The Deadly Dirge of Molluck the Glukkon

[kjjcarpenter]

Prologue — Part One

Glik sprinted through the antiquated factory, his mechanical pants hissing violently as they struggled to maintain his hurried pace.

He had been due in Molluck's office fifteen minutes ago according to the clock in the Slig Pen, which meant he could be anywhere up to an hour late or just as early. No slig trusted that old clock, which was so foggy and stained it looked like the factory had been erected around it.

Being caught tardy was the least of Glik's problems through. He'd spent too long last night drinking his fellow sligs under the table at Alf's Bar. The bar was deep in the core of the factory, out of sight of any surveillance, and for good measure. Brew was contraband in RuptureFarms 1029, and if the boss smelled bones on Glik's breath, he'd likely find himself lashed and thrown in solitary confinement for a month. If he somehow managed to keep his job and wasn't shipped off to the local Slig Barracks after his punishment, his fellow slig guards would undoubtedly beat him to death for exposing their tasty secret.

He ducked under a vagrant security orb that was hovering far too low, strafing at a peculiar and trepidatious angle. It looked to Glik as if the orb's computer had locked on to something considerably suspicious, but it didn't appear to be following anything tangible. He cursed at the floating metal ball and pitched himself down the catwalk, pushing his pants to their limit.

He skipped around a corner and had to skid to a stop as he came upon two mudokon slaves parked in the middle of the catwalk, lackadaisically sponging the framework and bickering all the while. Glik caught himself mere inches from spilling over the edge and into the mouth of a rusty grinder that churned incessantly, as if begging for Glik to come a little father and fall like a feather into its violent, visceral embrace.

He threw himself back from the edge of the catwalk and scowled at the two slaves, who stared back at Glik with cloudy expressions.

"What do you pissants think yer doing?" Glik screeched.

"Sorry, bud."

"Yeah. Didn't see ya there." The second one had a lisp, and it somehow made his speech seem spiteful and sardonic.

Glik fumed and kicked at their bucket with his metal foot, spilling soapy suds all over the catwalk. "Clean that up, ya good fer nothin mud dolls!" The bucket clattered and landed near the edge, then rolled wistfully over the gap. There was a curt burp of steel-within-steel from below—the satisfied mewl of the incessant grinder as it consumed the bucket and tore it to jagged ribbons.

The first mudokon shrugged and returned to scrubbing without further comment.

"I ain't gettin that," the second mudokon declared, peering over the side of the catwalk.

Glik cursed at the mudokon and garnered almost no reaction. He considered beating the senseless biped over the head a couple of times and dangling him by his ponytail over the grinder until he shed an ocean of tears, but he suddenly remembered the cause of his haste. Instead, he promised both slaves he'd be back in an hour to make them cry then turned tail.

They seemed pointedly uninterested, and the second one actually waved Glik away, as if he believed he had authority over the slig.

Conditions at the slaughterhouse had been lukewarm for almost a year now. There were rumours coming down the grapevine from the Board of Executive that the wildlife was starting to thin out, and you only needed to read The Daily Deception to know that the profits for the RuptureFarms franchise were rapidly dwindling. There hadn't been a successful meech harvest in six months, and with the last batch of Meech Munchies having been shipped off to Nolybab last month, one of the slaughterhouse's quintessential tasty treats had been indefinitely discontinued. At the same time, Zulag 5 had been emptied out and all employees reassigned. Officially, the fifth zulag was said to be undergoing renovations, but everyone knew what had really happened, and it came as no surprise when other smaller wings of the factory were being continuously boarded off and cut from the power grid. The Executives were trying to cut costs wherever they could in a brash attempt to reach a profit this quarter, yet what they really needed was a miracle.

Even this strange novel brand, New 'n' Tasty, which had cropped up on several advertisement billboards around the factory, was nothing more than a bid to save time. There was no New 'n' Tasty; there were no animals left to harvest, so what could they possibly be proposing? It was just an exciting prospect with an empty promise, designed to give the investors one last glimmer of hope before they pulled their hands out of the Magog Cartel's affairs.

This air of uncertainty and ubiquitous unease was infectious, and it had spread throughout the entire factory. No one believed RuptureFarms would survive much longer, and thus the security was growing lax; the slaves we're becoming more cocky; and general inattention and unconcern was rife among all tiers of the workforce. Even Glik, Chief Commander of Capital Concerns and Molluck the Glukkon's most treasured slig advisor, had found himself acting remiss on more than one occasion. He had no excuse—none of them did—but he knew it was only a matter of time before the last pillar fell, and Glik didn't see the point in walking blindly beneath the growing shadow.

