Vula's Oddysee

[Lacy Hemsmire]

Rupture Farms 1029 was on full alert. Thick, black smoke billowed like giant serpents towards the gray-green sky, pulsating from massive smokestacks. The largest plant on Oddworld was a complex network of steel pathways and dropoffs that would kill anyone that happened to fall off the edge. Strange machines patrolled the skies. The largest structure - at least what could be seen from above - was at the center of the plant. The cylindrical building was stamped with a fading gargantuan face of a glukkon and within it, held one of the most powerful glukkons on Oddworld.

Although it could not be seen through the pollution, it was nearing sunset. Deep within the confines of the plant, several dozen sligs gathered in a cafeteria. The area functioned like any other - there was a line of sligs waiting for lunch, served by Mudokons of course; rows of tables where sligs would sit and eat; vending machines full of cigarettes and coffee - provided one had the moolah to pay for it. While the area was large enough to accomodate several hundred people at once, the only Mudokons one would find were behind the counters serving food to hungry, boasting sligs.

"Maaan!" A slig at the front of the line inhaled deeply. "Someone gotten this place clean yet? Smells like a sewer pipe in here!" His sneering remark was aimed at the serving Mudokons, who ignored him. The sligs in front of and behind him cackled.

While the life of a slig was generally considered terrible work, each of them dealt with it in his own way. The newest sligs imitated the more experienced ones. The most powerful sligs set the example, generally barking orders to the fresher sligs and bribing them for favors. The sligs in the middle were neither powerful nor new, consisting mostly of sligs that had either just found their place in slig "society" or those that were much more seasoned. Sligs lived mostly simple lives, going where they were assigned, gambling, snoozing when they could, and whipping Mudokons into shape.

A slig that had just gotten through the line made his way back to the slig that had spoken, "Yeah, nice one, Lurdo!"

The slig called Lurdo grinned behind his mask and left the line. The other slig joined him.

"Where on earth ya been the last few days?"

"Eh, here, there," Lurdo grunted. "Guess what?"

"What?" Grob asked as they made their way to a table.

Lurdo placed his tray down and pointed to himself dramatically. "They're promotin' me tonight. No more shitty slog food!" He snarled at the mess of food on his tray and dug into it messily.

"Man, Lurdo. How'd you get so lucky?"

Lurdo wiped off his tentacles. "'Cuz. Unlike all you lazy slobs I actually love this job here!"

"You just like hitting the slaves," came the snide remark of a slig across from him.

In a single moment, Lurdo's attitude twisted into something else as he launched himself over the table, powerful arm finding the snide slig's throat in a second. The slig's yelp twisted into a choking cough as he struggled to get away, but Lurdo's grip was iron.

"Don't ever tell me what I like and don't like, worm!" Lurdo growled. The other slig whimpered what could've been translated as an agreement. Lurdo released him, a flick of his arm sending the slig sprawling into the opposite table with a crash.

Grob's eyes went wide. "L-Lurdo... what was that?"

"Got a problem?" Lurdo snapped. "Want a piece of this?"

"N-no!" Grob held up his hands innocently. "I'm just wondering what got into ya. You used to be a real fun guy."

Lurdo growled again. "Sayin' I'm not funny anymore, Grob?"

"Ah… Just forget it. I dunno what I'm sayin'." Grob got to his feet and tossed the tray he had into the trash. "I gotta get back to my shift early before the bell sounds. I hate runnin’ in these pants'."

On his way back to his post, Grob shook his head. Lurdo had always been one of the "nicer" sligs. There was no slig that didn't enjoy the occasional slave assault, although it wasn't as common as one thought. In fact, a chunk of it was gossip and anti-Industrial rumors. But to turn your back on your own was astounding to him. He knew there was bullying and teasing but rarely did sligs attack one another outright. If there was a reason, sure, but... Lurdo had always been relatively friendly no matter the attitude of the other slig. Hell, he rarely even picked on the slaves. The Mudokons, he knew, probably hoped to have him as the overseeing slig. And in a span of a few days his pal had gone from nice guy to a complete and total jerk. A dangerous one.

Grob returned to his room to check his next assignment. As he read it, he grimaced. "Paired with a couple'a freshies," he snarled, and headed to the slog kennels to grab a partner before he headed out. As he headed out there, he heard an alarm go off. It was too far away for him to get to. In fact, it was down several floors. He wondered if they'd show up at his post with the freshies.

===


The air was heavy with apprehension. Sligs were on full alert. Slogs were snapping at everything that moved. It was officially dark - the sky was black anyway, but in places where the smoke faded the sky was a clear, dark blue, glittering with starlight. In spite of that, it was near pitch-black outside and, unless you were lucky enough to be posted near one of the lights, you were patrolling in the dark. There was very little grass near the main building of Rupture Farms. When you were lucky enough to be on something that wasn't steel or concrete, it didn't feel like anything natural.

To the slogs, the earth felt dirty somehow. While dirt is indeed "dirty", the earth here had a sticky, dead feel to it, like the life had long since been sucked from it. The slogs did not like it, but they were trained to ignore it. Either way, natural earth was much better than walking on grimy, stained and smelly steel or concrete. It could be said that they might've envied their sligs, who lived with metallic pants, could not feel the ground beneath them.

Grob was so very irritated. The two sligs patrolling with him were very new. It was always the new ones he was stuck with.

"Hey, Grob!" one of the sligs hissed, weapon pressed carefully against his body. He seemed smaller than the others, and somehow more nervous. "How long are these shifts?"

Grob huffed, finger reaching up to unconsciously rub the scar along the side of his mask. He'd gotten it in a friendly brawl with another slig.

"Bleh." He seemed about to continue, as he hadn't stopped marching and was prepared to show that he could insult and patrol at the same time, but he realized something. He fell silent for a moment, tiny fingers stroking his rifle. "Who the hell are ya?"

"I don't have ...I don't have a name," the slig whispered.

Grob chuckled to himself, which morphed into a sadistic snicker.

"It goes like this." The slig slung his body around and turned to face the significantly smaller slig. "You obey the boss. If you see any slaves makin' a run for it, shoot 'em on sight." He turned and continued his patrol. The slog next to the nameless slig growled again. "The shift ends whenever the others relieve us."

Silly freshie. Must've been his first time out anywhere at all. His training didn't even show through in his demeanor, which disappointed him. While Grob himself wasn't really the hardest working slig in the bunch, he certainly knew what to do when the boss was around. He didn't feel like saying anything. The third slig was even larger than himself, but much more quiet.

