Abe's Expoddition

[Lord Stanley]

I primarily joined this forum to read the Oddworld fan fiction, so I decided to post some of my own. This one is going to be about Oddworld's greatest hero, who else but...No, not Stranger, it's Abe! Good old Abe! Good old ugly, stupid, farting, Stitchlips!

[Grieva]

looking forward to it, and nice work on the name, thats pretty clever

[Lord Stanley]

Grieva, I wanted to continue the Oddworld Inhabitants thing of making a "Journey" word with "Odd" in there somewhere. Thanks for noticing.

Here's the first chapter.

* * *

CHAPTER ONE

The rumbles of the MeechCo Producing factory stretched across the surrounding lands. The great structure dominated the formerly green landscape where Mudokons had once resided, blighting their lands with the stench of industrialism. The native creatures—Scrabs, Paramites, Elums, and Fuzzles—fled from the darkening wave of corruption that seemed to spread from MeechCo like a fume.

Once their Intern workers had completed construction of the massive structure—so big that it dwarfed even RuptureFarms—the Glukkon leader had called in the captive Mudokon slaves from their pens roundabout. Forced to toil at machinery, as had many slaves before them, they could only sweat and hope that Abe would save them, too.

Lord Fragg, the Big Cheese Executive of MeechCo, had quite the brain on his shoulders, unlike most of the other Glukkons before him. He had the money to waste, and he spent it wisely. None of his Sligs were Worker-class, all were Armored Big Brothers. Instead of processing up Paramites, Scrabs, Gabbits, Mudokons, splinters, or anything that his predecessors were fond of using, Fragg decided it would be a brilliant idea to look for Meeches.

Many had scoffed at his scheme. Meeches? they laughed. Meeches went out with Molluck and RuptureFarms. Where are you going to find Meeches?

Instead of listening to their mocking, Fragg had one of his top Vykker scientists, Humphrey the 3rd, calibrate a listening device whose range was more than a hundred square miles. It couldn’t listen in on conversations, but it could detect the exact frequency of the heartbeats of the long-thought-extinct Meech beetles.

Fragg revealed his discovery to no one. All he ever let go were the bags of Meeches, sliced and served frozen with plenty of sugar and flavorings. They sold like wildfire, since the Glukkons hadn’t eaten Meeches for thirty years, since the fall of RuptureFarms, but despite the demand for them, Fragg was determined not to go out the way Molluck had. Molluck had given in to that demand, and had made his products nearly extinct.

As a backup to his plans, he also sold the traditional kinds of food: the Scrab Burgers, Paramite Pot Pies, and other such goodies that Glukkon families bought every day. His gatherings were a blight to the natural environment around MeechCo, but with the traditional Glukkon love for the environment, he simply didn’t care.

After all, Abe had been dead for years. He’d blown up in the PulseCo explosion…And that hideous creature Munch hadn’t been seen in an equally long time, not since they’d released the Anti-Gabbit toxin into the air. They were nearly the only “natural heroes” that Oddworld had ever seen, and since they were dead, Fragg felt quite pleased with himself.

The time of the industrialist had come.

* * *

Lord Fragg sat in his little swivel chair, staring at a computer screen as he did most of his waking day. Unlike most Glukkons, who had seen fit to have Sligs do every simple task for them, he’d not been content with his lack of arms and had paid Vykkers to lengthen his real legs with robot parts, allowing him to use his hands for working purposes—such as tap buttons, tie his shoes, and light his own cigar.

The words on the screen were nearly the same as ever, except that his total income kept going up and up and up, which was pleasing to him in the extreme. $1,213,453…$1,213,454...Nearly a dollar per second, which was quite a good rate—$360 an hour.

He twisted his chair around to face the Vykker standing quietly behind him. “Isn’t this whole thing just delicious?” Fragg chuckled. “Not even Molluck could’ve dreamed of this!”

Humphrey III was dressed—an interesting fact by itself—in a suit of expensive material which could supposedly take anything short of a Powderkeg and survive, with a Snuzi gun holstered in his belt. Though diminutive and spindly, he was an excellent shot and fine scientist. He shrugged with each set of shoulders. “If you say so, Lord Fragg.”

The Glukkon sneered. “Will you cut it out with the If you insist thing, Humph? Show some real emotion for once, huh? You’re a multi-millionaire, for heaven’s sake!”

“And that means I have to get overexcited with every statement?” the Vykker asked dryly.

“No…” Fragg sighed. “But you could at least act as if you were excited that you were getting a hundred dollars an hour.”

He went back to reading words on the screen, inwardly fuming. Humphrey might have a great brain on his upper set of shoulders, but he was not a conversationalist.

Without warning, the door behind him flew open, and a BigBro Slig rushed into the room, all four legs moving doubletime. Fragg swiveled around in his chair to face the enforcer.

“Lord Fragg!” the soldier gasped out, leaning on the doorframe for support. “There’s a Mudokon causin’ trouble!”

Fragg folded his arms across his buttoned suitcoat. “How many times have I told you not to just barge in here without even knocking?”

“But…but the Mudokon, sir!”

The Glukkon waved a hand. “Shoot him.”

The Slig looked thoroughly nervous, a most unusual expression for such a feared thing as a BigBro. “Uh…that’s just the problem, sir. He’s, uh, inside the factory! He’s setting bombs all over the place!”

Fragg slammed a fist down on the table beside him. “Dkrnwwzz arkrzzz strnn!” he cursed in Old Sliggish, and Humphrey winced. “There’s only one Mudokon I know of that could manage to get in here and set bombs.”

All three—the Glukkon, Slig, and Vykker—said the word at the same time, as if it were a curse: “Abe!”

* * *

[Lord Stanley]

Sorry, I just realized that a dollar a second would be $3600 an hour, not $360. Sorry.

[Uros Osium Tokker]

Nice start :3 Wana see how it develops ^^

[Lord Stanley]

Notice, I took the Slig curses from "The Captured Ones" by Scipionyx.

[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER TWO

The blue-green Mudokon figure peeked his head around the corner, the gaze of his bloodshot orange eyes focused on the two BigBro Sligs that methodically marched on their patrol beats, following combat algorithms built into their cyborg heads. He eyed their Blitz Packer guns with no small degree of wariness.

