The Despicable

[T-nex]

I demand that you continue this at once... Or I shall eat your babies! And if you don't have any, I'll force you to get some, THEN I'll eat them.

[MA]

come on, Splat! i've been waiting for the next chapter! there's very few fan fic's i get into so well.

[Splat]

I don't know, I've only just got off holiday and you're already yelling at me to write...

Lucky for you I like you all so much!

Part four begins with a reunion of an old character, and the introduction of a new one.

Ooh, aren't I poetic?
Now I have to remember all the formatting for the start of a new part. Anyway, here it is, the moment you've all been waiting for (some I think more than others)...

_______________________________________________________________
In a culture where life expectancy and the rate of aging vary so much between species, gender and even individuals, biological age has very little significance to the races of Mudos.

Part 4
--
Warrior’s Birth

Chapter 20

Doctor William Krik had spent three hours deciphering several years of other people’s research and was now feeling maliciously pleased with himself, like a child who had just beaten another who had been bragging for hours. Of course, instead of a child who had been bragging for hours it was seven other vykker scientists, all highly qualified, who had been working on a highly complicated genetics project for six and a half years, but they had been very obnoxious and dismissive of Krik, despite the fact that it was they who had hired him, and having worked out an easy solution to their problem William Krik believed he had a right to feel pleased with himself.

On the other side of the desk was the vykker in charge of the whole project, a project officially named the ‘Denial of Nature Study’, who glared disapprovingly at the smug look on Krik’s face, mostly because the smug look was making him nervous. What had Emlech said? “Odd knows Krik’s a better geneticist than I’ll ever be.” And they were very aware that Emlech was one of the best geneticists around, even if he kept it a secret.

“Well I checked on what your problem was straight away of course,” Krik was saying, “A breakdown of neurotransmitters caused by the introduction of the slig hormones into a mudokon’s cerebellum. Then I checked the development from stage one, and finally examined what you had done to try and fix the problem yourselves.”

The vykker behind the desk, named Doctor Decrough, glared at Krik irritably, “What we’re asking is can you help us rectify the problem?”

Krik grinned and leant back in his chair. “I was curious as to why you brought me in, you know. The seven of you working along happily, and then you come across a problem that despite you’re best efforts you were unable to solve yourselves, so you had to bring in an outsider to help!”

“But can you fix the problem?” Decrough asked again, through gritted teeth.

Krik leant forward, “I’ll accept the position you’re offering, if you’ll let me of course, and I guarantee I’ll bring in both skills and recourses which you’re current team is currently lacking, which will certainly carry the project further.”

“So you can fix the problem?” Decrough asked with gusto.

“No,” Answered Krik benignly, and Decrough began to growl, “But… (Do stop making that noise by the way), give me a month and I’ll bring you the coding from which you can create a prototype which I know without doubt will answer your problems. Now am I in the team?”

Decrough glared at the vykker seated on the other side of his desk. He had known him only six hours, and already he disliked him. “Solve the problem in a month and I’ll personally fill out all the paperwork for your transfer. You’re free to join.”

* * *

The years had not been kind to William Krik, who had lost even more than he’d expected for crossing Queen Skillya that day almost 24 years ago. Though 68, he could have been mistaken for being in his mid-seventies; a result of an unhealthy diet and an unhealthy bank balance.

Not only was he prevented from owning scientific equipment, but he was also banned from having his name placed on any project in which he participated; in effect he was banned from building a reputation. He was one of the very best geneticists alive, and yet no one knew it.

However, despite all this he had not been idle these past two decades. Those unique samples of Skillya’s blood had come at a high price, and so he had not let it go to waste. He had tested the DNA, broken it down to its core components and spent a great deal of time working late at whatever badly paid job he had secured, or at home with stolen equipment, working out which genes were common to all sligs and which were unique to the slig queen. Then he busied himself working out what those unique genes did, what part of her biology they controlled, and finally separated them and began replicating them. Though his original blood samples were long since gone, the unique parts of her make-up were safely stored away in a variety of sample dishes Krik kept hidden about his home.

Krik had been surprised to receive the invitation to come and join the Denial of Nature Study (or DNS). He had been working at a drug-testing laboratory in the middle of nowhere, and earning a pathetic salary, when he had received the message. How long had it been since he had been a part of a private research team, he had asked himself. The next thing he had asked himself was how on Odd they had found out about him. Nevertheless, choosing between taking on this new project or staying in his current job was like choosing between a bar of gold or a pile of scrab dung. He had met Decrough and the rest of the team on one occasion, and the following week he was invited to read through their research and come to a final decision about whether or not he would join them.

The project was funded by some anonymous glukkon, who wanted them to create mudokons with the loyalty and mentality of sligs, while retaining the mudokons’ intelligence and work ethos, to be used as a weapon against terrorists. The premise was simple: the Cartel-loyal mudokons produced by the team would be placed in a number of factories where, should a rebellion occur, they would pretend to befriend the trouble-making mudokons before alerting a guard of the trouble or impeding the progress of the rebels. These Cartel-loyal mudokons were nicknamed ‘Dark Skins’ by the team, and were made with a mixture of slig and mudokon DNA.

Two weeks after reading through the research, Krik was invited to present a pitch of his proposal to the rest of the team, to explain how he intended to solve their problems.

“I expect you did some research into my past before you decided to hire me,” Krik informed them as he sat at a table with them. A couple of them, including Decrough, looked interested, another appeared bored and the other four all were showing him various levels of contempt and scepticism. He was not thrown, however, “You’ll know about the slightly more than humbling mistake I made with Queen Skillya,” He said, sucking up a little, “And I hope you’ll be aware of my interest in the females of mudokons as well.”

“How is this relevant to our project?” One of the more sceptic vykkers asked.

Krik gave him an unpleasant glance before replying, “I quickly discovered when I was invited to peruse your research that the problem you have been having is caused by the slig hormones you’re attempting to introduce into a mudokon brain. The hormones do appear in mudokons, but in much smaller amounts, and the mudokon brain can’t cope with the difference. My work with Skillya is relevant because I long ago discovered that the certain hormones that are causing you so much trouble occur in lower levels in the slig queen than in worker class sligs – and in higher levels in worker class mudokon females than in mudokon males.

“My proposition is to create a female prototype of your… ‘Dark Skinned’ mudokon. The prototype could then be tested and used as a model for future males, using the female’s biochemistry to work out how to build male ‘Dark Skins’ without the problems in the brain.” He reached into a black Doctor’s bag he had with him and pulled out a number of sealed sample dishes and a large file of paper. “The samples are of DNA I took from Queen Skillya. Obviously it was taking these samples that lead to my arrest and punishment, and I’m glad that after all the trouble they cost me they’re now coming in useful. And the files cover the research I did on manufacturing fertile worker-class female mudokons before I began work for Queen Skillya. The project was banned by Lady Margaret after the mudokon queen was captured, but only a small portion of it is relevant to your work, so we won’t be breaking any laws in using it.”

“You propose that we use Skillya’s DNA in the Dark Skin?” One of the vykkers demanded. Krik raised an eyebrow. “Can you think of an idea any more insane? Do you know what she would do to us were she to find out?”

Krik glared grimly at the vykker, “I’m very much aware of what would happen to us, but no one other than the eight of us here would ever know would they? Unless you suspect that one of us would tell her? Or maybe you intend to do so yourself? Ha! Trust me; you would end up in her stew pot with the rest of us.”

He addressed the others, “What Queen Skillya doesn’t know won’t hurt us. She fears a competing queen but our Dark Skin would be infertile, and the DNA would only be necessary for the female prototype and wouldn’t be present in the final version. Only the eight of us here would ever know.”

The vykker who had challenged him rose to his feet and glared at him, “We could turn you in right now for having this sample of her DNA.”

Krik nodded, “You could of course, but these samples are unique. What sort of vykker would ever turn down the opportunity to study something like this?” He glanced around at each of the vykkers in turn and saw a glimmer of scientific lust in the eyes of every one.

“That is my proposition then. I will draw up the genetic code for this prototype myself, provide the relevant samples of Queen Skillya’s DNA and we can create a prototype from which you can draw the information necessary to forward the male Dark Skin.”

“A sound theory,” Decrough told him stiffly, “But I would like to hear the science behind it, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Krik smiled cunningly, “Certainly, certainly. The prototype will be estrogen-retentive…” He began, and spent the next ten minutes explaining the basic biological differences between their previous experiments and the prototypical female.

