Let's try this again!
So, they said it would never happen again. They said it couldn't be done. I don't even know who 'they' are, but anyway, they were wrong.
Because 2 years, 2 months and 9 days since I last updated it, my ancient fanfiction is rising from the dead.
The only people who I think even might remember it are Splat, T-Nex and perhaps dripik, but hey. After a bigger writer's block than, uh, some other big writer's block, I'm going to be continuing my fanfiction.
I'll post the brand new chapter tomorrow, but until then, here's what's been before in its entirety for you to catch up (note, features overly fast-paced action, rather poor writing, and rather short chapters. The new chapters will be much better.)
This is a LONG read, by the way.
So, on with what was to be the first story in the first part of a Quintology of mine, but will probably just be the first in a 3-part saga (If I ever finish them, that is)
FREEDOM FIGHTERS
Chapter 1: Hardships
Thud! Larry’s face hit the hard corrugated steel floor. “And don’t you try that again, or it’ll be broken bones, not just bruised.” Snarled the Slig guard through the door bars, as he slammed the metal door shut. Larry was a mudokon, your bog standard green mudokon with straggly feathers and a dislike of Industrialists. He had been enslaved long ago, by RuptureFarms, before getting freed by the Mudokon Saviour, Abe. But knowing his luck, he got enslaved again for a new factory- the Septik Snaks Food Corporation. Larry lifted his face off the floor gingerly, still in pain. The blood from his mouth mingled with the tears he was trying to hold back, as he muttered “Y-yes s-s-sir.” The Slig just flipped him off, spat at him and left, saying “Don’t you take the piss with me mud.” And he left.
“Caught trying to escape again Larry?” Larry turned to the mudokon who had said it-Trevor, as always. From what Larry knew, Trevor had been training to be a shaman at his village before being captured, and he was seemingly level-headed, well, most of the time. He was decked out in the shaman paint, but didn’t have the feathers yet and his powers were unfinished. Still, he was a trainee shaman, and that kept some of the more superstitious Sligs wary of him. “Of course I did Trev, otherwise I wouldn’t be lying here beat up and bleeding, would I?”
Trevor shrugged “Well be careful. That’s the 5th time you’ve tried, and you’re lucky you’ve been caught by different guards in different Zulags. Don’t forget the 3 escapes and you’re out rule.” He sighed, drawing his finger across his throat to illustrate the point.
“Yeah well, maybe death would be better than this.” Larry muttered, trying to hide his pain as he crawled over to his fellow cellmates.
“Don’t say that Larry. At least we get fed here.” Another mudokon spoke up. Larry sighed. That was Jeff. He was a bit of an oddball even among mudokons. He was often quiet, sounded like he was high on something even when he wasn’t, and wore countless bracelets and rings that he said got him in touch with Odd. He was probably the mudokon equivalent of a hippy. “Food? How is gone off, mashed up scrabmeat food? Odd I wish we could get out of here.”
A large, muscled and bulky mudokon who had kept quiet for a while suddenly threw himself at the door and banged on it again and again, screaming madly “Get back here you Slig bastards! You can’t enslave us! Next work shift I’m gonna strangle each and every one of you scumbags!!”
“Max Max Max, yelling won’t get us out.” Trevor admonished him, sighing and picking at his nails. The dark red, big and bulky mudokon,-Max, spat, muttered something involving a lot of curse-words, then flopped down, still breathing heavily, and slowly returned to a more green colour. Larry was still irritable though, and turned to Trevor once more “Max has had a hard time in slavery, so you gotta understand why he’s doing that.”
“Hey, I can speak for myself Larry.” Growled Max, and he punched the wall again.
Trevor spoke up “Larry, I was just saying yelling and raging gets us nowhere but punished. Remember, we’re all in this together, we have been since the beginning.”
Larry reminisced at Trevor’s words. “The beginning.” He remembered; and thought back.
Chapter 2: The Beginning
Larry thought back, remembering how it all began:
It had been a relatively warm day in the village, good conditions for Larry’s crops, as he was a spoocefarmer. He had just finished taking the last of the ripe spoocebushes, ready for sale, consumption and use by the village Shamen, when a faint buzzing had reached his ears. The sky became speckled with dots of black, gradually growing larger and less contrasted against the sinking sun. Several other villagers had come out to see what was going on, as the noise grew louder, and the spots grew larger, suddenly resolving themselves into- “Flying Sligs! They’re coming here!” Larry had yelled to the other villagers. They had ran for their huts, but the Industrial hunters were too close, and began firing, their tranquilizer rounds finding the occasional mudokon amidst the fleeing crowd. There were a few mudokons who had grabbed spoocebows, tomahawks and spears from their huts, and attempted to fight off the Sligs. A couple of the industrials fell to the mudokons, but the weapon wielders were quickly neutralized and knocked out by the Sligs. The last thing Larry remembered was seeing several sligs airlift a few mudokons away before feeling 2 painful needlelike darts in his side. Larry had been enslaved once before, and just when he was free and happy, they had got him again.
Larry temporarily snapped out from his reverie. Trevor’s words had reminded him of the nightmarish truth of his capture, and he rarely liked thinking of it. He looked at Trevor, Jeff and Max. His 3 best friends in this hellhole. Each of them had their own memories, their own tales, and they had told Larry.
Max had been a tomahawker in his village. A similar style of Slig patrol had come, only supported by pant-wearing Sligs and BigBros in a land vehicle, a crawler. He had fought hard, but 2 BBS’s had pinned him down, trapping his arms and legs while 3 Sligs tranquilized him in unison.
Jeff had been a... well, Jeff. Supposedly he had been making and selling miniature statues made from earwax when they came. He had been easily captured, as he was pretty much unaware of what was going on until he felt a heavy club strike the back of his skull.
Larry actually believed that, even the earwax thing. From what he could gather by Jeff’s actions and the accounts of mudokons from his village who had been captured, Jeff was an oddball. Spaced out, possibly sent mad by his previous time as a slave, or just a weird one.
Trevor had been a Shaman, or at least a Shaman in training, a spiritual guide and high ranking mudokon in his village. Patrols of Sligs had come to his village, he had fought using his shamanic powers, but combined efforts had overcame him. He now wore metal, chant suppressing shackles around his ankles, neck and wrists at all times to prevent him using his abilities.
Larry stopped his musing as he realised Trevor was looking at him. “Larry you, you alright? I mean, you just sort of went all tranced there.” Larry smirked, in spite of himself. “Yeah, I’m fine as I can be considering how things are Trev, I was just thinking about how it all started. It just makes me realise that, Odd, we have gotta get outta here.”
“You and all of us keep thinking that Larry. Trouble is, there ain’t much we can do about it right now.” Replied Trevor, ruffling his own head feathers in depressed frustration.
“Yeah, but, there must be, someday. I am gonna try again, with a plan this time. Will ya help me man?” Asked Larry, looking Trevor square in the eyes.
“Course I’ll help you Larry. So will Jeff, and Max, if you ask ‘em. But we can’t help you tomorrow. Remember, because you got caught, you’ve got to feed the Slogs, unarmed.”
“Heh, it’ll be the 5th time I’ve done it. I’m getting used to it now. Well, goodnight, if you can have a good night in this place.”
Chapter 3: Trials and Tribulations
A hammering on the cell door woke Larry and the others up. That was strange, normally they would simply have a Slig barge in and yell loudly and incessantly at them all to wake up, causing them all to stagger bleary eyed out of their gritty cells and off to that day’s first work session.
The banging continued, followed by a muttering of “Oops, forgot I had the keys.” Larry smirked as he realised who the guard was. A chink and the door creaked on rusty hinges and swung open. Sure enough, it was Arthur. Larry smirked again to himself. Arthur was alright as far as Sligs go. He was extremely lazy, even by Slig standards, and actually wasn’t that mean. Sure, you could still get a beating from him, but it normally only occurred if you annoyed him. Even then, he was often lighter in the beating than others. Considering the normal Slig mentality, Arthur was almost what you could call clever and actually, friendly. You might even be able to get a decent snack off him if you did as he said and brought him the Daily Deception newspaper for him during his work shift.
Many of Larry’s cellmates were complaining at Arthur’s noisy arrival, as normal ‘waking’ (If you could call getting yelled at by Sligs and clubbed until you got up and headed off to your Zulag station waking) time was at 5:00 am, rather than 3:30. Larry and a yawning, slightly disorientated Trevor exchanged looks. The early waking time was for Larry, as his oh so unenjoyable Slog feeding punishment for escaping was at 3:35, nice and early so he could like it as little as possible.
