Ice Flue Chapter 7

Their bunk was like the inner chamber of a submarine.
“Would you like some butter? Mother sent it from Germany!” The interval between spins had shrunken to a millisecond and the police officer blurred between male and female.
Stan Lunch regarded the stick of coiled butter with dismay: it was shrouded by mold and packed full with cricket carcasses.
“Mother says Elizabeth Dracula eats this every morning to keep her skin looking beautiful.” The police officer’s metal limbs resembled an antique wind-up toy.
The hatch opened violently as a rush of boiling water poured onto Stan and the police officer. Steam rose from the police officer’s limbs as Stan screamed in agony. His metal hand bubbled and popped, but it didn’t feel like his skin burned; his hand was being forcibly shrunken, slowly and as if by an AWOL gravitational pull.
Dayglo Arnie straddled the opening of the hatch. “Get a move on grunts. Your training has already begun. Where were you during the introductory video? Didn’t you hear the Flue Whistle?” Dayglo Arnie, his white clown makeup glowing as beads of sweat suspended within thick strands of his orange clown afro, hissed with fangs barred.