Green, glowing, and radioactive though he was, Burt still found it difficult to look at his own dead body. It was so little, so fragile...

Plus, its breast was split wide open. Yuck.

But a plan was a plan, and Burt knew that if he was to have any hope of getting the hell out of the cage, he was going to have to keep his nerves, and his stomach, under control.

He quietly dropped to the floor, beaked a silent prayer, and poked his head into the carcass. It was cool and beginning to stiffen, but -- thank God -- it hadn't yet started to smell. Still, he tried not to breathe as he wriggled inside.

He pushed his head upward, pushing his beak into the beak that was once his. He felt his dead legs move as he pushed his toes downward. He blinked, and his old eyelids blinked with him.

Pulling the gash on his breast closed, he stood. It wasn't elegant to use his own body as a disguise -- God, it was horrifying -- but it would get him out of the cage. He knew that.

Burt lay back down, closed his eyes, stuck his feet back up in the air.