“Y-yeah I’m c-coming Arthu-ur.” Slurred a half-asleep Larry as he flopped out of the hard, bloodstained, corrugated metal board that formed the beds of the slaves’ quarters.
“Larry, I almost like ya, so I don’ really wanna have ta make you do this, but you shouldn’t try to escape. Yeh’ll only get yerself killed, and besides, you’re breaking factory rules.” Honked Arthur as he clamped his hand around Larry’s arm and frogmarched him out of the cell.
“Ugh.” Was Larry’s only answer.
“Look, consider yerself lucky it’s me. At least you aren’t gettin’ knocked about by another guard fer taking your time an’ I was considerate enough ta give you a few minutes to get up an’ out of bed.” Arthur remarked to him as they exited the slave quarters and began heading up a corridor to the sloghuts.
“Gee, wasn’t whoever set your rota kind to me eh?” Replied Larry dryly.
“’Cause I’m nice, I ain’t going ta hit you. Watch yerself though Larry, insultin’ yer superiors will only get you hurt more.” Larry noticed two things about what Arthur said there. The first being the fact that Arthur referred to him as Larry, rather than the customary ‘mud’, ‘slave’ or curse-name that the other Sligs spoke to the mudokons by. The second thing was the pained emphasis and distasteful expression on Arthur’s face as he said ‘superiors’. Maybe Arthur doesn’t like this place as much as he claims. Thought Larry to himself.
Larry stayed silent for the short remainder of the journey, grimacing inside as he saw the now-familiar, blood and rust-encrusted doors of the room in which the sloghuts were. Arthur released his grip on Larry and walked out of the room, leaving him to the mercies of the supervising Slig. Again, Arthur seemed to be less vicious than the other Sligs, letting go instead of hurling him face-first to the floor, and he muttered to Larry as he passed:
“Look, I know how many times you’ve tried escapin’ Larry, and Management’ll check the records eventually, so I’d not try again if I were yer.” And with that he exited, and Larry was alone with the Slig and the Slogs.
“Well, get to it p**shead.” Spat the Slig.
Larry tiredly plodded over to the meat bucket to pick up some bones and scraps for the Slogs, which were clamouring and barking to be let out of their kennels and into the feeding area, when he looked at the bucket. Wait, he thought, where’s the bucket?
He turned to the Slig, who had lit up a cigar and was grinning cruelly.
“Hey uh-sir, there’s no food here, how do I feed them?” He asked the Slig, cocking his head to one side as the Slig began to laugh openly.
“You figure it out, mud.” He guffawed as he pushed Larry into the large, open feeding pit.
Chapter 4: The Punishment
Crap. Larry thought as he fell into the pit. He landed with a hard, rather painful and ever so slightly squelching whump at the bottom. The Slig cackled loudly again “Yer’ve let yerself in fer it now mud.” Larry slowly picked himself up off the ground, rubbing his back and finding-Yuck! -remains of the Slogs’ previous meals on his back. Picking the bits of flesh and slivers of bone off his back, he turned around as the metal doors of the kennels grated up. Double crap. He thought as the Slogs scurried out. A good dozen or so of very big, bulky, fully grown Slogs were sniffing around, trying to detect their meal. Which is me. Larry thought miserably. Smaller sloggies ran around, yipping as they picked at the odd few remains from previous feedings. Larry knew they’d be after him right about….now. Which they were.
The bigger Slogs seemed to have picked up his scent and, just as Larry thought this, as if on cue, some of the Slogs began to approach him. Larry did all he could do. He began scooping up handfuls of the leftover flesh, and piling it up in front of him. The slogs were still nearing, going faster now at the smell of fear and raw meat. Larry knew not to panic, noise and fear gets you detected by 'em and killed, he thought, picking up a decent sized, relatively intact bone.
“Nice Slog, good Slog,” Larry spoke quietly to the nearest Slog, whistling to get its attention. As it ran towards him, he tossed it the bone. The slog had opened its jaws to bite Larry, but instead the bone landed in its mouth. One down Larry thought. The other Slogs were mainly eating at the pile of carcasses Larry had hurriedly made, but with so many eating at it; there was soon little meat left.
“Oy, yer supposed to feed ‘em fresh meat not leftover stuff ya f**kbrain!” The supervisor Slig yelled at him. Larry ignored him for now, concentrating on staying alive. He picked up what looked to be half of a Scrab’s rib, and tossed it at a Slog nearby. Unfortunately for Larry, he hit it on the head rather than in its mouth. The Slog began growling and barking angrily, certainly preparing to charge. Larry couldn’t hide his fear now, and the scent of fear just gave the beast a beacon towards him.
The Slog lunged on him, bowling him over and it began ripping and biting at his leg. Larry swore and tried to get it off, but that prompted the creature to snap at his hands and continue mauling his leg. Larry knew he was in a fair deal of trouble now. He panicked more and more and screamed in pain as it continued biting, sure it would reach the bone. That’s it, a bone! He thought. Larry clawed around, finally laying hands on a chewed, cracked but still intact bone by the wall of the feeding pit. His paw’s fingers brushed it and finally clasped it, and he swung the bone at the Slog’s head, prompting a yell from the Slig above.
“Hey, yer can’t attack the Slogs!” Once again Larry ignored him. The Slog however, had recovered from the blow, and was pretty mad , meaning Larry was in a lot of danger once again. It snapped at Larry was holding Larry, aiming for where the blow came from, and ended up locking its jaws around the bone he was holding. Larry quickly let go, relieved inside that it hadn’t got him. Fortunately it then began gnawing and chewing on the bone, leaving the injured Larry to huddle down and try to rest his hurt leg. The Slig above, seeing that the Slog had left Larry, seemed to get bored with the spectacle. He watched Larry whimper a little longer, but grew tired of it. Rummaging around for a packet of cigars, he plucked one out, lit it, and started to smoke while taking out a copy of the Daily Deception. at least he's not paying too much attention now. Larry thought, futilely trying to stem the blood flow with his paw.
A couple of the other Slogs approached him, sniffing for the scent of warm, fresh blood. Larry was a bit surprised by this, as the pit was ful of blood, albeit dried blood. He dragged himself over to the ribcage he had been crouched by earlier, and desparately tried to snap a rib off. One of the slogs had started charging at him, so Larry thought fast. He crawled over the Scrab ribcage, trying to let as much blood of his smear onto it as was healthily possible.The Slog continued its charge, and bombed into the ribcage, snapping a couple of the bones. It started gnawing at one fragment, but Larry knew it soon would be done.
He seized a sizeable piece of a rib that had cracked at an angle, forming a sharp edge. Ensuring the Slig was immersed in the paper, Larry started stabbing at the Slog with the bone. The creature reacted ferociously and leapt at him, but by now it had been stabbed with the bone 3 times, and was dead as it hit him. The thing went into convulions, the smell of dying, fear and blood attracting the other Slogs like Iron filings to a magnet. Just to be sure, Larry stabbed another Slog that was ripping at the dead one, hoping that would provide suffcient meat to feed the beasts. The Slogs pounce on the dying Slog in a frenzy, fighting each other for the meat, bting and growling, snarling and tearing. Soon, sveral more Slogs were wounded, and they then became set upon by the other Slogs. Unfortunately, the commotion atttracted the attention of the Slig, who, looking down, saw the Slogs fighting and eating each other.
"Hey, what did yer do ter make 'em do that?" He leered at Larry.
"Uh, n-nothing, sir. They j-just started, fighting each other. I think the bl-lood and lack of food m-made them go canni-bu-bal." Larry stammered, hoping he had made himself sound confused but not overdone it.
"That's weird, cause you were s'posed ta fill in fer the lack o' food." The Slig growled at Larry, tapping hi foot on the ground.
"They hurt m-my le-gu-g, maybe the b-blood confused them." Larry got out, the blood loss starting to make him slur and stammer for real. He shrank away as a hefty Sloggie started sniffing at him, curling up into a ball small enough that made the sloggie lose interest and turn back to the more meaty Slog carcass nearby.
"Well, I still don' believe ya." He spat. And the Slig studie the Slogs.
The beasts were now picking at scraps of the carcasses or fighting each other, and Larry lay there, trying to stay small and insignificant as he watched on. A couple of Slogs did approach him at times, believing him to be a wounded Slog, but Larry grabbed any remains he could find in reach (however unpleasant it was to pick up Slog enttrails) and threw it away, distracting the beasts and sending them away, giving him time to quietly move into another corner. This didn't please the Slig though
"Ey, what uyer up ter? Why'd yer do that gobs***e?"
