[Lacy Hemsmire]

Days passed. Hours upon hours followed after Vula healed. She wasn’t given much time, but she was able to work. She did not see Drog for a long time, and as she worked, she lost herself in her mind and thought of questions to ask him when - or if - they met again. What of slig culture? Why did they wear masks? Could they be bribed into not beating her?

All these questions and more filled her mind and occupied it as she scrubbed the meat grinders down. She didn’t want to think about her friends, who had vanished completely, and the disappointed glares of her fellow slaves and their sudden urge to avoid her. No, she couldn’t think about that.

As she worked, Vula was very careful. She was well used to washing and sanitizing the grinders. It was much too big and too heavy to pull apart by herself, so she had to climb up on top of it and wash out the tray with mops. It was terrifying work, for sligs lay scattered within eyesight, most of them snoozing. As long as she was quiet, and didn’t bother them, they didn’t pull the lever that would activate it while she was inside. If they did, she’d be ground up and sold without hesitation. 'Work-related accidents', they were called.

Lucky for Vula, the sligs that usually guarded this area were very lazy, as this was a remote place within the building and rarely did anyone come back here. The sligs didn’t want to bother with picking on one Mudokon. While she was a troublemaker, it wasn't often that she concocted such as scheme. Otherwise, she was a decent worker. Fat lot of good the work did her, as she was still picked on and pushed around by the sligs and occasionally hit by something. But now that Vula had something to work for, she hardly put up a fight. Besides, work was better than pain and boredom.

As long as she did her work, Vula knew that unless there was an accident, the Glukkons wouldn’t have her head. She finished scrubbing out the tray and set about hosing out the inside of the gigantic meat grinder. She was in between levels - some ten feet above her was the platform the sligs were resting on. Generally, when she finished, she could either climb up the ladder to the platform and quietly pass the snoozing sligs, or she would climb down and leave that way - today Vula would have to climb down and head to the lower levels.

The hose was loud and the water was hot - steam was pouring up through the top of the grinding chamber and she had to step back to avoid the spray. The water had to be hot and of very high pressure - otherwise it could not be cleaned properly. The grinder was very powerful and could handle massive amounts of meat - bone and all - with little problems. This one had been shut down temporarily because something had gotten stuck. It was no mystery - most likely some clumsy Mudokon slave had fallen in. Vula frowned as the stuck piece - the half crushed Mudokon skull - rolled out into the bottom tray and behind it, the rest of the leftover scraps. She was far too used to this and there was no time to ponder its source.

Vula emptied the bottom collective tray - skull and all - into the scrap bin. This was dirty work, as it required several to do. Being alone (as punishment), she had to empty it out via buckets. It took over an hour and when she’d finished she had to scrub it out. When she finished at last, wiped her forehead off and walked around to the back of the grinder. There was an intercom there, with a microphone and several buttons. She pressed a combination of numbers - which would direct her call to a higher floor above the grinder, and grabbed the microphone.

“Vula here - grinder’s all cleaned out now and I’m turning it on,” she panted.

A slig voice answered on the other end, but it was unfamiliar. “Right,” it said almost expressionlessly, and hung up. Vula switched on the machine and it warmed up in time for the conveyor belt above to restart. Soon large slabs of meat and bone began to drop into the loud, rumbling grinder, before it was emptied into the bottom tray and carried out along a separate conveyor belt, where it continued the cycle to be packaged. There was no slowing in production - there were at least eight to ten of these grinders stationed, throughout the complex, one of which was always shut down for maintinence.

Vula could not rest yet, even though she now smelled like rotten meat. She left and headed for her next assignment - floor waxing. After Abe had vanished, it was added onto Vula’s ever-increasing list of chores. Usually she went where she was called for the day, but this was one of those default chores. She didn’t like it - she wasn’t very good at it and usually ended up slipping after she was finished. This chore took her far up close to the boardroom. Unlike Abe, whom she had heard really loved his job - Vula loathed waxing the floor. It was much too close to the Glukkons.

Vula feared going towards the boardroom. It meant going to the place where Abe was last seen - where he had vanished, likely mashed up into dinner and served up by now. As she polished the floor, she studied her own reflection in the floor. She resembled her brothers save for the small difference only noticeable if one really looked. In fact - no one could really tell she was female. There were very few females that she knew. Stories were passed about, in whispers, and even occasional curious glances were cast at her.