“BigBros,” Abe grunted. “Dealt with ‘em a million times, an’ they’re still hard to take down.”

He wasn’t the young guy he had been when he’d destroyed places like RuptureFarms and SoulStorm Brewery, or even the middle-aged Mudokon who’d aided Munch in bringing down the colossal Vykkers Labs—and thank the Odd for that! He’d been quite stupid then. He’d had a hard time formulating sentences, let alone strategies.

When neither of the BigBros were looking in his direction, he whipped the last one of the time bombs from his shorts pocket and raced forward. He’d completely mastered the art of walking silently, after all the many factories he’d shut down—some of them with better security than this blighted place. Bigger than RuptureFarms, yet it didn’t quite have the significance that had made RuptureFarms infamous.

He glanced at the BigBros; good, they were still looking away. He set the time bomb against one of the critical points of Meech Processor #4, and then punched in the activate button. Abe raced back for cover, diving into a shadowy corner before the two guards turned.

He felt around in his pocket, making sure he didn’t have any more bombs. Good! He’d checked five times to make sure he’d counted right, and even though he’d forgotten how many critical points there were, he knew he’d packed enough bombs. The only thing in his pocket was the small remote control, which, when activated, would set off all four bombs and turn MeechCo into nothing but a rubble heap.

“But it’s not time for that,” Abe whispered. “Not yet. Time to free the slaves and kill some stinkin’ BigBros.”

* * *

Any comments?

[Grieva]

pretty cool, well written, Abe is pretty badass which is (as far as I know) quite a unique but believable character development, is it ok if i imagine him with an eye patch? he reminds me of naked snake/big boss

[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER THREE

Abe had only finished speaking when the overhead speakers crackled to life with a buzzing noise that surprised everyone. It particularly surprised Abe, when the speakers addressed him personally with the voice of Lord Fragg.

“Abe! I know you’re in here. I know you’re trying to kill us all.”

Abe knew better than to reply. If he did, the Sligs would probably zero in on his location and open fire, eliminating him and any chance of freeing the Mudokons here. He clenched both fists and tried to ignore the voice.

“I’m only speaking to you because there’s something I want you to know,” Fragg continued. “By preparing to kill my Sligs…you’re killing your own Mudokons.”

What? Abe looked up. I know better than to believe everything Glukkons say, but…

“I’ve taken precautions in building this factory. Not only have I only purchased the aid of only BigBro Sligs,” the Glukkon laughed, “but I’ve also managed to set up a defense that will keep you from destroying us.”

Abe frowned. Keep me from destroying you? he thought. Fat chance!

He glanced at the two Slig guards, one of which he had been about to possess. Since the two of them were just staring blankly at the ceiling—stupid—shouldn’t he just possess one of them and start taking down the guards?

“I’ve installed cameras all across the factory,” the Glukkon went on. “And I’ve programmed them well. If they see just one possession orb, if they hear just one ‘Yo yo yo,’ they’ll trigger a small device implanted in the necks of all my Mudokon slaves.”

Abe’s ear slits grew wider, as did his eyes.

“This device, the location of which is unknown to all but those who implanted it, is capable of releasing a powerful electric charge. Strong enough to stop a heart. And if you try to possess one of my Sligs…all the slaves will die.”

Abe clenched his fists. That couldn’t be true! None of the other Glukkons had ever done anything like this! They had been too concerned with personal comforts to care about such good security…or was this a bluff? Was this just some trick to keep him from destroying the guards?

As if Fragg could read his mind, the speakers continued. “And don’t think this is all a trick. If you don’t believe me, it’s your own fault, and all your slaves die. Do you want to take that chance? Do you want to be remembered as the one who killed all the Mudokons here, and be forever remembered as a failure? Think about it, Abe. Think well.”

The speakers powered down, leaving the Glukkon’s chilling ultimatum hanging in the air.

[Crashpunk]

This is epic!

BTW Good job thinking of Abe's Expoddition as a Title.

[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER FOUR

“Think about it, Abe. Think well.” Lord Fragg cut off the transmission and lowered his comm unit. The Glukkon smiled broadly at Humphrey III, and lowered himself back into his seat in front of the computer screen. “That ought to keep the Mud occupied for a while.”

The Vykker folded all four of his arms across his skinny chest. “So you just feed him a lie that big, and think he’ll believe it?”

The Glukkon spread his robotic hands wide. “Abe was never renowned for his brilliance. And he can’t afford to take the chance of accidentally destroying his people.”

Humphrey didn’t look convinced. “He hasn’t been seen in years, Lord Fragg. He could have learned since then.”

“If he had learned anything, he wouldn’t be here,” Fragg snapped.

“He appears to be doing a good job so far.”

The Glukkon slammed one hand down on his desk, rattling the computer screen. “Are you on his side, Humphrey? No? Then shut up! Stop sympathizing with him – I have only done what I have to do!”

The Vykker shrugged all four shoulders. “It’s not your fault if he does something unexpected. And it’s certainly not my fault if I leave now.”

Fragg scratched his chin, thinking hard. Abe was a dangerous threat…He reached for the comm unit again, and again set it to the entire factory. “Attention! All BigBro Slig units on patrol duty, begin searching for Abe! Shoot him when you see him!”

The Glukkon lowered the comm back into place. “That should give us more time. While Abe’s trying to get out, or dying, it’ll give us time to use our spare soldiers and round up the Mudokon slaves. We need to get out of here.”

Humphrey was already skittering for the door. “Now you’re talking sense.”

Fragg laughed darkly. “I didn’t get to be leader of this factory for nothing, Humph.”

[STM]

I like this, well done. Please do continue!

[Lord Stanley]

Thanks, Scrabtrapman! The next chapter will be out tomorrow morning...I hope.

[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER FIVE

Abe didn’t even know what to say. He’d been rendered speechless before—he hadn’t said one word while Big Face had first told him of his destiny—but he couldn’t remember a time when he couldn’t think of words out of sheer horror.

What if Fragg was right? What if there really were implants in every Mudokon slave? Maybe Fragg had enough money to use that he’d actually installed all of those programs? What if he chanted, and got all the Mudokons in this factory killed?

“And I actually have to believe a Glukkon’s word, for once,” Abe growled.

