cheers.
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Three hours passed, and the buzzer sounded, echoing through the bowels of the vast, dark factory. The engines kept running, even though they were not in use. Rupture Farms had no future in energy saving. Joe and Crob left their buckets and rags and made their way down the seven walkways via the long, rusted ladder, and onto the factory floor. There, they joined many other mudokons, all making their way to their own sleeping quarters, under the accusing gaze of the slig guards. Joe and Crob walked side by side, amongst the others, talking.
“Wonder what Relb’s nicked this time?” Joe questioned, looking at his feet as he walked.
“Yeah.” Crob said.
Joe looked up at the mudokon walking in front of him. He was tall with ragged head-feathers.
“And Muller. He’s a laugh aint he?”
“Hmm.”
“Are you alright?” Joe asked Crob, slightly annoyed.
“Yeah, err…I’ve just gotta’…see ya’!” Crob ran off to his left, between two massive, shuddering engines powering the giant circular saws, and into the darkness.
Joe stopped in his tracks.
“Hey! What about the hole?” When he heard no reply from the shadows, he closed his eyes and shook his head, “For fuck sake, so I’ve gotta’ go to the hole on my own.” With a sigh he carried on.
Joe made his way to the end of the mincing section and turned left into a dimly lit corridor. There he saw two sligs beating a mudokon. One was standing to the side, watching his pal whilst he smoked a cigarette, holding his rifle in his free hand, the tip of the barrel touching the steel-plated floor, as the other punched the mudokon across the face and in the stomach as he pushed him against the wall, his gun somewhere on the floor behind him, as if it had been dropped in a sudden fit of rage.
Joe tried to move from the spot and find someway else to get to the hole, where all his chums would be waiting for him, but he couldn’t force himself from the position he was in. He was rooted to the spot, watching a mudokon receive the beating of a lifetime.
“Yeah! You show ‘im Bale! Cheeky bastard!” The smoking slig said with laughter on his breath.
“I’ll…teach you to…backchat me…you fucker!” The violent slig said, quite breathless, as he punched the mudokon squarely on the nose, then across the jaw, and finally in the stomach. The mudokon slumped to the floor and the slig stood over him, panting.
“You had enough you slimy piece of slog shit?!” The slig said.
“Look! He wants more! Ha ha!! Give it to ‘im Bale!” The other slig chirruped in.
Joe looked at the mudokons face. He had a severe black eye, which was puffy, but not yet purple, and blood was dribbling from his nose and split lip. That’s all he could make out from a distance, and that’s all he wanted to see; he didn’t have a strong stomach.
The mudokon murmured something that Joe couldn’t hear, and the slig standing over him spat in his face.
“Well next time, keep your fuckin’ mouth shut.” The violent slig breathed.
The cigarette smoking slig took one last drag, bent down and stubbed out his cigarette on the mudokons forehead. The mudokon groaned in pain, half conscious in his painful daze. The violent slig laughed, walked over to his rifle and picked it up.
“Oi! What the fuck are you lookin’ at?!” The smoker slig yelled.
It felt like the pit of Joes stomach had just dropped onto the floor with a splat. The slig was talking to him, and him alone.
The other slig looked behind him and stared into Joes eyes. The red visor held back the monsters vision.
“Err – nothing sir! I was just-” Joe stuttered before being interrupted.
“I think this dip-shit wants a little attention.” The smoker slig said to his friend.
The violent slig growled, and said quite calmly, “Stay right there little mud, we’ll take care of you.”
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