Vula had the vaguest of feminine features. Her hips were slightly wider than most of the other Mudokons, and her “breasts”, if that was what one would call them, were hardly more than slight lumps on her chest. They didn’t resemble breasts and so she couldn’t cover them anyhow. They were hardly noticeable. But the proof lay in what was beneath her loin cloth. She never removed it around the others, just to avoid suspicion. She had enough as it was. She had the necessary equipment, but she doubted any of it actually worked.

When it came time for them to shower, she often risked not having enough time and always kept her back to everyone. They may have been siblings, but any of them would've ratted her out for his own freedom. The other Mudokons were virtually gender-neutral, and Vula didn’t bother to look and see if that was true or not. They had nothing to hide, but Vula just preferred to keep to herself anyway.

At last, the floor was finished, and a terrified peek in the boardroom once the sligs weren’t looking showed her that it was empty. While she was on her way to the closet to put the waxer away, one of the sligs slid across the floor and crashed into a heap on the wall. Vula scrambled to escape before it noticed.

----------


“Ugh...” Drog reloaded his Blunderbuss and fired a volley of rounds at the cardboard Mudokon cutout. With this weapon, he was told it didn’t exactly matter where he hit unless he had specific instructions. While he was not trained in use of the weapon, he figured out through trial and error everything he needed to know. It was basically a semi-automatic weapon, able to fire single shots as well as quick bursts and full automatic. It could be reloaded quickly and fired just as quickly, although it was rarely required. He’d been at this all day and he wondered vaguely where ammunition for these things were purchased or made.

He learned many things throughout the many days he was with his own again. First - it was every slig for himself. Second - the slig with the biggest weapon had the most power. Third - coffee and cigarettes were addicting. When he wasn’t working, he followed the others to the lounge, where he fixed himself some coffee and hoarded his moolah for the only thing that mattered - a big gun. He had his eyes on something called a Magnum, which was much bigger-looking than his standard-issue Blunderbuss.

Sligs that carried these were respected. He’d spotteed other, larger sligs, several times his size and built like tanks. These he avoided altogether, if he could. However, sometimes it couldn’t be helped. When he encountered these steroid-pumped sligs he was either picked on or ignored altogether - either of which could end in pain for him if he was underfoot. In the employee lounge, he was left alone - attempts to join in with gambling games resulted in his loss or his removal from the game. Drog eventually gave up and pondered about the incident with the Mudokon.

He’d heard all the stories before - Mudokons came from the “Mother”, whose name he did not know, but she voluntarily gave up her children to the Glukkons to be hatched as slaves. He didn’t know the reasons behind it, but his instincts told him that, based on the Mudokons’ rather peaceful behavior, it was likely unintentional. Drog also knew that the Mother was psychologically messed up somehow - and he could understand why. Giving up one’s children and knowing their terrible fate was taxing. Except of course, to his own mother, who probably was only in it for the moolah.

It wasn't empathy that really set him apart. Most of the sligs he knew generally didn't attack the slaves unless they were angry or bored – or pressured into it by another Slig. Drog was more curious about the slaves than anything. Where did they come from? What were they like outside of slavery? What were they like in person? They were called "employees", but their slavery was the worst kept secret on Oddworld. He didn't really want to hit any of them unless he had to - maybe someday, he would understand that twinge of sick delight when he struck one. But not now.

Drog, bored with his target practice, peered around to see if any other sligs had stopped yet. Some had, and were either cleaning their weapons or leaving. One was snoozing in a corner out of view of the security cameras. Drog, eyeing the others, backed away and reloaded his weapon before starting to head outside again.

“HEY!”

The rumbling voice made him halt, a shiver starting from his tail all the way up the to the back of his neck. He jerked his head towards the source. The slig facing him was huge, and he gulped, an iron grip on his Blunderbuss. The girth of the larger slig’s neck alone was at least as big as the thickest part of his own body – if not bigger. It took every ounce of will not to flee.

“You got a good arm there, Popper.”

Drog blinked. “Er... thank you. ...Popper?”

“Popper,” the huge slig replied. “In other words, any o'you sligs with the Blunderbuss. How long ya been here?”

“A week n' three days.” Drog didn’t dare make eye contact.

The huge slig fell silent, and then chuckled. “Try this sucker out.” And the weapon he handed to Drog was heavy - very heavy. It reminded him of a chaingun.

His arms trembled as he cradled it, and a glance told him that every other slig in the room was watching him, expressionless. He gulped, forcing himself to concentrate on the cardboard target. It resembled a machine gun with a massive barrel and was difficult for even a normal slig to hold it. The other sligs snickered as the much smaller slig struggled to hold up the weapon, and fired. The resulting volley of rounds were much larger than those from the Blunderbus and exploded upon contact with the target. But poor Drog was knocked backward into the wall from the recoil. He yelped, nearly crushed by the weapon, and lay there, stunned.