----

Around the corner, in the shadows, four creatures pressed themselves against the wall. Their leader was out in front, peering very carefully around to eye the chatting sligs. Yellow-red eyes slid back to the others behind them.

"Duck down, and follow my lead." The voice did not seem to have a particular gender assigned to it, although the owner was whispering. The leader pressed its body against the ground, carefully creeping along in the shadows, taking slow, deep breaths in an attempt to calm its racing heart. It glanced behind them to see the other three figures and pressed on.

A single bark sounded and the creatures froze, trembling. The barks increased, mixed with growling and soon all the slogs were barking, creating a racket and the sligs were scrambling to keep them in check. One of the slogs caught a scent and everyone knew it. The snarl it emitted was unearthly as it made a beeline for the crouching slaves.

"Stay down!' the leader hissed, but the others scrambled to their feet and sprinted in all directions. One by one they were shot down by the three sligs.

The leader barked an order, but it went unheard and it prepared to sprint away to save itself.

But there was no time. By the time it'd gotten up, lights were blaring in their faces, alarms going off, and the butt of a rifle slammed against the leader's head.

-------

"And I thought you had a sense of self-preservation, slave!" barked a gruff, masculine voice.

"Ugh.." the Mudokon tried to her head, grimacing at the caked blood along the side of her face. But she was suspended by her wrists from cuffs hanging from the ceiling. There were no windows. It was perfectly cylindrical, with an indentation in the floor and a faint roaring beneath. Something dangerous was under there.

"And yet, here you are again." The slig before her paced back and forth. There was a small one next to him. "And I think ya need to see what it's like on the bottom of the food chain... " His powerful arm lashed out with the baton and struck the Mudokon across her body, causing her to yelp. “Just wait till I report you to the boss!”

The smaller slig winced from beside him.

The large one cackled. "Go for it!" He handed the small one the baton.

“I dunno how to do it!” Gingerly, the little slig approached her, and slung it, halfheartedly, at her leg. It hurt, but not nearly as much as before, and she hissed through clenched teeth as her thigh bruised considerably.

"Not hard enough!" The larger slig growled, and seemed to want to snatch away the baton, but he hesitated. "You know what.. I think I'll leave you two alone. When it's an inch away from death, go get someone to cut it down." The slig passed through the open doorway and was gone, muttering to himself.

The little slig coughed, sniffed, and studied the baton in his hands.

The Mudokon trembled against the cold and growled raggedly at the slig. "Well?" she hissed in her strange, almost genderless voice that sounded like every other Mudokon in the plant. "Finish it!" Her glazed eyes glared weak daggers at the slig below her. The Mudokon was in great pain, and well-used to being hit. However, she just couldn't cry. She was too proud, too stubborn, to ashamed, to cry out. Her friends - at least the ones that had had the courage to follow her in an attempted escape, were either going to be punshed or killed, and it was all her fault. She'd take every blow with a snarl and suffer the punishment she deserved for her failure.

Angered, the slig slung his arm and again, hit only hard enough to bruise, on the same leg. She bit her tongue and jerked her head, eyes closed tight as the slap of metal on flesh echoed through the room.

When all fell silent again, the Mudokon growled at him again and spit on him.

"Yuck! That's disgusting!” And the slig began frantically wiping off his arm where it had landed.

And the Mudokon’s eyes widened a little. There was something unusual about the slig before her. Maybe he was young. In all the years she’d known sligs, she’d only seen them from the butt-end of the rifle or, in some cases, from the muzzle-end on one side and the rancid slog breath on the other.

This one seemed to have a personality. If anything, almost hesitant to hit her. She could've been wrong, so she attempted to weasel it out of him. Maybe she could use this one to her advantage.

“Well, stop being a pansy and do it right." She sneered, body throbbing from the pain, but still thankful her head hadn’t been hit recently. The hollow bones would no doubt be crushed with a second blow.

The little slig studied at her for several moments, rubbing the baton in his hand. "Wait - you look.. you're not a ...girl are you?"

The female Mudokon struggled. “Yeah, so?”

The slig gulped.

There was rumbling outside. “I can’t talk... I gotta...” He twitched, eyeing the baton.

Suddenly the Mudokon had an idea. “Tell you what... you get me down from here.. and I’ll forgive you...”

"Forgive ME?!" the slig snapped. "YOU'RE the one that tried to escape! I'm only doing what I'm told.."

"Maybe so.." The Mudokon trembled in spite of herself. Her body hurt, her arms were sore and numb, and she was exhausted. She was in a hurry to get this done. "It's either that.. or you grow a backbone and hit me."

“I DON’T HEAR SCREAMING!” A disembodied voice came from outside the room.

Suddenly the female Mudokon screamed, and panted, whimpering as she pantomimed with her fingers, pointing to the cuffs that held her and again to some strange device on the wall. It was next to a lever. The little slig glared dangerously at her.

"It's now or never, slig boy. Do it or just knock me out or something!" Vula hissed, trying to ignore her own pain.

The slig thought to himself. By pushing that button he would save her life - and ultimately - lose his own if he were ever caught. He remembered being warned of talking to the Mudokons - a few of them were big thinkers and their questions ultimately led to their rebellion. He didn't trust her. A Mudokon like her could have easily gotten him killed - but what if he did help her? He wasn't necessarily compassionate, and this was his first full day at Rupture Farms. He had no idea what to believe.

Finally, the slig grimaced and hit the button on the strange device.

The shackles released her and she fell into a heap on the floor. Her fingers immediately found her ribs, where blood dribbled down and a welt was already consuming her side. “That jerk hits hard,” she panted.

“YOU DONE YET?” the voice came again.

The slig hesitated. “I got her down and I’ll take her to the uh... where do I take her?”

Immediately the Mudokon went limp and he carefully lifted her over his back. “You better not be lying to me,” he hissed at her.

“Likewise,” came her ragged reply.

The door opened.

“You’re holding it wrong. Hold it by the wrists. They’re strong but they’re clumsy, eheheh. Take it to the shelters. They’re out there near the stockyard, not far from our post.”

The slig nodded, and readjusted his grip on her before trudging out.

“Oh and don’t try anything funny.” The larger slig hissed.

---

The nameless little slig hefted the Mudokon down the narrow hallways, head cast somewhat downward as he tried to avoid the stares of his co-workers. One of them piped, “Prison duty?” and laughed.

