While I'm not going to spoil everything, I will tell you somethings about this virus.
Mad Doodle Disease (or Doodlian Spongiform Encephalopathy as the Cogs call it) is a recently discovered brain disease that began with the popular Toon housepet, Doodles.
The disease causes rapid metal degradation within its victims. Symptoms include chronic confusion, excessive drooling or foaming at the mouth, increase of appetite, violence and aggression, restlessness, dilation of pupils, and, eventually, death.
The disease primarily attacks the brain of the carrier, leading them to revert to a feral and primal state. They aren't in control of themselves, they aren't who you once knew anymore. Don't feel bad for doing what you must do.
It's unknown how the disease initially started, although some theories propose it might have been rotten meat, a mutation of a pre-existing disease, or even a manufactured disease created by the Cogs. The disease spreads by coming in contact with the bodily fluids of the infected.
There is no cure, except for death.
CONTENT WARNINGS?
Although, to me at least, the content warnings are pretty obvious, I'll still provide 'em. Blanket content warnings for the following...
hey is this blog going on break or something? I saw it hasnt updated in a couple of weeks and just been wondering about it ( Love the au btw, it's really cool :] )
ive just been busy with other projects and getting sick (seriously i threw up like more than i did the entirety of 2024 during january)
im going to try to not go on such a huge hiatus as i did last time (sorry about that) and attempt to get back on a good schedule, this has just been slipping my mind.
belle dama: something's wrong.
alton s. crow: hm?
belle dama: tumbles. the darling should be back by now.
alton cocked a brow, checking the surveillance monitors.
alton s. crow: now that ya mention it, its awfully worryin that he aint back by now.
belle dama: something is horribly wrong, mr.crow. dreadfully wrong. i can feel it.
alton s. crow: now, hold yer horses there, belle, im sure he just got lost-
belle dama: tumbles doesnt get "lost". tumbles knows toontown like the back of his hand, he should be back by now.
alton sighed, looking outside the window.
alton s. crow: ...ill find him.
belle dama: huh?
alton s. crow: im the one that sent him out so soon after experiencin all that shit yall told me bout. i need to take responsibility and find him. sides, i need that gun back, them there is a valuable resource.
belle dama: no, i'll go. please, let me find him. i'm stronger than i look, and he will trust me more when i do find him.
alton s. crow: "if".
belle dama: "when".
holly lay on the cobblestone floor of what used to be ye olde toontowne... or the stone and iron district. it didn't really matter anymore, it was a charred husk of its former self. holly hated to admit it but it did have a glory to it at some point, a beauty, even if it was infested with toon scum. now the beauty was gone, replaced with hollowed out buildings and melted corpses. was that cog she had a transmission with even coming? was she just going to be left to die, now no longer strong enough to fight for anyone's protection? she twitched and writhed, trying to worm her way across the cobblestone, but it was no use. she was limbless, incredibly lucky that no zombies remained in yott... she still felt like a sitting duck though. she had been a sitting duck for a good long while.
she recalled the last time she saw any other life, that infected hoard that had attempted to make a feast of her. she was still in a small bit of shock that she had managed to survive that, her mechanical body creating a small fiery combustion in one last attempt at survival once she had no more obvious cards up her sleeves... or sleeves at all. the fire left bits of her a tad charred, but otherwise managed to burn and scare off the hoard. all cogs were able to create fire on some level, but it certainly could be difficult for those without it in mind.
holly grayelle: damn thou... prester... damneth thou all to hell...
holly could barely speak at that point, any attempt at talking to herself coming out in a rasp. she may have been shockingly not sick, but she was still in a perpetual state of exhaustion and fatigue. it felt as if what remained of her body was failing her.
what time even was it? what day? it was dark... was it late at night or early in the morning? did it even matter anymore?
holly was about to attempt to enter sleep mode to conserve the dwindling energy supply she had left, when she noticed two round spotlights off in the distance. or... eyes? they were sized and positioned like they could be someone's eyes, but they were so bright... so damn bright...
as the two "spotlights" got closer and closer, the vague shape of a buff cog being made out in the darkness. holly passed out, not able to take the exhaustion anymore.
the last thing she could process before fully entering sleep mode was the hum of some sort of saw.
source: various notes found scattered
status: surprisingly neat, messy handwriting
I FOUND AN ALL NATURAL POTENTIAL "CURE"!! I DID IT!! ME!! ALL ME!!