Larry was getting woozy now, and barely replied "I w-w-was j-just tr-tr-tryin-g to l-live, so I c-caa-n-n s-still w-work."
Just about satisfied, the Slig guard fired his gun into the air. That meant the feeding was over. The Slogs froze at the gunshot, and then returned slowly and warily to their kennels, understanding the sound as a signal to stop. Larry sighed as it was over and shakily hauled himself up, using the dead Slogs and pit side as support,then the Slig hauled him out of the pit by his neck; and threw him down on the floor. Larry lay there for a while, moaning slightly and cradling his wounded leg. “Consider yerself lucky yer survived mud.” The Slig sneered at him, spitting on Larry then kicking him in the ribs. The Slig then decided to take a more active notice of Larry’s injury and purposely stepped on his hurt leg before bending down and once again, roughly hauling Larry up.
“Now back ter work, yer lazy scrounger. An’ yer gonna be workin’ with that bad leg, serves ya right fer trying ta escape an' kill the Slogs.” Larry cursed inwardly, and remained silently in agony as the Slig marched him (slowly, to cause him more stress on his wounded leg) off to the mess hall. “Oh, and yer’ve missed breakfast if yer were wondering, so get in there and get ter yer station, slave.” The Slig dumped him down on the floor in the hall then stomped back off to his post.
Larry half dragged, half limped over to an eating table and sat down heavily, looking around through teary eyes as the mudokons still here ambled off to their posts. He saw Trevor approaching with a look of concern on his face, but didn’t feel like recounting the punishment right now. Larry just tilted his head back, resting it on the rough but cool surface of the dining table, and closed his eyes, trying to blot out the pain.
Chapter 5 (the chapter with no name)
“Larry? La-rry?”
Larry opened one eye to find Trevor, Max and Jeff crowded round him, looking quite worried. Well, Trevor and Jeff quite worried, Max was his usually p’ed off self, flexing his hands angrily as a sign that he was close to boiling point already. He opened his other eye slowly and glanced around, trying to take in his bearings. Still in the cafeteria. Oh well, better than being operated on by a Vykker. Larry thought to himself.
“Hey, you’re awake.” Trevor smiled at him, patting him on the shoulder.
“How long was I out?” Larry replied, still in obvious pain from his leg.
“About 5 minutes. Arthur was on duty and he let us stay behind and make sure you were alright. I think he’s gone to get some stuff to bandage up your leg.” Trevor replied, gesturing at his injured limb. Larry looked down and felt nauseated. His leg had teeth marks all over it from where he had been bitten; bits of dead skin had peeled up here and there, and partially dried blood encrusted his leg all over.
“I hope Arthur hurries up soon.” Larry grimaced, the sharp pain becoming a constant throbbing ache. The others just stayed silent, except for Max, who was still muttering darkly. Larry lay there waiting for a short while, until finally Arthur came walking back in, carrying a small roll of grubby looking bandage in one hand. He hurried over to Larry, and set the bandages down on the table.
“You’re going ter need that rinsing first Larry, all that blood won’t help.” Arthur simply stated.
“I can’t get up on it, how do I get to a sink to wash it?” Larry asked, more of a rhetorical question that anything.
Arthur gave the expected answer “Fine, we’d better carry yer. Trevor, support him by that side, Jeff, turn on the sink, Max, err, just keep doing what you are doing now.”
Max continued his angry mutterings and pacing, while Jeff hurried and turned on the taps at the sink. Together, Arthur and Trevor supported Larry, one under each arm, and helped him to the sink. When there, they waited as Larry rubbed his leg clean of the dried blood and skin as best he could with the warm water, then they helped him back to the bench and sat him back down.
Arthur picked up the bandages and handed them to Trevor just saying “I take it you know how ter do bandages?”
“How did you get these?” Larry asked before Trevor could reply.
“Eh? Oh, I err, got ‘em from the surgeon, they’re quite old an’ dirty, but they’re better than nothing.” Arthur answered, not bothering to look at him.
Trevor got on with the bandaging, Arthur standing watch. It all was going quite well until another Slig entered the mess hall, and saw what was going on. Trevor suddenly felt a hard crack in his back, and ended up on the floor with a nasty pain in the small of his back, followed by another painful thud and another pain, this time in his shoulder; with the Slig honking in his ear “What do yer think you’re doing, eh mud? Why are you bandaging him? Leave him to it, he’s hurt, he has to sort it out himself. You help him any more, and I’ll clobber yer some more.” The Slig then turned to Arthur
“And why were you allowing it? Leave ‘em to deal with their own problems, that’s what yer should’ve done, mudlover.” The Slig snarled.
Arthur’s reaction was instantaneous: the Slig suddenly found himself on his back across the table with Arthur’s hand fixed around his neck. Even Max, who had moved for the Slig the instant he struck Trevor, was surprised by Arthur and halted, slightly dumbfounded, while Arthur, his face inches away from the other Slig’s spat out: “Listen Lak, that mud ain’t of no use to nobody with a leg like that, so I figured that if he’s fixed up a bit, then he may be able to get on with some work.”
“Not that you’d know much about doing work, what with you sleepin’ all the time.” The Slig, apparently called Lak responded.
Arthur’s grip tightened ever so slightly around Lak’s throat. “You really don’t have any brains at all do yer? Well, lemme try and get it through your thick skull that if he’s in a capable working state, then he can do something useful, which is something you aren’t used to doing is it? Now p*ss off before yer start annoying me.” Arthur released his grip and shoved Lak away.
Lak, looking decidedly harassed, picked up his dropped baton and shuffled off through the door, but not before muttering a quick “Stresshead fag.” As he left.
“I heard that!” Arthur honked after him, but then turned back to Trevor, who picked himself up off the floor, but was still wincing
“You alright?” He asked Trevor, who weakly grinned back as he finished bandaging Larry up.
“Yeah, I’m alright, but-” however, before Trevor could continue, Larry cut across him: “Arthur, how did you do that? I mean, I always thought you were a take it easy, non-violent guy?”
Arthur grinned, before answering. “Well, since I am a take it easy guy who ain’t that violent with muds, the other Sligs started taking the piss with me, calling me a mudlover, shoving me around, you know, treating me like one of you, no offence meant. So I go into a fair few scraps, and I had to learn to fight decently well because they kept grouping on me. So cause I got so much practice, I can deal with little sh!ts like Lak there, it’s only the older and tougher ones and BigBros that I gotta watch out for.” He explained, rather cheerily.
Larry however, had a frown on his face, and asked “Well, if they all are like that with you, why don’t you try and leave?”
“In case you’ve forgotten Larry, you can’t get a transfer from here. I tried to go back to the reopened RuptureFarms, I liked it there and had friends, plus it was much easier, but I wasn’t allowed to leave. When you come to Septik Snaks, you’re stuck fer life.” He replied, much less cheery and much more darkly.
“No, I don’t mean get a transfer, why not escape, that way you can be free, you’re your own boss, nobody attacks you, and you can do what you want!” Larry replied, slightly hysterical. Jeff looked quite eager, Max suspicious. Trevor however, slapped his forehead, having a good idea what Arthur’s reaction would be. He wasn’t disappointed.
Arthur’s expression changed from a thoughtful but upbeat look to an irritated and slightly angry look, and he sharply clouted Larry around the back of the head, before answering in a rather annoyed manner “Shaddup Larry! Escape? Are you mad? I don’t personally fancy the idea of getting my brains blown out; I’d rather slug it out here, not fully happy but at least-” His voice halted ever so momentarily, but Larry picked up on it “-making an acceptable living. Now get to work; I ain’t covering for you any longer.”
The four of them knew not to disobey Arthur, as he could get quite unsafe when stressed, as he had proven with Lak earlier. Max and Jeff went to their two separate workstations while Trevor continued to aid Larry along to the Zulag area that they both worked at. When there Trevor asked the obvious question:
“Why’d you say that Larry? You were bound to get in trouble.”
“I guess I thought Arthur was… different to the others. Better. But it seems I was wrong, at the end of the day he’s the same.” Larry sighed, although he didn’t believe himself when he said that. Arthur did hit him yes, but it seemed almost half-hearted, and Larry had picked up on the pause, although Arthur had also looked unsure of himself even before he spoke. Maybe he was different.