When he was done there was a thoughtful silence around the table. It was obvious that Krik knew his subject like a rat knows its burrow. The concepts and idea he had explained were complex, yet with the way he explained them they seemed to fit together like a jigsaw puzzle and left all but one of the other vykkers wondering how thy had never worked all that out for themselves. The only one not thinking this was the team’s psychologist, who knew very little biology and had spent the latter half of Krik’s explanation scribbling in a notebook.

Eventually Decrough spoke. “Do you really think you can make this work Krik?”

Krik nodded.

“Can you make us something that’ll work on the first try? Do you really think you can?” Decrough asked. He had not admitted it to any of the team but the glukkon commissioning their work was growing impatient with their lack of progress and threatening to sack them all. They had all invested money in this job and if they didn’t get paid at the end they would all be left in financial trouble.

Krik sat back and was silent for a few seconds, “Give me three weeks and I’ll have the necessary coding for a prototype on your desk. As long as your current biological theory is sound she’ll live to a fair age.”

Decrough nodded, “There are creases to iron out, but she should live between five and thirty years if you remove the main problem as we’ve discussed.” He smiled a greasy smile, “This prototype of yours should give us the opportunity to work out a lot of the current problems.” The room seemed to grow lighter as the stress of their last few years of difficulty began to ease from the seven vykkers.

“Well,” Added Decrough, almost jauntily, “If she’s going to live that long she’ll need a proper name. We can’t just call her ‘Dark Skin Prototype’ all the time!”

“How about Skillya the Second?” Someone suggested and there was a titter of laughter from the other vykkers. To all but Krik it seemed as if the female was already a finished success. Krik, however, was the one who would have to do the hardest part of the work, and so he was taking a slightly more realistic view of events.

“Oh, the name will be no problem,” Bragged the team’s psychologist. He scribbled something down on a new page in his notebook and turned it around so the rest of the vykkers could see. He had written:

Denial of Nature Study: Estrogen Retentive.
D-N-S-E-R

“Dee-en-ess-ee-ah. Dionysia,” He said aloud.

* * *

Three months later, Dionysia hatched.

Her skin was genetically engineered to appear very dark grey, just a shade away from black, so that she stood out from other mudokons. This was simply so the vykkers could keep track of her and was a feature that would not be included in the final model. Her short, undeveloped feather was dark red and her eyes were big and yellow, like a normal mudokon child.

Krik’s popularity had not improved much in the time since he had joined the group and when all the vykkers gathered round to examine the child he found himself pushed to the back of the group, separated from his creation!

Despite his annoyance he found it hard to conceal his smirk. He had added more to that child than the other vykkers would know, and he would do more still to turn her to his ends. He had not been idle these last 24 years, and when the time was right he would step forward and reclaim the fame he had lost all those years ago.

Dionysia was his prototype in more ways than one. She was just another stepping stone to the glory he deserved!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

When i was writing that I was worried about it being a bit confusing in places, so let me know your thoughts. Did you understand the name thing? was there any time you were confused?

That chapter was almost entirely backstory for Dionysia. I needed to set out her origin, and Krik's plans, as well as what he'd been doing since his arrest. My original plan was to have Dionysia appear somewhere near the middle and focus on her until the end, but there was too much to say about the vykkers. However, now all that's out of the way the rest of this part should focus on the mudokon girl herself, explaining most of how she gets from a child to how she is in W@RF, and trust me: that's not an easy task for me! The other day I thoguht of something key to Dionysia that I'd completely forgotten about when i was planning this, so I have to find somewhere to stick it in.

The ending section, after she hatched, was more or less stuck on cus I wanted the plot to develop at least a little bit, and I didn't want to end this chapter in the same place as I ended the first chapter of part three (with the new protagonist getting named). I was also happy to show this new side of Krik; its something that wasn't there when we last saw him; he's more manipulative, subtler. I sometimes think that vykkers may actually be the driving force behind the Magog Cartel, actually more evil than the glukkons. They're just more sneaky about it.

Anyway, let me know what you think of the chapter. W@RFers, no spoilers please (not that there's anything huge to give away at the moment, but just be careful).

Reply, or baby Dionysia will eat you!

[Slaveless]

Very good, very good indeed. It brought in the whole return of Krik in a respectful fashion, clearly said where he was, and what he was.

However, I feel like the introduction about the project was a bit... rushed. But maybe it was just me.

[MA]

aha, yes! you always deliver...not in the same way as Royal Mail, o'course.

when you search FC, there's so many good stories there from years ago, that never got finished, and i find this a bloody great shame. so i genuinly hope this will not become one of them.

yeah, another good 'un!

[Splat]

So do I MA.
As I said, the action won't really take off until the next chapter. there was just a lot to say here and I'm afraid i didn't offer that much new stuff for the W@RF readers, but I've got the backstory out of the way now so now I can focus on Dionysia growing up, vykkers warring for her affection, manipulation, exhortation, railway-station and so on (don't say it venks).

In Tormentor's Flaw I felt that though Krik wasn't a very nice person, he still came off as a bit of a hero. Like when he met Skillya you wanted him to get out alive.

That's all about to change!

[dripik]

Just finished reading the last two chapters. Let's see, some feedback...
Chapter 19: I also noticed this before, but never mentioned it. I mean that you can make good distinction between different characters' personalities. Sometimes, especially in RPGs, it happens that I make my characters act like they have the same personality, the same way of thinking. But you luckily avoid this most of the time.
Otherwise, liked the ending where Anni finally made it outside. Good knack for emotions.
Chapter 20: The naming of Dionysia was a good move (was that the original idea of how to name her?). At first, I wondered who this Warrior could be, and the 'Sligs-pants' lines looked a bit irrelevant, but I might be a bit short-sighted for seeing it through right now.
All in all, great chapters. In the middle of all the exams, it's great to read something interesting for once.

[Zozo the Zrilufet]

It can has update! IT CAN HAS UPDATE!

...I thought it wouldn't update for a good eon or so, but...It updates, thanlk you.

(Crosses fingers) Say something Venks, say something Venks...

[T-nex]

It can has update! IT CAN HAS UPDATE!

...I thought it wouldn't update for a good eon or so, but...It updates, thanlk you.

(Crosses fingers) Say something Venks, say something Venks...

Don't worry. I'm keeping him in line


Get writing, Splat!!!! >:-C *whips*


Nice chapter BTW I really liked it.... Excited to know about Dion's childhood.

[Splat]

Yeah, the 'slig's pants' thing is somewhat irrelevant but I'm running out of fandom trivia. Next chapter things will more more.

Oh, and no, that's not how I originally picked Dionysia's name. I wanted a name starting with 'D' and including 'S' since she's a 'dark skinned' mudokon (I was not the creative guy I am today back then) so I slapped open the horribly outdated dictionary of first names we have at home and picked one I liked the sound of.

I noticed the DNSER thing a while later, and decided recently to name the project D___ N___ Study for the DNS. I was going to have them use DNS to pick her name but decided probably over Christmas (can't exactly remember) to have ER stand for something as well.

[dripik]

Here comes the first fanart picture for Splat's story!

Actually, it was a sort of request pic, since it was Splat who suggested that I should draw the Prologue where Stivik meets the "genetic nightmare on five limbs". I asked him how would he imagine things (like the monster and the environment) and tried to follow the 'instructions' as accurate as possible. Enjoy.

[Zozo the Zrilufet]

Yay big monster thingy squishing sligs!

[Splat]

Awesome picture Dripik! Not quite as I imagined it but it's interesting to see a fan's interpretation. I hope you draw more!

Sorry this chapter's so overdue. It's been a very hard chapter to write; I can't confess to knowing much about child-care and Dionysia's a very complex child! She's badly raised, certainly, but the vykkers went to the trouble of badly raising her the hard way!

But it's here at last! I'm fairly happy with the outcome but of course I always want to hear your opinion. That's right, YOU!
Best of all I managed to find an excuse to use a truly awesome word in the last sentence!

Chapter 21

Under the guidance of their psychologist, a vykker named Edwin Mehler, the eight vykkers raised Dionysia much the same way Cartel sligs were raised, except with a heavier emphasis on education and a more inflated perspective of her own importance. Certainly she did not meet many sligs in her early life, but she met a few mudokons with the obvious message: ‘they are one species; you are another. You are better than them’.

Her superiority over others was indeed a key point in her upbringing, admittedly more so than was intended.