A huge factor as to why infected hosts stay infected and get worse and worse and worse is due to the CANNIBALIZATION aspect. "In the wild", an infected Suit or Toon will only ever attempt to eat other Suits or Toons (or Doodles but I believe that they have sadly been driven to the point of extinction) (Doodle ☹ -Prof. Pete) Keyword being "attempt". They still can derive sustenance or fuel from whatever used to feed them (IE sweets and general foodstuffs for Toons/motor oil and anything combustible for Suits).
All you have to do is trap an infected Suit or Toon and only feed them their regular source of sustenance. Even if it means you have to shove it down their throat, they WILL fight you about it at first and attempt to bite the hand that feeds them. Eventually, they will once again grow used to eating regular foods again, and the mental symptoms will stop and the physical symptoms will slow to a halt. They are still technically infected, as they are still carriers of the disease and have most likely been mangled by the symptoms, but they are no longer a risk to themselves or other people.
I've been doing this to Buck ever since I first got my hands on him. That's why he's been so docile lately! I was afraid he was close to death but no, he's the exact opposite! I AM SO SMART!!! BRILLIANT!!!
The only issues to this cure: It takes a while for it to actually begin curing them. It is incredibly dangerous to actually handfeed the infected Toon or Cog, as you pose the risk of being bitten yourself. I am unsure if this works on Toons as well, as they have a drastically different biology than us superior Suits. I am unsure of the potential longterm side effects of doing this, as it's entirely possible for the the disease to resurface later in life. It's also entirely possible for it to be impossible to heal a host who had already built up a bunch of "ick" inside them (most likely due to having already cannibalized a bunch).
I feel the need to say that when I mean "cannibalize", I don't just mean Cogs eating Cogs and Toons eating Toons. I've taken to calling Cogs eating Toons and Toons eating Cogs cannibalization.
I'm still going to look for an actual cure, but I felt this was an important shortterm solution.
place of origin: toontown central
days into infection: month 0, day 27
will holly ever get to turn into a cool zombie or is she like Dead dead now
fuck nobody translated the signal not found video
shockingly, holly is alive but VERY wounded. shell be... ok.... maybe...... hopefully..... she did manage to contact a certain someone who plans to transport her to a safe spot!
//content warning: (fake! its just a 3d modeled cartoon!) corpse, talk of an infected cog eating a toon (and maybe other cogs), survivors guilt. this is like, kinda fucked up in a multitude of ways. sorry, flint's perspective is a horrifying perspective!
wont stay buried.
flint's internal clock ticked wildly in his chest. oh my cog.
oh my cog he really just did that. he's done it time and time again but oh my cog.
flint kept the gun trained on tumbles, just in case he showed any signs of life. he had to do this. he had to do this for him. there was no other way.
even as the light faded from tumbles' eyes, as his head completely drained of ink, those pupils still were focused on flint. staring down the barrel of what was once his own gun, but turned against him. flint knew it was just the way tumbles fell, there was no soul or mind behind those eyes anymore. but still.
it never got easier.
but there was a job to do, and flint had become very familiar with that job since... well, yeah. uh, step one. loot tumbles of all he's worth.
flint grabbed the backpack from tumbles's corpse and dumped it out onto a table. weapons... medicine... bottles of water... trinkets... all stuff he could potentially use or just... use to decorate. great. great haul. he also took tumbles's sunglasses off the floor and added it to the pile. they were cute sunglasses. flint then began to steal tumbles's clothes. sure, toon clothes couldn't ever begin to fit flint or graham but they did make excellent rags. besides, graham wasn't exactly the biggest fan of chewing through cloth. the fact that he had stopped trying to eat flint's arm was proof of that... and the bite scars painting flint's arm was proof of that proof of that.