Chapter 6: Planning an Escape
Larry was relieved when the morning session was over, as pulling levers for a grinder was repetitive, and he had other things on his mind. He was able to traipse back to the mess hall for the mudokons’ 5 minute gruel break, where he could think properly and without interruption. He was consumed with thoughts of both Arthur’s behaviour, and of new ways to escape the factory. Ever since the night before, when he had been caught yet again, his fevered brain had been working on a method of escape that he hadn’t tried. He had thought up many outlandish ideas, and he definitely did not want to get caught again, he hardly relished the thought of having both his legs broken, so that he was confined to a wheelchair for a lengthy period. But last night, during the 1 hour of sleep that the slaves got, he came up with an idea that could work. It relied heavily on luck, and on where he was working for that afternoon. He limped over to the schedule board and checked, he was stationed by Boiler 4, and the heating units for it. Perfect, his plan could be attempted today, although it did rely on Trevor or one of the others helping him out. He hobbled back to Trevor, who had been served some of the greyish mess of the slave food, and relayed the idea of his plan:
Hey, Trev, I’ve thought of a way we can escape, no joke, no dumb idea, this could actually work!”
Trevor was hardly impressed “Larry, you invent hundreds of escape ideas every day, and none of those you’ve tried have worked yet. I suggest you give it a rest man, Abe, or Munch, or someone like that will come and save us eventually. Until then, all we can do is put up with this and hope.”
“Hope? We have no hope unless we try. Waiting will just get us killed, through the guards, the conditions or the time.”
“And escape attempts kill us quicker mate.” Trevor replied, resuming eating his gruel.
“Just, let me tell you the idea.” groused Larry, getting impatient. ‘Lunch’ break would be up shortly and unless he was able to explain his thoughts to Trevor, or Max, his escape would have to wait.
“Fine then.” Sighed Trevor, finishing his gruel and pushing the bowl aside.
“Look, this afternoon we’re working at Boiler 4, doing cleaning, right? Well, the heaters are great big metal cylinders, and have pipes leading from them to the factory roof, where they open theses hatches on them to ventilate too much hot air, right? You see, I’m thinking that I find some way to get into the heating tank, then climb the pipe and get out through the hatch. Whaddaya think?”
Trevor shook his head. “Another harebrained scheme Larry. First off, you need to find a way to get into the heater without there being too much hot air to kill you, second, to get the hatch open the heater needs to overheat, and that’d kill you. How do you do it?”
Larry grinned a nervous grin “Well, I was thinking, what we do is find a way to get the heating units to overheat, and then I climb into the tank, while it’s overheated but cooling down, the hatch will be open at this point, so I then just climb up the pipe, out the hatch, then walk along the roof, slide down the factory wall and get out!”
“It could work, but its unlikely Larry, ‘cause how do you get into the heating tank anyway?”
There’s an emergency manual door for when it gets really boiling in there, so that the door can be opened and it can be ventilated quicker, I get the door open, get in, and then climb up and out the pipe. I won’t get burnt ‘cause if I move quickly enough, I can’t get hurt by it, I’ll just sweat and be uncomfortable. And I needed to tell you Trevor, cause I’ll need you to shut the door after me so nobody knows it’ ever been opened, and you have to distract the guard while I reverse the heating direction on the boiler with the wheels so the heating units overheat. This factory’s boilers just distribute the warmth; it’s the heating units that actually warm the water for the boilers. Just trust me on this one.”
Bu, before Trevor could give his answer, he and Larry found themselves getting marched back off to their afternoon workplaces. Larry was bursting with anticipation inwardly, regardless of Trevor’s answer, he was going for it. This could be the moment he gets out.
Chapter 7: Barracks Life
Arthur watched Larry limp off to his Zulag, supported by Max and Trevor, and then sighed, shaking his head in thought and regret before walking off to his own station, as delivery loader. A boring job, which simply required taking the packaged food up onto a factory train then radioing the Depot or factory it was to go to when he was done.
'Just like my job at RuptureFarms, in the old days. Gee I miss them days. Wonder what they’re doing now.’ Arthur thought to himself, thinking of the friends he had made at his previous job. He shrugged dejectedly and continued on to his station.
2 hours later
Arthur headed off back to the lunch hall after the morning session, quickly took a Paramite Pie and then began towards the Barracks. Seeing as his job relied on the trains he often had a decent amount of free time, and today he decided to spend it on three of his favourite pastimes, drinking, reading the paper, and sleeping. He saw Larry entering the mess hall out of the corner of his eye, and watched him check the work rota board. He hurried out quicker, not wanting to have to talk with them now about what occurred earlier.
He entered the Barracks room and sat down on his bed. The Slig bunks were marginally better than the slave quarters, they were bigger for a start, and had no dried blood, but were just as hard and rusty. He began eating his Paramite Pie with a bottle of Brew at his side, deeply immersed in thought. That is, until the whirring of fellow Slig’s pants brought him back to reality. He looked up and gave an inward cringe. It was Lak. But not alone, he had a few buddies of his with him.
“Why’d ya do that earlier freak?” He yelled at Arthur, who ignored him and continued eating.
“I said, why’d ya do that earlier freak!?” He screeched louder, pushing the pie away.
Arthur gave him a look of extreme annoyance, reclaimed his pie and muttered
“I’d appreciate it if you’d let me eat my food in peace, sh*tstirrer.”
Lak and his four cronies looked angry, but then laughed, Lak retorting “I’m sure you would mudlover, but why should we? Go off and sleep wit’ one of your dear mudokon friends.”
Again, Arthur reacted to Lak’s taunts quickly, and physically, by standing and simply swinging the half-eaten pie right into Lak’s face, and following it with a left hook again to the head that floored the cocky Slig.
“Well, seein’ as I can’t eat in peace, leave me be and lemme have my drink, cause if ya don’t this’ll end badly for you.” Arthur snarled, reaching for his brew.
But before he could even take off the top, two of Lak’s cronies lunged at him, one striking his stomach, the other punching him in the chin. Arthur dropped a little, winded and dazed, but retaliated by driving his own fist into the first Slig’s stomach, and braining the other with his bottle, which cracked but didn’t break. It broke though when he stuck another of Lak’s pals who went for him, two of them now down with glass in their bodies and Brew all over them. The fourth and first ones however, got him down, one tackling him while the other swung at his face, catching him just below the mask.
They pinned him down as he kicked, bit and struggled, scratching them and weakening their grip, but Lak had got back up, and planted the ball of his pants’ foot right into Arthur’ chest, then kicked him sharply in the mouth (just under his tentacles). The two bottled ones didn’t get up, but Lak hauled up Arthur and punched at him while his friends pinned Arthur’s arms back. They shoved him onto his bed, and Lak reached for his throat to pay Arthur back for earlier, but soon found Arthur’s mouth clamped tightly around his fingers. He kicked and punched, taking Lak down again, but soon was down himself after getting clouted and ganged up on by three of the Sligs, one having recovered from the bottle blow. Arthur soon had the fight knocked out of him, and Lak and his goons beat him up a bit more, other Sligs who had lunch break having wandered in to watch the fight and cheer on Lak’s gang.
Arthur lay in a bruised and bloodied mess, while Lak grinned, still clutching his bitten hand, and leaned down, hissing “Don’t start what you can’t deal with mudlover.”
The other Sligs, bored now that the fight was over, and merely having to squabble over winnings form bets placed on the confrontation, ambled out, leaving Arthur to drag himself wearily onto his bed, spit out a broken tooth, and slip mercifully into unconsciousness.
Chapter 8: The Plan in Action
Larry was quite confident as he and Trevor hurried to their stations. Trevor kept trying to persuade him out of it, with comments like:
“Larry, you mess it up you might get killed.”
“Larry, this is too risky.”
“Look man, I think you should take more time about planning this.”
“You’ll end up hurt and in a lot of trouble Larry, don’t do it.”
“Larry, just bide your time until something better comes up.”
But Larry ignored it all, defiant that it would work. Trevor, seeing this, sighed, resigned that Larry was too stubborn to be swayed, and realised he would reluctantly have to go through with this.
They arrived at the station, and Larry seemed to get more good luck, the Slig on duty was late.
‘Hopefully drunk or in a fight.’ Larry thought to himself.
“Wait here Trev, when the guard turns up, whistle, or kick your bucket over or something to warn me, and keep him distracted as long as possible. When I overheat the boiler, get the door open as quick as you can, and try and make a lot of noise to get ‘em confused. I’ll take a deep breath, go in, and get out the vent shaft. Oh yeah, you’ll need to open that too when it overheats. ‘Kay?”