Krik was not popular with certain members of the team, and when Dionysia was a young child it became increasingly apparent to the other vykkers that he wanted to play a bigger influence on her than they were prepared to accept without a fight. One particularly unpleasant vykker (in Krik’s opinion, at least) named Dachau, the same vykker to had threatened to turn Krik in when he told them of his samples from Skillya’s DNA, seemed to take it as his personal mission to prevent Dionysia from growing attached to Krik, and of course the successful scientist had one thing to aid him that Krik had next to nothing of.

It was tragically true, even for vykkers, that if you didn’t have money on Mudos, then you had nothing. Money was a sign of status. It was assumed that the only reason a vykker would have little money after his fortieth birthday was because he was a poor scientist, which was mainly the reason Krik had struggled to get a half-decent job since his troubles with Skillya. If you did not have money, you could not easily earn money.

And so when Dachau had started presenting the young Dionysia with expensive gifts and treats, Krik saw her slip out of his hands like sand. On one incident Dachau had presented her with a sugar mudokon pop – a sweet treat (totally meat free, but in the shape of a mudokon) usually reserved for the children of the higher species (that is, glukkons and vykkers) – and she had carried it around for hours as she ate it, savouring every bite. One of the vykkers had laughed and announced, “A regular little Skillya isn’t she!”

Krik had had more than one reason not to laugh along with everyone else at this joke. For one, he had seen Skillya’s eating habits first hand and found nothing funny about them. Secondly, Dionysia had barely looked his way since Dachau had started doting on her all these presents and sweets.

It was a subject of much discussion how much of her persona Dionysia had inherited from Skillya. Was her arrogance, her expectation that everyone would treat her with respect, a result of her genealogy, or of how they had raised her? There were other surprises awaiting them coiled within her genes. Her first few weeks of life had been shaky, and worrying for the vykkers, as she had struggled to develop and hold on to life. For a few days it had all seemed lost, but she had fought back and with the help of a few chemical supplements, several suggested by Krik himself, she had won her battle over death and lived through her short infancy. There had been much work done between the vykkers to try and uncover just what had gone so badly wrong inside of her to cause such dangerous early months.

Her life expectancy, they had decided, was probably between 20 and 30 years assuming something didn’t go drastically wrong with her biology and cut that time short. Her infanthood had been short, no longer than what you would expect of a slig.

The greatest shock to all of the vykkers except Krik was a fault they found very early: there were certain chemicals vital to survival that her body wasn’t producing enough of, and without regular top-ups administered by injection every two weeks she wouldn’t live for very long, certainly not an Oddworld month. The chemicals in question were easy and cheap to procure for the industrial vykkers, however, so it was not a great tragedy as long as they kept her close.

“Still,” One of them had said slowly, “These things are easy enough for us to collect but would be almost impossible for natives to find.”

“Is that a problem?” Someone had replied in a reedy voice, “Just another reason for her not to run away, not that I expect she would,” He added.

Was that a suspicious glance in Krik’s direction? He himself lowered his gaze and said nothing. He would not let them know how he had added that little defect himself, how Dionysia was, among everything else, a test subject for one of his own ideas with which he intended to turn his life around, as long as it worked! And it was partly that that fuelled his wish to be closer to her than the others, so he could monitor the condition closely without arousing their suspicion.

The number of needles that all this meant they were having to poke into Dionysia may have been a problem, since in most creatures it would foretell some rather extensive scarring, but Decrough had rather cunningly suggested to Krik in the early stages of genetic assembly a certain genome that made the skin develop a resistance to scarring, so that it healed more quickly and indeed more totally than was regular. Apart from a few minute lumps on her underarm, where they regularly injected her chemical supplements, her skin was almost unblemished from their work.

Her skin had grown slightly darker during her first year of life, and rings of deep purple had grown in her feather, beside its original colour of red, though this was not that unusual: most mudokons had two or more colours in their feather. She was muscular, but her skin was smoother, less sinuous, than a normal mudokon’s, which may have been related to her slig DNA.

It had been a shock to them all when they found out that Dionysia knew of her odd relationship with Skillya. She never said how she found out, and it indeed it seemed as likely as anything else that she didn’t remember herself, as one doesn’t know how they learnt to speak. None of them had ever told her, or at least never owned up to telling her, and so it was generally assumed that she had overheard them speaking about it. Certainly it was not unlikely, for she practically worshipped the vykkers (which, it must be said, none of them ever complained about) and when she wasn’t in lessons she was often wandering among the labs, following them, watching them, though never getting in the way. She was not at all squeamish about blood or surgery, as long as it wasn’t herself under the knife, which probably was simply because she’d been brought up with it, so it was not unlikely that she overheard a few private conversations here and there. This did not worry the vykkers as much as might be expected as they were, after all, raising her to spy on other mudokons, but finding out that she knew about Skillya none-the-less terrified them. They held a meeting in which it was announced that they must never mention the slig queen unless it was undeniably necessary. On different occasions they each spent a long time lecturing Dionysia about how she must never repeat what she knew about herself and Skillya to anyone, ever, not even to one of them. They told her so many times that she grew angry, not uncommon in itself, but it was unusual for her anger to be directed so strongly at one of the vykkers, but still they told her, over and over again, until every one of them was totally satisfied that she understood.

They all knew what could happen to them if the truth about Skillya’s DNA in Dionysia became known to an outsider. Female worker-class females were rare. Female sligs, other than the queen, were totally unheard of, either because they simply didn’t occur due to sligs’ genetics, or because Skillya, fearing competition, killed any female sligs she laid. No one knew for sure and even Krik had no idea either way.

Dionysia was infertile. Krik had made totally sure that she could not possibly be fertile when he had made her, and even then the vykkers had operated on her at an early stage to make it certain, and then again when Dionysia had revealed that she knew their secret. However, this would never appease the wrath of Skillya, who had grown if anything more irritable and destructive with age, were she to find out. They would all be killed; Dionysia and all of the scientists, and Krik had no interest in finding himself before Skillya for a second time. This too they explained to Dionysia no end of times; if the word got out that she was related to Skillya then they would all die slow, horrible deaths.

Though the full force of Dionysia’s temper (or at least what they took to be its full force) was rarely directed at the vykkers, her anger was not something rarely seen. Especially during the early half of her childhood she had become angry almost whenever she hadn’t got her own way, and it had taken hard work to make her realise that they wouldn’t obey her every whim. They had, for a short while, regretted doting on her so much when she was a child. She got angry when she was hurt, if she was disturbed when she did not wish to be, and her moods were very changeable: she could be laughing along one minute and furious the next. She had a cruel streak too, which reminded Krik very much of Queen Skillya. It infuriated him to see Dachau and her talking quietly together and then have her look up at him and laugh maliciously. He wandered what she was being told, and it made him more determined to win her over from the other vykker.

The problem he faced was of course how to win her over. He couldn’t match the gifts Dachau presented her with, and he knew less about children than he did about animal welfare. He tried, on more than one occasion, to talk to her, to have a conversation with her, but she always appeared uninterested from the start, and then made a huge display of boredom until he got so angry with her that he was glad when she wandered off. He felt sure that she didn’t treat the other vykkers that way and was certain that Dachau had set her against him in their private conversations. He would have murdered the other vykker if he thought he could have gotten away with it.

On a more positive note, a mudokon called Abe had escaped from a factory and caused a huge terrorist scare on the other side of Mudos just a few weeks after Dionysia’s birth, and their boss, Decrough, had spoken to the glukkon funding this project and, as the glukkon and most of the rest of the industrial world was so frightened by events they had all received hefty pay-rises. Krik was being paid significantly less than the rest of the team but still an impressive amount, certainly enough to boost his reputation when he was finished with the Denial of Nature Study.

Things changed at last for Krik when Dionysia was about a year and a half old, about 9 or 10 in the equivalent mental age of a vykker, and a new problem began to arise: her voice. That girl could shout! She began laughing loudly, talking loudly, shouting, yelling and making more noise than a bull scrab in mating season. It is amazing just how difficult writing up a report on developmental biochemistry in a prototypical model can become when said model is shouting at the top of her bloody prototypical lungs in the next room. Krik was sure Dachau was putting her up to it until he spotted the other vykker ranting to Decrough about the problem one afternoon when Dionysia was safely away in lessons with Mehler.

“It’s like trying to work down a mine-shaft! I cannot concentrate; I swear if you don’t shut her up some how I’m leaving.”

