OOC: Okay, thanks for the feedback guys. I intended to write here the way I write my stories, and as Wash spent his debut barely conscious, I needed some NPCs to get him in and to flesh out the post. Oh well. You live and learn, and in between you get to look like an idiot. As for his past, Rupture Farms is a big places ("the largest meat-packing plant on Oddworld) and I doubt that upper management would make such embarrassments common knowledge. -Wait- this is Rupture Resurrected? I thought we were operating under the same cruel taskmaster force, dammit! They're still all miserable slaves, though, right? Only I have… plans… for my character. Okay, I'll go with Splat's explanation, and work it all out. Second attempt
IC: Wash gingerly rose to all fours and coughed up blood onto the dirty steel floor. Though one eye was swollen, the other could see perfectly well, as he eyed the shiftless workers around him who refused to come to his aid. But then he realised that he did not recognise the zulag- or anything else. Was this still Rupture Farms Docklands Division? Those Gorram [OOC: curse derived from God-Damn-BM] sligs had dumped him in some other Magog hellhole, just to be rid of him? The irony stung more than his bruises- he'd finally got out of the RFDD, just to be dropped back into this other place, where he had no understanding of its layout.
He cursed the sligs in a tongue from off continent. "Elum Sain hat shing tu!" Rising to his feet, he hobbled over to the wall, so he could take the weight of his knee. I ain't never getting outta this place anytime soon, he thought. I'm so totally humped.
The regular sound of the meat grinders pounded away, Wash felt like he was the meat, as each time the mechanics made his head throb. He called over to the nearest person.
"Hey! Hey du-" Wash's body was suddenly wrought with coughing spasms. "Hey dude! Were the hell am I?"
OOC: Okay, is anyone near the meat grinders? Yo!
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