The BigBros were moving off their regular patrols, poking in the shadows with their huge Blitz Packer rifles since Fragg had ordered them to find and kill him. Abe watched a pair of them as they both inspected a corner.

Idiot designers, Abe thought in disgust. Why do they never equip them with night vision?

Well, if they did have night vision, it really would’ve messed up his cover. But what was he going to do now? He couldn’t rescue the slaves, he couldn’t set off the bombs…

The loudspeakers overhead came alive again. Not surprisingly, it was Lord Fragg again. “All reserve Sligs, begin rounding up the Mudokon slaves. It’s time to evacuate.”

Abe raised the places above his eyes where a human’s eyebrows would have been. Fragg was so scared of him that he was actually leaving? Pulling out? Whoa, that was a new one for the Glukkons to pull off. Usually, they were too profit-hungry to back out of any deal, and stood in their office till the last – and the last was usually announced when he de-possessed them, and their bits went flying.

I think I know what I need to do, Abe thought. If they’re getting the Mudokons out, I can wait until they’re out of range, and then blow this factory to scrap. And first, I need to get myself out of range.

He took a step out of the shadows, tiptoeing only a few feet away from the BigBros, making for the little elevator leading down to the ground floor—

And he accidentally kicked a nail someone had left on the floor.

The BigBros automatically whirled around, raising their Blitz Packers toward him. Abe cursed under his breath, and said aloud, “Oops…?”

* * *

[Grieva]

Nice chapter, really building the suspense, I think I prefere Abe's chapters to Fraggs

Abe raised the places above his eyes where a human’s eyebrows would have been.

That made me laugh

[Lord Stanley]

Here's a tip: I only write new chapters when I get feedback.

CHAPTER SIX

The two Sligs opened up with their Blitz Packers, but Abe wasn’t going to sit around and get shot up like so many other Mudokons had done over the years. After all, he still had to save the Mudokons in this factory.

He threw himself sideways, rolling behind a piece of machinery whose use he had no idea, and no time to figure out. Bullets pinged off the metal, barely denting the frame. Abe heard that feared mechanical sound of legs moving toward his position—eight legs, so both BigBros were onto him.

This really stinks, he thought.

He picked up a small rock from the ground nearby—why hadn’t one of their slaves picked that up?—and tossed it into a corner. The Sligs immediately whirled around, directing their shots in that direction for a moment, and Abe took that moment to charge out from behind his machine cover, racing for the elevator.

The BigBros whirled around again, their bodies swiveling on mechanical frames, Blitz Packers following him with a trail of bullets. Abe moved in serpentine formations, moving from rolls to a standing position whenever he could. Bullets flew everywhere. Dents began appearing in the nearby walls. One bullet skimmed his hairless head, drawing a stinging flow of blood into his left eye.

“Blast it,” he muttered, blinking one eye rapidly to keep the blood out. “Gotta get over to that elevator…”

One of the BigBros suddenly lowered his gun. The Slig reached onto his shoulder comm and said into it, “Close the blast doors! Close the blast doors!”

Abe was barely meters away from the elevator when the doors slid shut, sealing off the escape route with three feet of solid steel. He banged once on the doors in frustration. “Open the blast doors!” he screamed.

But why would the Sligs in the control room listen to him, of all people? He turned and ran for the nearest bit of cover, a large engine used for processing meech beetles. Bullets from the Sligs’ Blitz Packers followed him all the way.

He dodged behind it, hearing slugs rebounding from the walls all around him, and closed his eyes tight. Should he take the risk of chanting, and possibly kill all his Mudokons? No, that would be wasting hundreds of lives just to save his own – even though the other Mudokons had never done anything worth remembering. All they ever said to him was “Hello,” “Okay,” and “Abe, you’re the greatest!”

He heard the mechanical legs coming closer and closer – one set from each side. He opened his eyes. The two BigBros had split up, and one was coming at him from each side of the machine. He was trapped!

* * *

[Grieva]

another good chapter, (star wars reference?) and cliffhanger ending keeps you interested

heres a tip though: don't write chapters just because someone gives you feedback, you should write when you want to and post when you're happy with it

[Lord Stanley]

Yeah, that was a Star Wars reference. And about the feedback thing, I love writing, but it's always reassuring that people want to read what I write. Comforting. Anyway, have a new chapter.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Lord Fragg’s outrageously expensive suit might have been suited for formal gatherings and the videotaping the press was constantly demanding, but it was not the best for running. Thus, his progress across the factory was taking longer than it might have had he been wearing everyday attire, which was making him irritated.

At least I can run faster than Humphrey, he thought, giving a glance back over his shoulder. With three spindly legs, the Vykker scientist was struggling to make it faster than a jog, but his efforts were failing.

The Glukkon rounded a corner, coming within sight of the hangar bay doors. He moved right up to the keypad and punched in 8776549855601 to allow himself entrance to the room beyond. The doors hissed open.

“Finally!” he growled. The airship was prepped and ready, as he’d ordered. The gate was open, and a Slig stood on the bow deck, waving toward him.

“C’mon, boss!” the Worker-Class Slig shouted out. “We’re all ready to leave! The Mudokons have been herded out the North Gate!”

Fragg didn’t take time to reply. He simply ran forward through the gate and into the airship’s control room, not wasting any of his time.

Another Slig stood at the airship controls, leaning up against the control panel and snoring. The Glukkon dealt him a fierce blow to the back of the neck with one mechanical arm, throwing the Slig to the floor.

“There’s no time to waste!” the Glukkon roared at him. “It’s time to leave!”

The Slig stood, moving over to the controls with frightened speed. “Where to, boss?”

Fragg scratched at his chin. The destination came to mind easily. “Take us to Mantin City. We need to talk to King Glok.”

“Right away, boss,” the Slig responded, and began firing the engines.

* * *

Without any other option left to him, Abe leapt upward, grabbing onto the lip of the machine and yanking himself up. His arms weren’t as supple as they used to be, but he was able to pull himself atop the meat grinding tube before the BigBros walked around the corner.

Lying flat atop the cold metal, he hardly dared to breathe. The two powerful enforcers walked right beneath him, nearly bumping into each other.

“Where’d Abe go?” one Slig asked.

“Don’t ask me. Maybe he got past you.”