Decrough, who was busy with some chemical experiment at the time, hadn’t even bothered to look up when he answered. “You’re the one whose hand she eats out of night and day. If you can’t make her lower her voice, Dachau, then I don’t see what the rest of us can do.” As the head of the team, Decrough office was decidedly more soundproof than any of the others, so he retained the right to be less concerned with her noisiness than the rest of them.

“Odd, seal her mouth with duct tape or something!” Dachau raved.

“We could always just stitch her lips,” Suggested one of the other vykkers who had heard Dachau’s shouting and had decided to join in the conversation. “Progressive mudokon stitches of course.”

Progressing mudokon stitching was a special type of lip stitching intended for any mudokons who were intended to keep speaking, just not so loudly. Unlike tight, permanent intern stitches, PM stitches were slightly elastic so they stretched a small amount, just loose enough for the mudokon to talk at a low level and eat without too much hindrance (at least once they became used to it), but they would not be able to raise their voice. It was painful for the mudokon, certainly, but they were expected to get used to it. Then over time the elastic would weaken, the stitches would loosen and the mudokon would be able to speak more freely, though still not nearly as freely as they would be able to without the stitches at all. Raising their voices would, by the end, be possible, if somewhat painful, but hopefully by that time the mudokon would have learnt to keep quiet.

The decision to stitch Dionysia’s lips was agreed on unanimously, with the exception of Decrough who announced that he would take no part in the affair, and a few days later they coerced Dionysia onto an operating table and gassed her into a semi-comatose state to keep her quiet and still while they conducted the procedure.

They had expected her to be angry when she woke up, after all it was an incapacitating operation and it would hurt a bit until she got used to it.

They had not expected her to wail upon waking and run to her room where she lay on her bed shrieking and sobbing through barely open lips. Dachau had gone to ‘talk some sense into her’ and after much screaming had ensued from within her room, he returned muttering viciously about how she was overreacting, “Attention seeking brat, blowing totally out of proportion…”

Krik was not sure if she was faking her reaction or not, but he decided to go and speak to her, so after Dachau shut himself up in his office to fume angrily in his expensive swivel chair for an hour or two, he too headed to her room.

The shrieking had stopped by this point, but she was still crying, heaving in deep breaths and letting them out jerkily, making her chest swell and deflate oddly. She was lying on her front, her head turned away from him when he entered quietly. He let the door close with a bump and, hearing the noise, she turned to see who had come in. Tears stained her face and blood was running from the wounds in her lips. She saw him, mumbled a few choice profanities and turned away.

“Dionysia,” He began, but was instantly cut off by another loud curse.

“We’re here to help you,” He informed her grouchily. She made an odd noise, somewhere between a cynical snort and a sob. Realising his tone of voice wasn’t helping, he tried to sound more concerned. “Look, I don’t know why this is hurting you so much-”

“You think I’m faking it. I don’t want another lecture,” She informed him, her voice oddly muffled as she tried to speak without opening her lips more than half a centimetre.

“I really don’t know if you’re genuinely in pain or if you’re only pretending. I wish to find out so that if you are hurting I can try and help. The others informed me that nothing went wrong in the operation,” He said, implying (untruthfully) that he had not taken part in the procedure, “So if there’s something wrong it’s in you and we need to know about it so we can fix it.” He moved closer and bent down over her bed, “Let me look at your lips.”

Very reluctantly she rolled over, exposing her face to him. He bent down lower to examine her more closely, took a small torch out of the black doctor’s bag he carried with him and shone it over her mouth. Her lips were clamped as closely together as possible and blood was oozing from the holes in her lips where the stitches ran. “Open your mouth,” He instructed. Her lips parted a tiny amount. “As wide as you can, please,” He said tartly.

She hissed with anger and turned away.

“Look, we can’t remove the stitches,” He informed her, beginning to loose patience.

“Why not?”

“Because we put them there in the first place for a very important reason; one which you will come to understand in time,” He replied tactfully, while quietly hoping she would never come to understand why they had done it. It would simply be more trouble than it was worth. “Believe me, it would be more painful taking them out now than leaving them in.” He paused, letting his voice soften again, “I promise you you’ll get used to them in a couple of days. Your lips will toughen up and the stitches will stretch gradually until you can open your mouth more widely. Before long you won’t even notice them.”

He could here her sniffling back tears gently so he reached into his bag again. “I have some painkillers here that will help for a little while. I’ll just get you some water to wash them down.”

He poured a glass of water from the sink in her room and handed her a couple of pills from his bag. When she lifted the glass to drink a fair amount of the water dribbled down her chin. Her face screwed up in frustration and she raised the glass in anger. He reacted quickly and pressed a delicate hand against it before she could fling it across the room. “Don’t worry,” He said, quickly, but as gently as he knew how, “It’s another thing you’ll have to get used to, that’s all.”

She hissed miserably again and moaned, parting her lips as little as possible, “I can barely drink from a glass! How am I supposed to eat anything when I can’t even open my mouth properly?”

“Well for the next few days you’ll have to eat soup, broth, porridge. Then as you get used to it you’ll be able to eat, just with smaller bites than what you’re used to,” He made what passed for a vykker as a friendly smile. Fortunately she was able to recognise the expression, “Before long you’ll be eating just as you were before.”

Her lips twitched, fighting off a frown, which would no doubt be painful if she lost the battle, and after swallowing the painkillers she lay down on her side on the bed. He sat over her, patting her shoulder gently. “I think perhaps you feel pain more than most people do. When you get used to the stitches we’ll do a test to find out.”

As he stood up she whispered so he could barely hear her, “Thank you.”

He gave her a friendly nod and headed for the door, but as he stepped out of the room his warm smile warped into a malignant look.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

I wanted to get the image of drifting through Krik's memory at the start there. I wanted him to be looking back on events, in no particular order, adding thoughts as they come to the front of his mind. I think the flow from memory to narrative (the bit about Dionysia getting her lips stitched to all you non-creative writing students) wasn't as smooth as it could have been. Something to work on I guess.

Anyway, let me know what you think. I'll probably be without internet access until Sunday now and I want a nice long list of replies when I get back!

My gosh I'm sleepy. If there are any spelling/grammatical mistakes in the latter third of that chapter it's because I was struggling to keep my eyes open as I typed.

[T-nex]

Oy... I'm bumping this! We need to show Splat our support Or else I'll have to whip him some more to get him start writing. You don't want Splat to suffer now, do you? >:-C

[Zozo the Zrilufet]

Noes not whips <8O! I do like it, its just that I am lazy bum and I guess eveyone else got lazy bum disease or forgot 8O. Reminds me, I must do my fanfic...Heehee, I forget why all the vykkers want to get close to her, I think it was to use her or such. Anyways, yay Splatter.

[T-nex]

Noes not whips <8O! I do like it, its just that I am lazy bum and I guess eveyone else got lazy bum disease or forgot 8O. Reminds me, I must do my fanfic...Heehee, I forget why all the vykkers want to get close to her, I think it was to use her or such. Anyways, yay Splatter.

It's only really Krik and his rival that wants to get really close to her. Krik because it's in his evil, devious plans, and his rival because he's suspicious, and wants to stop Krik from achieving whatever he wants to achieve.

[Zozo the Zrilufet]

Oooh, awesome...I have no idea what the plans are but they sound evil. Sooo...Splat needs updates and W@RF, for my Mary sue >_>.

[Slaveless]

Well, quite an interesting chapter. I had never really imagined Dionysia with stitches before, so that was a surprise. I feel in this chapter this really brings out a certain meaning. The Vykkers are working a huge project on this Mudokon that may or may not function properly, to eliminate some threats in their community. The last thing they need is this Mudokon to feel that her needs are to come first. Although this is quite upsetting, but it seems as though that Dionysia is being treated less like an actual being and more like an experiment. Sad, but true.

Can't wait to see more of the story soon.

[AlienMagi]

Why don't you make a book and sell it?

Ahh my favourite adage:
Learn to earn

[Splat]

Cus Oddworld would sue the socks off of me.

Alright, I'll come off strike now. Expect a new chapter soon(ish)

[Splat]

Finally done!

Sorry it took so long. Dionysia's such a complex character and it's not at all easy to write her childhood. It's so complicated, so much happening and it's hard to justify how she ends up as messed-up as she does.
I love her. She's just complicated.

Whee, formatting time!

