I have been meaning to do this for two years, and I've already finished this version - which I like much better. Especially the end in this chapter, where I had talking Interns. Now that I've finished this story, I'm also four chapters into its sequel, which I'm happy about continuing finally. Enjoy my cliche. D8
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The Mudokon queen is finally dying. Vula, a slave worker, is discovered to be female. But when she turns up infertile, it is up to Vula and her friends to find the real heir and bring her to the Monsaic Lines before Rupture Farms gets their hands on her.
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Vula's Oddysee
By Lacy Hemsmire
Chapter One
Rupture Farms 1029 was on full alert. Thick, black smoke billowed like giant serpents towards the gray-green sky, pulsating from massive smokestacks. The largest plant on Oddworld was a complex network of steel pathways and dropoffs that would kill anyone that happened to fall off the edge. Strange machines patrolled the skies. The largest structure - at least what could be seen from above - was at the center of the plant. The cylindrical building was stamped with a fading gargantuan face of a glukkon and within it, held one of the most powerful glukkons on Oddworld.
Although it could not be seen through the pollution, it was nearing sunset. It was always insisted that Oddworld's sunsets were beautiful - if only you took the time to move far, far away from the industrial areas and see it. But that was not to be. What self-respecting Mudokon, Glukkon, or Slig would venture out into the forbidding wilds to view it? And with industrialism expanding, it wouldn't be long before any hopes of nature thriving would be destroyed. Even many of the slaves found some grudging contentment in their lives. This was all they had known, all they had. Why should they want anything else?
RuptureFarms never slept. Its inhabitants did, in shifts. The cafeteria was always open, and during the evenings it was Unit #47 - the night shift, that occupied it before they went to work. The area functioned like any other - there was a line of sligs waiting for lunch, served by Mudokons of course; rows of tables where sligs would sit and eat; vending machines full of cigarettes and coffee - provided one had the moolah to pay for it. While the area was large enough to accomodate several hundred people at once, the only Mudokons one would find were behind the counters serving food to hungry, boasting sligs.
"Maaan!" A slig at the front of the line inhaled deeply. "Someone gotten 'is place clean yet? Smells like a sewer pipe in 'ere!" His sneering remark was aimed at the serving Mudokons, who ignored him. The sligs in front of and behind him cackled.
While the life of a slig was generally considered terrible work, each of them dealt with it in his own way. The newest sligs imitated the more experienced ones. The most powerful sligs set the example, generally barking orders to the fresher sligs and bribing them for favors. The sligs in the middle were neither powerful nor new, consisting mostly of sligs that had either just found their place in slig "society" or those that were much more seasoned. Sligs lived mostly simple lives, going where they were assigned, gambling, snoozing when they could, and whipping Mudokons into shape. Like the Mudokons, they knew nothing else, so they took whatever they could out of life and enjoyed some sense of control out of it. And sligs love control.
A slig that had just gotten through the line made his way back to the slig that had spoken, "Yeah, nice one, Lurdo!"
The slig called Lurdo grinned behind his mask and left the line. The other slig joined him.
"Where on earth ya been the last few days? Ye look...a little bigger'n the last time I saw ya."
"Eh, here, there," Lurdo grunted. "'Ey, Grob, Guess what?"
"What?" Grob asked as they made their way to a table.
Lurdo placed his tray down and pointed to himself dramatically. "They're promotin' me tonight. No more shitty slog food!" He snarled at the mess of food on his tray and dug into it messily.
"Man, Lurdo. How'd you get so lucky?"
Lurdo wiped off his tentacles. "'Cuz. Unlike all you lazy slobs I actually love this job here!"
"You just like hitting the slaves," came the snide remark of a slig across from him.
In a single moment, Lurdo's attitude twisted into something else as he launched himself over the table, powerful arm finding the snide slig's throat in a second. The slig's yelp twisted into a choking cough as he struggled to get away, but Lurdo's grip was iron.
"Don't ever tell me what I like and don't like, worm!" Lurdo growled. The other slig whimpered what could've been translated as an agreement. Lurdo released him, a flick of his arm sending the slig sprawling into the opposite table with a crash.
Grob's eyes went wide. "L-Lurdo... what was that?"
"Got a problem?" Lurdo snapped. "Want a piece of this?"
"N-no!" Grob held up his hands innocently. "I'm just wondering what got into ya. You used to be a real fun guy."
Lurdo growled again. "Sayin' I'm not funny anymore, Grob?"
"Ah… Just forget it. I dunno what I'm sayin'." Grob got to his feet and tossed the tray he had into the trash. "I gotta get back to my shift early before the bell sounds. I hate runnin' in these pants."