with all the gathered loot from tumbles in their respective places, flint began step two. clean the crime scene. flint propped tumbles up against the wall, in a way where he'd only continue to bleed onto himself and not onto the floor. getting the ink out of the carpet... flint couldn't tell if it was worse than getting motor oil out of the carpet. both stained it horribly, so flint has to act fast before in completely soaked into it and dried. luckily, tumbles's ink was a close match in color, so flint could afford to miss a few spots. nobody in the near future would notice a slight offshade blotch on the ground, at least not until it was far too late for them.
with that step done, it was time for flint to be the best boyfriend and move onto step three. feed. grabbing tumbles by the invisible arm, flint carried the food down the stairs again. his flames naturally lit up the dark cellar, quickly drawing the attention of graham. oh, graham. why did you have to get bit when running from the luxury suites and textiles district to the coal and ice district. why didn't you fucking tell flint. why did you think your processors could naturally fight off the disease, were you scared your leg would have to be amputated? your legs would better off be amputated now, with the state they were in. all twisted and atrophied like that, they looked more like bones than legs.
flint surveyed the last "sacrifice" he bestowed upon his boyfriend, cosmo. his shell was gone, just a skelecog now. flint tried not to think about how he knew that guy once. whatever helped keep graham from starving, whatever helped stall for another day in the frantic hopes for a cure.
flint knelt down in front of graham's crawling form, caressing his sunken in and half-torn open cheek. it'll all be over soon, i promise. someone will find a cure, someone will soon. and then they can go back to being happy as usual, and everyone will forgive flint for his crimes against both toon and suitkind... because it was a crime of love. truly. what was he meant to do? let graham die? PUT GRAHAM OUT OF HIS MISERY? what if he put graham out of his misery a day before a cure was discovered, that'd be horrible! he wouldn't. couldn't.
graham made a hollow groaning noise. flint took that as a good thing.
flint set the food down on the ground, pressed a kiss against graham's forehead, and walked back up the stairs. he tried not to listen to the tearing and frantic gulping sounds. once back up the stairs, flint closed the trapdoor and sat on top of it, trying desperately to continue to excuse all the horrible shit he did, has done, and will continue to do. the daily sob settled in.
//notice: timmy riddle is now called doyle n. trouble. silly silly.
in alio mundo, cerebra tua pingunt aquam
morning came all too quick for the yott escapees. prester was pleasantly surprised by the fact his head was actually placed on a pillow and not the cold hard floor. finally allowing himself to sleep really helped prester's general... aggression issues. not completely, he still was the brutal witch hunter, but sleep did help with any exhaustion/stress induced extra aggression he developed. he looked over at winston, curled up like a cat a couple feet away from him. his processors generally being sluggish due to just waking up and his muscle memory involving cats almost got him to reach out and run his hand over winston's spine. almost. almoooost.
after doyle and winston woke up as well, they all took the time to loot the theater for all it's worth. doyle found a discarded gag pouch, too, which combined with his toony nature would mean the small gang of mostly cogs would finally have access to hammerspace. they then gathered their thoughts, and decided to visit toontown central's playground for a much needed soak in the pond there. every one of them were their own degree of grungy, they could all benefit from some water being splashed on them.
after a short (and somewhat more creepy due to the corpses being much more visible in the broad daylight) walk to the playground, the gang immediately walked into the water. according to prester, it was much more "efficient" to wash both their bodies and their clothes at the same time, even if that meant theyd have to walk in sopping wet cloth later. doyle just chalked it up to him not wanting to even briefly appear exposed to potential threats, though. he did find it kinda unfair though, as winston obviously had much less that would potentially weigh them down later, just having a necktie. and, even then, winston was just sitting on a dock, barely dipping their blocky feet into the water. it was a bit confusing at first, but doyle eventually came to the conclusion that winston was apprehensive about dipping their incredibly exposed mechanical innards into water. prester looked over at them, before reaching a hand out.