He did not like the Mudokon, but he figured he could get away with this one thing. Besides, he'd make her pay or something later. No doubt their boss would punish her for her misdeed.

He brought her out into the darkness, shivering at the screech of the scrabs as they echoed in the pits further out. The sky was growing gray and soon the sun would rise. There was a chill in the air and he could feel it and hated it. Dew was collecting on the ground and the metallic walkways. His metallic pants, normally somewhat warm, were already beginning to drop in temperature and he could feel it inside them.

She was lightweight, but her apparent unconscious state was irritating him and he was thankful when he could put her down inside the slave hold. To his surprise it was nearly empty, the few remaining occupants were in a dead sleep.

She weakly climbed onto the steel platform that functioned as her makeshift bed. “Heh.. thanks.”

“Answer my questions?” he asked - or rather, demanded, although the sudden upturn of his voice made it seem otherwise.

“Only if you answer mine,” she whispered, eyes narrowed. The slig hesitated. The Mudokon raised her paw and gestured for him to come closer. “I’ll make you a deal,” she whispered. “You answer my questions, I answer yours."

At last, the slig nodded.

“One question at a time,” said the slig. And the Mudokon nodded. “What’s your name?”

“Vula,” she whispered. “You?”

The slig frowned. “Don’t have one.. you have to earn them here.”

“Then I’ll call you... Drog,” Vula replied. “I can’t just call you Slig anyway.”

The newly-christened Drog grunted at his displeasure of the name, but instead replied, “I gotta go.”

“Mmkay. When are you going to help me?”

“One question at a time, slave,” Drog replied, shutting the door behind him.

---

Her dull, yellow eyes were half-closed as she stared listlessly at the ground. The Mudokon Queen, once proud and free, was reduced to nothing more than a breeding female for someone else’s profit. She hardly noticed her own children anymore, had little feeling from her thorax down, and only half-listened to the program on the Shrink’s screen.

The Interns that, under normal conditions, handled the hundreds of eggs she laid each day, were without anything to do. They stared stupidly at one another, mostly hanging about the Queen’s rear, waiting for an egg. They were unused to waiting so long, and the Shrinks were beginning to irritate them. Some of them were bobbing their heads to some kind of music in their headphones.

After several moments of suspended silence, the Queen thrashed, screaming, shouting deranged insults at the Shrinks and surrounding Interns, who backed away frantically. Her flailing arms were weak, and eventually stopped moving again as she calmed, and downed a vial of liquid before inhaling deeply and growling to herself.

One of the Interns timidly approached her, intending to inquire about the eggs, when the Mudokon’s arms gave out and she collaped in a heap in the hay. The entire room began to panic, scrambling to lift her back up. In any other situation, it would’ve been humorous to see wrinkly, drooping creatures straining themselves in speedos.

One of them hurried towards a computer desk and started pressing a series of buttons, whimpering to himself.

A Vykker flickered to life on the large screen.

“What do you wa-- …ach, what are you WEARING?!” The Vykker snarled, lurching back dramatically.

“WHAT?” The Intern replied.

“I SAID. WHAT ARE YOU WE—Oh forget it,” The Vykker snarled. “What do you want?”

“WHAT?!” The Intern asked again, squinting his already strange-looking eyes to focus on the Vykker.

The Vykker grumbled. “Oh, forget this the—“

“WAIT!” The Intern dropped his headphones. “I just remembered! The Queen has fallen..” He glanced back behind him at the straining Interns. “…And she’s not getting up!”

The Vykker peered past the Intern and grimaced. “Oh… dear. Try and get her up. Check back with me in an hour.”

“But sir, if she doesn’t get up soon she’ll crush herself and whatever eggs are in there!”

The Vykker snarled. “If she does get in there and get them out! I’ll have your heads if you don’t!”

The Intern shut off the screen and hurried back to the others. The Interns heaved, pushing the seemingly-lifeless queen up again and helped her support herself. Panting, she came to.

“Get some more support chains!” The Intern grunted, and two others went to fetch them, and attached them to her upper arms and to two pillars around them. Once relaxed, she lay limply, unable to fall due to the chains squeezing her arms. They hurt, but she was too tired to care.

“What are you looking at?” she hissed. “Get back there… please. Get my eggs.”

The Interns stared at one another.

“Get them and remove them… I’ll give them to you. I don’t want them when…”

Nervously, the Interns moved around behind her and prepared for their usual duties.

[Zozo the Zrilufet]

Well female mudokons are cliché, but sterile-ness is fun. One thing I notice is that she's being beaten and all that, but um...She's still being a tad mouthy O.o., I mean even if she's used to it I don't think she wants to be beaten, unless she's too prideful to start crying from the pain. It also helps to take a line
like this
when you use ""'s. She also might feel bad that the escape didn't go to plan, but it seems good so far. I mean you have grammar basics, just don't expect too much of a nuclear family stereotype on Oddworld.

[Splat]

A nice idea. Not sure posting the plot summary right at the start was so great; usually better to let the readers work these things out for themselves, but still, not bad. Interesting characters; I quite like Vula; she's got a mission but she's not necessarily nice; she's happy to manipulate the slig. Drog might be a bit of a cliche so I'd make sure to give him a past and a personality beyond wimpy-nice. Why is he nicer than other sligs?
I'd also suggest lengthening the time it takes Vula to realise that this guy is not your average slig; it seems to abrupt for her to realise he's not just shy butis actually distainful of native life.

Still it was good and I might follow this But I'd use a larger text size for the chapters, the normal size would be fine. Reading so much tiny text makes for tired eyes!

[Lacy Hemsmire]

Thank you so much for the comments. I really appreciate them.
Zozo: You're very right. I was in a big hurry to write that first chapter down when it was in my head (I can't organize it all on paper or else it won't be written), but that makes a lot of sense so I'll run back through it and fix the problems. Ahaha, my grammar and spelling is limited to high school experience. xDD

Splat: Drog does indeed have a background, but I haven't revealed that quite yet. But I'll throw some stuff in the next chapters to lead up to that, certainly.

[Zozo the Zrilufet]

Yay 8D, well editing helps, I tend to look back on old stuff and want to...Kill it aaall - I mean edit it, if you want to describe a place it also helps to think of senses, like if it smells of Oddworldian pollution, is it painful, how it feels on a bare mudokon foot, the slig pants noises, etc. Have fun.

[scipionyx]

hey this is good, keep it up!