He arrived at the door leading into Molluck's Office. It was less than a door and more akin to a bulwark—about the only door that was more secure in the entire factory protected the secret vault in the belly of Zulag 3, which not even Glik was supposed to know about. It had exaggerated rivets, an elliptic design, red warning lights flanking the door on either side, and the omnipresent vignette of a glukkon side-portrait: the world-known emblem of RuptureFarms. The emblem had been established by Molluck himself when he had first come out to Eastern Mudos to turn over a profit in a failing business. He wanted khanzumers in every city to know when they were purchasing a glukkon-made product, and it had worked a charm. Sales had never been better once Molluck became the CEO of RuptureFarms 1029, yet with more sales came higher demand.

And much faster than Molluck or anyone else anticipated, the resources of RuptureFarms' flagship products began to dry up.

Glik approached the service monitor embedded in the wall next to the oversized door. He noted the time in the corner of the screen, 15:02, which meant he was only two minutes late. He sighed, and the tentacles hanging out of his gas mask danced jubilantly for a moment. He leaned close to the monitor, pushing his face against the overhead camera, and spoke into the microphone.

"Hi." He waited. No response. "Hi!"

The monitor flashed several times. Several colours struggled to form a picture as unstable bars of static marched from one side of the screen to the other. Eventually, the video feed of a slig sitting in a control room, with umpteenth computer screens and keypads, came into focus. The slig wasn't looking at the camera. He was filing his nails and concerning himself with a crinkled newspaper draped over one of his computers.

"Yeah. Whad'ya want?"

"I'm here to see Molluck, jackass."

"Got yer clearance code?" the slig on the monitor queried, his tone rote and tiresome.

"One-Nine-Nine-Seven-A-O."

The slig on the monitor turned in his seat and punched in the code with defiant dilatoriness, as if forcing others to endure a tiresome routine would somehow make his day inch along a little faster. When he finished, the computer chimed triumphantly, and the red warning lights flanking the door smashed to a verdant, welcoming green. The door then began to reel open on tired, cumbersome tracks.

The slig on the monitor disappeared in a familiar display of strangled colours. When the home screen finally reappeared, the display was now slightly crooked, and a single bar of static rolled up through the monitor over and over again.

Once the door was ajar, Glik stepped inside, into the office of Molluck the Glukkon, into the heart of darkness.

—

I wrote this while lying in bed today. I couldn't go to sleep and Oddworld was on my mind, so I figured there was no better cure than a bit of inspired literature. I haven't edited it properly, and I'm sure autocorrect screwed up at least a few Oddworld terms. Regardless, here it is, mould and all.

From the title and the tone of the story, you can probably guess this is going to be a story about Molluck the Glukkon. If I ever can't sleep again and decide to continue this little fic, it will tell the tale of how Molluck survived the destruction of RuptureFarms and where he went once he became a wanted gluk. There are a few ideas rummaging around in my head, and it'd be cool to get them all down in the best way I know how: A long-winded story with lots of metaphors!

For what it was, I hope you enjoyed it, or at least don't regret reading it. If you enjoyed my style and want to read more, I have a published memoir that I painstakingly reconstructed over several years, a short story that might make you pee your pants, and a website with a very ambitious project 11 years in the making.

Until then, take care, dearest reader.

To be continued ... ???!?

[FennecFyre]

Looks pretty great so far!

[Gunnr]

Not bad at all, will you write more? =)

[kjjcarpenter]

Not bad at all, will you write more? =)

If there's enough interest, it will definitely motivate me to keep the narrative moving along.

[Vlam]

Where is part two?

[MrsKJJ]

So this is what you do when you when you never reply to my texts ...

As always, Darling, it's written very well. I'm understanding Glik as an individual, and it is shining a new, well-deserved light, over the creatures Abe is so happy (giggly?) to kill in gameplay. Keep up the good work, and you can add them to the "Do not kill" list in your next play-through. #SligsLivesMatter

Will you be continuing this one, or will it go the way of my Discord tale?

[kjjcarpenter]

Probably the later! Although I wrote a few paragraphs of Part 2 while in bed last night. Perhaps inspiration will strike again tonight.

[kjjcarpenter]

Prologue — Part Two

The office was large and lavish, about ten metres from one side to the other. Burgundy drapes adorned the walls, and thick carpet weaved from genuine meep wool covered the floor. At the far end of the office was a desk of elder wood covered in papers stacked helter-skelter. Looking down from the wall behind the desk was a framed portrait of mother and son; Molluck the Glukkon and Lady Margaret. Both were grinning tenderly, and Lady Margaret seemed especially proud.

The Shrink was in today, RuptureFarms’ resident psychiatrist and interrogator of all malign subjects. The mechanical spider dangled from the roof by a deadly tail of twisting metal and exposed wires. The television monitor, which served as its head, hovered over Molluck's desk, speaking in shrill—yet somehow nonchalant—tones.