Trevor nodded dejectedly “Yeah sure. I still think you shouldn’t go through with it though.”
“Trev, you always were a pessimist.” Grinned Larry, and he hobbled off on his one good leg down the corridor, to find the heater wheel.
Meanwhile
Arthur lay unmoving on his bunk, in agony. He began to stir after a few minutes, and looked around, seeing no other Sligs in the barracks room.
‘Great, I’m late back to work and I’m going to get in trouble for fighting and slacking.’ He thought, wincing as he got up, and then vomiting instantly on the floor a mixture of blood and bile.
‘I need to get to the doc’s to get these injuries sorted out, but it’s on the other side of the factory.’ He thought again.
He hauled himself painfully out of the room, and began the long walk down the corridor to the medical room.
Back at Boiler 4
Larry finally reached the wheel; it was currently on the hottest green setting on the meter. To get the heater to overheat, it’d need to be in the middle on the orange setting.
‘That way I can get in but it shouldn’t kill me.’ He thought to himself.
He began turning the wheel, it was stiff and rusted, and hard work, but gradually it moved and the pointer began to creep into the pale yellow zone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trevor looked up the corridor, while scrubbing the floor and at the boiler door handle, figuring the soapy floor might help make the Sligs slip, and if he could clean up the wheel, Larry might get it open easier. It’d have to overheat for the lock on the vents and door to automatically unlock.
‘And the easier Larry can get in, the better.’ Trevor mused.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Larry continued turning it, the meter now on bright yellow, a few inches off orange. It was getting hard work now, the further the wheel was turned, the stiffer it got, and with only one good leg, it was difficult to put much leverage on the wheel.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trevor suddenly stopped his work at the sound of Slig pants, the guard was approaching. He quickly swung his bucket at the boiler door, the clang hopefully loud enough to get Larry’s attention.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Larry heard the loud clash of metal upon metal, and realised the Slig was coming back. He’d have to work twice as fast. He began twisting the wheel quickly and forcefully, hoping he’d get it done before the Slig arrived.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trevor looked up as the guard rounded the corner, and it was apparent why he’d been late- he had obviously been I a fight. This Slig was quite burly, Trevor recognising it as one of that damn Lak’s friends. He had a nasty cut across his skull, which had been hurriedly bandaged with makeshift bandages-toilet roll and newspaper. There were also a couple of small glass shards on his face, and he was moving a little gingerly. Yet despite his injury, he had obviously heard what Trevor did, as he screeched
“What did you do here mud? Try to break the boiler, ya idiot?”
Trevor had been preparing himself should something like this occur, so he answered readily, yet in a convincing manner
“Uh n-no sir, I slipped on the floor while cleaning the boiler, and it hit the boiler, and it all spilled on me, and I h-hurt my head.” He rubbed at his eyes, attempting to make it appear like he was holding back tears.
“Good job you got hurt might make ya less clumsy. But hey, why’re there two sponges?”
Trevor was thrown off “…..erm, well I have two so I can clean it quicker.”
The Slig didn’t buy it “Ain’t there supposed to be two of you’s I’m watchin’?”
“Er,” Was all he could say, before the Slig shoved him aside and walked up the corridor, calling out
“Ohh green freak, Come out, or I’ll fill that corridor with lead.” Despite not having a gun, he figured it’d be a way to get Larry to show himself.
~~~~~~~~~~~
Larry was panicking, the Slig was getting close and closer, but then, finally, he got the wheel into orange. The boiler had been gaining heat anyway due to his actions, but now it was going to blow. He waited, until-
~~~~~~~~~~~
“What’s going on!?” The slig yelled as he rushed back to the boiler, hearing the warning sirens.
“Oy, what you done to it?” He demanded.
“Nothing, how could I have anyway?” He replied, quickly wrenching on the vent control wheel, and opening it. The Slig commanded “Open the door; get that steam outta the boiler before it blows!”
Trevor turned on the wheel, just as Larry reached the corner. He waited until Trevor got it open then rushed forward as fast as he could with one good leg. He timed it until there was a thick cloud of steam, and he heard a clunk and yell of pain- Trevor had tripped the Slig. Larry’s foot brushed something, a bucket, and he reached down, waited until he heard the Slig get up and with his eyes still shut against the steam, swung it in the direction he heard the Slig. Another yell of pain, another loud thud, and then Larry nipped into the boiler itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
He kept his breath held in, cool fresh air still in his lungs but running out, and made his way blindly over to where he knew the ladder was to the manual vent controls. He began climbing it, gradually running out of breath, but he finally reached the top, where steam was billowing upwards but out of the vent. He reached his hands up to grasp the edge of the coverless vent and pull himself out, but his luck had ran out.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘CRAP! It’s a shutter vent, not a lidded vent!’ He thought to himself, and wondered what he was to do now. He began to climb back down, hoping against hope that when the group of armed Sligs that was supposed to finish sorting out the boiler arrived, they wouldn’t notice an additional mudokon. His prayers were unheeded however, as he soon heard the sound of multiple Sligs’ pants, and one of them honking
“Hey, I can see some green blobbish thing in the boiler.”
‘Why me, Odd.’ Larry begged, as he heard the two fateful words.
“Kill it!”
Shortly followed, by the sharp ratatatatatat of gunfire.
Chapter 9: Failure Once More
“Kill it!”
The words that would spell Larry’s death rang out. Larry did the only thing he could do to have any chance of survival, he let go of the ladder. He fell a short distance (due to being over halfway down) as the bullets rang out, and luckily, as they had fired at the point where they saw him, most of the bullets missed. But only most.
Larry fell hard in a painful crumple, the searing pain of hot, shaped lead burning in his left arm, hand, shoulder, and back. It appeared his fall had caused most of the bullets to skim over him, but some had still connected. And filled his arm and left upper back with lead. He lay on the floor in agony, twitching and convulsing from the wounds, and realised that more or less half of his body was now useless.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hey look, it’s that guy who keeps on trying to get out, whatsisname? Lardy?”
One of the Sligs kicked him in the side hard while the others sniggered, and then yanked him up roughly by his shot up arm.
“Heheheh, got yer eh? Well, I don’t envy yer. Yer second punishment’s s’posed to be ter get yer legs broked, but yeh’ve already got one broke and yer arm’s shot, so I bet we get to use yer fer clubbing practice.”
A second Slig sniggered as he said this.
Larry looked through watery, half closed eyes around. About Five or Six Sligs, probably the cleanup crew, were surrounding him, chatting, shoving him and laughing. The steam appeared to have cleared, and Trevor was also being clamped tightly around the arm by the original guardslig.
Trevor didn’t communicate with Larry at all as he was dragged out of the boiler.
‘Good.’ Thought Larry. ‘Maybe Trev won’t get anything for this.”
Meanwhile
Arthur had stopped walking when he heard the sirens, and turned to try and discern where they were coming from, merely thinking
‘Great, what now? Hopefully Abe’s broke in, that way I can frag him and get the reward, then bribe the boss so I can quit this place.’
He turned around and began to head in the direction of the sirens, soon joined by a couple of other Sligs. Well, not so much joined as got bustled long with them. They were busy chatting away about the sirens and what might’ve happened, one offered a bet, and the other accepted. This left Arthur alone with his thoughts.
‘What do I do now? If Larry’s got himself caught again then I’ll get busted down fer being friendly with a repeat offender. If he’s escaped I’ll get interrogated fer suspicion of helping hi escape. Gee Larry why d’you have to do this? You make it worse fer others as well as just you.......There’s only one thing I can do, I s’pose. Become a 'proper' Slig.’
“Ouch, watch where you’re going, dumb@ss.”
He had been so busy with his thoughts that he hadn’t realised where he had walked, he ended up walking into one of the Sligs he had been fighting earlier, that appeared to be restraining, Trevor?
He decided to start his new method now, he may not enjoy it, but it might at least give him an easier time of things. “Shut up you, I cracked you with a bottle before and I’ll do it again if yer don’t tell me what this guy’s done.” He snapped back gesturing at Trevor.
“’Ere, why should I tell you, anyway, and, ha! You hit me? Yer fergetting we creamed you before.” The Slig snapped back.
“Look idiot, I can just go to Management and say who yer not co-operating in an escape case, and then you won’t be too poplar in high places.” Arthur retorted, balling his fists regardless.
“Fine then. Well, we think he may’ve tried to help a mud try an’ escape. Green feller by the name of summat like Laffy. Tried ter get out before an all.”
