[Bullet Magnet]

Here's the next bit of Chapter 1:
There would have been italics to put emphasis on some words, but...
enjoy!

* * *
"Koh-bay. My name is Kobe." The Bounty Hunter was surprised that he gave this away so willingly. The Clakker looked up at him.
"That’s a good name. What does it mean?"
If he had any eyebrows Kobe would have raised one. What an odd question. He sighed. "In the old tongue it means: ‘One who is called Kobe’."
"Oh," said the Clakker, taken aback by such a straight-forward answer. It wandered off to help the others shift the outlaws.
Kobe looked up at the sky. A "big team-up thing" eh? He didn’t like the sound of that at all. Outlaws couldn’t work together in such a large group no more than a pack of Alpha Scrabs could. Something or someone was holding things together. An outlaw plot is not going to be good for anyone concerned. But was it his concern? Kobe had only looked out for number one for a long time. Sure, if someone was in trouble he’d help them out if he could. Or would. Especially if there was a bounty involved. But ever since- no, he didn’t like to think about anything back then. All these outlaws were still alive, but there’s a bigger bounty for live ones than a straight body count. Is that why he wouldn’t kill, or was it some other reason?
"Hey! Boun’y hun’er! This one’s wakin’ up!"
He left that train of thought and jogged over to the Clakkerz gathered around a stirring outlaw. All these guys will be in trouble if this outlaw plot is realised. He’d just rescued them all, but would he have been here at all if the bounty store was not paying double? It was an emergency, they needed help quick, and they came to Kobe.
"Look! What do we do?"
The Clakkerz looked up at him fearfully. Rolling his orange eyes, Kobe reached down and plucked a stone from the ground in his three-fingered hand. The outlaw’s eyes flickered open and focused on the hated figure above him. Kobe slammed the rock into the outlaw’s head and his eyes shut, his breathing peaceful.
"Call me again when you have a real problem." He grabbed the outlaw’s unwashed legs and dragged him out into the middle of the passage, dropping him next to the others.
His green ears picked up a faint rumbling in the distance. Gradually it grew louder, a deep buzz like a swarm of thudslugs. The Clakkerz seemed unperturbed by the noise, so Kobe left a pickaxe-gun where it lay. The drone became deafening; every conscious creature in the canyon clutched their hands/wings to their ears. Chippunks dove underground, bolamites shrank back under the wagovans and fuzzles whimpered under their bushy homes. Kobe realised what it must be, almost laughing at his concern earlier. A shadow fell across the canyon as a great shape appeared overhead, blocking out the sun. A figure atop the flying monster leant over and waved down at them; some of the Clakkerz waved back. Kobe squinted against the wind blowing down from it, a raised a loose neck scarf over his face to keep the dust out. The flying shape lowered down towards the ground, rotating to find a good position, and landed in the chasm and the mudokon instantly recognised what it was.
It was a Meetle. It must have been five meters long and three meters tall. A great beetle-like creature, it was approximately dome shaped. Ten short legs gripped the ground from under the carapace, seven meter wings folded against its body, and shiny brown wing cases snapped down over them. The front of its flat face was dominated by its sideways mandibles: a short sandy-brown beak two meters tall and half a meter wide. Sleepy looking lids hung on each of its four eyes, two positioned close to the ground and two slightly smaller ones above and behind them. They had cute brown irises and docile pupils, the eyes betrayed a deep seated intelligence, but made it clear that it would not be revealing any of it any time soon. The impenetrable chitinous armour had been painted on: Stunks McCoy’s Yolkswagon Meetle. Stunks sat atop the creature, just behind its head, on a sort of seat with a large, windswept shade behind it. Stunks wore flight goggles and looked to be roasting alive under his coat. He let go of the reigns and slid expertly off of the meetle and landed in front of Kobe, who was staring in awe at it. Stunks spoke first.
"It’s a meetle."
"You don’t say."
Embarrassed by his stating of the obvious, Stunks turned back to the meetle, who watched them lazily with its two nearest eyes. "Her name’s Sear."
"Oh, good."
Stunks McCoy looked over at the pile of outlaws and the Clakkerz standing around them.
"So you’ll want those outlaws shifted then," suggested Stunks, who had totally lost his track.
"It is what I paid for," growled Kobe.
