'll beat you over the fokin' head if you do!

[And now it was clear as day this man was hysterical, illustrated by the curses falling from his native South African tongue.]

_{Jesus, fok- bliksem!}

...You...will beat me...with that?

[Cogburn takes a puff off of his cigarette then calmly speaks again, with an almost amused tone.]

I recon you've hit yer head pretty hard, because any sane man could figure that he can't hurt anyone with that lampshade.

Oh you think this is funny do you?

[Rather than choosing to hit the other man, Wikus drops the shade and allows it to fall at his feet. He limps towards the nearest bench and settles down in a crouched position.]

Look- I don't want to beg. All I need is some food, some water.

Yeah.

[He looks down at the man.]

What the Hell happ'n'd to you? Where's the war?

[Rooster fishes around inside of his coat for the last of the saltwater taffy he was saving. Right now, he supposes, this is better than nothing. He offers it to the man.]

Sorry partner, but the only water I have on hand is 'firewater'.

[Gleaming eyes scour the taffy retrieved from the billowing coat of the elder. Wikus manages a desperate laugh and extends his hand like a feral beast, immediately devouring the make-shift food.]

[Anything was better than cat-food, or whatever those Prawns ate.]

[He leaves no evidence, no trace of the sweet tasting condiment left due to his desire to consume whatever edible food was available. Only when he has finished salivating and swallowing the taffy does he settle back on the bench to finally greet Rooster's single-eyed gaze.]

You don't know who I am. Fokin' miracle, that.

Well, now that you mentioned it, who are you?

[Rooster is already missing his taffy. He was going to have that later, but no matter. He's sure he can happen upon some more somewhere in this other nexus.]

How did you get hurt? Mind tellin' me?

My name is Wikus Van de Merwe. Now- I used to work for the MNU, until they found out I contracted a virus from the prawns. Poleepkwa. Whatever you want to call them.

[His alien hand stirs beneath the folds of fabric. Thankfully, it is obscured from Cogburn's view.]

They tested on me. Like they test on those prawns. If I knew what that organization did-

[The younger man shuts his eyes tightly, wincing as another wave of pain washes over him.]

'Tested'?

[He peers at him more closely, then down to his hand.]

What's going on there? [He's curious about his bandages. The man really could stand to get some fresh ones.]

It's an infection.

[After displaying said hand to the doctors - and having him land in MNU's laboratories - he opted out against showing the stranger. Two clawed fingers and half a thumb from where he had attempted to dislodge his mutated hand.]

I will sort it later. Right now, I need more food. Maybe some clothes, ah...

[Wikus eyes that large coat.]

...

[Reuben can tell where the other man is looking and that has him a bit concerned.]

What's on your mind, fella?

[An inquisitive look surfaces onto Wikus' face. He casually gestures to the thick gown and then settles his hand into his lap.]

Where did you get a coat like that, eh? It's bloody hot at this time of year in Johannesburg!

Got it in the war. It's cold where I was last...

[He stares down at the man oddly.]

Johannesburg?

What the Hell is an American veteran doing in South Africa?

[Mistaking Reuben for misunderstanding his accent, the wounded male accentuates the word.]

Yes, Jo-han-as-burg! I'm afraid I don't have time to deal with tourists-

[Wikus attempts to move to his feet again, but it is evident he has exhausted himself somehow.]

What are you yammerin' on 'bout? This ain't...South Africa.

[He shakes his head as he tries to make some sense of what the injured man that barely stands before him is speaking about.]

"Tourist"?

I ain't no "tourist"!

Look- I'm sorry, sir, but I need to get out of this place. It isn't safe.

[Pushing up to his feet, Wikus cradles his infected arm around his midsection and lumbers his way past Reuben. His eyes blearily keep a lookout in search of security cameras - as well as the possibility of finding food and a way back to Christopher.]

I do not know how to get you home to your home.

[He watches him walk by.]

You really should have a doc look at that...'cuz you ain't lookin' so well.

I'm not gonna see some fokin' doctor just so they can throw me back in to be tested on!

[The fact that he now had alien DNA surfacing his veins enables him the ability to use the alien weaponry found on the mothership - the weapons only respond to the aliens. Humanity had not been able to use the weapons, until Wikus became infected. That was MNU's only desire for Wikus - that, and to harvest his organs. He didn't want to be dissected - no living, breathing being wants to endure that pain. If anything good came out of nearly experiencing that, it was his ability to sympathize with the Poleepkwa. He wanted to help them get of this despicable planet.]