“YOU SHOULD REALLY CONSIDER GETTING SOME AIR-RAH-RAH-RAH ..." The Shrink said, its voice trailing off into mechanical jargon, as if its speaking module was struggling. “YOUR VITALS ARE NOT HEALTHY FOR A GLUKKON OF YOUR AGE"

"Proscribe me somethin for my vitals then," Molluck said, his voice curt and exigent. Evidentially, the various appendages of electric saws and petrifying needles sticking out from the Shrink's monitor didn't phase him. “I don't have time to go out.”

“EXCUSES”

Molluck frowned. “I’m up to my ass in paperwork, the Board's breathin down my neck, waitin for me to give em a solid answer, and mom keeps ringin every damn day, but I can't bring m’self to answer the friggin phone."

“YOU HAVE TO SPEAK TO YOUR MOTHER MOLLUCK”

Glik idled toward the desk and stopped short. He waited as he always waited when he arrived amid these meetings. There had been times when he’d waited for several hours until the Shrink left, and he never uttered a word of dissent. He hoped today wouldn’t be one of those days. He didn’t mind moving about at the boss’ behest, but when he stayed still the hangover took over and his world tilted out of control. The last thing he needed was to succumb to the liquor still coursing through his system while in the immediate presence of the boss.

"If I answer the phone, I have to tell her what's happening."

"YES"

Molluck stared at the Shrink, as if he was about to chastise the artificial beast, then his gaze suddenly dropped and a pensive expression obscured his usually callous mien. There was only one string that when played could force Molluck to his knees: The ever endearing Lady Margaret. ”I don't want momma to be upset wit me."

“YOU MUST EMPLOY HONESTY MOLLUCK~YOU MUST BELIEVE IN YOURSELF AND OTHERS WILL BELIEVE IN YOU~YOUR MOTHER WILL UNDERSTAND”

"Can ya call her fer me today?"

"OF COURSE-SA-SA-SA"

"Tell her I'll be in touch shortly. Tell her she's gonna love New 'n' Tasty."

"YES" The Shrink performed a flamboyant gesture, crossing its multiple appendages and curtseying. "BUT IF I MAY ASK MOLLUCK~WHAT IS NEW N TASTY"

Molluck's luminescent eyes bored into his guest. "It's confidential."

"YOU DONT KNOW DO YOU"

Molluck scowled. He was the only inhabitant in the entire factory who dared look at the Shrink with disdain; the only one with unfettered administrator access that could render the machine inert with a single phrase. "That will be all for today."

"AS YOU WISH"

The Shrink pulled back from Molluck's desk, its various parts moving in a unison that was altogether discordant. The sound of its motion was cacophonous, and Glik had to resist sticking his fingers into his audio receptacles. The Shrink paused to look down at the slig, registered him, then moved on, crawling across the roof and scurrying out the door, which opened without even a spoken command.

The Shrink, as everyone in the factory knew, was the nexus of all of RuptureFarms’ virtual systems. This unguarded access caused anxiety among some of Glik’s fellow sligs, though Glik had never let it bother him. Yes, with a single stray thought, the Shrink could have triggered the emergency nolkyz tanks and gassed every single slave, security personnel and executive on site, yet they were all still here. Glik agreed that its uncanny ability to boldly descend into relevant conversations concerning itself or any criticism of the Cartel was disconcerting, but any consideration of defending against the Shrink was certifiable. The Shrink’s officious nature had aptly earned it the nickname ‘Guardian Angel’ among the factory’s sligs, and it seemed to approve of the epithet, often coercing alarmed sligs to call it by the name always whispered in the dark. While its esoteric and egotistical personality appeared threatening, Glik knew there was nothing he could do about it, and resigned himself to a skeptical yet subjugated reality.

"Come ere."

That was Glik's command, and the slig obeyed with zealous, almost pious, devotion. He skirted up to the desk and stood erect, poised for any and every command. “G'afternoon, boss."

"There ain't nothin good about it." The glukkon nodded—just a curt tilt of the head—at a polished wooden box on the desk.

Glik was quick to respond. He launched out and flicked open the box. A dozen thick, hand-rolled cigars rested inside, and the sweet, undeniable aroma lashed out, daring Glik to pocket one of the sticks. Molluck's choice of tobacco was Surprisingly Swisher Sweet, and it was an alluring flavour, tantalising. One whiff of the fervent scent was enough to engender an addiction. Glik's own predecessor had fallen victim to desire and stolen one of the cigars after two years of smelling the smoke and never tasting it for himself. Molluck had responded by picking Glik out of the roster and watching gleefully as Glik forced the repentant slig into a hungry grinder, tail first. It had been bloody and strident, and Glik didn’t sleep for a week afterwards. He did learn a valuable lesson though, and the subsequent promotion was a tour de force on his résumé, even if the risk outweighed the reward.