"Right then!" Stunks felt more comfortable getting straight to work. He brought his wing up to his face, put two feathers in his beak and issued a short sharp whistle. Sear twitched her legs and her wing cases rose and her wings flicked open. Kobe brought his scarf back over his face. The meetle rose from the ground and underneath her was gripping a large wooden plank; Kobe had not noticed it before. The meetle stopped three meters above the dry earth, and Stunks the Clakker fought against the wind, clutching his outlaw’s hat to his head, made his way underneath his meetle. Shielded from the air stream, he reached up and fiddled with something on the thick wooden square.
Suddenly there was a clang loud enough to be heard over the meetle’s drone and Stunks dived out from under the meetle, as wooden boards and metal bars fell down. His hat fell off and blew away; Kobe caught it, knocking his own hat off in the process. Glancing back at the huge creature and its owner, he was amazed to see that a makeshift cage had been assembled on the ground. Sear stopped flying, the roaring noise stopped and the sound of the metal bars groaning and the wooden parts creaking as the weight of the meetle strained the crate. Stunks staggered over to the bounty hunter, who gave his hat back.
"Yes, thank you. Now that wasn’t supposed to happen… Still, we got it open. Let’s shift these useless wasters inside." The Clakkerz helped the mudokon to haul the cataleptic outlaw forms into the cage through a door in the back. Sear the meetle watched them with sleepy interest.
One of the Clakkerz approached Stunks "Gee, Mr McCoy; d’you think they’ll all fit?"
Stunks peered over her shoulder at Kobe helping the Clakkerz push one more outlaw into the bulging crate.
"Er… Sure they will!" He turned to the others. "Hey! HEY! Push him into that space in the corner there! You can fit three more stenchies in there at least."
Luckily there were only three outlaws left. The last one, however, could not be crammed in at all, and kept waking up as they tried. Kobe grew impatient, so trussed him up and tied him to the side of the cage. The Clakkerz and the mudokon stepped back to admire their handiwork. It was a sight you’d have to see to believe. The crate bulged heavily at the sides, arms and legs protruded from odd places between the bars, and those outlaws who had come round were so disorientated by the ordeal that they could barely groan.
Barely.
"That’s all of ‘em," observed Stunks McCoy. He nodded at Kobe. "You coming with?"
Kobe looked around and decided that the ride to Mongo Harbour was a good idea. He nodded to Stunks, "S’pose so."
To the other Clakkerz he asked "You all alright now?"
"We’re fine now thanks," replied one. "We gotta tidy up our stuff an’ get it down to New Yolk City. It’s the flood relief, for, you know, when the Mongo River overflowed after Sekto Springs Dam burst. Thanks bounty hunter."
Kobe walked towards Sear the meetle and stopped by Stunks, who looked him up and down. His eyes widened.
"You’re bleedin’!"
Kobe followed McCoy’s eyes to where he was pointing. His left upper leg was indeed bleeding, his pants were stained. The ripperdart from his prior engagement was still there, lodged in his flesh. The pained had been numbed by adrenalin, but now that he noticed it the pain returned with a vengeance.
"For Odd’s sake!" Kobe gripped the serrated orange dart in a green fist, which increased the pain significantly; it felt like a hot poker was jammed in his Quoddriceps, which was not far off the truth. Not that he let it show. Kobe gritted the horny pads on his gums and yanked the ripperdart out. Blood splattered on the ground as muscle fibres tore on the ragged edges. The mudokon gasped at the pain, and a steady stream of crimson began oozing out. Stunks looked woozy.
"I’ve got some bandages on the meetle-"
"N-no… need." Kobe reached into his jacket and retrieved a white (ish) roll of fabric. Tugging out a length, ripped it off and pulled up the leg of his pants, wrapping the bandage tight around the wound. He stood and the trouser leg rolled back down. Stunks climbed back onto Sear and sat in the saddle-seat. Kobe looked at the ripperdart. Even covered in blood, he could tell it was filthy, rust and grime mixed with the mud’s blood. The mudokon dropped it onto the dust ground and scaled the meetle-crate combo, limping on his first step but strong after that. The other dart in his hand would not be coming out in a hurry, so he wrapped a bandage around it to hold back the bleeding.
Stunks McCoy waved at the rescued Clakkerz and picked up the reigns.
"You’ll have to sit in the front here, Kobe," he said to his passenger. "You’re on the wing case, it’s gonna up in the air when her wings open."
Kobe scrambled around the shade of the saddle and Stunks slid up to give him some room.
"You might also want these on," McCoy offered some flight goggles and sound dampeners. Kobe accepted them, remembering the noise the meetle’s wings make when in flight. He had to adjust the goggle to fit on his mudokon’s face, but the sound dampeners slid down over his ears, muting the world around him. Stunks threw on his own goggle, flicked the reigns and the meetle’s wing cases immediately raised and her wings unfolded. The whooshing of the wings soon became a shrill drone as their speed increased, though Kobe couldn’t here a thing. With great effort and obvious strain, the meetle lifted the crate o’ outlaws off the ground. They rose a meter up, then crashed back to the ground. The mudokon hit his face on his knees.