Chapter 22

Dionysia continued taking pain killers for a week, and would have gone on taking them for longer if Krik hadn’t insisted that she stop; they didn’t want her getting addicted after all. Fortunately by that point her body had gotten used to the presence of the stitches in her lips and after one vicious (but blessedly quiet) tantrum she discovered that the pain had sufficiently ebbed away for her to eat and breathe. It was only when she suddenly tried to open her mouth by reaction, if someone made her laugh or her temper got the better of her for example, that she felt the need to complain.

Even so, it was the best part of a month before Krik decided that she could participate in the experiment he had planned without the pain in her face affecting the results.

The eight vykkers were carrying out their experiments in a large complex owned by the Vykkers’ Conglomerate. It consisted of a number of fully outfitted laboratories of various sizes and levels of technology, which were rented out to vykkers in need of a private place to work and Decrough’s team were using a smaller-than-average lab on the ground floor which also had a small outdoor area where Dionysia was occasionally taken for some ‘fresh air’ and sunlight. In addition to the laboratories, the complex also kept a number of sligs and mudokons which were rented out for use in any of the buildings’ labs.

With Decrough’s permission, Krik rented three sligs and three mudokons to use in his test. First working on Dionysia he placed her in a chair and tied down her arms. Under her left hand he placed a box with three switches and then he rigged up a large, blunt needle over her right arm, making sure the point of the needle was exactly two centimetres from her skin, pointing towards her. “Now listen,” He told her, “When the experiment begins this needle will start moving towards your arm. You’ll be blindfolded so you can’t see it. This is what you have to do: when you first feel the needle touching you, I want you to press the first switch on the box under your left hand, ok?”

She nodded, slightly nervous.

He smiled at her. "Very good. Now, the needle will keep moving at you. When it first starts to feel uncomfortable I want you to press the second switch. Then wait again. It’ll keep coming towards you; it’ll become painful, but you won’t be hurt. We’re just trying to find out if you feel pain more than normal, ok? So wait until it becomes as painful as you can possibly bear, until you can’t stand it any more, and then press the third switch. The needle will move away from you and we’ll end the experiment. Understand?”

She nodded. Since the stitches had been put in she had tended to avoid speaking when an action or gesture could be used instead.

“Excellent. Remember; don’t press that last switch until you really have to.” And then he put a blindfold over her eyes, attached a couple of electrodes to her head so they could monitor her mental responses to the experiment and then began.

Her skin had just broken and she was bleeding very slightly when she let out a low cry and flicked the third switch. Instantly the needle withdrew and Krik unstrapped her from the chair and let her go.

He did the same test on the three sligs and three mudokons he had hired, strapping them in the chair, positioning the needle two centimetres from their right arms and explaining the three switches before they began. The whole thing was finished in four hours and the results were clearly visible before he even looked at the psychological data.

He presented his findings to Decrough the following morning. “It didn’t take me long to work out that Dionysia’s ability to withstand pain is much lower than that of normal inhabitants.” He handed over a small chart showing his results. “You’ll see that there was no significant difference as to when the models first felt the needle touching them between Dionysia and any of the others, so on the surface her skin is no more sensitive than anyone else’s. However, you’ll see the sensations became painful to her a second before the first slig felt pain, and about three seconds before the first mudokon. Then she cancelled the experiment much sooner than any of the control models. I also monitored the brain patterns of her and the other tests to ensure that she wasn’t lying.” He handed over a bundle of paper which Decrough gave only a cursory glance. Krik went into the home stretch of his presentation, “It’s clear that her pain threshold is abnormally low, though whether the fault is in how the sensations are picked up in the deeper levels of skin or in the way her brain translates the signals it receives are unconfirmed. I would suggest we investigate further into this so we can make moves to eliminate this problem from later Black-Skin models.”

Decrough was silent for a few minutes before speaking. “It’s strange we have not noticed these effects sooner; we’re frequently injecting her with syringes.”

“We have been doing so since she was a small child,” Krik explained, “And always in the same places: I expect those areas have become desensitized to the sensation of the needles being injected. I specifically chose a place where we had not previously injected her when doing my experiment. Also, the needle I used was blunt and so will have had a wider area of effect than a sharper needle.”

Decrough nodded again, “Interesting how the mudokons seemed more resistant to pain than the sligs.”

“That could be a biological difference or it may result from the fact that industrial mudokons receive frequent beatings whereas sligs do not.”

“Alright, we’ll do some further tests on her to try and work out the course of this, and in the meantime I’ll spread your results around the rest of the team. Well done for spotting that, Krik,” And Decrough gave him a congratulatory nod and dismissed him from the office.

Once again Krik left a meeting with Decrough with a definite feeling of pride. A short time later, he discovered another benefit of his research: Dionysia turned on Dachau, angry that he had said she was lying about the amount of pain she had felt after her lips were stitched, and shortly afterwards Krik was rather surprised, but also very pleased, to discover that he had taken Dachau’s place as her official favourite vykker.

This mostly meant that she followed him around like a bad smell half the time, but he put up with it, letting her trust in him build, biding his time until she would put her head in a noose if he only asked it.

It wasn’t so bad, he assumed, now that she’d quietened down and her temper had eased off a little, and there were advantages of winning her affection. If nothing else the look on Dachau’s face whenever he saw them talking was reward enough. He casually asked her one day, “What were you and Dachau laughing about whenever I walked in the room?”

She laughed evilly, “O-oh, that vykker doesn’t like you very much!”

“Oh? What did he say?”

She laughed again, “He went on and on about how you never did anything useful, how you never added anything to their work.”

“Hah! In the two years before I joined their little project didn’t progress at all, and now they’ve come further than ever before!”

Dionysia was unsure whether she was supposed to be flattered or not, but as Krik didn’t seem to be paying her any attention she added, “He said that you once worked with Skillya, and you did something that made her try and kill you.”

He looked at her sharply, “What did he say I did?”

She shrugged noncommittally. “Is it true?”

“The bit you’ve told me is at any rate, though I wouldn’t be certain about anything else he said.”

“What happened after she caught you?”

Krik suddenly became very grave. “She locked me in a cell and left me there for a few days while she tried to decide what to do with me.” He let her catch a glimpse of the hollow expression he usually kept hidden, just for a tenth of a second. It was not something he’d ever show anyone else, but he wanted to make an impression in her. He wanted to scare her; who knew when it might come in useful to have some fear to hold over her head?

“I got out, just. I tricked another vykker working there to contact the Vykker’s Council – that was the vykker’s government back then – and they had Skillya free me.”

Dionysia became silent for a few minutes until Krik changed the subject, “How’re your lessons with Mehler going these days?”

She shrugged again.

“What’s he teaching you now?”

She gave another shrug, “Still going on about reading and writing, as if I didn’t know enough of that to get on with. Then we look at how to tell if someone’s lying, and how to hide the signs when it’s you, and stuff like that.”

“Lie, cheat and deceive,” Krik summarised with a brief smile.

“Pretty much,” She responded, looking sly.

It was a couple of weeks before Dachau made an attempt to win Dionysia back; Krik had expected something sooner and was surprised by the wait, but he kept his eyes open expectantly and Dachau didn’t disappoint.

Krik was doing some chemical tests one morning, Dionysia sitting nearby talking about something or other (it wasn’t that he didn’t listen to what she was talking about, since she stopped every few seconds, partly because talking made her lip-stitches sore and also to make sure he was listening; he just didn’t bother remembering it), when Dachau had entered the room carrying a long box wrapped in brown paper, looking smug. Dionysia fell silent, whether because she was interested in the package or because she was thinking of making some mean comment Krik didn’t know since he hardly glanced up from his work.

“Dionysia,” Dachau said smoothly before she could speak, “I thought I might find you here.” His voice was smooth but carrying the faintest hint of disdain as if he thought anywhere where Krik was was a bad place to be. Krik ignored it.

Dachau bounced the package in his arms. “A gift for you. I originally hoped to give it to you a few weeks ago, to help you pass the time after the operation, but I’m afraid the company I ordered it from were rather slow in delivering it.”

Ah, that’d explain the delay, Krik thought.

Dionysia rose to her feet and swaggered arrogantly across the room (where had she learnt to swagger, he wondered suddenly) and accepted the package from Dachau, who was looking smugger than ever, clearly confident that his offering would win her back.

She examined it closely, turning it over and over before opening the paper. Krik kept his head pointing towards his experiments but raised his eyes to watch. He caught Dachau’s smug look and shot him an arrogant glare.