He planted a cigar in Molluck’s mouth and lit the tip. The brief flame illuminated the glukkon’s face and betrayed the stress lines that had formed permanent ridges in his flesh.

Molluck took a deep drag, sighed. He seemed a little bit relieved, a little more grounded. If it had been prudent of an high-ranking executive to offer gratitude, he might have spared one or two words for Glik, might have even a smile. Alas, customs were concrete in the Magog Cartel. Glik knew his place. He knew what to expect and he was not disheartened.

"Where's ya shotgun?"

Glik's empty fingers were suddenly very itchy and he wriggled each digit to ward off the ghostly sensation. "Sorry, boss. I didn't think I'd need it."

Molluck growled. It was a low, bellicose sound, something that had its rightful place in the wild. Despite the proud pinstripe and acute lapel, Molluck was as much a savage as the ravenous scrabs in the stockyards, except he hid behind a shield of style. If the Shrink kept the sligs on edge when they slacked off, Molluck was the one who fuelled their mid-afternoon nightmares.

Glik didn't even remember being told to bring his shotgun today, but judging by the look on Molluck's face, if it hadn't been deftly stated, it had certainly been implied. "I'll get it right away, boss!"

"Good. When you get it, meet me by the western annex of Zulag 1."

"Boss?" The western annex was the oldest wing of the factory. There was nothing out there, not even the slaves were sent there for general cleaning duties. Many of the catwalks had rusted, bowed and buckled, and the odour of rot and decay from age-old meat perpetuated the forgotten quarters. "What're we goin out there for?"

Molluck’s expression was distant. He seemed to fall into queer state of meditation as he drew on the cigar. The wispy tendrils of smoke didn’t drift far from his head, which displayed unwonted patterns, as if his very thoughts were trying to manifest outside of his mind. "We're goin ta see an ol friend."

Glik stared, and when Molluck's silent visage began to radiate impatience, he turned in his pants and sprinted for the door. He mustn't keep the boss waiting.

—

For the record, I didn't intend for the Prologue to tarry along this long. Part Three should be the end of this introduction, then we can skip ahead to the meat of the story, and yes, that pun was absolutely intended, no matter how terrible it is.

Surprisingly, I've actually been enjoying the creative process of this Fan-Fiction. It's very different to my usual modus operandi, the biggest difference being I am whipping all of this up on the iPad rather than in my office. I'm also relying on my fatigued mind to conjure this tale, and I can't lie, I'm quite impressed with what I'm producing with such little effort, and the lack of any re-writes gives the narrative a raw and exposed structure, which I'm finding curiously admirable. I don't think I'd like to do this with all of my projects, but it allows a little more appreciation for the strict schedules Charles Dickens had to keep for his serials.

Expect Part Three in the not-too-distant future! And thank you so much for reading!

[MrsKJJ]

That was really, really good!! Keep up the good work, I'm enjoying seeing into the mind of Mullock. He's not actually that bad when you get to know him.

[kjjcarpenter]

He's not actually that bad when you get to know him.

He's still pretty bad.

Hopefully he inspires a little empathy though.

[FennecFyre]

He's definitely still an asshole, but now he's an asshole with actual character traits beyond "bad guy", which makes him an even better bad guy.

The bit about the slig and the grinder was pretty brutal, though.

[Gunnr]

Yup Mully's terrible, that desk of elder tree wood could have one millenia been a wise and noble Raisin. But no, it's a desk he place his papers and fancy cigars on. Glukkons, man.

This is turning out really good and enjoyable to read, look forward to see what happens next

[kjjcarpenter]

He's definitely still an asshole, but now he's an asshole with actual character traits beyond "bad guy", which makes him an even better bad guy.

We should totally team up and have a Sekto/Molluck crossover story. Imagine the possibilities! Oddworld would never stand a chance.

But no, it's a desk he place his papers and fancy cigars on.

He doesn't even stack his papers neatly. A cruel, cruel gluk.


Once again, thank you for reading along, guys! I really appreciate it.

[FennecFyre]

We should totally team up and have a Sekto/Molluck crossover story. Imagine the possibilities! Oddworld would never stand a chance.

RIP the natives.

[oblivionkeeper23]

You got me hooked on this, bro. Can't wait to read more

[kjjcarpenter]

Thank you! I must apologise, progress is slow. Too many writing projects, too little time.

I would like to have the rest of the Prologue out before the end of March though.