"C’mon girl, you can do it," Stunks encouraged the massive meetle, and with great exertion lifted up again, and they were flying.
They continued to gain altitude until the ravine they were in looked just like a dark squiggly line in the ground. The air was colder up here, the bounty hunter was glad he wore more clothed than your average mudokon. Kobe could see for miles around, he’d never before had such a view. Deep canyons cut into the ground, full of tall, knotted rock formations. The earth was patched with green and red brown, where flora and foliage had covered the dry rock. He could see the swollen Mongo River glinting silver in the afternoon sun, twisting and turning through scattered settlements. In the distance: snowy mountains jutting out of the horizon, where he knew the Mongo’s source: Ma’ Spa; to be. The collapsed dam at Sekto Springs, and the Wolvark camps. Kobe thought he could even see the Paramonian forest in the distance (he couldn’t). On the river he spied Grubb villas, boats and huts, the Clakker’s meep farms, the late Doc’s Retreat, and behind them, a black industrialised state, coughing black smoke into the pristine air, encroached on Oddworld’s surface like a malignant melanoma, a cancer of the planet. Banishing the thought from his mind, Kobe settled his gaze upon a small but bustling town on the edge of the river’s wider meanders. Mongo Harbour Town thought Kobe. Mongo Harbour for short. The "Town" postfix was part of a clever tax evasion by one of the harbour’s previous mayors: as harbours are a transportation hub, the import tax is higher than on normal towns. Another corporate exploit, no doubt engineered by the Magog Cartel. This was their destination. A newly constructed railtrack joined many of the towns like a black artery, it was clearly and industrialist venture. The track was held six or seven stories above the ground, and the trains hung beneath it. In fact, Kobe could see one now, one of the Cartel’s distinctive Gluk-Trains. Its engine was shaped like a Glukkon’s face; it had glowing yellow eyes, and left a black trail of smoke behind it. The engine was attached to the rail by a row of wheels that were turned by drive and coupling rods attached to each one, the movement of which made the train look like some kind of insect or centipede. This one pulled over fourteen carriages. Kobe realised they must have descended a long way to notice these details as the train passed Mongo Harbour and disappeared under the Meetle. He looked down to see that the outlaw tied to the side of the crate had woken up, spit off the gag, and was screaming at the top of his lungs. Kobe couldn’t hear him through the sound dampeners, and his attention was diverted when his ears started to pop from the increase in air pressure. They were just above the level of the buildings now, and Clakkerz in the street stopped to watch them, and point at the screaming outlaws. They had seen Stunks and his meetle before, but never with such a full cargo. They came to a halt above a large wooden edifice with a hanging sign on the street side, it read: Stunks McCoy’s Yolkswagon Meetle.
What appeared to be a large barn of sorts below them issued a rumble, then, by some unknown mechanism, the roof began to open. It split down the middle and each half moved to the side and revolved down into the hangar. The mechanical whirring stopped with a clunk. Kobe wondered how the meetle would land inside, as her wingspan was greater than the width of the barn, when the whirring started again and a platform rose up from the hay covered floor to roof height, atop a sturdy iron beam. Sear set down atop the stage and closed her wings, and the platform sank back down. The roof remained open.
"Good job, Sear," Stunks patted the meetle’s back and hopped off. He strode to a telephone on the wall. It had a rotary dial system, and as he spun it around he took off the earpiece; a metal cone topped by three metal rings. It was obviously made for Vykker fingers. Stunks waited patiently for the synthesised ringing to stop and the other end to answer.
"Hello, Mongo Harbour Bounty Store? Get the jail on the line; I have a client here who has captured fourteen-" he noticed the outlaw strapped to the side of the crate "-make that fifteen live bounties, ready for collecting at the Yolkswagon."
"How many live ones?"
"That’s fifteen live bounties here."
"Okay Stunks, we’ll be along in a minute. Any Bosses?"
"Nope, just stenchies," finished Stunks, and he put the earpiece back on the hook with a click. Kobe had been listening with idle interest. Stunks looked up at Kobe, who was taller by a head and a half. "The bounties will be collected later, let’s go into the front and wait, or maybe…" he trailed off as he opened the door and ambled through. Kobe took one last look at the meetle, and stole another glance at the roof. Marvelling at the machinery that worked it all, he followed Stunks McCoy through the door that was marked "meetle" on the other side.