*looks forward to read more soon*

[Lacy Hemsmire]

Righto. :3 I'll have the second chapter up here tonight after I do my editing on them. Then we'll just see where it goes. Thanks again. <3

[Lacy Hemsmire]

Days passed. Hours upon hours followed after Vula healed. She wasn’t given much time, but she was able to work. She did not see Drog for a long time, and as she worked, she lost herself in her mind and thought of questions to ask him when - or if - they met again. What of slig culture? Why did they wear masks? Could they be bribed into not beating her?

All these questions and more filled her mind and occupied it as she scrubbed the meat grinders down. She didn’t want to think about her friends, who had vanished completely, and the disappointed glares of her fellow slaves and their sudden urge to avoid her. No, she couldn’t think about that.

As she worked, Vula was very careful. She was well used to washing and sanitizing the grinders. It was much too big and too heavy to pull apart by herself, so she had to climb up on top of it and wash out the tray with mops. It was terrifying work, for sligs lay scattered within eyesight, most of them snoozing. As long as she was quiet, and didn’t bother them, they didn’t pull the lever that would activate it while she was inside. If they did, she’d be ground up and sold without hesitation. 'Work-related accidents', they were called.

Lucky for Vula, the sligs that usually guarded this area were very lazy, as this was a remote place within the building and rarely did anyone come back here. The sligs didn’t want to bother with picking on one Mudokon. While she was a troublemaker, it wasn't often that she concocted such as scheme. Otherwise, she was a decent worker. Fat lot of good the work did her, as she was still picked on and pushed around by the sligs and occasionally hit by something. But now that Vula had something to work for, she hardly put up a fight. Besides, work was better than pain and boredom.

As long as she did her work, Vula knew that unless there was an accident, the Glukkons wouldn’t have her head. She finished scrubbing out the tray and set about hosing out the inside of the gigantic meat grinder. She was in between levels - some ten feet above her was the platform the sligs were resting on. Generally, when she finished, she could either climb up the ladder to the platform and quietly pass the snoozing sligs, or she would climb down and leave that way - today Vula would have to climb down and head to the lower levels.

The hose was loud and the water was hot - steam was pouring up through the top of the grinding chamber and she had to step back to avoid the spray. The water had to be hot and of very high pressure - otherwise it could not be cleaned properly. The grinder was very powerful and could handle massive amounts of meat - bone and all - with little problems. This one had been shut down temporarily because something had gotten stuck. It was no mystery - most likely some clumsy Mudokon slave had fallen in. Vula frowned as the stuck piece - the half crushed Mudokon skull - rolled out into the bottom tray and behind it, the rest of the leftover scraps. She was far too used to this and there was no time to ponder its source.

Vula emptied the bottom collective tray - skull and all - into the scrap bin. This was dirty work, as it required several to do. Being alone (as punishment), she had to empty it out via buckets. It took over an hour and when she’d finished she had to scrub it out. When she finished at last, wiped her forehead off and walked around to the back of the grinder. There was an intercom there, with a microphone and several buttons. She pressed a combination of numbers - which would direct her call to a higher floor above the grinder, and grabbed the microphone.

“Vula here - grinder’s all cleaned out now and I’m turning it on,” she panted.

A slig voice answered on the other end, but it was unfamiliar. “Right,” it said almost expressionlessly, and hung up. Vula switched on the machine and it warmed up in time for the conveyor belt above to restart. Soon large slabs of meat and bone began to drop into the loud, rumbling grinder, before it was emptied into the bottom tray and carried out along a separate conveyor belt, where it continued the cycle to be packaged. There was no slowing in production - there were at least eight to ten of these grinders stationed, throughout the complex, one of which was always shut down for maintinence.

Vula could not rest yet, even though she now smelled like rotten meat. She left and headed for her next assignment - floor waxing. After Abe had vanished, it was added onto Vula’s ever-increasing list of chores. Usually she went where she was called for the day, but this was one of those default chores. She didn’t like it - she wasn’t very good at it and usually ended up slipping after she was finished. This chore took her far up close to the boardroom. Unlike Abe, whom she had heard really loved his job - Vula loathed waxing the floor. It was much too close to the Glukkons.

Vula feared going towards the boardroom. It meant going to the place where Abe was last seen - where he had vanished, likely mashed up into dinner and served up by now. As she polished the floor, she studied her own reflection in the floor. She resembled her brothers save for the small difference only noticeable if one really looked. In fact - no one could really tell she was female. There were very few females that she knew. Stories were passed about, in whispers, and even occasional curious glances were cast at her.

Vula had the vaguest of feminine features. Her hips were slightly wider than most of the other Mudokons, and her “breasts”, if that was what one would call them, were hardly more than slight lumps on her chest. They didn’t resemble breasts and so she couldn’t cover them anyhow. They were hardly noticeable. But the proof lay in what was beneath her loin cloth. She never removed it around the others, just to avoid suspicion. She had enough as it was. She had the necessary equipment, but she doubted any of it actually worked.

When it came time for them to shower, she often risked not having enough time and always kept her back to everyone. They may have been siblings, but any of them would've ratted her out for his own freedom. The other Mudokons were virtually gender-neutral, and Vula didn’t bother to look and see if that was true or not. They had nothing to hide, but Vula just preferred to keep to herself anyway.

At last, the floor was finished, and a terrified peek in the boardroom once the sligs weren’t looking showed her that it was empty. While she was on her way to the closet to put the waxer away, one of the sligs slid across the floor and crashed into a heap on the wall. Vula scrambled to escape before it noticed.

----------


“Ugh...” Drog reloaded his Blunderbuss and fired a volley of rounds at the cardboard Mudokon cutout. With this weapon, he was told it didn’t exactly matter where he hit unless he had specific instructions. While he was not trained in use of the weapon, he figured out through trial and error everything he needed to know. It was basically a semi-automatic weapon, able to fire single shots as well as quick bursts and full automatic. It could be reloaded quickly and fired just as quickly, although it was rarely required. He’d been at this all day and he wondered vaguely where ammunition for these things were purchased or made.

He learned many things throughout the many days he was with his own again. First - it was every slig for himself. Second - the slig with the biggest weapon had the most power. Third - coffee and cigarettes were addicting. When he wasn’t working, he followed the others to the lounge, where he fixed himself some coffee and hoarded his moolah for the only thing that mattered - a big gun. He had his eyes on something called a Magnum, which was much bigger-looking than his standard-issue Blunderbuss.