“He didn’t get past me! I’m—”

“—an idiot, and you know it,” the second Slig chuckled. “C’mon, let’s go to the balcony. Maybe we can find him from up there.”

Abe felt his blood run cold. The balcony? They can see me from up there!

* * *

[Grieva]

Yeah I know what you mean about feedback being reassuring

paid Vykkers to lengthen his real legs with robot parts

The Glukkon dealt him a fierce blow to the back of the neck with one mechanical arm,

I'm confused a bit by this, is it robot legs or robot arms?

[Lord Stanley]

Sorry about that error. It actually is supposed to be his legs that are enhanced, somehow I was thinking he just had mechanical arms fused into his shoulders like Dock Ock. Sorrrryyy. Or maybe he's still walking on his hands, and he's now using his mechanically-enhanced legs as arms? You decide.

Enjoy another chapter, but if I make more mistakes, please show me. I'll try to be more careful about that.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Abe knew he had to move fast. From that higher vantage point, the BigBros would see him and easily be able to mow him down with those blasted Blitz Packers of theirs, and until he had freed every Mudokon on Mudos, he didn’t really want to die. Frankly, he didn’t want to die at all, but that was another story…

The two BigBros hustled off toward a nearby staircase leading upward, their legs making plenty of squeaky noises. If Abe had been the kind who cared about Sligs, he would have told them to get a lube job…and then got himself shot. And, as already expressed, he didn’t want to get shot.

Using their noise as his cover, he crawled forward across the top of the processing machine. He had a desperate gamble in mind, but then again, desperate gambles had been his life since that dreadful night in RuptureFarms. If he could open the hatch and get inside the machine, no one would think of looking for him in there.

The only problem would be not getting chopped up while inside the machine. He couldn’t hear the blades running, but the metal was probably soundproof.

This isn’t the best plan I’ve ever had, he acknowledged with a grunt.

He spared a glance up at the BigBros. They were having some trouble mounting the stairs—whoever had designed their mechanical pants hadn’t given the Sligs the mental capacity of lifting one leg at a time to climb up stairs, so they were going quite slowly.

Abe crawled forward to the hatch atop the grinding machine. Through the bad lighting in this area, he could clearly see the pair of locks pinning the thick metal cover to the machine roof. He cursed under his breath; why did they always have to put extra security in all the wrong places?

He reached into a pocket in his pants and produced a small wire made just for this purpose. He had long since abandoned his RuptureFarms worker shorts due to their lack of protection in the cold weather, and because there wasn’t enough room to have a pocket. With full-length pants, he could keep plenty of “terrorist tools” on himself. He still hadn’t tried using a shirt, though. The idea was simply appalling.

Growling to himself, Abe slipped the end of the wire into the first lock. Surprisingly, it only took a swift twist to pop the mechanism, and the lock slid free. It nearly slid right off the edge of the machine, and only a quick grab saved the piece from hitting the floor and making unnecessary noise.

“That was close,” he muttered, and fell to on the second lock.

Unfortunately, despite his easy success on the first lock, this one proved much more of a task. He wriggled the wire end around in the lock hole, but the little pieces staunchly refused to move. A quick glance showed the BigBros nearly at the top of the stairs.

He twisted the wire with all his might, grunting, “Oh, come on!” When he did so, the wire end jammed tight into the lock. He gave it a sharp tug, but the wire refused to come out, leaving him without a tool.

He wondered if he should curse again, just for the fun of it, but there was really no time to waste on foul language. Wrapping both hands around the wire, he gave a huge yank.

The wire popped free, and the second lock clicked off.

Grinning in triumph, Abe replaced the wire in his pocket and grabbed the lid of the grinding machine. It had to weigh about forty pounds, but with some skillful rolling he managed to get it to move without letting it drop.

These skinny arms of mine still aren’t good for much, he thought grumpily.

It was then he realized something bad, and this time he did curse. The grinding blades were going inside the cylindrical machine. The guillotine-like blades were moving up and down like the old meat saws back at RuptureFarms, only a whole ton bigger and even faster, built for chopping the thought-extinct meech beetles into tiny pieces. The long cylinder had a conveyor belt floor, and a series of eight blades that would be chopping up the dead beetles moving along that belt.

“Hey! I see him! He’s on top of that processor!”

Abe grimaced, as he heard one of the Sligs shouting. He’d forgotten all about the guards in his rush to get the lid off.

Bullets rained down around him, pinging off the metal roof of the grinder. Left without any other option, he took a deep breath and dropped through the opening.

* * *

[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER NINE

Once Abe was inside the chute, all hell broke loose.

He landed on his hands and toes on the conveyor belt, which automatically moved him along the interior of the tube toward the first guillotine-like cutting blade, moving rhythmically up and down. Abe remained crouching, steeling his nerves as he approached the first blade. As a rule, Mudokons weren’t known for their nerves, but he wasn’t an ordinary Mudokon. He was a warrior.

He had a destiny. And that destiny was not going to be “chopped up in some stupid Glukkon’s grinding machine.”

As the blade went up again, leaving him with just a split second of an opening, Abe rolled forward in typical Mudokon fashion. The blade slammed down instants behind him. He let the belt move him toward the next blade.

I hate meat choppers, Abe decided, not for the first time in his life.

The belt was moving too fast. The next blade was already coming down as Abe neared. He had to backpedal away, the chopper so close he could feel the wind on his face, then as soon as it retracted upward, he was diving through the opening.

Two blades down. Only eight to go.

* * *

Lord Fragg motioned to one of the Sligs inside the airship. “Contact King Glok. We need to have a talk.”

“Right away, boss!”

The Glukkon folded his arms across his chest—something that most Glukkons couldn’t do—and waited impatiently. King Glok, grandson of the infamous Lady Margaret, had learned from his grandmother’s lesson and had never smoked a cigarette in his life, since the old queen had died from lung cancer some years ago. As a result, the tobacco companies shunned Glok as some sort of weirdo, and some counties in Glukksonia were even threatening to secede. Fragg had no liking for cigars himself, but he smoked one every once in a while, just to show he wasn’t a weirdo.

Still, even though he might have been strange in his habits, Glok was the king, and the king had all the authority.

“We’ve patched through, sir!” the Slig reported. “I’ve put the king on the phone for you!”

Fragg reached out and took the phone, pressing the device to his ear.