On his way back to his post, Grob shook his head. Lurdo had always been one of the "nicer" sligs. There was no slig that didn't enjoy the occasional slave assault, although it wasn't as common as one thought. In fact, a chunk of it was gossip and anti-Industrial rumors. But to turn your back on your own was astounding to him. He knew there was bullying and teasing but rarely did sligs attack one another outright. It took too much energy. If there was a reason, sure, but... Lurdo had always been relatively civil no matter the attitude of the other slig. Hell, he rarely even picked on the slaves. Usually, he was napping or full of threats. The Mudokons, he knew, probably hoped to have him as the overseeing slig. And in a span of a few days his pal had gone from nice guy to something potentially dangerous.
Grob returned to his room to check his next assignment. As he read it, he grimaced. "Paired with a couple'a freshies," he snarled, and headed to the slog kennels to grab a partner before he headed out. As he headed out there, he heard an alarm go off. It was too far away for him to get to. In fact, it was down several floors. He wondered if they'd show up at his post with the freshies.
The air was heavy with apprehension. Sligs were on full alert. Slogs were snapping at everything that moved. It was officially dark - the sky was black anyway, but in places where the smoke faded the sky was a clear, dark blue, the only celestial bodies were the moons overhead. In spite of that, it was near pitch-black outside and, unless you were lucky enough to be posted near one of the lights, you were patrolling in the dark. There was very little grass near the main building of Rupture Farms. When you were lucky enough to be on something that wasn't steel or concrete, it didn't feel like anything natural.
To the slogs, the earth felt dirty somehow. While dirt is indeed "dirty", the earth here had a sticky, dead feel to it, like the life had long since been sucked from it. The slogs did not like it, but they were trained to ignore it. Either way, natural earth was much better than walking on grimy, stained and smelly steel or concrete. It could be said that they might've envied their sligs, who lived with metallic pants, could not feel the ground beneath them.
Grob was so very irritated. The two sligs patrolling with him were very new. It was always the new ones he was stuck with. He was in his prime - it was expected of him to whip the newer sligs into shape whenever he was partnered with them. Freshies were too slow and stupid, but he'd get over it if it meant he got paid.
"Hey, Grob!" one of the sligs hissed, weapon pressed carefully against his body. He seemed smaller than the others. "How long are these shifts?"
Grob huffed, finger reaching up to unconsciously rub the scar along the side of his head. It sank deep into his mask. He'd gotten it in a friendly brawl with another slig.
"Bleh." He seemed about to continue, as he hadn't stopped marching and was prepared to show that he could insult and patrol at the same time, but he realized something. He fell silent for a moment, tiny fingers stroking his rifle. "Who the hell are ya?"
"I don't have no name yet," the slig whispered.
Grob chuckled to himself, which morphed into a sadistic snicker.
"It goes like this." The slig slung his body around and turned to face the significantly smaller slig. "You obey the boss. If you see any slaves makin' a run for it, shoot 'em on sight." He turned and continued his patrol. The slog next to the nameless slig growled again. "The shift ends whenever the others relieve us."
Must've been his first time out anywhere at all. His training didn't even show through in his demeanor, which disappointed him. While Grob himself wasn't really the hardest working slig in the bunch, he certainly knew what to do when the boss was around. He didn't feel like saying anything. The third slig was even larger than himself, but seemed to know what he was doing and so Grob didn't bother him.
--
Around the corner, in the shadows, four creatures pressed themselves against the wall. Their leader was out in front, peering very carefully around to eye the chatting sligs. Yellow eyes slid back to the others behind them.
"Duck down, and follow me." The voice did not seem to have a particular gender assigned to it. The leader pressed its body against the ground, carefully creeping along in the shadows, taking slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm its racing heart. It glanced behind them to see the other three figures and pressed on.
A single bark sounded and the creatures froze, trembling. The barks increased, mixed with growling and soon all the slogs were barking, creating a racket and the sligs were scrambling to keep them in check. One of the slogs caught a scent and everyone knew it. The snarl it emitted was unearthly as it made a beeline for the crouching slaves.
"Stay down! They can't see in the dark!" the leader hissed, but the others scrambled to their feet and sprinted in all directions. One by one they were shot down by the three sligs.
The leader barked an order, but it went unheard and it prepared to sprint away to save itself.
But there was no time. By the time it'd gotten up, lights were blaring in their faces, alarms going off, and the butt of a rifle slammed against the leader's head.
--
"And I thought you had a sense of self-preservation, slave!" barked a gruff, masculine voice.