Sligs that carried these were respected. He’d spotteed other, larger sligs, several times his size and built like tanks. These he avoided altogether, if he could. However, sometimes it couldn’t be helped. When he encountered these steroid-pumped sligs he was either picked on or ignored altogether - either of which could end in pain for him if he was underfoot. In the employee lounge, he was left alone - attempts to join in with gambling games resulted in his loss or his removal from the game. Drog eventually gave up and pondered about the incident with the Mudokon.

He’d heard all the stories before - Mudokons came from the “Mother”, whose name he did not know, but she voluntarily gave up her children to the Glukkons to be hatched as slaves. He didn’t know the reasons behind it, but his instincts told him that, based on the Mudokons’ rather peaceful behavior, it was likely unintentional. Drog also knew that the Mother was psychologically messed up somehow - and he could understand why. Giving up one’s children and knowing their terrible fate was taxing. Except of course, to his own mother, who probably was only in it for the moolah.

It wasn't empathy that really set him apart. Most of the sligs he knew generally didn't attack the slaves unless they were angry or bored – or pressured into it by another Slig. Drog was more curious about the slaves than anything. Where did they come from? What were they like outside of slavery? What were they like in person? They were called "employees", but their slavery was the worst kept secret on Oddworld. He didn't really want to hit any of them unless he had to - maybe someday, he would understand that twinge of sick delight when he struck one. But not now.

Drog, bored with his target practice, peered around to see if any other sligs had stopped yet. Some had, and were either cleaning their weapons or leaving. One was snoozing in a corner out of view of the security cameras. Drog, eyeing the others, backed away and reloaded his weapon before starting to head outside again.

“HEY!”

The rumbling voice made him halt, a shiver starting from his tail all the way up the to the back of his neck. He jerked his head towards the source. The slig facing him was huge, and he gulped, an iron grip on his Blunderbuss. The girth of the larger slig’s neck alone was at least as big as the thickest part of his own body – if not bigger. It took every ounce of will not to flee.

“You got a good arm there, Popper.”

Drog blinked. “Er... thank you. ...Popper?”

“Popper,” the huge slig replied. “In other words, any o'you sligs with the Blunderbuss. How long ya been here?”

“A week n' three days.” Drog didn’t dare make eye contact.

The huge slig fell silent, and then chuckled. “Try this sucker out.” And the weapon he handed to Drog was heavy - very heavy. It reminded him of a chaingun.

His arms trembled as he cradled it, and a glance told him that every other slig in the room was watching him, expressionless. He gulped, forcing himself to concentrate on the cardboard target. It resembled a machine gun with a massive barrel and was difficult for even a normal slig to hold it. The other sligs snickered as the much smaller slig struggled to hold up the weapon, and fired. The resulting volley of rounds were much larger than those from the Blunderbus and exploded upon contact with the target. But poor Drog was knocked backward into the wall from the recoil. He yelped, nearly crushed by the weapon, and lay there, stunned.

Laughter exploded throughout the room and the big bro slig snatched his weapon back.

“You got a lot of potential kid. But yer just too small!” He chuckled to himself. “Take a hike!”

While not exactly an insult, it was certainly a remark involving his age and size. But Drog didn’t dare protest. He just left. It was easier if he obeyed the larger slig. He pulled himself to his feet, biting back his whimpering, and headed back towards the lounge. His thoughts finally wandered back to the female Mudokon. He did not like her, but he was drawn to her for reasons he couldn’t explain. He felt better around the weakling Mudokon slave than around his own kind. Perhaps it was his desire to dominate the weak. But she was interesting, a little moreso than the quiet, obedient slaves.

So Drog decided to go look for her. He’d seen her around, but it was for a fleeting moment, so he decided to check one of the security offices. There was only one slig in there, snoozing. Typical. He was tired himself, and, having little sleep, the sligs caught their winks when they could. He ignored the other and studied the keyboard. There were several buttons, each wired to a camera somewhere in this particular sector.

Drog wasn’t sure where he could find her, but she was around here somewhere - he knew that much. She had a different color hairband than the others. He pushed the first button, near the cafeteria. Lots of Mudokons were there, some eating, some cleaning. Sligs were eating too, but his eyes, although weak, did not spot her. So he pressed another button. After several button pushes, he at last spotted her bright blue hairband, up near the board room. She’d just left, so he suspected she’d probably head back to her bed soon.

He slipped out of the room before the other slig took notice and decided to meet her halfway. But he did one last thing first. Drog stopped by the slog kennels. It smelled rank regardless of how clean it was kept. It was also loud - there was barking, snarling, and general volatile exchanges between them. Drool was splattered on the floor. The slogs were fed very little - their main source of food was live prey called Fuzzles. They were tossed into slog pits, and the dozens of slogs would fight over them, only the strongest getting the food he so desperately craved. The Fuzzles, looking merely like blobs of fur with eyeballs, never stood a chance.

But Drog was only after one particular slog. It was still on the verge of being a sloggie - a puppy - and was half the size of the adults. Out of all of them, it was the only slog that wagged its tail when Drog approached. He’d been sneaking into the kennel for a few days now, usually with a snack or some coffee for the little slog. Once, he was caught, but when he insisted he was helping the young slog get used to patrolling, the report threats were dropped. Besides, the slog was very energetic(likely due to having too much coffee) and shook a lot, so they let him deal with it.

He grabbed a retractable lead - one used only on the youngsters for heel commands - and reached in, wrapping it around the slog’s neck. The slog hopped out of the small cage, the older slogs snarling jealously as he led it outside.

He had grown quite attached to the slog, whom he had nicknamed Sooz, and it seemed likewise. Sligs and slogs both have the potential to love and care for things, but usually it is beaten out of them. In rare cases such as Drog and Sooz, it was just present enough to for them to feel it for one another, and the two of them found their way to where the slaves slept.

And to his amusement, Vula was there, rubbing her feet at the edge of her bed. There were other slaves present, so Drog kept to himself as he entered. There were several glares in his direction, but none of them dared to go near the drooling slog before him. But when Vula saw him, she stiffened - not daring to approach him - but for different reasons.

“Hey you,” growled Drog, attempting to make himself seem important. “Commere.” He pointed to Vula and gestured roughly, his demeanor causing Sooz to start growling violently. Vula stood obediently and followed him out and around back, away from the ears and eyes of the cameras and slaves.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” confessed Vula, eyeing the slog with a mix of fear and curiosity. She didn't want to run anymore today.

To her surprise, the little slog didn’t attack - instead it stood there, panting, studying her somehow with its eyeless head.