Laughter exploded throughout the room and the big bro slig snatched his weapon back.

“You got a lot of potential kid. But yer just too small!” He chuckled to himself. “Take a hike!”

While not exactly an insult, it was certainly a remark involving his age and size. But Drog didn’t dare protest. He just left. It was easier if he obeyed the larger slig. He pulled himself to his feet, biting back his whimpering, and headed back towards the lounge. His thoughts finally wandered back to the female Mudokon. He did not like her, but he was drawn to her for reasons he couldn’t explain. He felt better around the weakling Mudokon slave than around his own kind. Perhaps it was his desire to dominate the weak. But she was interesting, a little moreso than the quiet, obedient slaves.

So Drog decided to go look for her. He’d seen her around, but it was for a fleeting moment, so he decided to check one of the security offices. There was only one slig in there, snoozing. Typical. He was tired himself, and, having little sleep, the sligs caught their winks when they could. He ignored the other and studied the keyboard. There were several buttons, each wired to a camera somewhere in this particular sector.

Drog wasn’t sure where he could find her, but she was around here somewhere - he knew that much. She had a different color hairband than the others. He pushed the first button, near the cafeteria. Lots of Mudokons were there, some eating, some cleaning. Sligs were eating too, but his eyes, although weak, did not spot her. So he pressed another button. After several button pushes, he at last spotted her bright blue hairband, up near the board room. She’d just left, so he suspected she’d probably head back to her bed soon.

He slipped out of the room before the other slig took notice and decided to meet her halfway. But he did one last thing first. Drog stopped by the slog kennels. It smelled rank regardless of how clean it was kept. It was also loud - there was barking, snarling, and general volatile exchanges between them. Drool was splattered on the floor. The slogs were fed very little - their main source of food was live prey called Fuzzles. They were tossed into slog pits, and the dozens of slogs would fight over them, only the strongest getting the food he so desperately craved. The Fuzzles, looking merely like blobs of fur with eyeballs, never stood a chance.

But Drog was only after one particular slog. It was still on the verge of being a sloggie - a puppy - and was half the size of the adults. Out of all of them, it was the only slog that wagged its tail when Drog approached. He’d been sneaking into the kennel for a few days now, usually with a snack or some coffee for the little slog. Once, he was caught, but when he insisted he was helping the young slog get used to patrolling, the report threats were dropped. Besides, the slog was very energetic(likely due to having too much coffee) and shook a lot, so they let him deal with it.

He grabbed a retractable lead - one used only on the youngsters for heel commands - and reached in, wrapping it around the slog’s neck. The slog hopped out of the small cage, the older slogs snarling jealously as he led it outside.

He had grown quite attached to the slog, whom he had nicknamed Sooz, and it seemed likewise. Sligs and slogs both have the potential to love and care for things, but usually it is beaten out of them. In rare cases such as Drog and Sooz, it was just present enough to for them to feel it for one another, and the two of them found their way to where the slaves slept.

And to his amusement, Vula was there, rubbing her feet at the edge of her bed. There were other slaves present, so Drog kept to himself as he entered. There were several glares in his direction, but none of them dared to go near the drooling slog before him. But when Vula saw him, she stiffened - not daring to approach him - but for different reasons.

“Hey you,” growled Drog, attempting to make himself seem important. “Commere.” He pointed to Vula and gestured roughly, his demeanor causing Sooz to start growling violently. Vula stood obediently and followed him out and around back, away from the ears and eyes of the cameras and slaves.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” confessed Vula, eyeing the slog with a mix of fear and curiosity. She didn't want to run anymore today.

To her surprise, the little slog didn’t attack - instead it stood there, panting, studying her somehow with its eyeless head.

"Well, too bad," replied Drog.

"So when are you going to help me?" Vula asked.

Drog shrugged. “I dunno.. whenever. Not sure how, what with security up.” He fell silent, thinking. But then, he snapped his fingers. “I saw a report yesterday. That slave terrorist Abe got out and he's been sneaking back in and settin' the slaves free. Sooooo... I could... if you do me a favor..."

“Take you?”

Drog nodded, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah. I wanna see the world before I become some soldier."

“Tch,” Vula said, shrugging. “If you say so." She looked at the slog. "Is he friendly?"

Drog shook his head. “No. So where are you gonna go?"

"I don't know!" Vula said. "Just go.. I don't wanna get beaten again."

"Funny," sneered Drog, "I thought you LIKED getting beaten." He turned and headed back to wherever it was he needed to go. He couldn't even remember.