‘Jus’ perfect. I’m gonna end up as Slog trainer at this rate. Thanks Larry.’ Arthur thought.
“Right, well, where is he then?” Arthur demanded.
“Why d’you wanna know? Not going to try and save him are you?”
Arthur realised he’d have to prove he had ‘changed’ physically rather than just verbally, so he swung out and gave Trevor a punch hard in the gut, sinking him to his knees, before giving him a blow about the head.
“Do I look like a mudlover anymore? Show me the creep so I can kick him.”
“Can’t. He’s been sent to Punishment Office ‘cause they reckon two broken legs doesn’t teach him anything, on account of having one broke already.” The Slig responded.
“Fine, I’ll deal with him when he’s back. And I swear, call me a mudlover from now on and I’ll prove you wrong, cause I’m different, and, I like it.” Arthur whispered in the Slig’s ear dementedly, kicking Trevor once for good measure before walking away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
‘Oh Odd, what have I got myself stuck into doing now?’ Arthur thought.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trevor coughed up some blood, watching Arthur walk off ‘He’s been in a fight? Well, it’s changed him, and for the worse it’d seem. Looks like anything close to “happy days”, are gone for good now.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Larry hung across the two Sligs’ arms before the doors of the Office, knowing that he’d soon find himself face to face with the irritable, sadistic Vykker Murphy, who was head of the Punishments Office. ‘I just hope that whatever I get sentenced to isn’t too bad, I don’t want to end up classed an invalid, cause that’ll be the end.’ He mused miserably, praying that the Vykker was in an extremely un-cruel, good mood.
The sliding door of the office opened, and Larry and the Sligs were dazzled by a rather unsettling purplish light.
“Come in.” Warbled a nasal, grating voice.
Chapter 10: Sentencing and Surprises
Vykker Murphy was the model Vykker. At least, the model Vykker in Industrialist eyes. He was grouchy, overly cruel, selfish, short-tempered, greedy, callous and profit-crazed. Again, the perfect role mode for any young Vykker. His appearance was pretty much of the standard Vykker, purple, a bit shorter and fatter than most, and wearing undersized spectacles. And today, Larry was going to get a punishment courtesy of him.
“Better behave good and act however he wants. I can’t afford too severe a sentence.”
Larry entered the Vykker’s office in pain, still sore from his mauled leg and obviously agonized by the bullets. The two Sligs threw him into the hard metal chair before Murphy’s desk, strapped his wrists down and tied his legs to the chair legs, then one moved to guard the door while the other moved to guard the Vykker, who had just risen from his chair and was peering at Larry with a malicious smile upon his face.
“Ah, the infamous escape artist Larry. Well, I cannot deny I have been anticipating sentencing you to something for some time. Now, I believe the usual punishment for two escape attempts is to have both of your legs broken, but one already is so, I may need to rethink.”
The Vykker sat back in his chair and turned it around, facing away from Larry; who currently was feeling a strong urge to tear the Vykker limb from limb, but obviously couldn’t in his current state. He kept his face looking fearful and tortured however, so that there would be no reason for the Sligs to further beat him.
‘Not that that ever stops them.’ He thought worriedly.
One of the Sligs had moved towards Murphy, asking about the punishment
“Err, sir? I were wondering, could you give him to us as clubbing and training practice? Cause I’d love ter beat the lil’ whelp up a bit.”
The Vykker turned to look the Slig in the eye, who shifted under his gaze
“No, oh no no no my silly little Slig. You see, this pest has been a great deal of trouble for us in Management, so I think he deserves a more, lasting punishment.”
‘That can’t be good.’ Larry thought as Murphy swivelled back in his seat to face Larry, and then stood again, scuttled around the desk, and bent down to whisper in Larry’s ear
“I know how many times you have tried to escape, you little piece of vermin, and believe me, it only takes one word to make Boss Godrar stick you in the grinder, but I’m keeping you around for now so as to crush slave morale each time you try and escape. So, I wouldn’t advise another escape, or I may just let something slip in one of the Directors’ conferences.”
Larry shivered, he knew he’d have to be very careful from now on. It looked as though he truly was unable to try and get out from now on.
Murphy returned to behind his desk, with another of his evil grins on his face.
“But enough talking of the future, now I must decide your punishment. And I think it should be I who carries it out. Well, for some time now, the few Vykkers here have been trying to develop a serum which prevents meat from going off, by numbing it, cooling the blood and basically draining all nutrition from the meat temporarily, so that no bacteria eat it, and it doesn’t rot, and it can be stored for as long as we wish without the need of salting. It has to be temporary, as flavourless, useless lumps of cold meat would not sell. Now, we believe we have developed a formula to do this, but I personally do not wish to test it on our produce. So, I will test it on you. I don’t wish you to die, as a lost worker requires expenses to be paid to replace you, so you will probably survive the testing. But believe me; you will probably have some after-effects for some time after, which will hopefully teach you to NOT WASTE OUR TIME BY ESCAPING. Now, Sligs, remove the slave from his chair and bring him to the product testing laboratory, and we can begin.”
He then turned back to Larry as he was hauled out of the chair
“Oh, and believe me slave, it won’t hurt a bit. At least, not until I give you the injection!”
Larry shivered, terrified, as Murphy laughed sadistically and exited, the Sligs frogmarching him out straight after the Vykker.
Chapter 11: Pain and Suffering
Worry. At what would happen to him.
As the Slig ‘escorts’ marched Larry to the product testing lab, Murphy grinning and making notes on a clipboard along the way.
Dread. For what was soon to come.
As the laboratory’s doors opened, and Larry was marched inside, while Murphy hobbled over to some sort of chute and inserted a bottle of some strange liquid into it.
Fear. Towards the horrors that he would experience, and his impossibility of escape.
As he was strapped into a traditional Vykker operating chair. Straps were bound tight about his wrists and ankles, more tied across his shoulders. A leather choker was fastened about his neck, and a metal head restraint jammed about his forehead roughly. The restraint was old, and carelessly jammed on, cutting his head slightly. The restraint was clamped on, and winched up slightly by a button at the panel which Murphy now stood at. Larry felt his head and body straightened, as he sat there, unable to move, in utter terror.
Whatever the metal thing that Murphy had put the bottle in was, it was moving. Towards him, at a frightening pace. Noticing the end of the contraption being a long point with a slight hole in it, Larry suddenly twigged.
Ahh, it’s a big syringe....then…Dammit, I’m in trouble.
The syringe neared, the point of it inches of his neck, which was apparently the injection point. And the tip was drawing nearer each second. Larry could feel his heart hammering inside his ribcage, as the bluish fluid that was in the inserted bottle seemed to drain towards the end of the mechanical syringe.
The fear intensified. Then, Pain. Lots of pain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Trevor sat gloomily in his cell, pondering Larry’s fate. He had been sent back to his cell rather than made to continue the work shift because, under directions from a Junior Executive towards the sligs, he was a threat to the work force and needed isolation then questioning.
He remained in his worry, looking up for a moment s he saw a Slig walk in, holding some pieces of paper. The Slig tied each onto a bar on each cell using some string that had been threaded through the paper, and then made to leave. Trevor, curious, called after the Slig.
“’Scuse me, but what’re them pieces of paper for?”
The Slig smirked, then walked back towards him a bit.
“Well, I don’ need ta tell ya, ‘cause you can find out for yerself. Just ‘ave a read, that is, if you can read, mud freak.” The Slig honked a laugh then continued out. Trevor shuffled over to the paper, tied to the bar, and read what was on it. The more he read, the more his face began to show a look of distaste and gloom.
“Oh Dear.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Larry screamed in pain as the needle broke the skin on his neck, hot tears of agony flowing down his face as the point entered his flesh, before feeling a horrible liquid enter his throat.
The pain continued, burning as though a white hot poker had been stabbed into his neck, before the feeling spread around the whole of his body. Gradually however, the pain fade, to be replace with a more chilling sensation, literally. He felt his body go cold, not on the surface, but inside. It was a peculiar feeling, to have your outer body warm but your bones, blood and muscles feel iced. But soon, he couldn’t even feel that. In fact, he couldn’t feel any of his body. He felt numb, as though he he’d been standing in severe frost with nothing but his loincloth on.
Soon, more strange feelings developed. The pain returned, but in his head, and in his heart, a dull ache and sharp throb respectively. He tried to cry out, but found he couldn’t. He tried to move his fingers, but his whole body felt like jelly, and felt shrivelled and itchy. His brain processed as well as it could that this must be the stage where the nutrition is drained, but shortly he couldn’t even think, or see, straight. He couldn’t even tell if his heart was beating, having lost completely all feeling in his body. A dull pressure seemed to be beating on the inside of his head, his lungs struggling to draw breath, before stopping.