"Well, too bad," replied Drog.

"So when are you going to help me?" Vula asked.

Drog shrugged. “I dunno.. whenever. Not sure how, what with security up.” He fell silent, thinking. But then, he snapped his fingers. “I saw a report yesterday. That slave terrorist Abe got out and he's been sneaking back in and settin' the slaves free. Sooooo... I could... if you do me a favor..."

“Take you?”

Drog nodded, folding his arms over his chest. “Yeah. I wanna see the world before I become some soldier."

“Tch,” Vula said, shrugging. “If you say so." She looked at the slog. "Is he friendly?"

Drog shook his head. “No. So where are you gonna go?"

"I don't know!" Vula said. "Just go.. I don't wanna get beaten again."

"Funny," sneered Drog, "I thought you LIKED getting beaten." He turned and headed back to wherever it was he needed to go. He couldn't even remember.

[Zozo the Zrilufet]

(Claps) Nice chapter, its fun to see how they can be kinda used to the treatment and horror of the bad working conditions (for me, anyway xD), though I'd think the skull popping out of nowhere may be a bit surprising. You've also got a reason for your slig being nice, which is good (Most are kinda 'nice for no reason', I'm guilty of that).

Also, its possible that the worker mudokons have no reproductive organs, or underdeveloped ones. They're also unlikely to have boobies, since they likely won't be mammals (they're a eusocial species). Though that rule gets broken by dozens of people, so you can probably get off with that.

There's also a post here http://www.oddworldforums.net/showth...ppy#post312418 that can help with some slig info.

[Lacy Hemsmire]

I thought really hard about that whole gender thing. I figured I'd break a couple of rules, mainly because the queen herself has breasts - I've found a sculpture thing of what she was intended to look like (she's creepy D: ) and I tried to very loosely base her design off of that. I don't want to get into big details, but I figure they can eliminate so I just went with that. I don't know. xD

Thanks for the link! :3 That gives me lovely ideas. <3

[Splat]

A good chapter; I did enjoy the description of Vula's job. The relationship growing between her and the slig is quite exciting (a little similar to the relationship forming betwen a slig and a mudokon in my story [/shameless_advertising]).

I was a little confused by how Vula was trying to keep her gender secret from the other mudokons and the glukkons, and yet Drog seemed to know she was a female anyway.
Oh, and a young slig is called a sliglet, not a larva.

[Lacy Hemsmire]

[I've gone and totally revamped the first two chapters (actually, I'm on chapter nine and have rearranged everything), but you don't have to reread them if you don't want to. I hope this version is slightly more improved than the last one. xD]

----

A week passed. Vula had completely recovered and was doing her chores as usual. In spite of that, she was still very sore as she worked, and for a while her muscles would feel stiff and heavy. She’d not forgotten Drog’s words and was determined to get revenge if he had lied. She scrubbed away some graffiti from the wall, ignoring the poster near her with the rocket going through the Mudokon’s head. It wasn’t exactly tasteful, except maybe to Glukkons. A lot of strange things were tasteful to Glukkons.

A buzz from behind startled her. “Hey slave,” came an unfamiliar voice. Vula knew just what they were. Sligs.

Vula bit her tongue, and slowly turned her head to eye the ground, the pair of sligs armed with rifles and eager appetites for pain.

“Yer being reassigned. So come with us!”

The butt of a rifle cracked her across the shoulder and she yelped, twisted around by the force of the blow and was knocked to the ground on her stomach. That had been the worst pain she’d felt in some time, and she curled, clutching her shoulder. Her only comfort was that the sligs hadn't hit her as hard as they could. It was glancing blow.

It began to swell, but the sligs picked her up and dragged her by her arms down the hallway. They took the long way, jerking her shoulder intentionally, knowing the damage they’d done. Vula did not cry out again, until she was tossed across a break in the narrow floor and rolled to the ground, where she collided with the mechanical legs of another slig. She needed to tell the other slaves to wash the floor better.

The rancid breath of a slog infiltrated her nostrils and she gagged, pushing herself away. The slog followed her, sniffing her face in a neither friendly nor unfriendly manner. It was just sniffing. Vula recognized the smallish slig immediately, although she only caught sight of his tentacles and rifle. As the other sligs left, she rolled to her feet, absentmindedly, pushing her hands out to get the sniffing slog to give her some room. Fortunately, it did.

Vula found that, as she got to work scrubbing something off the floor, Drog ignored her completely. He flopped over and took a nap, so she continued scrubbing with the cold water left in the bucket until the odd mess on the floor faded. The slog also fell asleep on its feet, leaving her alone. She waited, pretending to clean other things in the area, rubbing her shoulder in pain. It felt dislocated somehow and she grit her teeth, avoiding use of it for awhile.

She didn’t know how long she remained there until in the corner of her eye, something peculiar approached. He was tiptoeing in a very comical manner, and she couldn’t help but peer over. The Mudokon looked odd compared to her, a different shade. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked rather tired. As he grew closer, he initiated eye contact with her. There was something urgent about his demeanor, and Vula stared at him.

His skin color, to her surprise, was bright blue. There was something oddly familiar about him, and Vula cocked her head to mouth the name hanging on her lips.

“Hello,” he whispered, gesturing frantically towards himself. She cast a glance at Drog and the slog before quietly sneaking after him. He brought her around the corner, where she spotted something that made her heart leap. "Follow me!"

Birds. Small birds, cluttered near the wall. Their eyes on the Mudokon before her. The stranger began to chant, pressing his palms together and focusing. The birds took flight, spiraling and forming a perfect circle. What seemed to be pure energy began to envelope them, and the birds themselves disappeared into it, forming a thin, bright white sliver, as though the air itself had been ripped in two. So this was the terrorist Abe. Now it was time to get out of here.

Meanwhile, Drog had awakened and was running in circles, head spinning as he cried out for help. Vula paused, staring back at him. The stranger, losing some of his concentration, glanced impatiently at her. When the slig approached, he nearly stopped entirely.

“Wait!” Drog yelped, clutching his head because of the light. “Help me out, 'ere!” The slog was behind him, trembling. Oh right, Drog.

“Do somethin’!” The stranger seemed to be in pain. Drog unhitched his pants and mask and crawled after her, and the slog chased them, all three of them, much to the stranger’s dismay, leaping into the sliver before it closed behind them – and before he could do anything about it. Oops.