prester virgil: your tie. bestow it upon me, muttonhead.
winston, a bit confused, unhooked their tie and handed it to prester. he then dipped the tie in the water, swirling around a bit to get whatever grime and dirt that built up on it over time, before using it as a rag to scrub over winston's endoskeleton. they leaned into the touch, enjoying the feeling of even the slightest hints of affection after so long. doyle looked on like he knew what they were.
winston byrd: tha-a-ank yo-you...
prester virgil: i am merely doing this as to enlighten you on how you may find yourself doing this hereafter. i shalt not do this again, so please pay heed to my actions.
winston byrd: oh i-i-i'm p-paying h-paying heed-eed-eed, HA HA. HA.
doyle n. trouble: well, aren't you two chummy now? did something happen last night i was too busy catching up on my beauty sleep to notice?
winston byrd: i-i put a pillow un-under his head!
prester virgil: nothing happened of any sort you are thinking of, swine! i just woke up feeling... extra charitable this morrow.
doyle squinted at prester as he moved up to scrub the underside of winston's head, a smug grin forming on his snout.
doyle n. trouble: oh, i knew it. the brute with a secret heart of gold... and here i thought it might take a bit longer for you to open up! HA! all it took you was some "cat nap"!
prester virgil: i can assure you, you know NOTHING of my brutish actions. if you knew what i did to that HOODED MUTTONHEAD back many moons ago, you would know that any "gold" in my heart is nothing but pyrite! fool's gold!
winston byrd: i-i think i ate pyrite once i-in the dungeon!
doyle n. trouble: yeah, yeah. yet here you are, handling them like an ANTIQ-
doyle suddenly went still, his face running pale and his eyes widened like globes.
prester virgil: well, by pure legal technicality, they ARE an antique!
doyle stayed silent, their smile immediately wiped from their face as they slowly turned to face the back left segment of the playground, at the seemingly abandoned schoolhouse. he stared at the cellar door, just BARELY propped open with... SOMETHING held between the door and its base.
doyle n. trouble: ...something is wrong...
the two cogs stayed quiet, prester wringing out the tie and hooking it back onto winston's neck. doyle squinted at whatever was propping up the celler door. once he recognized it, the pig began to yell.
doyle n. trouble: THAT'S A GUN! THAT'S A GUN! RUN! RUN!
the yott gang ran for the abandoned gag shop, shielding themselves from the bullets that never got fired at them.
SPOILERS FOR MOST RECENT POST BY @mad-doodle-disease (hi again I made a render this time)
honestly, I started this to test to see if I can figure out shading and shit, which I did, and then it turned into this
(we're ignore how the blood is an image I found on google and then colored blue, kay?)
tumbles took one last glance at his gun sitting on the table, before deciding to look around. when else was he going to get the chance to walk around a cute little house made by hand? certainly not anytime soon, considering the apocalypse. it was a very cute little makeshift home, pictures in photographs, half-wilted yet still pretty plants, paintings "borrowed" from other abandoned shops, trinkets. it seemed untouched by the chaos and havoc that went on outside, as if it existed in it's own little pocket dimension. it was so lovely.
but as tumbles continued deeper and deeper into the house, the odd smell he noticed before became more and more prevalent. less like an odd smelling candle, more... tumbles brain blocked it out. it was probably nothing, the general good vibes from this home couldn't shield it from EVERYTHING going on outside. maybe the original owner died in here and flint just wasn't able to get the smell out. but, damn, it was potent.
the smell got noticeably bad near a trap door on the ground though. curiosity got the better of tumbles... what died down there? smelled like a fucking animal or something. he kicked it open, the stench immediately overwhelming him.
tumbles: oh, cog! what the hell, maaan!?