The smell was worse in this part of the building. Kobe supposed that it is one thing the keep a huge great meetle clean, but quite another to sanitise thirty or so small, noisy and back-talking little beasts, one of which was complaining loudly.
"You promised food, pullet!" the Chippunk whined. "And fugly here soiled himself, an’ it’s seeping into my bed."
The fuzzle next to it growled menacingly through the bars, and the Chippunk stuck its tongue out and blew a raspberry. Stunks took exception to being called "pullet", but leaned down to get the food bag anyway. His eyes widened and he froze. Kobe motioned forward but McCoy’s wing snapped up and stopped him. He raised slowly and deliberately, eyes darting from shadow to shadow in the dark room.
"Nobody. Move." Stated Stunks with the kind of authority reserved only for sergeants, police sligs and maths teachers. Even the Chippunk shut up. Stunks pointed at a rusty iron box next to the food bag. The front had swung down and the padlock lay on the floor. It was empty.
"Oops," whispered the Chippunk, and burrowed under its wood shavings.
The door behind Kobe swung shut and plunged them into darkness.
* * *
The room was two storeys tall, with rafters and beams protruding in seemingly random directions. The dirty windows illuminated the room very badly; the ceiling could not be seen in the darkness. Stunks would have wondered how many bolamites were living up there if he was not so afraid of what he new was up there now, or, and his eyes flicked down the floor, what was down here now. Kobe was rather concerned with Stunks’ reaction to this turn of events, and the fact that his eyes were not adjusting to the dark as fast as he’d like. Suddenly he heard a strangely dry squelching sound, which created such a primal sense of revulsion in him that he felt an emotion he had not known in a long time: fear. He heard it again from the opposite side of the room, followed by a splat and a twang, and then a slurp as the thing ascended higher into the rafters. They all looked up, Kobe spun around as he heard a squelch squelch from behind him. Stunks’ attention was focused on the broken window at the top of the room.
"It must not leave this room!" he warned, urgency and near panic injected into his voice.
"What is- ?"
"There!" yelled Stunks, pointing at some shadows in the corner. Kobe could see nothing there, but then a wooden board leaning against the wall was knocked over from behind and a small silhouette inchwormed swiftly across the floor and into the darkness. There was a splat twang and it flew up into the roof again. The Clakker and the mudokon stared up at the spot where it disappeared. Kobe’s eyes were beginning to adjust, but he still could not see what was-
"Ark!" A short, sharp and high pitched bark echoed through the room and turned his blood to ice.
"I know that sound…"
"Ark, -arp!" The creature seemed to answer its own call before it had finished the first, like there were two.
"Where is it, McCoy?" Kobe growled. He crept slowly into the middle of the room, cautiously glancing around the dim wooden room. Suddenly a long fleshy vine lunged down the bounty hunter’s head. He leant back and twisted his head to the side just in time. Thick saliva splatted against his face, the slimy pink appendage adhered to the brim of his hat and it flew back the way it came, with Kobe’s hat.
This grated his nerves. Kobe liked his hat, and now some creepy little creature had stolen it. His heart was pumping wildly in his chest, his breathing was quick and shallow; Kobe could feel the adrenalin in his blood. Squelch squelch. The mudokon turned around, following the noise. There was a loud belch, then a disgusted spluttering.
"Arpf! Plapf! Ark ark arp!"
The hat fell to the floor with a gentle thud. Kobe stepped forward and picked it up, examining it. It was dripping with drool and hat a bite taken out of the brim.
"I have a very definite feeling about this."
He narrowed his eyes and listened carefully. The mudokon heard Stunks’ heavy panting, the animals in the cage whispering to each other. Sweat stung his eyes, when he sensed movement behind him. The fleshy whip dived back at him from the darkness, but the bounty hunter wad ready. Kobe whirled on the spot, and caught the tongue in his hand. The end wriggled in his fist for a moment, before Kobe yanked on it and the owner flew out of the shadows and into his arms. It appeared to be a worm, though it was a vertebrate. There where no eyes, but it still managed to "see" somehow. The thing was green and about a half a meter in length. The skin was smooth, thick and almost reptilian, coiled muscled bulged under its jade hide. The lips were fused with the gums and short, pointed teeth protruded from its narrow elongated jaws, which Kobe found his hand inside, still gripping the slimy tongue. The creature’s maw snapped shut; he yelped more in surprise than pain, and shook it around. He managed to prise it off with his free hand (the one with the ripperdart in it), and held its jaws shut. Then the creature’s tail end came up, there was no tail, but another head! It snapped at the mudokon for a moment before barking an "ark!" and another tongue licked out at him. Kobe wrestled with the thing for a moment and finally had both jaws under control (firmly held shut). He looked at Stunks menacingly.