--


Somewhere far away, the world was silent. There was no rumbling of machinery, no smell of pollution. No grime covering the ground. The sky was no longer black. In fact - there was no sky at all - at least, what could be seen. It was like a massive cave. The entire world seemed to be shades of green. The air was fresh, cool, and pleasing. What few sounds there were came in the form of birds and, very faintly, some kind of moaning, as though something were calling to the gods. There was dense foliage, moss, and soft dirt covering the ground. For a moment, there was a pause. Then, as though the air itself had been torn apart, a sliver of light appeared very close to one of the walls. Three figures leaped through it, landing in a heap on the ground.

Vula remained seated, rubbing her head. “Where are we?”

Sooz began bathing Drog in a wet blanket of slobber, wagging its tail frantically as Drog pushed it off. He looked around, “Ya think I kn-- Oh...” He peered upward, then around, lungs quite unused to the clean, fresh air. He choked, and gasped for air. “Ho-- hack.. uh.” He caught his breath, glaring sidelong at Vula, who was staring at him. “What?”

She blinked, tilting her head. “You... are the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen,” she confessed.

“I know right?” he replied. “This is the Monsaic Lines, I think.. and uh.” Sooz began to growl, backing up against the pants-less slig. “I think we’re being watched.”

A shrill whistle was their response. The three of them scooted closer together, whimpering as around them, Mudokons unlike anything they had ever seen approached them. They had the typical skin color, but they were covered head to toe with various tattoos and other markings. And they looked rather angry.

There were many more whistles, as the Mudokons seemed to be communicating.

“What are they saying?” Drog hissed.

“I don’t know!” she hissed in reply. “How should I - “

One of the Mudokons stepped forward. The feathers on his head were very dramatic, but not overdone. He spoke, but no longer was he speaking in the musical tone of before.

"You...disgusting...intruder..."

“We could tolerate another one of you slaves, ” another growled. “But when you bring a disgusting soldier from the other side... it is an insult!”

The crowd of tribal Mudokons began to mutter something, stepping closer, and it was then that Vula, terrified, pulled herself to her feet. "Wait!" Vula fought for words. "He's ...er..." Well, he wasn't exactly her friend, but she had to come up with something. "He helped me get out of here."

Behind her, slig and slog huddled together, both of them humiliated and outraged at their vulnerability. Sooz, terrified into bravery, began to slobber and growl, trembling with rage and defense of its friend. The Mudokons backed away, and at first the trio thought they had made progress.

Instead, someone else appeared. At first, they thought he might have been a moving tree, but as the crowd parted they realized what it was. Vula, who had never seen him before, felt a stirring somewhere within her, and she dropped to her knees. The other Mudokons, who had backed away, had done the same. The masked shaman raised his staff, muttering some incantation as he waved it over the three. Only the slog continued to growl beneath him. But it was very quiet and fringed with a whimper.

There was silence. Big Face lowered his head - or face - over Vula, who averted her gaze and did nothing. The silence was so thick that everyone thought it might burst.

“You’re a female..” his tone did not seem surprised at all. “I’ve been expecting you.” Around them, a gasp filtered through the crowd of Mudokons. “Stand up. Bring your friends.”

The aggression did not vanish entirely as they stood. It was replaced with a grudging respect. Those Mudokons would've killed her hadn't the Big Face shown up. Sooz had already been standing and Drog could only crawl on his hands. Both of them remained very close to Vula and attempted to ignore the surrounding tribe members. Sooz was very close to Drog, who was underfoot and Vula had to make some effort to not trip over him.

Vula didn't know how the Big Face had known she was a girl at a single glance. But he seemed like the kind of guy who just knew everything, so Vula kept her mouth shut and followed him.

Vula followed Big Face through what seemed like a cave. In fact, they were not in a forest of all, but an intricately carved cave. The three of them stared with open mouths as one by one the tribal Mudokons fell away. Big Face paused at a hut. It was woven tightly with reeds and moss, it seemed, and had a very earthy smell to it. There was a large hole at the top, and smoke billowed out of it. It smelled peculiar but was not in any way harmful. Drog sneezed, and hesitated. The shaman urged him on, and after a moment he crawled inside with the rest of them.

“You are one of many slaves that have come here from Rupture Farms. I imagine you have never seen a place like this... Vula?”

Vula gulped. “...No... I haven’t.” She didn’t ask how he knew her name. Instead, she asked. “Why were you expecting me?”

“Not now. First you must rest.” He slid behind her, expert fingers finding her tender shoulder and jerking it back into place. Vula whimpered, but the pain faded instantly and Big Face was before her again. “Normally we do not take kindly to Industrial types..” He eyed the slog and slig. “But we do understand honor. Your friends will be under constant surveillance, but you will be rested with the other slaves until morning. Now then.”

There was no order given. A heavily tattooed Mudokon stepped inside. He was stocky, particularly compared to the rest of the undernourished Mudokons, and looked downright intimidating. He looked serious, and made no eye contact. Vula followed him outside, but as soon as Sooz and Drog followed, their path was blocked. Two Mudokons stood in their way, spears intentionally separating Mudokon from Slig.

“No industrials beyond THIS point,” came the hissing reply of one of the guards.

Vula turned. “No wait - he’s with me!”

But for once Drog did not react. He shook his head, tentacles moving as he spoke. “It’s okay. Me n' Sooz will hang out somewhere else okay?”

Vula frowned, eyes lifting to glare at the guards, but her threat went unsaid.

The tattooed guard huffed noisily. Twitching, she sighed and turned after him. She didn’t get a chance to check on the two who had somehow become her 'friends' in the span of a few moments.

[Lacy Hemsmire]

Aaaand another one. Lulz. I'm halfway through chapter 12. e_e



It was the first time she’d slept for several hours without being roused. And it gave Vula a headache. She awoke after five hours, rubbing her temples in the darkness, and lay there, head throbbing, listening to the muffled snores of who appeared to be her comrades. More arrived every day, and Vula wondered if they were all gathering for something. She could hardly see except for the very pale light filtering through the door of the hut, the source unknown.

Crickets chirped and faint chanting echoed outside. Now and then a tiny light would twinkle, a soft blue glow that was easy on the eyes. Vula stretched and felt her eyes grow heavy. Her body, used to hard labor, was aching to rise, and she wanted to exploring. There was a slight chill in the air but it wasn’t anything she wasn’t used to. At last, Vula’s eyes grew too heavy to keep open, her sore body curled on the soft straw bed, she snoozed.