"Ugh.." the Mudokon tried to her head, grimacing at the caked blood along the side of her face. But she was suspended by her wrists from cuffs hanging from the ceiling. There were no windows. It was perfectly cylindrical, with an indentation in the floor and a faint roaring beneath. Something dangerous was under there.
"And yet, here you are again." The slig before her paced back and forth. There was a small one next to him. "And I think ya need to see what it's like on the bottom of the food chain... " His powerful arm lashed out with the baton and struck the Mudokon across her body, causing her to yelp. "Just wait till I report you to the boss!"
The smaller slig observed silently.
The large one cackled. "Go for it!" He handed the small one the baton.
"Wha?" Gingerly, the little slig approached her, and slung it, halfheartedly, at her leg. It hurt, but not nearly as much as before, and she hissed through clenched teeth as her thigh bruised considerably.
"No no no, do it like this!" The larger slig growled, and seemed to want to snatch away the baton, but he hesitated. "You know what.. I think I'll leave you two alone. When it's an inch away from death, go get someone to cut it down." The slig passed through the open doorway and hesitated. "Oh yeah. This'll be yer last strike. We don't need no terrorists runnin' round 'ese parts."
The slig glanced at the baton in his hands, then up at the slave, sizing her up.
The Mudokon trembled against the cold and growled raggedly at the slig. "If yer gonna do it, do it." she hissed blandly in her strange, almost genderless voice that sounded like every other Mudokon in the plant. She was used to being hit - this was her second escape attempt. Inspired by the rumors of a terrorist floating around, she was eager to follow in his footsteps. Her friends - at least the ones that had had the courage to follow her in an attempted escape, were either going to be punshed or killed, and it was all her fault. She'd take every blow with a snarl and suffer the punishment she deserved for her failure.
The slig would've rolled his eyes, if he could. Instead, it growled and ignored her. "And what if I don't wanna?"
The Mudokon raised an eyebrow ridge. "Well, generally.. you sligs beat us slaves. Unless you don't wanna, you could cut me down." She attempted to grin, but her lips were stitched, preventing any large movement of her mouth
Provoked enough, the slig swung the baton at her ankles. The resounding cracks echoed throughout the room and the Mudokon gasped. The pain overtook any sound she had attempted to make. When she finally was able to make a noise, it was only a shaky grunt of pain. Mudokons have hollow bones, and while they were surprisingly durable, a hard enough hit could snap them like twigs - and both of her ankles had been broken.
Finally, the slig seemed to calm down a little. There was something odd about the slave. First, he wore a loin cloth like any other slave, but there was another strip of material covering her chest, like she had something to hide. The slig moved in closer to examine this - so close that his tentacles nearly brushed up against the material. The slave wriggled in spite of herself.
"What... are you doing?" she tried to snap.
"What in hell are you wearin' 'at for?" he asked. "Tryin' t' 'ide some'in?"
The Mudokon whispered, "I jus' like wearin' it."
"Whatever," he replied. "I think this'll be good enough. Walkin's gonna be hard for ye now." He reached over and pushed the button that would release her.
The cuffs suddenly opened and the Mudokon dropped to the floor in a heap, groaning in agony as her broken ankles landed underneath her. She attempted to pull herself to her feet, and might have made it had not the slig clocked her over the head with the butt of his rifle, sending her into unconsciousness.
The slig reached up and grabbed her by the shared ponytail on her head, as he had been taught, and dragged her out of the room.
"Now where do I.." he muttered. Nearby, a patrolling slig caught his attention. "Aha! 'Ey you," he grunted. "Where do I take 'is 'ere ah... pris'ner?"
The slig waited a moment before acknowledging the newer, younger slig, but turned to him.
"You're holding it wrong. Hold it by the wrists. They're strong but they're clumsy, eheheh. Take it to the shelters. They're out there near the stockyard. Ye should see a sign. Ye can read can't ye?"
The slig nodded, and readjusted his grip on her before trudging out.
"Oh and don't try anything funny, freshie." The larger slig hissed.
--
The nameless little slig hefted the Mudokon down the narrow hallways, head cast somewhat downward as he tried to avoid the stares of his co-workers. One of them piped, "Prison duty?" and laughed.
He did not like the Mudokon - she was the first one to have given him any trouble since he had arrived here. There was still a world of first-times in this place for him, and he was hoping he would be more seasoned before he had to go and beat slaves up.