“This is King Glok. Is that you, Fragg?”

The business owner grated his teeth together. “Yeah, it’s me. I’m coming your way. I need to make an emergency landing in Mantin City—MeechCo’s been infiltrated and is in danger of blowing up.”

He could hear the laughter in Glok’s voice. “Let me guess: it’s Abe.”

“Precisely,” Fragg growled. “I need an army.”

“What makes you think I would simply hand an army of valuable Sligs over to you, Fragg? I had no idea you were with my Don’t-Smoke campaign.”

Fragg snarled. “So we’re getting into politics, are we? We need to kill Abe, now, before he can do any more damage!”

There was a long pause on the phone line before Glok replied. “I’ll think about it, Fragg. Landing Pad 324 is being prepped for your arrival.”

Fragg heard a click from the other end of the line, and one Slig turned toward him. “Sir, he’s cut the connection.”

Lord Fragg said nothing. This was his chance to gain fame, by leading the army that killed the infamous Abe…and Glok was getting into politics. Fragg hated politics, except when it involved his rise to power.

“Increase the speed,” Fragg ordered suddenly. He folded his hands behind his back. “We need to get to Mantin City right away.”

* * *

[Lord Stanley]

*sigh* Why do I never get responses...

[Lord Stanley]

Maybe if I post this ULTRA-COOL chapter people will read my story...

CHAPTER TEN

The sun slowly dipped behind a hill, painting the blue skies with a faded orange light, but the figure standing on that hill didn’t notice. He didn’t care when that sun completely disappeared beyond the horizon, and the night shadows began to lengthen, and the orange light faded further to a light pink. He didn’t look up as night fell across this section of Mudos, head bowed to his chest.

He had failed his mission.

Abe, the greatest Mudokon hero of all time—and almost the only Mudokon hero of all time, except Big Face—had never failed anyone before. He had rescued his people from slavery all his life. 99 from RuptureFarms, 300 from the SoulStorm Corporation, dozens more from the Slog Huts, Splinterz, Magog Motors, FlubCo Fuels, and countless other factories that had been the scourge of the land.

But now his tally was changed. He’d failed them. He’d let them go.

Somehow, Lord Fragg had not only been smart enough to purchase biotics for his short legs, but the Glukkon had also had enough of a brain to get away from Abe. No one had ever done that before. He had killed Popper Sligs, Armored Sligs, Gunner Sligs, BigBro Sligs, Vykkers, Interns, Puds, Chumps, Wanna-Be’s, Big Cheeses, and Glockstars…but not Fragg.

He had stood here on this very hill, watching the stream of Sligs lead MeechCo’s Mudokons into the wilderness.

He had stood here on this very hill, watching a small stampede of Scrabs run free for the first time in years.

He had stood here on this very hill, twenty-seven years ago, searching for the entrance to the Almighty Raisin’s Cave.

He had stood here on this very hill, thirty years ago, and for the first time in his life had used the power of Shrykull.

How he wished he could do that now.

Abe clenched his fists, and turned to the north—did all Mudokons have strangely built-in compasses, or was it something installed by the Glukkons in RuptureFarms, or was it an effect of all the Glukkon brews he’d been drinking, or was it just him as the Chosen One?—and began walking.

Just because he’d failed by himself didn’t mean he could fail with others. He hadn’t talked with Alf, Lowrn, Grunn, and Ferg in six years, not since they’d surrendered him to a posse of Sligs and nearly gotten him killed. Beyond that, they had been the ones to first drink SoulStorm Brew, and had shoved him in the Big Well, and had abandoned him when he’d had to cross the Black Lake, and had still pretended to be his best buddies when he returned unscathed from each of these conflicts.

Abe still didn’t like the way they had misused him…but now perhaps he could use them.

Almost as an afterthought, he pulled a small pad from his pocket and, without looking, pushed the DETONATE button.

The sky was suddenly lit with orange again, as MeechCo blew.

Abe didn’t even turn to look. He’d done this many times before.

Now it was time to enlist some help.

* * *

[Lord Stanley]

Why does nobody read...

[MeechMunchie]

I'm sure everyone reads it, you just have a very consistent style so it's hard to comment on anything in particular.

[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Vastor Ugrich laid the small stack of money alongside the others and sat back, folding his arms across his chest. “Satisfied?”

The surly Wolvark right in front of him shook his head slowly. “The deal was for $500, Vastor.”

Vastor shrugged his Slig shoulders. “What of it?”

“I did the job for you,” the gruffian said, in a tone that reminded Vastor of a mother lecturing her child for the fifth time in as many minutes. “You said I’d get $500 out of it. I did the job. Now you pay me. Get it?”

The Slig leaned his back against a rock, arms at his hips, not straying too far from the old-fashioned but punch-packing Snuzi gun he’d looted from the wreckage of Vykkers Labs a few years back. This Wolvark — Gurchin, or some odd name like that — was competent enough, but Vastor didn’t have the credits to waste on a bruiser like him.

Still, Gurchin was holding a Firespray on him, and Vastor didn’t want to go up in flames like the long-dead Brewmaster. This job he’d have to take his time in seeing through.

“What if I don’t have the money with me?” he suggested.

Gurchin laughed coldly, clicking the cock on his flamethrower as if reminding the Slig of its presence. “In that case, I shoot you and take all that you do have on you.”

Vastor sighed, spreading his arms wide. “And I thought we were going to be friends here.”

“That depends on if you’ll fork over the cash,” the Wolvark growled, “or if I have to pull this trigger and make you do a little thing I call a Pain Dance.”

Vastor brought his arms back together, clenching both hands together in one big fist. “I don’t think so.”

Gurchin pulled the trigger—

But Vastor was already half a meter away from the yellow blaze that came pouring out the Firespray’s barrel. The Slig was already coming out of his roll and back up onto one knee, Snuzi gun already in hand and firing three times in a split second.

The roar of flames from the Firespray came to a halt, as Gurchin’s limp fingers fell off the trigger, and the Wolvark slid to one side with three holes through his brain.

Vastor grinned. “Well, that wasn’t too bad.”