It was not yet daylight when a whistle sounded through the gigantic cave. The slaves, most of which slept rather heavily, were loathe to rise. Vula was one of them, although she forced herelf to her feet and peered out the window. The smaller tunnels were emptying of some tribesmen, and her own began to spill out with slaves. And it was then that the world began to awaken.

Big Face stood within a circle of rocks where the paths in the cave met, and waited. Guards and fellow shamen surrounded him. In a semicircle, the rest of the tribespeople gathered, sitting with their legs folded.. Apparently, they had been awake long before she and her fellow slaves had, and this was apparent by the irritated stares in their direction. The slaves took great care to avoid them.

“Slaves with sewn lips will line up before me!” Shouted the guard that had originally led Vula to the hut. His voice, while it sounded like every other Mudokon's, seemed somewhat more gruff. It was a difficult thing to do, with the bubbly voice of her species.

Vula’s fingers gingerly felt the thick thread that tied her lips together, forcing her speech to seem awkward somehow. Heart pounding, she followed a handful of slaves towards the guard. When he produced a blade, her eyes widened and she attempted to back away, but a slave behind her shoved her forward.

She recognized several of her bunkmates, but even if they recognized her, their eyes were questioning as they studied her. Was it her indeterminable gender? Or was it that she’d done the unforgiveable and brought a slig and a slog into their safehaven? Some of the slaves didn't have stitched lips, and so were permitted to sit across from the natives, who ignored them.

The Mudokon at the head of the line kneeled and the tattooed guard held back his lips with two fingers, using his other hand to saw through the thread. The slave was wincing - she could see it from her position near the middle, but when the thread was cut the guard pulled away the thread and repeated on the other side. In only a few moments the thread that held his silence was gone and the slave was led away to where the rest of the already freed slaves sat - opposite the sitting villagers.

The line gradually grew shorter and to her distress, she saw that the knife was a kind of sewing knife that appeared to be made of bone. She knew bone well. It was serrated, and the Mudokon before her was whimpering as his stitches were removed. She stepped forward after he was done, kneeled, and before she prepared to squint her eyes, a flash of green caught her eye.

Drog and his pet slog were sitting near the freed slaves, three heavily armed Mudokons on either side and behind them. A pair of fingers and a thumb latched onto her lips and she braced herself as the knife sawed into the thread between them. The pain was lessened by his fingers pressing on her lip, but she felt it deep in her mouth and tensed. However, it was over in a few moments, and he sawed away the other one before he released her. Rubbing her sore mouth, she licked her lips and tried to fathom the sudden freedom she’d been given as she sat down near the other slaves.

Once all of the Mudokons were freed, Big Face spoke. Around him, the other shamen threw powder into the fire, sending it roaring into an explosion before it died down again. Some of the Mudokons, ignoring him, were playing with the new holes in their lips, causing the others to snicker and the natives to glower disgustedly in their direction.

“I have spoken with the gods. And they gave me a message. Our mother is dying.”

Everyone gasped, save for the slaves, who merely frowned in confusion and pity.

“But fear not. The next Mother is here among us!” Again, the guards threw the powder into the fire. Everyone stared at Vula, who jerked her head back and forth, confused.

“Vula... you must be the heir. I have forseen it.” Big Face approached Vula, who kept shaking her head.

“Wait a minute!’ Vula grunted. “I don’t even know what this is all about! What’s the mother!?”

Big Face fell silent. “Vula. Do you know the history of our people?” Vula shook her head, frowning. “I will tell you. But in a moment. Everyone - return to your duties.” Big Face gestured to Drog and Sooz. “You two - come here please.”

As everyone left, Big Face studied Vula. “The Mother - Sam, is responsible for giving us all life. But long ago, The Magog Cartel made a deal with her, offering her children a future. She took it, but was tricked, and now is forced to have children in order to sell them to Rupture Farms.” Vula frowned. “And now she lays there, on her deathbed, drugged, waiting for death.”

Vula frowned, eyeing Drog and the slog, who whimpered beside them.

“But I imagine you are hungry. Food will arrive later today, when the hunters return.” Big Face snapped his fingers. “Until then, I’m going to ask you to do something for me.”

“What?” Vula raised an eyebrow.

“We’re going to do a fertility test.”

Vula choked. “A WHAT!?!” She scooted away from Big Face. “Oh HELL no!”

The slog growled.

Big Face was silent for a moment. “It is necessary and will tell us when you are ovulating.” He folded his arms over his chest, although this was hidden by the large mask he wore.

Vula smacked herself. “Can we wait until... later?”

“No.” Big Face’s response was immediate and serious. “It is imperative that you do this, Vula. Otherwise our race will die.”

Vula coughed. “Say I become fertile. What happens to me? And why hasn’t it happened before? And and... WHO am I going to be ...breeding with?”

“Questions questions questions,” Big Face shook his head. “This way. If there were more females, I would have them do this, but there are very few on Mudos. So come. It is best to get this over with.” Big Face simply began walking towards his hut, and for the first time Vula noticed the various gourds and beads about it. It was as though he was trying to ward away evil. She bit her lip and went inside the hut. This time, the guards did not stop Drog or Sooz.

There was a table prepared for them, and Big Face patted it. Vula climbed up on it, while the others waited on the floor.

Big Face was facing the opposite way, preparing something in a vial. He reached over towards her wrist and with a swift move his fingers slid across it. Vula hissed, and a thin line of blood appeared.

“How’d you..”

“Shaman’s secret,” he replied simply, using another finger to wipe away the blood and pressed it against the opening of the vial. The drop slid down the side and into the clear liquid. Big Face watched it, while Vula examined her wrist, appalled when there was no cut.

“Hmmm...”

Vula turned her attention to Big Face. “What?”

“It’s supposed to turn yellow..”

She stared at the vial. The blood was merely swirling about inside the liquid. “What happens if it doesn’t?”

“I want to test one more thing. I apologize but I must do this,” said Big Face. He raised a single finger, in a lifting up motion. Vula stared at him, outraged, but complied and lifted up her loincloth. Big Face placed his hand above the lowest part of her abdomen, hovering it back and forth, never touching her. Vula tensed, feeling a pulse of force slither throughout her stomach and other organs she didn’t know or care about.

“Gyaah! What the hell are you-- AGGH!” She shivered, twitching.

Big Face ignored her and took his hand away.

“But I don’t understand..” he seemed to be speaking to someone else now.

Drog tilted his head. “What is it?”

Big Face snapped to attention. “Vula. You’re infertile.”