Slowly, almost ceremonially, Dionysia slid a long, narrow box coated in black leather out of the paper. It had a small fiddly latch and opened on hinges. She screwed up the brown paper and dropped it almost unconsciously before tackling the latch. It was obvious that this was something special, something more valuable than any of the gifts she had received previously, and she took her time. Dachau was watching her greedily as if it was him opening the present.

At last the latch came undone with a click. She opened the box and gasped. “You like them?” Dachau asked smoothly, “I had them made especially for you. Like you, they’re unique.” He had eyes only for Dionysia, who was staring open-mouthed into the box. They both seemed to have forgotten that Krik was in the room. From where he was sitting he could not see what the gift was.

Dachau continued, clearly enjoying her reaction, “You know some native mudokons put wooden rings in their feathers, for decoration. I thought, since we’re a higher culture, let’s not do better. I ordered them from one of the companies that makes jewellery for Skillya.”

Her hands shaking ever-so-slightly, Dionysia reached in and lifted a beautifully carved silver ring, very delicate-looking and obviously sized to fit over her feather, about half an inch long, out of the box. She was staring at it, transfixed.

“Each one patterned differently,” Dachau went on. Krik was by now watching alertly, his head raised, and Dachau shot him a victorious glance, “Each one unique. They’re very special, for a special child.” Dionysia seemed hardly aware that he was there. “I’ll help you put them on, if you like.”

Her eyes shot up, she stuttered, “No, I want to…” and her gaze sank back into the box. She returned the one she had taken out to its position.

Dachau smiled ingratiatingly, “Whenever you’re ready then. I’ll be in my office.” And he swept out, evidently to leave Krik to stew.

Dionysia moved over to the table and sank down into a chair beside Krik’s. She was about a year and three quarters old, growing much faster than a normal female mudokon, but she was still rather small, Krik noted, still just a child. She placed the box on the table in front of her, still gazing at the content, and she released it, letting the lid fall back so Krik could see inside.

There were six of the silver rings inside, resting in red velvet the same colour as Dionysia’s feather and as Dachau had said, each carved with an intricate, graceful pattern. They looked very light and as far as Krik could tell were pure silver. He hated to admit to himself that they must have cost Dachau a small fortune.

Dionysia gently lifted one of the rings out of its velvet seat and, pulling her feather over her shoulder, held them together to compare them.

“They’re beautiful,” He said softly and she jumped slightly, so enthralled that she had forgotten he was there.

Her eyes were shining as if she had just discovered a cave full of ancient treasures of a lost civilisation. “Do you think they’ll look good on me?”

He smiled indulgently and for once told her the perfect truth, “They’ll look fabulous. Dachau certainly got this right.”

“Can I try them on?”

“There’s a mirror in my office; you can put them on there and see how they look.”

In an instant she was on her feet and hurrying out of the lab ahead of him, clutching the silver ring in her hand. He picked up the box and hurried after her, knowing better than to keep her waiting.

They reached his lab and he helped her thread the ring over her feather. Her hands were still trembling but his delicate fingers did the job easily. He added another, and then two more.

“No, I liked it better with just three in,” She said, examining herself in the mirror.

“You’ll probably change your mind as your feather grows,” He told her but obediently removed one of the rings and spent the next five minutes sliding the remaining three up and down until she was satisfied.

“What do you think Dachau will say when he sees me wearing them,” She asked.

“He’ll probably be overjoyed that you like them or enraged that you didn’t let him put them on you,” He replied.

She cackled, “Let’s go and find him!” She said, chuckling, and Krik knew that Dachau hadn’t won her over.

He laughed, “Whatever you ask. I’d suggest you don’t wear them all the time though, as they might get damaged. And if any sligs saw you wearing them they’d probably try to steal them.”

“They can try!” She hissed fiercely and he laughed again. Had hadn’t lost her! It seemed that it took more than silver to win over Dionysia.

* * *

A few months later something happened that changed the lives of every vykker on Mudos. Before the terrorist threat had seemed distant, a joke. They had all agreed that the threat would be over before long and Abe would be captured or killed before he could do any real damage.

One morning Dionysia came out of her room to find the eight vykkers silent, grave clustered together in the lounge. She felt as if she had walked into a room where someone important had just died. Not daring to speak, she cast her eyes around nervously before spotting the newspaper lying on the table in the centre of the room. The top quarter of the front page was taken up with an enormous, glaring headline.

FALL OF THE VYKKER’S CONGLOMERATE;
TERRORISTS DESTROY VYKKERS’ LABS!

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Fairly sure I got my MO facts there, I spent a while checking, since I don't have the game and the wikipedia article that would have helped seems to have been removed. If I'm wrong, let me know. Also let me know if you spot any formatting or grammar mistakes etcetera etcetera.

It reall, really is hard writing about Dionysia as a child. I have to say I'll be happy when she grows up and I don't have to worry about it any more! Aside from Krik's manipulation of her there's only a couple of big events in her life to come before W@RF and there might be only one more chapter of Warrior's Birth before I move on.

Anyway, reply and I'll try and get the next chapter up on time. If you do not reply then don't expect anything until April . I might actually be stuck without full-time internet access for a month starting the middle of March since I'll be going home for Easter and my Mum's been having trouble with her internet. I'll let you know more in a few weeks.

We've been having a lot of these late-night updates recently. I guess it's easier to write at night since being slightly tired helps me get into character better, and then I get carried away, work into the early hours and have to post it then ad there since I'm already late updating
Anyway, the next one shouldn't be too bad and I'll hopefully get it up next weekend (assuming I get replies). You've probably had enough of my ramblings for now so it's toodle pip.
Rest assured that even if next chapter is the last of Warrior's Birth we won't be seeing the back of Dionysia.

REPLY NOW!

[E'l Scrabino]

*reply*

Fantastic! I want mawr, if that's not too mush to ask

[Zozo the Zrilufet]

Awesome, I think the good ending paper was lurking around the net somewhere sooo...I reckon the title would be different, carry on C8.

[Splat]

The one I found only mentioned Lulu and Queen Maggie. I think it appeared in the video before Vykker's Labs exploded.

[dripik]

Great chapter again. As usual, I could imagine quite a number of sceenes as illustrations, like Dion sitting next to Krik, examining the rings... I liked the pain threshold experiment and the following discussion between the two Vykkers. Nice move with the newspaper, too.

[Splat]

Just as a general announcement, I've edited and added a little bit to the last chapter, starting from “The bit you’ve told me is at any rate, though I wouldn’t be certain about anything else he said.” and ending at "It was a couple of weeks before Dachau made an attempt to win Dionysia back;". The scene-change seemed rather sudden as it was, plus the change gave me to opportunity to add a bit more information I wanted to include but hadn't found a place for before.

[T-nex]

The one I found only mentioned Lulu and Queen Maggie needing lungs. No new chapter till Nexy posts here. Nahnah!

I will NEVAR post here! BWAHAHAHHAAHA!

[Zozo the Zrilufet]

Here's teh papers. Whoo...I forget where the lungs bit was 8D.

[Splat]

I live!
Sorry it's been so so long after I promised a timely update. All i can say in my defence is too much free time over the Easter holidays (seriously, the more time you have free the less you get done), difficulty in writing this chapter coupled with a growing interest in making it good and a growing interest in original fiction that i could actually get published and therefore paid for.
Just think whenever there's a long wait: it means I'm working closer to getting published and once I'm published I'll have to tell youall my real name so you can buy my novel, and that'll make you special.

Plus Nexy has not been ranting at me to write this, which is very unusual (and unnerving) for her.

So this chapter was probably written in about four or five parts over the last month, is about six pages long and says a fair bit about Dionysia. I'm not overly pleased with the first third so I might try editing in some time, but don't hold your breath anyone. It's an important part, basically explaining how she got to be the girl we know and love today.

Chapter 23

“I won’t take them!”

“You’ll do as you’re told!”

Dionysia shrieked a very rude word, and then another because the first had hurt her lip-stitches so much. Before Decrough could say anything more she stormed out of the lab. A few seconds later Krik appeared at the door. “Sounds like you two are getting along well,” He said cheerfully.

Decrough muttered a word even ruder than Dionysia’s.

“What’s the problem?”

“She’s refusing to take the hormone-booster shots again.”

“Let me talk to her,” Said Krik reasonably.

Decrough laughed dryly, “I doubt even your magic hold over her will bring her round on this. At this rate we’ll be putting her to sleep every time we need to inject her.”

