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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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[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.]