Even as he gradually suffocated from paralysis, Larry’s mind dimly registered that this must be what it’s like to be a zombie. Everything seemed to fade, Larry barely knowing he was alive, until a second injection, unfelt but felt at the same time was made into his stomach. Gradually the pressure on his head faded, the pain changing to more of a weary ache, as though he had overworked himself physically. Sight, and thought, and feeling, returned to him, warmth very slowly reappearing as well. His body felt less atrophied and he felt less ill, these sensations being replaced by a strong desire for rest, and a nausea that was nothing to do with his emotions, but all to do with his condition.
The Sligs, who had watched with fascinated glee, now unstrapped him and threw him hard onto the floor, one kicking at his ribs as well. Murphy peered down at Larry with a look of triumph, slight surprise, and a sneer.
“Well well well little troublemaker. It seems you’re tougher than I thought, and you have proved my serum to be a success. I congratulate you for surviving, but, had my formula been incorrect, I promise you that I would have informed Boss Godrar of your past misdemeanours. As it turned out correct, I’ll spare you the grinder for now.”
He turned quickly to the Sligs, who snapped to attention.
“Sligs, take this piece of filth back to his cell, now. And make sure he doesn’t leave your grip or sight.”
Both Sligs gave out the standard reply. “Sir yes sir boss Murphy!”
The two then saluted, hauled Larry up quickly and painfully, and half marched; half dragged him wordlessly out of the labs.
Chapter 12: Consequences
Thud! Larry’s face hit the hard corrugated steel floor. “And don’cha try that again, or we’ll make sure you end up dead, mud.” Snarled one of the Slig guards through the door bars, as he locked the barred door shut. Larry was unable to reply, the blood from the cuts on his head and now on his face mingled with the tears he tried to hold back.
‘Wait, this is familiar, like the last time I was caught. I hate déj* vu.’ Larry thought. Although this time, there was no consolation from Trevor, no ironically just words from Jeff, only the anger from Max as the brutish slave shoved Larry into the far wall.
“What the-” Larry began, but was soon silenced when Max threw him down onto the floor.
“This is what’s up!” Max raged, forcing Larry to the cell bars, making him look at a piece of paper that, while now tattered and muddy, could still be read. Trevor looked on in worry, as did Jeff, as Larry read on, still held tight by Max.
Upon the paper, it read:
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By order of Septik Snaks CEO, Chairgluk and President- Boss Godrar, the following orders have been imposed upon mudokon employee life to prevent any more escapists:
1) Sleep will now take place with two Slig guards to a cell for the full rest period.
2) Lunch is now cut to 15 minutes, and any mudokons finished before that time report to their stations immediately. No exceptions for handicapped, incapacitated or late mudokons. Any that stay beyond the lunch period will be physically punished and put on Stockyard cleaning duty for a week.
3) Two Sligs will now stand guard at each work location within each Zulag, and they may use any force necessary to keep mudokons in order.
4) Company Policy #134, also known as the three strikes rule; is officially ended, to be replaced by Company Policy #326 aka the 1 strike rule. This new penalty means that any Mudokon in breach of 1st degree rules will be isolated with 1 meal a week for 3 months, those in breach of 2nd degree rules will be isolated with 1 meal a week for 5 months AND be put on Slog feeder duty in one of the Livestock Zulags for 1 month. Finally, Mudokons in breach of 3rd degree rules (Such as assault upon an Executive, escape attempts and persistent or organized mass work haltage) will be executed in the grinders.
These new orders are in conjunction with the new Company Employment Decree #97, as officially signed by Boss Godrar. If you have any complaints about these policies, please take them out on Mudokon Employee 230, known as Larry. We have provided his Employment Induction photo below should you have difficulty in recognizing him by name alone.
Signed
Vykker Rasputin, Employee-Management Relations.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Larry stared at his picture in horror, before he felt himself wrenched away by Max who, still red with anger, struck him down with a hard right slap. The other twentysomething mudokons in his cell had crowded around to watch, half enjoying seeing the one who had caused such strictness get injured, the other half-including Trevor and Jeff- watching in fear and fright.
Max spat a rage-filled sentence out slowly, forcing Larry back down with each pause:
“You made…our life even…harder…you ruined any chance…of getting along… in … this place…you sneaking…moronic…stubborn…pissheaded little slurg!”
Trevor watched on, his chant-suppressing shackles stopping him from using his (admittedly incomplete) shaman powers to help Larry. So he could do little but think to himself ‘Max is started to sound like a Slig. This looks bad.’ What was worse was with each venomous insult and shove or blow, Larry gradually turned bluish, a sign that depression may be imminent. Max, not noticing, persisted, until Larry finally snapped, and he curled up, blue-skinned, in a sobbing ball, weeping with regret about his actions and begging for Max to not hurt him. This pitiful sight seemed to finally bring Max back to as close to sanity as he gets, and, rage spent, he sagged to his knees, patting Larry and mumbling that he hadn’t meant it.
Half the crowd looked relieved that the onslaught was ended, the other half looked as though they wished Max had done just a bit more to make sure Larry got the message that he’d f***ed up. Trevor noticed that they were no longer alone, that a few Sligs had turned up to watch, including, to his disgust, Arthur and Lak, who were muttering to each other and exchanging what appeared to be light-hearted apologies and acceptances. However, Arthur seemed to have a hint of….something not quite genuine about him. Whether his stance, his expression, his actions or what, Trevor didn’t know, but something was up.
“We better check on Larry.” Jeff muttered, who was seemingly in tune with reality for the moment, which snapped Trevor out of his thoughts.
“Yeah, right.” He replied, and they both hurried over to Larry, crouching down and trying to bring him out of his depressed state. Chatting amicably, giving him sympathy and encouragement, this worked with most mudokons. Larry’s appearance seemed to become healthier in mindset, the blue tone faded and he stopped sobbing, but Trevor and Jeff, and Max to an extent, knew it would be some time, if ever, before he was back to his old state.
Chapter 13: 1 Year Later
A Year had passed since ‘The Day’, as the four called it. A year since the day when it had all turned around. A year sine the slig they had thought of as a friend, Arthur, turned out to be like the rest. A year since the escape that had gone so badly wrong had nearly cost Larry his life. A year since the Preservation Pills had first been tested (And were now making very good money for Septik Snaks), and on Larry no less. A year since the day when the Company Employment Decree #97 aka the 1 strike rule, had been implemented. And a year since the friendship between four mudokons had been so badly shaken by the repercussions of this Decree.
Little has changed in the running of the factory, the new rule and new product being the only difference between now and a year ago. However, much has changed for the inhabitants of the factory.
Larry, once an optimistic, stubborn, dreamer of a mudokon, who never said die, has changed. The depression, sparked by the fight with Max, has faded, but it has left its effects. Through his 3 companions, Larry was able to shake off his misery; however it has struck deep, with Larry no longer having the will to resist, t try and escape. His courage has been destroyed, and he has become just another slave, rather than a secret source of inspiration.
Trevor has grown wiser, yet weaker as well. The new Decree has made it impossible for a mudokon to live a capable life, the Sligs on guard at sleep-hours preventing Mudokons from getting rest, and the scarce time for lunch draining them of food, and of sources of energy. While Larry has been hurt mentally, Trevor, like Jeff, has been drained physically.
Speaking of Jeff, he too is a shell now. No longer the relaxed, calm-in-any-situation, carefree guy he was, he is now a recluse. His past addictions to Brew and Gas haunt him, his addled mind no longer proving a source of untimely calm. The hardships of modern factory life have affected him to the point where he is often the one in the corner, remaining quiet and still. Not in a depression, but in solitude. He brightens up occasionally, but his weakened body doesn’t do well for his conflicting brain.
Max has also changed. His rage is harder to spark off now, for he fears he may again harm a companion. He is not shunned by Larry, yet is viewed as a crazed lunatic by most, feared by Trevor and not so much ignored as treated indifferently by Jeff. Those who supported him in the fight now steer clear of him, afraid they might set him off. This has sent Max dangerously close to depression, he is no longer a permanent reddy-green, but at times of trouble, almost a turquoise colour, signs that he may slip into the state that afflicted Larry for almost 5 months. His physical state has drained too, his formerly bulky form now a slightly lankier frame that shows he was once a formidable mudokon, but a harsh lifestyle has got the better of him.