Krik smiled sinisterly, “Let me try at least. I have a little trick I’ve been working on.”

Decrough made a disgruntled gesture, “Fine, fine, but don’t make her any angrier whatever you do.”

Krik gave him a conspiratorial nod and headed off to find Dionysia.

She had outgrown tears by now as far as any of them were aware, and he found her sitting on her bed, facing the wall and quietly fuming.

“Sounds like you and Decrough have been getting along well,” He said pleasantly.

She muttered a sliggish curse under her breath.

“What’s got the two of you speaking on such friendly terms?”

Begrudgingly she answered, “Those aging drugs.”

“Aging drugs?” He said, sounding innocent, “You mean the hormone boosters?”

“They make me age more quickly don’t they? I overheard you all talking; I’m not stupid!”

“Oh?”

She muttered a few more profanities of choice.

“Dionysia, do you think we’d give you a drug if it was going to do you harm?”

“It’ll age me! It’ll mean I…”

“Oh! You think if you take them you’ll die sooner?” She shuddered at the mention of death and he had to suppress a smirk in case she turned around quickly, “Well I can assure you it won’t. Old age leads to death because your body wears out. The drugs won’t age your body; they’ll just make you turn into an adult sooner. They’re very safe.”

She snorted, disbelieving.

“Dionysia, would I lie to you?”

She gave no reply. He walked across the room and was standing just beside her when she spoke. “I won’t take them.”

“Even if they’re harmless?”

There was a vehement silence.

“Fine,” Krik said at last, and she was so surprised that she turned to face him. Her lips were oozing blood where the stitches ran through them. He sat down beside her. “Those shots weren’t the only drugs we’re giving you are they?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I was just thinking about the chemical supplements we give you to keep you alive. I was wondering if you could tell the difference between those and the hormone-boosters.”

She shrugged and turned away, “The label’s different,” She muttered.

“Yes, but if we removed the label?”

She shrugged again.

“Well how’s this for a plan? Next time we give you the chemical supplements we’ll take the label off, and we’ll take the label off of the hormone boosters and leave that out as well and you can inject yourself.” Her back stiffened. With the faintest smirk he went on, “We’ll leave you both of them. You can have both, or if you’d prefer you can have just one of them, and if you’re lucky you might just pick the supplements. Of course you know that if you didn’t take the supplements you’d probably be dead before your next injection was due.” He glanced in her direction. She looked horrified. He smiled flippantly.

“It wasn’t my idea of course,” He lied fluently, “Though I’ll admit it’s not a bad one. Then you can decide if you want to take the risk, how badly you don’t want to take the boosters.”

She looked thunder-struck. Her eyes begging, she whispered, “Please…” Still smiling, he stood up and left the room.

Directly outside the door he ran into the psychologist, Mehler. Krik gave him a pleasant smile.

Mehler stared at him grimly and then walked off. Krik was feeling too pleased with himself to be concerned.

Dionysia didn’t speak to Krik again that day, but he overheard her begging some of the other vykkers to let her off taking the shots. None of them, not ever Dachau, paid her much attention and to her horror she found that none of the vykkers would help her get off taking those abhorred drugs! She’d been so sure Krik would take her side, he’d help her; he always had before! And now he’d turned his back on her too! She felt as if she’d been thrown out like an unwanted sloggie. She couldn’t work out what she’d done to make him turn on her like this! Perhaps the worst thing was how Krik went on as if nothing had happened. She was at the brink of panic and he seemed completely oblivious. It was like she was standing in a room crowded with friends, screaming in agony and none of them looked her way.

As Krik had said, she was brought the two injections the next week and told to use them herself. Sobbing, she took them both. She hated it but she saw no other option. She was alone and helpless.

Even Mehler seemed to turn uncharacteristically frosty, though at least his malice didn’t seem to be directed at her.

In the end she did the only thing she could think to do. She ignored it, went on as if nothing had happened. She pushed down her panic, locked it away and swallowed the key. She still talked with Krik, laughed and jeered and pretended that there wasn’t a voice screaming deep down inside of her.

For over a year they made her keep taking the drugs. Every two weeks when the time to take them drew near she felt tat screaming inside of her grow in volume but she forced it down, pushed it aside, and on the day she injected herself with both syringes, calmly, blanking her body language as Mehler had taught her to do. No one would know what she felt.

On the outside she behaved normally, convincing the vykkers that she was happy and calm, and over time managed to convince herself of the same. In the mean time she was watching her body change at an alarming speed. She was growing taller, her body fleshing out in some places and thinning in others. Someone explained to her that a female worker-class mudokon usually took between eight and nine years to mature. Male sligs and mudokons would mature in under a year. By the time she was two she had reached the physical stage of a six-year old female mudokon. The hormone-boosters would make her finish growing more quickly. “You should grow into an adult a little after your third birthday,” One of the vykkers told her proudly; she felt her throat go dry and she could only nod dumbly, afraid that if she opened her mouth she might start screaming.

She felt her mind change too. She thought more clearly, saw the world differently. Her understanding of people changed and Mehler’s lessons became more complicated while she became more and more bored with every lesson. Her temper, dampened slightly by the vykkers long ago, grew back greater than ever. She was becoming impatient, irritable.

Her trust in Krik took a blow the day he failed to help her with the aging drugs, but restored itself before long: what else could she hold on to? After that one time he didn’t do anything else to really hurt her and he was still the nicest vykker, still understood her best, still protected her. She trusted him because she could trust in nothing else and over time she stopped thinking about how he had let her down and laughed with him as if nothing had happened.

After over a year they finally stopped making her take those horrible drugs. By then, however, their effect had already completed. The screaming voice inside of her didn’t fall silent, but it was buried so deeply that she hardly noticed it any more. Not taking the drugs made it easier to ignore.

Decrough announced to her one day shortly afterwards that it was time for her to go out of the lab and into a factory, the sort of place a finished black-skin would work. She protested a little out of habit but really she felt it would be a relief to leave that place; it would be like a fresh start.

A few weeks later she boarded a train with Mehler; they would be going to a nearby factory together. She was surprised to find that she was nervous, but then (much to her annoyance) Mehler insisted that they went over their lessons from the last three years; he went on about native mudokons and made her regurgitate the information about native accents and clothes, weaponry and mannerisms. She relayed information about drugs and first aid and he applauded her knowledge while she pretended not to care.

When they arrived at the factory she ignored the security sligs who met them at the station, and Mehler couldn’t help smirking. He realised that she had always seen sligs through a vykker’s eyes, and she didn’t think much of them. He would have to talk to the others; a successful black-skin would have to work with sligs, and thinking of them as a lower form of life wouldn’t help that. He wondered what was going to happen when they met the glukkon boss of this place and couldn’t help grinning; insulting glukkons was a common vykker pastime.

They were escorted to the boss’s office and ushered inside. “A pleasure to meet you, Director Styre,” Mehler drawled absently. I believe you were fully informed by my co-worker of the purpose of our time here.”

Styre nodded, glancing, slightly uncomfortably, towards Dionysia, who was standing on his expensive rug, slouching against an expensive portrait and examining his expensive office with a bored (and thoroughly unimpressed) look.

“Wonderful. We’ll try to give you as little trouble as possible, as long as you allow us to carry out our work interrupted.”

Styre nodded again, wincing slightly as Dionysia knocked the portrait askew. “Now listen, Doctor Melon,” He said quickly, earning a glare from the vykker, “Decrough told me that the mud is supposed to be used to combat terrorism,” (Dionysia hesitated before very carefully scuffing up a corner of the rug) “And I’d like to know what you expect to be doing here.”

Mehler’s voice was ever so slightly malignant as he replied, “Dionysia needs to become acclimatised to inhabiting a factory environment, and for this purpose we chose your establishment due to its proximity to our laboratory and relative safety.” Mehler knew as much about communication as Krik, and knew how to make someone feel uncomfortable. He was not in a good mood, “I trust you set aside suitable accommodation for Dionysia and myself, away from the other workers of course.”

“Won’t she be sleeping with the other muds?” Styre asked, surprised.

“Of course not! Surely Dr Decrough informed you that the experiment is still in such early stages?” Before Styre could question further he went on, “I also require access to your laboratory facilities this evening; I have a lot of work to do.”

Director Styre, realising he was in trouble, decided to move on quickly, “Of course; my sligs will escort you to your rooms.”

Mehler nodded, expecting the glukkon to get his name right on their next meeting, and led Dionysia out of the office.