"Step in anytime you want-" the worm struggled again, "feel free."
"Y-you seemed to have it all-"
"Ark!"
"-Under control."
Kobe marched behind the desk, threw the animal into the iron cage and slammed the padlock on.
"What on Oddworld are you doing with a fleech?!" he demanded, advancing on Stunks.
"I’m not doing anything with it. I keep it locked up in that box. I have no idea how it got out. But," he said, turning towards the Chippunk’s cage, "I’m going to find out."
The fuzzle next to the Chippunk looked up at Stunks McCoy. "Meemee mee mey moiyeemey" it squeaked in the fuzzles’ deceptively cute tongue. The Chippunk poked its face out of the wood shavings; "He’s lying! Don’t believe anything smelly says!"
The fuzzle grinned, revealing long, pointed sharp teeth, and snarled at its neighbour.
"I don’t care what he’s saying," Stunks interjected angrily. "You were all here when it got out, and you didn’t even warn us." The thudslugs and bolamites looked down, ashamed.
"Much as this little domestic dispute is fascinating," Kobe drawled, surveying the bizarre scene that had unfolded before him. "You still haven’t explained exactly how we nearly came to be fleech food."
Stunks pulled up a couple of chairs and indicated for Kobe to sit down. Kobe was uncomfortable in the Clakker-shaped seat, but didn’t show it.
"I came into possession of it five years ago. I was travelling through Mudos, and was on the outskirts of Scrabania when I ran into a convoy. They were mostly sligs, guarding a company of Glukkons. I didn’t ask what they were doing, but that night we played some cards. I did remarkably well, and that is what probably irked them, because my bag of winnings, when I came to open it on my return, contained not Moolah, but-"
"A fleech?"
"Let me finish," said Stunks. He took a deep breath. "A fleech!"
Quelling his growing frustration, Kobe asked him: "And you kept it why?"
Stunks shrugged. "I couldn’t just flush it. I thought it might come in useful," he gestured at the other animals and scowled at them. "Like these guys."
There was a short silence. "Is that all?" asked Kobe
"Huh?"
"Is that the end of the story?"
"Yes. Why?"
Kobe frowned at the Clakker. "It’s just that you asked me to sit," he stood up. "That usually precedes a long story."
"I just wanted to rest my legs."
It was then that the front door opened. Another Clakker came in, dressed in blue overalls and wearing a wide-brimmed hat.
"Hey, Mister McCoy," he said. "We’re here to pick up the outlaws, and, er, take ‘em to jail."
"Through the back there, Gravy-Cheeks." Stunks pointed at the door to the meetle room that he and Kobe had just come through.
"Gravy-Cheeks?" asked Kobe.
"It’s a long story," whispered Stunks.
Gravy-Cheeks looked at Kobe, as if noticing him for the first time. "You must be the bounty hunter that brought in all these stenchies. When they said you were a mudokon, I didn’t believe ‘em. Fifteen live outlaws." He whistled. "No one’s seen that many brought in at once since, well, since that Stranger came through."
"Whatever happened to him?" asked Stunks.
Other Clakkerz were milling about behind Gravy-Cheeks now, waiting to shift Kobe’s bounties. He looked thoughtful. "Nobody’s heard from him since that Steef rampaged through town." He stepped over towards the meetle-door, then stopped and looked at Kobe’s bleeding hand. "Ouch! Did one of Stunks’ little beasts do that?" He turned to McCoy. "You oughta keep that Chippunk of yours under control!" His laughs were joined by the fuzzle’s, and only grew stronger at the Chippunk’s indignant remarks. Stunks shot a knowing look at Kobe, and waved goodbye. Kobe strode out towards the door, bandaging his hand, and caught the last words of Stunks’ and Gravy-Cheeks’ conversation before the door swung shut.
"The bounty store yard has been converted into a meetle delivery stage, so now you can deliver the bounties you transport straight to the-"
* * *
The evening sun was as bright as middy, and hit Kobe like a roundhouse kick to the face. His eyes where adjusted to the dark of The Yolkswagon Meetle and the outside was blinding. Kobe shielded his eyes and pulled his hat’s brim low, but the sun shone through the bite hole. Furiously, he twisted his hat around and stomped over to the bounty store, knocking over a Clakker couple as he went.