[Eventually, Wikus pauses. He supports his hand against the nearest wall and gazes behind him to the older gentleman.]

-You haven't shot at me yet.

...Should I?

[The old man scratches his chin seeming amused, confused, and very curious about this strange man.]

Seein' as you don't mean me no harm, I recon I ain't got a reason to shoot you.

You must be living in a very sheltered environment. I'm a little envious of you, my friend.

[Wikus gestures down the hallway with his good hand.]

We're in a similar predicament, ya? We should work together.

I don't know if "sheltered" is the word that you are looking for.

[Reuben glances down the hallway then back at-] Wikus, is it?

What is it that you need me for?

[A smile cracks onto Wikus' face.]

As a distraction. And if I get shot at, you'll be there to shield the blow. That sound alright?

[Reuben had a lot more coverage than the raggedy outcast, who looked as though he might pass out sooner or later. It was only through sheer willpower and living through post-sleep ritual was he able to carry on right now.]

[He's content to let that last comment go. Reuben never has encountered anyone shooting at anyone else here, or even carrying a gun. He figures that their chances to reach a kitchen unharmed is pretty high.]

...Come on, then. Let's git you some grub.

Oh thank you, thank you. I-I appreciate your kindness, sir.

[This was the first human to show him sympathy since he contracted his disease. Wikus believed it was bad karma for the way he treated the Poleepkwa - burning their eggs alive to keep the population down, using force to work them out of their homes, possessing a short temper before them and generally showing erratic and violent behavior... And now he was turning into one of them, receiving his own medicine.]

[The foreign man is happy to follow Reuben wherever he goes. He has no comprehension of where he is, after all.]

Eh, you haven't seen any prawns around here?

"Prawns"? [He blinks.] Check the kitchen.

[Of course he's thinking of things like shrimp, crawdads, and other kinds of crustaceans commonly eaten as seafood.]

I don't really care for them, myself.

Why would they be in the kitchens? District 9 has no kitchen facilities-

[Wikus suddenly pauses.]

Hold on, you said kitchens. In what direction are they?

"District 9"?

[Reuben pauses in his journey, stopping in the middle of the hall to turn around and face his friend.]

This ain't no "District 9".

[The scrawny man stops and looks at Reuben as though to belittle him. He furrows his brow.]

Of course it's not. [gesturing to his surroundings;] Do you see slums around here? Eh? No.

[He turns back to wander down the hallway, muttering words under his breath.]

...

What the devil are you talkin' 'bout?

Never-mind. _Gods-

[Wikus pinpoints Rooster's apparent ignorance on the fact he isn't from South Africa. If he truly had any comprehension of the reality of the situation, however, he would feel much more indebted to the older man.]

[Finally, the duo make it to the kitchens. Wikus immediately scours the area, opening cupboards and pulling the contents out onto the floor and counter-tops. He finds a loaf of bread and pulls it apart single-handedly, dropping pieces onto the floor in the process. Only when he can grab a handful of slices does he proceed to stuff them between his dry lips.]

So, you're a bit hungry?

[Reuben looks around at the mess his friend is making and hardly knows what to do, but-]

I do not envy the person that's gotta clean this up.

Mmfh... hmh...mm.

[Wikus rolls his eyes back, seemingly in Heaven as his tastebuds thank him for ingesting some real food. No grown man should have to eat catfood. He doesn't even think to respond for a good five minutes - in that time, he eats five pieces of bread and also rummages the fridge for a carton of milk. It seems to disappear instantaneously, both down his gullet and down his shirt.]

I could care less who cleans up. I haven't eaten in a week.

A week?

[He tilts his head as he stares at him in near disbelief.]

A week?! No wonder.

Ya, that's exactly my point.

[The grown man seems to have been turned back into a child with his infant-like behavior with the mess he was making. He raises his hand to his mouth to wipe the milk beaded along his lips and along his chin where it had dribbled from the cup.]

I'd kill for a burger right now. A big, fat, juicy slab of meat.

[And so off Wikus goes again, raiding the kitchen for some high quality beef. As he does, his bandages begin to uncoil around his alien hand.]

[Reuben gets a good look at what he can see of it.]

You reach into a campfire or sumthin', son?

[Looks like a crazy bad burn to the old man, but his frame of reference for such alien-type things is nearly nonexistent.]

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