tumbles began to walk down into the cellar, starting to believe something was up. that fucking smell, man. it didn't just smell like something only DIED in there, but was currently rotting. fuck, it smelled like a ton of things were rotting. tumbles got to the bottom of the staircase, fishing his flashlight out of his backpack. immediately once turning it on, he immediately regretted it.
short green skelecog, suit c based on the build, laid in an awkward position, mouth agape in a permanent expression of horror. tumbles immediately screamed, pointing the flashlight up to try to not look at sight anymore. bad choice, absolutely horrible choice, there were more. another skelecog, blue, suit a?? very toon shaped skeletons too. horrible. horrible horrible horrible. tumbles barely got a look at the, uh, other figure in the basement before immediately bolting back up the stairs. pupils dilated to the point of resembling milky white boba pearls, on it's hands and... knees?? were those knees?? the fucking legs... they looked so fucked up. the fucking hair THE FUCKING FACE. was that even a cog??? what the HELL WAS THAT?!!?
tumbles: FLINT!! FLINT!! HELP, THERE'S SOMETHING IN THE BASEMENT THERE'S SOMETHING IN YOUR BASEMENT!!
the kiwi tried to reach for his gun holstered on his hip as he ran up the steps, intending to fire at whatever that goddamn thing was if it tried to scramble after him. he wouldn't just let another very obviously dangerous infected cog just stay alive, he wouldn't just run away again, he was going to be a- SHIT.
tumbles: THE GUN!!
tumbles immediately remembered that he left the gun on the table in the living room, believing it to be an incredibly safe area. his heart sank. but that was okay! he was bursting from the basement now! he could already see a buff blur of orange/red standing near the trap door! tumbles was going to okay!!!
I feel like I put too much effort into this for some reason hehe :P
REDRAW OF THE PICTURE BELOW FROM THE ACCOUNT @mad-doodle-disease !!! HUGE CREDITS TO THEM, I LOVE THIS FUCKING AU SM MAN /non gendered PLEASE GUYS GO CHECK THE ACCOUNT OUT AUGH ITS SO GOOD !!!!!!!!
tweaking out fjhskjdhfsdv.. Sighhh.. I love gay men guys... (casually gets mauled by Dave Brubot)
tumbles turned around to look at the person trying to get his attention. it was the bossbot!? tumbles quickly showed him the picture.
tumbles: i'm looking for the guy youre holding in this picture, maaaaaan... graham ness payser, right? i'm, like, from barnacle boatyard... the safehouse leader wants me to like, find him.
bossbot: barnacle boatyard? which, uh... safehouse? not that it matters...
tumbles: anchor avenue.
bossbot: oh... uh... yeah. i know where graham is.
tumbles: but, the missing post-
bossbot: that's old... i, uh... found him... yeah... he chose to stay with me instead of the sellbot safehouse.
tumbles: thats cool, maaaan.
tumbles began to follow the bossbot back to his shelter, an abandoned toon shop he had apparently turned into a home.
flint bonpyre: i'm flint bonpyre... i was a firestarter at c.o.g.s inc. before... yeah, heh. graham was the pacesetter.
tumbles: i'm tumbles! it's a total pleasure to meet you, dude... love the whole pyro aesthetic you got going on. it's totally tubular.
flint bonpyre: heh... thank you...
soon, they got back to the shelter. it was a nice place, truly it just looked like a home. it'd be easy to forget you were currently living through the end times if you just cooped yourself up in it. it did have a very odd smell to it, though, but tumbles just figured it had something to do with flint's fire.
tumbles: you have a nice place, flint!
flint bonpyre: um... thanks... i try my best... graham and i spend a lot of time here and uhm... i just want it to be happy...
flint paused awkwardly for a second, before turning to walk back outside.
flint bonpyre: i'll go get graham... you can look around if you want... we worked our best to turn this happy shop into a happy home...
once flint was gone, tumbles set the gun down on a table. it would be nice looking around this place, seeing all the hard work flint put into making this place like an actual home. but, at the same time, his legs were tired... but, looking around would totally give a boost to tumbles sanity and morale.