But it is not just the mudokons who have changed. Arthur has changed too. He is now pretty much a ‘normal’ slig. He won’t say no to beating a mudokon, he may not be friends with Lak and his gang but is no longer an enemy of theirs. As for his treatment to our four....heroes, for lack of a better term, Arthur is cold. The neutrality bordering on friendship he once shared with them is gone, replaced by a dislike for them. He will beat them viciously if they displease him, and yet, behind this new Arthur, there is still something not quite genuine.
So all in all, life at Septic Snaks has taken a turn for the worst in the past year. The friendship of Max, Larry, Jeff and Trevor is hanging by a thread, Arthur has gone all-out Slig, slave life is at its hardest, and the factory is making enough money to replace the slaves who die of the conditions.
‘Things can only go up from here right?’ The 4 mudokons would each think, unknown to each other; as every day drew to a close. These thoughts occupied the minds of all four more or less every night, ‘Sooner or later, that Abe guy or someone will save us, hopefully.’ was the thought each had at many mornings. And morning it soon would be.
Chapter 14: A Further Descent.
Larry dragged himself up of his bunk as he heard the door flung open, he hadn’t been able to sleep anyway. He, and the other mudokons, rarely slept anyway, especially considering how hard they were worked now. His body felt cold- a lasting side-effect of ‘Meat-Freez’ as it had been dubbed. He shuffled out of the door noticing that it was Arthur who had woken them. He looked at the Slig he had once nearly been able to call a friend, almost trying to look into Arthur’s soul. Arthur looked away uneasily and pushed him on, hurrying the mudokons out and off to work.
Pull the lever. Wait for the meat to drop onto the conveyor belt. Pull the second lever, moving it along the conveyor belt for another mudokon to move on. Repeat. Larry was sick of it. Over 22 out of 25 hours a day spent performing one action. Today he hadn’t even got breakfast; another mudokon had taken his bowl from him before he could even start to eat.
‘They still hate me for what happened last year.’ Larry thought, miserably. Every day he’d come close to returning to his depression, indeed there had been points last year when he had. He’d never attempted suicide though; his resolve had always held just enough to prevent that. ‘But maybe death would be a release.’ Larry thought again, and again had to shake himself out of his misery by returning to his job- He’d pulled the lever for the meat chute several times without moving the conveyor belt on. Meat was piling up and the others on his station were moaning already. He hurried to pull the other lever, trying to let the others catch up, repeating “Sorry, sorry!” as he did so.
Trevor, a few sections along from Larry, was also deep in thought. Rather than being depressed however, Trevor was thinking about a mixture of Larry and Arthur. Never did a day pass when he didn’t think about one or both of the two- Concern for Larry’s emotional state and whether he would ever be able to try for freedom again, and for Arthur, he was trying to find a way to widen the chink he’s spotted nearly as soon as Arthur changed.
‘Arthur never seemed quite normal about his new attitude. There seems something forced about it, part of it is real hate and desire to fit in, but there’s also something I can’t put my finger on. As though he doesn’t completely resent us. I’ll have to try and get to him; back when he was ‘with’ us we always had a hope of freedom, what with having a guy on the inside more or less.’ Trevor finished his musings, focusing on the task at hand. Only 4½ more hours until lunch.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Max hauled another crate up onto the back of the truck, watched by an armed guard constantly. His strength was put to use here- lifting heavy food products in crates onto the truck, saving Slig work and saving the use of more mudokons. His anger motivated him, yet he would never go for the guard. Max knew the Slig would pop a clip of bullets in him if he so much as looked at him wrong.
‘I may be hot-headed, but I ain’t stupid. I know where to stop. At least I do these days.’ Max thought to himself, straining and lifting another crate onto the truck. He’d do this for 20 hours, and then work another 2 hours feeding the scrabs, trusted to be able to handle them. He was hungrier than usual today though, having had little food, so wasn’t sure how he’d cope when it came to his end-of-day routine. 2 hours until the 15 minute lunch break.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Jeff scrubbed away, working his rear end off cleaning the bloodied floor of the meat storage room. He watched another chunk of meat, this time seemingly Elum, drop through the trapdoor, and watched as another pair of mudokons dragged a slab of meat over the trapdoor for the next drop.
“Stop slackin’” Thwack!
The slig keeping guard over his area, who was standing next to him as it was a convenient position, raised his club again. Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! Another three blows. Jeff’s back was screaming in pain, as was his head. He kept submissive and returned to scrubbing, before shuffling on to another part of the floor.
“Wait! I wan’ this floor so clean I can see my magazine pics in it an’ this ain’t good enough.” The Slig screeched at him. Not wanting it to be any worse, Jeff shuffled back and cleaned the same spot again. When worked like this a job that should take 1 hour could take 5, which got him in trouble for not working enough.
‘Stupid Slig, being awkward just to make things worse for me.’ Jeff thought, his bead necklace rattling as he dipped his sponge back into the soap bucket.
The horn blew, signifying a 15 minute lunch break. Jeff got up to go, before being shoved back down by his guard.
“Were do yew think yer goin’? I want that floor clean!” His guard honked.
Jeff was used to being picked on by the Sligs; his eccentric personality was often the butt of physical or verbal abuse.
“Getting’ my lunch.” Jeff answered, getting up to go again.
Another shove back down, and a blow from the gun. “Don’ backtalk me mud!” The Slig snarled.
“Lemme go for my lunch!” Jeff retorted.
“Yeh’ve brought this on yerself.” The Slig answered, before beginning to lay into him with his gun.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Where’s Jeff?” Was the first thing leaving Trevor’s mouth after he got his gruel and sat with the other 2.
“Hey yeah, he’s usually here quite early, cause he’s stationed near the entrance this day of the week.” Answered Larry.
“Think something’s up?”
“If there is, I’ll sort it out.” Max snarled.
Trevor shook his head “I have a better idea,” he gestured to a group of Sligs “Arthur.”
“Yeah, get us another beating why don’t you. He. Has. Changed, you need to get that Trev.” Larry responded sarcastically, taking another mouthful of gruel.
“Look, I know you’ve noticed it about him too-something seems wrong.” Trevor got up and walked over to Arthur, who was talking casually to another Slig.
“Hey Arthur, can I speak for a minute.” Trevor asked.
Arthur turned, laughed and clouted Trevor “What? Talk ter me? Spit it out quick mud, I don’ wanna hear yer life story.”
“Well, my friend Jeff hasn’t showed up for lunch. He should’ve been here ages ago, and it’s nearly end of lunch. I think he might be getting beat up.” Trevor spoke bluntly yet carefully, giving the facts yet not asking for help.
Arthur’s eyes flashed with something other than sarcasm and hate, before returning to normal “And what? You want me to go watch it? Sure, a mud beating sounds fun.” Arthur shuffled off towards where he knew Jeff’s station for the day be, and Trevor, Larry then Max followed, the former looking satisfied, the latter 2 curious as to what Trevor was up to.
~~~~~~~~~
Arthur entered the room to see a Slig beating the life out of a bruised and frightened Jeff.
“Scrub” Scrub! If you don’t start workin’ I’ll just club harder!” The Slig raged, forcing Jeff to clean the floor as he beat him.
Max started, but the other two held him back
“Lemme see what Arthur does.” Whispered Trevor.
Arthur started as well, but then stopped and strode up behind the Slig, grabbing the club as he raised it and yanking it off him.
“What’re you doing?” He asked.
The Slig looked confused, snarling back “Beatin’ a mud.” He said casually.
“No yer not, not like this while I’m here,” the mudokons looked on hopeful, only for their hopes to be dashed.
“That’s not the easiest way to beat a mud like this guy. This is.”
And with that, Arthur started laying into Jeff, over and over, hard, quick, smooth, back and forth, overhead and backhand swings with the club, pounding Jeff’s bare body time after time.
Trevor, Max and Larry looked on, horrified.
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So that's where I left off. The new chapter will be posted tomorrow if enough interest in this is shown. Anybody who is able to find the time to read it all, please post back with your opinions.
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Fuzzle Guy: Apart from going swimming I've never been more wet in my life than when I went to see Take That.
Last edited by Splat; 10-04-2008 at 12:26 PM..
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I love how you made the Sligs so mean and I love the Mudokons too. 
)
Excellent dilema for Arthur!
Yay Munch's Master! That was awesome!! 
I like Trevor! I hope he can somehow evade execution. Great chapter Munch's Master, can't wait to see what happens next.