He brought her out into the darkness, shivering at the screech of the scrabs as they echoed in the pits further out. It was never good to admit to anyone what you were afraid of, but all the sligs were terrified of the scrabs if they didn't have weapons. Even the standard-issue Blunderbuss was powerful, but probably would not stop a charging scrab. He had heard stories of other sligs going out towards the ancient temple ruins - and most of them rarely came back. He clutched his rifle with his only free hand and hoped he wouldn't have to use it. At least not until he put the slave in its quarters.
The sky was growing gray and soon the sun would rise. There was a chill in the air and he could feel it and hated it. Dew was collecting on the ground and the metallic walkways. His metallic pants, normally somewhat warm, were already beginning to drop in temperature and he could feel it inside them.
She was lightweight, but her apparent unconscious state made her dead weight and he was thankful when he could put her down inside the slave hold. To his surprise it was nearly empty, the few remaining occupants were in a dead sleep. Twenty hour-shifts meant those three hours (and one hour total to eat) meant Mudokons did not dream. They blacked out, bodies forced into recovering in half the amounf of time necessary. It rarely worked, but it weeded out the weaklings.
He tossed her on the steel platform that functioned as her bed and turned away.
"Mmmf..thanks," came a surprising reply. The slig whipped his head around, tentacles slapping the doorframe, to stare at her, wide-eyed.
Maybe she was delirious? Yeah, that had to be it. The slig bolted out of the prisoners quarters and slid the barred door shut.
--
Her dull, yellow eyes were half-closed as she stared listlessly at the ground. The Mudokon Queen, once proud and free, was reduced to nothing more than a breeding female for someone else's profit. She hardly noticed her own children anymore, had little feeling from her thorax down, and only half-listened to the program on the Shrink's screen.
The Interns that, under normal conditions, handled the hundreds of eggs she laid each day, were without anything to do. They stared stupidly at one another, mostly hanging about the Queen's rear, waiting for an egg. They were unused to waiting so long, and the Shrinks were beginning to irritate them. Some of them were bobbing their heads to some kind of music in their headphones.
After several moments of suspended silence, the Queen thrashed, screaming, shouting deranged insults at the Shrinks and surrounding Interns, who backed away frantically. Her flailing arms were weak, and eventually stopped moving again as she calmed, and downed a vial of liquid before inhaling deeply and growling to herself.
One of the Interns timidly approached her, intending to inquire about the eggs, when the Mudokon's arms gave out and she collaped in a heap in the hay. The entire room began to panic, scrambling to lift her back up. In any other situation, it would've been humorous to see wrinkly, drooping creatures straining themselves in speedos.
One of them hurried towards a computer desk and started pressing a series of buttons, whimpering to himself.
A Vykker flickered to life on the large screen.
"Philip, here. What do you wa-- …ach, what are you WEARING?!" The Vykker snarled, lurching back dramatically.
The Intern began waving his arms, frantically pointing to the fallen Mudokon behind the screen.
The Vykker snarled. "What do you want? What about the queen?"
The Intern fell silent for a second, then perked up, holding three of his long, bony fingers towards the Vykker.
"Two words?" the Vykker asked. When the Intern held up one finger, the Vykker nodded. "First word."
The Intern glanced at the queen, then made as though to put something invisible on his head.
"A hat?" No. "A groosedeer?" No. "THEN TELL ME WHAT IT IS!"
The Intern made as though to scream at the Vykker, but its stitched mouth wouldn't let it. He pointed at the queen.
"Ohhh!' The Vykker said. "Fine, second word."
The Intern nodded, then suddenly, allowed his legs to give out from under him and collapse to the floor, completely off-screen.
"Wha? HEY!" The Vykker growled, but upon the Intern vanishing from the screen he could view the queen in full. "OH HELLS, the queen has collapsed!"
The Intern heaved himself back on screen and looked rather helpless.
The Vykker peered past the Intern and grimaced. "Oh… dear. Try and get her up. If she crushes those eggs, I'll have your heads!"
The Intern shut off the screen and hurried back to the others. The Interns heaved, pushing the seemingly-lifeless queen up again and helped her support herself. Panting, she came to.
The intern pointed to some chains hanging on the wall, and two others went to fetch them, attaching them to her upper arms and to two pillars around them. Once relaxed, she lay limply, unable to fall due to the chains squeezing her arms. They hurt, but she was too tired to care.
"What are you looking at?" she hissed. "Get back there… please. Get my eggs."
The Interns stared at one another.
"Get them and remove them… I'll give them to you. I don't want them when…"
Nervously, the Interns moved around behind her and prepared for the unthinkable.
Vula's Oddysee (Rewrite)
I loved how you described Sam; I think it's rather brave putting her a fanfic at all 
