Dylan trudged through the small intestine, the hours dragging on in a haze of slimy walls and gurgling noises. The air was heavy, humid, and reeked of decay. His legs ached, but he pushed forward, muttering, “Indestructible, my ass—this is torture.” The tunnel’s finger-like villi brushed against him, making his skin crawl. “Don’t absorb me, you freaky gut,” he snapped, swatting at them.
After what felt like an eternity, the tunnel widened, and the flow of liquid slowed. Dylan stumbled into a broader, drier space—the large intestine. “Finally,” he sighed, but the relief was short-lived. A low rumble echoed, and before he could react, a blast of foul, misty air slammed into him, coating him in a sticky film. “Ugh! Fart juice!” he gagged, wiping his face. “This is a new low, even for me.”
He pressed on, the walls now firmer, the air thicker. The tunnel sloped downward, and he slid to a stop near a puckered, unmoving hole. “Great, now I’m stuck,” he groaned, slumping against the wall. Time crawled. Minutes? Hours? He couldn’t tell. The stench was unbearable, and the silence was worse. “Come on, move already!” he shouted, kicking the wall.
Suddenly, a tremor shook the tunnel. “Oh, shit—literally,” Dylan yelped as the walls contracted, shoving him toward the hole. With a wet pop, he was ejected, tumbling through the air. He landed face-first with a splash, plunging into cold, murky water. Flailing, he surfaced, gasping, and realized he was in a toilet bowl. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he sputtered, treading water.
Above, a shadow loomed. Dylan looked up to see James, his oblivious giant friend, wiping his ass with a wad of toilet paper. “James! Yo, down here!” Dylan yelled, but his tiny voice was lost in the echo of the stall. James stood, pulled up his pants, and walked off, leaving Dylan bobbing in the bowl. “Of course he doesn’t see me,” Dylan muttered, scanning the grimy tiles and stall walls. “Public restroom. Just my luck.”