He holstered his Snuzi gun once more, reaching out for the Firespray. There was no reason to check the Wolvark’s vital signs; the gruffian was definitely dead. The Snuzi Corporation might have gone out of business a few decades ago, but their guns were definitely not weak. Maybe they were bullet guns, but they did nearly as well as the modern laser rifles that all the industrial Sligs used.

Vastor clenched his fists. Industrial Sligs. He hated the thought of those slick-backed city losers. Vastor had once been one of them – that was how he’d gained his mechanical pants – but that didn’t mean he admired them for their weakness.

With the Glukkons to keep a tight hold on the new technology, the industrialist Sligs would always be at top-capacity. But they would also be spoiled and lazy; they would never understand what it meant to be fully self-sufficient, nor would they ever be able to live in the wild. Where city Sligs had night vision goggles, radars, and laser rifles, Vastor had his Snuzi pistol and his instincts.

He glanced at the Firespray’s fuel charge and laughed. “Gurchin was duller than I thought; he only had four seconds’ worth of fire left.”

He tossed the flamethrower to one side. Someone might find it, and refuel it, but Vastor had no current use for it, not when he still had 85 rounds left in his pistol.

The Slig searched Gurchin’s body for goodies, and within minutes had found a good amount of worthwhile items. There were $322 in paper and coin money, a small life-form area scanner, a tiny Give-em-Old-Harry pistol, and even a gas grenade. Vastor had no use for the tiny pistol, but he gladly accepted the money and grenade.

He glanced at the area scanner. “Should I use this industrialist thing, or keep on by instinct?”

As soon as he spoke, he knew what his answer was. What a stupid question that was to ask.

He tossed the scanner aside.

But even before the device had struck the ground, it was making small bleep noises. Vastor whirled around, bent to pick up the small scanner, and saw on its little green screen that there was a being approaching from the south.

The scanner identified the being as a Mudokon.

He almost snorted aloud. Nothing to be afraid of, just a Mud. And none of them has the sense to carry a weapon.

The Slig drew his Snuzi gun, dropping the scanner to the ground and crushing it under his heel. Whoever this stupid free Mudokon was, he wasn’t going to be alive much longer.

* * *

[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER TWELVE

Abe kept his head bowed as he walked north. As he walked, he let his thoughts range free of his current troubles.

Free Mudokons were, despite all his efforts, a rare thing to see walking the land. Usually, they would be accompanied by Slig guards, most armed with anything ranging from metal clubs to Barrage 32-A Laser Carbines. Abe had been freeing Mudokons for years and years, and still Mudokons weren’t free to walk around as they wished. Most of them just hung around their big fortress, or in the village to the north – his current destination. He still had a lot of work to do. Hopefully, with his former “buddies” along with him, he would be able to get work done quicker.

Still, he knew this wasn’t going to be easy getting their help. Alf, Lowrn, Grunn, and Ferg had never been very good friends with him even when they had openly professed that. They had betrayed him one too many times, and he’d dumped them for the leeching slime they were. All they wanted from him was to take part in his excessive fame as the greatest hero on Oddworld, and they had gotten away with it for twenty years.

So he’d told them off for what they were. He’d told them to stay away from him or he might get graphic with his new wrestling moves…and, like the cowards they really were, they fled.

He’d been doing a very good deed at the time, protecting his legacy and getting an irritant out of the way. But now, it was going to be that much harder to get them to join up with him.

Kapwing!

Instinctively Abe ducked and rolled to the side at the sound of a bullet, fear nearly making his head-tentacle stand up on end. He hadn’t known someone was nearby – if that first shot had been properly aimed, he would be dead now.

My killer instincts must be escaping with my youth, he thought grumpily.

Nearby, he could hear a Slig cursing loudly, but Abe didn’t waste time trying to translate the filthy language. Instead, he kept ducking to either side, strafing madly. Another pistol shot split the morning peace, making a deep furrow in the ground only a few inches to his left.

Still strafing, he shouted, “You’re going to stop shooting right now, or I’m going to be very mad!”

Another shot tore through the air, this one all too close to his head. “Shut up, Mud!” someone shouted at him, in a distinctively Slig voice. “Just stand still, it’ll be easier on both of us!”

Abe didn’t reply. A Slig, still wielding a Snuzi gun? That meant it had to be one of those rare rogue Sligs, ones that survived on their own in the wild without the Glukkons to watch over them. That also explained how he hadn’t been able to detect the Slig’s presence before the attack – living in the wild could boost stealth.

At the familiar click that announced the firing of a bullet .01 of a second before the actual blast, Abe dropped face-first on the ground as solidly as if the ensuing blast had hit him – which he hoped to imply to the Slig had happened. He let out a groan.

“Help!” he gasped out. “Help!”

Apparently, surprisingly, his ruse was good enough. The Slig snorted something about “city types always so weak,” and the Mudokon could hear the squeaking sound of the Slig’s mechanical leg joints as the shooter came in this direction.

Abe found he had to grin, as he put one hand under him, making it look as if he had been shot somewhere in the chest. By letting his guard down, the Slig was proving himself to be something of an amateur.

And Abe handled amateurs for breakfast. And dinner, for that matter. But usually he rounded it off with a professional for supper. Wimps in between—

The Slig came up over the hill with Snuzi gun pointed right at Abe. The rogue grinned, said “You Muds couldn’t fight to save your own lives—” and fired directly at Abe.

* * *

[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Lord Fragg kept his lips firmly pressed together, as his private airship slowly lowered toward Landing Pad 324 in Mantin City. The capital of Glukksonia was the largest and most fearsome industrialist port found on Mudos, and as such had never been threatened by Abe or any of his nearly-obsolete kind.

Only a day ago, Fragg would have rendered Abe’s kind as being completely obsolete. But after the feared Mudokon had just showed up in MeechCo, and forced everyone to evacuate the factory, the Glukkon was forced to admit that the Mudokons were not as subdued as he would have liked. Abe was a major threat to everything that the industrialists held dear – their own lives, slaves, and money – and since he was a Mudokon, and all Muds were evil, they had to get rid of Abe somehow.

Fragg rocked at the slight tremor that ran through the airship as it landed on Pad 324. He turned to the Slig at the controls. “Unlock the door.”

“Right away, boss!”

As soon as he heard the click announcing that the door was ready, the Glukkon was striding across the deck toward the exit – and as he went, he considered he might be the only Glukkon who was able to take real strides. He actually wore pants over his mechanically-extended legs, unlike the restrictive one-piece suits that all the others wore.

