"...more and more reports are coming in of the unfathomable consequences of ignoring this Random Exchange Virus! Cases have already spread to the farthest reaches of Asia, America, and Africa, and are rising faster than we could've ever anticipated! It's suggested that almost 85% of the world's population will have caught it within the next four wee-!"
Mark yawned as he skipped over to the next channel playing on the huge flat screen at in the Wilko DIY/Electrical aisle. For the last fifteen minutes or so he'd just been fooling around, flicking through the Freeview channels automatically downloaded onto the TV. He reclined deeper into the sofa laid out for potential customers as he mindlessly changed the channels again and again, floating past a family cooking inexplicably thrown into disarray and briefly watching a dime-a-dozen talent show as a female contestant's voice suddenly broke during the performance.
"Come on," Phoebe moaned, annoyed as she actually tried to clear some of the unwanted electricals away from the displays, "One of the managers could come down any time and bust our balls."
"So what?" Mark sighed, bored out of his mind. "They'll slap me on the back of the wrist and move on."
"Don't say I didn't warn you..."
Phoebe spun back around, wiping her trickling nose, before going behind a slightly smaller TV screen and attempting (quite pathetically to be frank) to push it forward on her own. "Hey Mark, do you mind...?"
Phoebe shuddered momentarily, feeling something strange as her runny nose suddenly unblocked itself.
Before she could even react properly, she could feel the TV beginning to give way, scraping across the shop floor faster than her skull-motifed sneakers could keep up with.
"N-Never mind I guess..." she muttered to herself, half in shock and half in awe.
With considerably more ease than before, Phoebe soon had the TV set rolled to the side. Surpassing even her own expectations, she'd even been able to hoist the TV, by herself, onto the dolly to be taken down to the warehouse (albeit with a tad more difficulty; the stress felt almost negligible her arms but her knees shook like leaves in a midwinter gust).
She'd no idea where that sudden burst of strength had come from but damn, if she wasn't proud of herself for it all the same. She chuckled dryly, clapping the dust off here hands with a thunderous clap.
If only she hadn't looked down at that moment. Because once she did, her eyes almost burst out from her sockets.
With horror, she scanned over her arms: the bulky appendages now bursting out from the shoulders of her still slim-fitted polo were more akin to small tree trunks than arms, muscular and hairy, with dull nails on the edge of their fingers and thin whiskers poking out in between bone-white, polished knuckles. The small tattoo on her left forearm, the first of many tattoos she'd hoped to have inked across her body, was nowhere to be seen, gone along with the glittery nail polish she'd slathered across her former nails.
"Mark," she squeaked meekly, turning the meaty paws in front of her face over in fear, "Something f*cked up is going on!"
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