Dionysia, he noted once they reached their accommodation, was smirking boldly. “Odd, are all glukkons that stupid?”

“I’m afraid not. Some of them are foolish but many are very clever; keep your wits about you around a vykker, until you’ve had the opportunity to judge them properly.”

Dionysia nodded, unconsciously absorbing his advice, much to his satisfaction. “Do you really need to use their lab tonight?”

“Not really, but you know you can always judge the quality of a facility by their scientific equipment.”

She snorted, “If you’re a vykker.”

“Naturally.” She sat on his bed in silence while he unpacked the equipment and filed the papers that he had brought with him. “I think we shall stay up here until the evening meal. Then we can go down and take a look at the workforce; let you have your first experience of mudokons and sligs in high quantities.”

She nodded.

He had been worried that her sheltered upbringing may cause her a discomfort around crowds, but he was proven wrong. The conditions at the laboratory where she had been brought up had always been cramped and she showed no trouble with the hundred or so mudokons working there, even when they were gathered together for meals. They stood on the catwalk above where the mudokons were eating while slig guards shot them furtive looks, before heading off to the executive cafeteria. Dionysia was probably the first mudokon to have eaten in that room, he thought as they took their places.

The following day they walked around the factory, watching the workers, and he explained to her once again all about sligs and mudokons in a working environment; it was easier to explain certain concepts when they were right in front of them.

He reflected sadly on the second evening that Dionysia’s days were already numbered. The other vykkers had intended to destroy her as soon as the aging process was over and no significant problems arose. He had just managed to convince them otherwise; Mehler was not the sort of person to spend years creating something only to destroy it because it was no longer needed. He had convinced them that the introduction into a factory environment might cause unexpected mental or physical reactions; as he was their psychologist they had accepted this and allowed her to live. The result was that she would spend the rest of her life being prodded and poked with syringes almost every day, but with any luck he would convince them to let her live longer, until the next Black-Skin – a male this time of course – was finished. Their fear was that someone would find out about her relationship to Skillya, but how would it happen? She was a clever girl despite her inquisitiveness and knew better to tell anyone.

Two weeks later Mehler left and Dachau came and replaced him, but after just a week he returned to the lab and Krik took his turn. Krik stayed with her for five weeks; he was still her favourite, Mehler noted dully. Why were people so naturally lured towards that which will cause them the most harm? That was a question he asked himself frequently and every time the result was the same; he would ponder over it for a day and then end up telling himself not to start smoking and stop worrying about such trivial things.

After Krik went, Mehler went to the factory to be with her for a week. She was very quiet and sombre for the first few days and gradually returned to her old, selfish self as the week went on. He asked her what had upset her and but she refused to explain. He asked her about Krik and she told him it was none of his business; she still defended him.

He returned at the end of the week to find Krik laughing with the other vykkers about how he had treated her, and how she still worshiped at his feet and ate out of his hand. Mehler avoided a confrontation as he always did, though the jokes made his blood boil.

So it went on for another year; they moved her between facilities every two or three months and the vykkers took it in turns to go and stay with her. She always got on best with Krik. After six months they started giving her odd days when none of the vykkers were at the facility with her and she got on well. As the year moved into its final quarter the gaps without them became longer and the times when they were with her became shorter. By the tenth and final month of the year they were visiting her just one day in three or four.

Occasionally Krik would come back form days with her with more of the jokes about how he was mistreating her and how she didn’t seem to even notice. Mehler had never been a fiery person and eventually, just over a year since they had first taken her to Director Styre’s shoe factory he decided he would simply talk with his fellow employee, explain to him the psychological effects of his actions.

Mehler did not like Krik much, and it was with unconfessed trepidation that he knocked on the door of the lab where Krik was working and entered. The lighting in the lab was dim; Krik liked working in dim light. Perhaps it had something to do with when he had worked for Skillya.

“Krik, I was hoping we could talk.” The other vykker raised his head, looking disinterested and busy. Mehler took a breath; Krik had been telling more of his joked today. “Do you know what you are doing to that girl?” He asked.

Krik turned back to his work, “I am doing what we were commissioned to do.” He answered brusquely.

Mehler stated, “Maybe I will explain.”

“Please don’t.”

Krik was a geneticist and Mehler was a psychologist, which in scientific terms was as if Mehler spoke Mudosian and Krik spoke only Sliggish. Mehler chose a middle ground to make an analogy, “Do you know what a cell wall does?”

Krik sighed, evidently feeling his time was being wasted, “I know enough of what one is. I am not a plant biologist… And when last I checked neither were you. I fail to see how this is relevant to the experiment.”

“A cell wall is a tough layer found around plant cells which protects the plant from infection. As the cell ages the cell wall gets tougher and tougher, stronger and stronger.” There was a more serious tone in his voice as he went on, “Eventually the walls get so strong that they prevent not only infections from entering, but also nutrients, water, air; the cell is smothered by the walls that it built to protect itself, and it dies inside of them.

“You’re doing the same thing to Dionysia. You make her depend on you for protection, and then you turn against her. You force her to build walls around herself, to put on a mask, to hide herself from the world, and you continue to hurt her; we all hurt her, and force her to build those walls stronger. Eventually the girl inside those walls will be smothered and die and only the shell will be left. You’re killing her.”

Krik did not look up, “Isn’t that what we want from her? Obedience, and denial of her mudokon nature? That is the name of the project.”

At length, Mehler gave his responded, his tone icy and ironic, “You are the very model of a vykker, my friend.”

Krik was so surprised by this that he looked up. Mehler had already gone.

Some distance away, Dionysia was lounging across a catwalk, looking down at a factory floor where twenty or so mudokons were working and sweating over a long, noisy machine producing glass bottles of some sauce. She looked up to see some unrecognised slig coming towards her. Odd, she knew all the sligs here at least by sight. This guy must be new. This theory was confirmed when he drew his gun at her.

“What are you doing up here, Mud?” He barked.

Dionysia rolled her eyes, “I work up here, Slug,” She drawled in an insolent tone that would make his blood boil, “You might want to check with your boss before waving that thing around,” She made a lazy, unconcerned gesture in the general direction of his gun to further annoy him. Her eyes were sharp, however, and she had already noticed the grenades and penknife on his pants, and the scars on his arm and waist.

The sligs expression did a complicated manoeuvre before he announced, “Oh, you’re the experiment the vykkers dumped here!”

She sneered at him, “No, I’m the experiment my vykkers have charged your boss to look after, and he wouldn’t be happy to here any slig had been bothering me.”

She turned and swaggered away. The slig glared at her back, muttering swearwords under his breath.

Another slig approached him from behind slapping him on the back. “Hey Stivik, just met the High Queen of Mudos?”

“What, that mud?” He noticed the other slig sniggering so he snorted. “S’nothing a bullet to the head wouldn’t fix for her if I got the chance.”

“Huh, don’t bet on that. If there was a chance to finish her off without the boss knowing you’d have every other slig in this place to compete with.”

The two sligs continued on their way, laughing about the best punishments to use on rebellious mudokons, but Stivik secretly pushed a concealed button on the black box at his waist. The Magog Cartel would be very interested to here how the muds here were allowed to behave.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Dun-dun dhunn!!!
That's right, the next part will feature the one and only Stivik!

You know I like Mehler. He got pushed aside by bigger personalities, both from ours and Dionysia's view since its in his nature to be quiet, but he was always there in the background and he would have made a better friend to Dionysia than Krik or Dachau. Certainly the experiment mattered to him - he supported the aging drugs for example - but so did she, which is why he was different from the others. Decrough wanted his experiment, Dachau wanted to get at Krik and Krik wanted to aid himself.
I really ought to have another look over this chapter since its creation was so unsmooth, but it'll probably have to wait. Life and all that. I think I had too much to say for one chapter but not enough for two, so I sacrificed some of the detail in places.

New chapter will come when I've written it to be perfectly honest. W@RF seems to be at death's door which is both good and bad for this story but we'll have to wait and see.
In the mean time reply! And with any luck you'll see Stivik's return by the end of next week.
Coming soon: 'Traitor's Loyalty', now there's an oxymoron.

Just noticed this story has been going for over a year. Now there's incentive to read!

[dripik]

Good chapter again, as usual. What else can I say?... The re-appearance of Stivik was put in well, I didn't even realise it's him before I read his name (not even by the penknife). And the 'Krik convincing Dion to take the injections' was really good. Wonder what will happen next...