As he approached, the exit door hissed open. One Slig crewer was already standing on the bow deck, gripping his Barrage-30-D Laser Carbine with both hands. The guard straightened as the Glukkon emerged from the interior of the vehicle.

“Come with me,” Fragg ordered.

The soldier nodded and moved after him, mechanical legs creaking loudly. The Glukkon walked forward, pushed aside the gate that barred him from the metal floor of the landing pad, and hopped down the tiny ramp connected from the tip of the airship to a designed slot in the ground.

Ahead of him was a huge metal door, a full meter of steel barring him from the inside of King Glok’s castle. Two small electric turrets swiveled slowly on either side of the door. Standing several feet in front of the door was a line of eight armored BigBro Sligs, all armed with the Donner Packer 2B guns, the most powerful bullet rifles known to Glukks.

Fragg raised an eyebrow. Apparently, Glok didn’t trust him very much. But then, why should he?

Fragg continued forward without a pause in step. It wouldn’t do if any of the BigBro guards saw him hesitate at the sight of so many deadly guards at the palace gates.

One of the BigBros stepped forward, holding his Donner Packer in his right hand and gesturing back toward the palace with it. “You’re to follow us to the throne room, immediately.”

Fragg smiled thinly. “Excellent. I always hated waits.”

Four of the BigBros turned to the huge gate, which slid upward into the upper parts of the palace at their approach. The patrol leader gestured for Fragg and his guard to follow them, and, left without any choice and ready to speak with the king, the businessman followed.

The inside of Mantin Palace were different than most Glukkon architecture. Whereas most Glukkons designed the buildings for the work they contained rather than art, the Glukkon rulers had obviously had the palace made just so visitors could take their time and admire the marble floors, exquisite paintings lining the wall, and crane their necks to look up at the reconstructed “missing link” bone pieces that supposedly connected Glukkons with Oktogi somewhere in the past.

Fragg, of course, wasn’t impressed by these “scientific” items. Who would be stupid enough to assume that the perfect species had ever been anything different in the past? How could anyone be stupid enough to think that time and chance alone could define the way the universe worked?

On Oddworld, Fragg knew, they were guided by the Hand of Odd. Usually it was against the Glukkons, and for the Mudokons, because in most cases, the Glukkons’ factories ended up in ashes and the distraught businessmen were either dead or ruing their fate in the poorhouses. Sligs were usually just fountains of messy pieces where Abe left them.

The Glukkon kept his gaze forward as they walked through the hallways. He wasn’t going to be impressed by Glok’s choices of artwork, not when he had business to take care of.

The throne room door was similar to the outside door – thick and strong, with another twin set of electric turrets swiveling slowly around. Two more armored Big Brother Sligs guarded the door, but since Fragg was the king’s guest this morning, he didn’t feel overly threatened by the guards.

The door slid open at the four guards’ approach, and Fragg followed right behind them into Glok’s throne room.

Fragg had never been into the royal throne room before, nor had he ever spoken face-to-face with King Glok before, but that didn’t mean he was going to bow and scrape and act amazed and respectful like all the others. He was Lord Fragg, the greatest business-Glukkon to walk Mudos since the famous Molluck, and he was not going to bow to anyone.

He kept his attention on the throne set on the raised dais at the back of the room, and the figure sitting in it. Like most Glukkons, Glok wore a one-piece suit and walked on his hands; as far as Fragg could tell, Fragg was the only one who had undergone the extension of his legs. Glok’s suit was gold and sparkly, completely unadorned except for two similarly gold and shiny epaulettes that showed his dignified rank as king.

As Fragg marched across the throne room, Glok spoke, in a slightly high-pitched voice. “You wanted to speak to me in private?”

The businessman stopped about ten steps away from the throne, and nodded. “Yes. King Glok, I know we have our differences, but – ”

“But we can all join together and crush this Abe guy, and go on living without a problem?” Glok finished airily. “I don’t think so, Fragg.”

The businessman folded his arms across his chest – yet another action no other Glukkon could do. “And why not? As soon as I have another factory up and running, I can pay you 20% sales interest – ”

“And to start it, you would have to borrow government money,” Glok pointed out. “You would therefore have to put it up to a 75% interest rate to satisfy me. And I know you wouldn’t agree to that, so scratch the idea.”

Fragg gritted his teeth. “I take it you don’t see Abe as a threat.”

Glok laughed. “Of course I do, Fragg! He’s destroyed more of our factories and ruined more Slig laborers than any other being in the history of Oddworld, and you think I’d take him lightly?”

“Why else would you refuse to give me an army?” Fragg asked.

Glok smiled. “I simply fail to see where you factor into all this.”

Fragg saw two BigBro Sligs moving forward with Donner Packers raised, and for the first time in the palace, felt a quick burst of fear. “You need me to provide you with money, King Glok. You may get taxes every year, but my factory sells items every day.”

“There are other factories.”

“None that sell as well as mine!” Fragg snapped. “None of them sell Meeches!”

The king nodded. “Perhaps not now…but perhaps after a few hours in the interrogation center, you will have revealed the secret of the Meech beetles’ location.”

Fragg bit his lip. Glok was slipperier than he’d anticipated he would be. But then, they hadn’t elected him king for nothing, had they? “I have a sizeable force of Sligs heading for Mantin City at this very moment, Glok. And when they hear you have me imprisoned, have me tortured, they’ll be on you in a flash.”

“I have far more Sligs than you,” the king chuckled. “And mine are four-legged and on steroids. Doesn’t that count for something?”

“Some of your Sligs will die. A lot of them, in fact.”

Glok nodded. “I understand. But so do they. All of my guards understand that their task involves risk, all the way up to death.”

The Glukkon shook his head. “Guards, take him away.”

The two BigBro Sligs grabbed Fragg around the arms with their steel grip—

Fragg took a deep breath, and said, “I also have slaves.”

“Hold him there.” Glok tipped his head to one side. “What do you mean by that, Fragg?”

“All the slaves from MeechCo,” Fragg said, thinking quickly. “I could hand them over to you in exchange for leadership of your army.”

Glok shook his head. “I could just take them.”

“My Sligs know what to do. If anyone tries to take the slaves, and I haven’t ordered it personally, voice-to-voice, they’ll mow the Mudokons down, and there goes a lot of profit for you.”

“There are always more Mudokons where those came from,” Glok said. “I could just get more in a few years –”

“With Abe on the loose again, you’ll need all the slaves you can get your grip on,” Fragg pointed out. “You know how Abe feels about slavery.”

Glok began to look as if he were taking the suggestion seriously. “True…but you’re no soldier. What could you do at the head of an army?”

Fragg smiled. It looked as if he was going to get out of this situation after all. “I can lead them – I’ve studied military tactics. Besides, once I rebuild MeechCo, I can simply give them a small portion of the proceeds.”

The king nodded. “I see…your suggestion is sensible, Fragg. I will take it into consideration.”

Fragg narrowed his eyes. “That’s what you said before.”

“So I did, so I did…” Glok looked up at the ceiling. “Having an army is soon to be a fact. The question is whether to put you in charge of it.”

Fragg held his breath. This was where it came down to the serious moment – whether he was going to be tortured in a prison cell, or lead a Slig army to destroy this blasted Abe guy for all the trouble he had caused? Would Glok come to realize how useful Fragg would be without torturing him, or would Fragg have to go through even more pain in the game of industrial might?

Glok returned his gaze to Fragg, a friendly-enough smile dawning on his face. “I’ve made my decision, Fragg: you may lead this army against Abe.”

Fragg breathed out in relief. “I’m glad you came to see –”

“And to prove that you’re a worthy general,” the king went on cheerfully, “you will show your toughness in a torture session…where you will reveal to us the location of the Meech beetles.”

Fragg groaned, as the BigBros dragged him out of the throne room toward the detention center.

* * *

[Lord Stanley]

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Vastor Ugrich grinned as he came up over the hill. The free Mudokon was lying there on the dirt, one hand under his chest – indicating the area the Snuzi bullet had penetrated – and was moaning in a voice that would have been pitiful if the Slig didn’t want him dead. How could a Mudokon be so stupid to wander around in the wild alone, not accompanied by one of their Slig or Glukkon masters, or – as in this case – why would a free Mudokon not even have a gun?

Oh well. For whatever reason, this Mudokon was very, very stupid in the ways of the world – probably the reason they’d all been made slaves in the first place.

He raised his Snuzi pistol. “You Muds couldn’t fight to save your own lives,” he snorted, and pulled the trigger –

And even as the bullet roared its way out the barrel, the Mudokon was halfway out of a dodge roll similar to the one Vastor had performed on Gurchin, letting the bullet plow into the sand. Vastor whirled around, his finger madly pulling back on the trigger, but when the Mudokon’s head butted him in the stomach, his arm spasmed and the bullet rocketed off into the sky.

Temporarily blinded by the stars dancing before his eyes, Vastor swung out one arm and caught the Mudokon a blow across the side. Following up with a kick that connected with nothing but bought him some space, Vastor tried to get his vision back by blinking rapidly. He brought his gun back around toward where he imagined the skinny creep would be and pulled the trigger –

Only to receive a powerful blow to the back of the neck from what felt like a pair of clenched fists. Groaning, Vastor toppled forward to the ground. Red pain exploded up his back.

He heard the Mudokon walk up to stand over him. “Not so tough now, eh?” the creep said.

Vastor scrabbled weakly in the dirt for his gun; the blow to the back of his neck must have stunned his nerves more than he’d expected. “Just let me get my hands on you –”

He felt something strike his back, something that felt a lot like a Mudokon foot. “Do you think I’d let you kill me?” his enemy laughed, and Vastor would have clenched his fists if he’d had control over them. “I’m Abe, Slig, and I don’t give up so easily.”

Vastor shivered. “Abe…” He’d heard the name. Who hadn’t? Abe was the greatest terrorist ever to walk Mudos, and survive…“Why are you here?”

Abe – if that’s who he really was – laughed again. “You’re beaten, Slig, and I don’t feel like telling you anything right now, except…”

Vastor felt another blow to the back of his neck, and suddenly he couldn’t move at all. Abe leaned in close, whispering in his ear:

“All I’m going to tell you right now is that you’re my prisoner.”

Then the blackness closed in…

* * *

[Lord Stanley]

Man, I'm seriously working hard on this book...

* * *

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

He couldn’t see much with his eyes.

He couldn’t hear much with his ears.

He couldn’t feel much with his whole body.

But he was still a shaman. Even after all these years.

The Mudokon slowly walked forward to the edge of the craggy gorge where he had spent the latter half of his life. He leaned heavily on the bumbarkh-wood staff he had cut for himself more than fifty years ago, even before he’d moved to this remote sanctuary.

Hold on a moment; why had he come here? Why? Oh, yes; the other shamans had thought it was a good idea to have one of their most powerful members out here, close to RuptureFarms, to wait and watch for a place to strike the massive factory.

So he’d sat here for years, watching RuptureFarms grow into a bigger and bigger threat to the Oddworld ecology…and he’d grown complacent. He’d been left with nothing more to do than conduct extensive research on that ludicrous ancient prophecy about the “Chosen One,” chosen by destiny to rescue his people.

And then had come the day when that very Chosen One – or whatever he was – had fallen into his gorge.

Abe.

The old Mudokon shook his head. It was so hard to believe that the former slave who came tumbling into his gorge was the one chosen by destiny to rescue his people. How could a bumbling, rather stupid Mudokon, nearly totally untested besides his daring – and lucky – escape from RuptureFarms, rescue the whole Mudokon race from their slavery?

Still, he’d done his duty. He’d saved Abe’s life. He’d given the young one a purpose.

To the old one’s shock, Abe had carried out his duties. Even now, thirty years later, Abe was going around and destroying the Glukkons, despite his advancing age.

Advanced age, huh? the old one thought. I’ll show him advanced age when I see him…if I ever do.

But he knew he would see Abe again. After all, that was what he had been planning to do for several days now, wasn’t it? Or was his memory so bad he couldn’t even remember what he was doing?

No, no. He could remember. He was going to warn Abe. Warn him about the threat stirring against him. Warn Abe about the darkness that was sure to overtake him without help.

Taking a deep breath, Big Face turned and headed north.

* * *