#oddworld conars ambition full chapter

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar’s Ambition, Chapter 12, Draft 1

Slim was sure to stretch his arms out. It was a little tough to balance while holding a Slig that way, but it was better than accidental lacerations. Still, he couldn’t help but notice how weird it was that the Ratz didn’t even move further into the tree. A couple of them were even peeking out at Conar as he impaled the trunk, preparing for a quick climb.

Conar, however, was laser-focused on his chance at a gun, and kept slamming his claws into the tree with knuckle-bloodying punches. He sneered at the Rat audience he had in that knothole, wriggling himself from Slim’s grip.

“All right, come to papa…”

He tried to ignore the stinging of sap against his bloodied hands, instead focusing on getting his head into the nest, tentacles ready to grab… at nothing. There was nothing in there save some twigs and dead leaves for cushioning. As he looked around, it was clear that nothing larger than a Popper could fit in here, and none of those could be found. He glared at the Ratz that huddled, still staring at him with dispassionate eyes before he pulled his head out and dislodged his claws.

He realized too late that that left him to plummet to the ground, leaving him a sore back on the ground, while his hands continued to sting. Upside down, he could see Sim’s feet not coming closer to him.

“Okay, what the hell,” Conar grumbled, rolling back onto his stomach. “I saw ‘em take that thing away! Where’d they put it?”

“Those ain’t the only Ratz around,” Slim said, pointing towards another set of green dots in the nearby darkness.

“You think that’s them?”

“Don’t see any other—”

And that was all Slim could say before Conar was gunning it, flinging mud behind him to chase after them.

Slim’s eyes were the only part of him that followed his companion. There was still something wrong with all of this. Why would vermin even drag a Blunderbuss around? And they didn’t seem to fear either of the larger creatures chasing them.

His worries only rose as he saw Conar get close to the green lights, only for them to disappear and new ones to appear some yards away, and chittering started all around him.

Slim lifted his spear, turning around to see more of them looking at him, chirping and squeaking intensely. Laughing at him? It was Conar who was falling for it! Sure, he was tagging along, but where else was he supposed to go?

Some of the Rat’z heads were turning or rapidly tilting, and Slim noticed it was all towards one direction. His eyes moved that way, and he tensed, spear at the ready.

“Okay, what the hell,” Conar grumbled, crawling his way towards Slim. “There’s no way these things are that strong—”

“Shh!”

Conar stopped and saw Slim’s posture, raising a clawed fist in the same direction.

“What’s comin’?” he hissed, to no response. He gazed forward, seeing faint rustles ahead grow into violent thrashings of the shrubbery.

Loud clicking and what sounded like raspy breathing and clicking made both of them tense up even more. Slim leaned forward, holding his spear far ahead of him and wobbling somewhat. Hopefully, Conar would be able to pick up the slack before he got mauled.

If only it would come out and fight already. Whatever it was, it was taking forever.

Conar was reminded of a time he had to help chase after an escaping worker and drag him back. He was on point, clearly showing up in front of the Mudokon, giving him a good scare while…

“Slim! To your right!”

Slim turned just in time to catch a Paramite with his spear. The creature recoiled, hissing as it limped back.

“Ha!” Conar laughed, “Can’t get us with that old—”

His triumph was short-lived as the third Paramite leapt on top of him. He was caught in the long fingers of its maw, razor-sharp talons starting to dig into his side. He winced in pain, hands clawing against the ground for a moment before he remembered his only defense. Making some hasty slashes, flailing against his assailant, he was rewarded with a hot shriek against his body and being dropped into the mud. He would have clutched at his side, but adrenaline was screaming for him to crawl to a better position. Get out of range. Reconvene with an ally. Prepare for a counterattack.

Thankfully, there was a small amount of time to do all of this; the Paramites were gathering together, clicking and hissing. Apparently, they were expecting easier prey.

Both sides silently stood there, eyeing the other from a distance just long enough for either to try a lunge. One of the Paramites twitched its fingers irritably, and Conar’s tentacles couldn’t help but match the motion. Slim kept steady, adjusting his grip on his spear.

A screech came from the Paramite that attacked Slim and it rushed straight towards Conar. It ran at a breakneck pace, stopping just shy of Conar’s claws.

“Hey! Get away from—” was as far as Slim got before he was tackled by the other two.

Conar turned, instinctively trying to get in the fray. His adversary was ready, though, and it had leapt between him and Slim. It extended its fingers, giving Conar a grisly view of its maw with a spindly crown to punctuate it.

It was too blatant for him to ignore. Conar had to rush claw-first into that maw. Hopefully, it would either die a quick death or take the hint and flee.

No such luck. It swatted him down to the ground like he was a fly. He grunted, making a desperate swipe and cut the beast’s underbelly. It recoiled and tried to pierce him with its spindly leg. Conar was barely able to roll out of the way in time, his own claw scraping one of his tentacles as he did so. He cursed through the pain, swinging at the Paramite’s leg. Hopefully, he could at least cripple the thing and help Slim out.

Slim, for his part, was pinned on the ground, teeth grit under the pressure of a Paramite trying to maul his face off. It was all he could do to shove one off with his spear, while the other occasionally struck, testing his armor. He was able to kick at the attacking Paramite, and sometimes shift his weight to warn it off with the tip of his spear. The one pinning him was constantly clawing with its face, trying to get at his own. A pressing pain shot whenever it stepped to adjust its stance.

He didn’t know how long he could hold them off for.

“What’re you doing?!” he suddenly heard Conar shout.

He risked a glance, seeing Conar swiping against his opponent, stealing glances towards him as well.

“Wait ‘till the thing lunges and then stop blocking!” he continued between grunts. “C’mon, that’s Combat Wranglin’ 101!”

“What?!” Slim cried. “The thing’ll bite my head off!”

“Then roll, stupid! You gotta get out of there!”

Slim gulped, eyeing the beast staring at his own face. Its head tilted and clicked. And then it attacked again. He pulled the spear close, rolling aside as the Paramite lost its balance. It tumbled into the mud, but it was clear that it wouldn’t be prone for long. Slim took the opportunity to stand up and back towards Conar, his spear ready for either Paramite he had been dealing with.

Conar was spending much of his time rolling, continuing to slash at his own assailant before finally getting a good hit with his claws, causing the Paramite’s leg to fall off at the knee. It immediately fell over, crying out in pain. Conar didn’t have time to celebrate his victory, though; there were two more foes to deal with.

The two other Paramites backed up, keeping their faces towards the duo. Their fingers twitched slightly. Conar clambered onto Slim’s back, prepared to give backup as Slim kept his spear steady.

Then the Paramites howled. It was a raspy squeal from both of them, and it shook Slim to his core. Conar had issues staying on Slim as the Mudokon stood up and took a step back.

“What the hell? We gotta take ‘em out before…”

“I… d-don’t think it’ll just be them anymore.”

Conar stopped struggling to take a look at their foes, and realized Slim was right. His eyes widened when he heard more than two voices in the howl.

There was rustling in the vegetation around them, loud enough to sound like it was coming from all sides. The two of them looked around, making sure none of their current Paramites were making a move towards them. All that was happening on their front was the three-legged one slowly circling in a sad limp, joining its companions.

The howls were getting closer, but still echoing all around.

“Where can we go?” shouted Slim.

“Not sure, not sure…”

Conar kept his claws out over Slim’s shoulders, but noticed the Ratz in the trees were still staring. Damn things took his weapon and now they were going to enjoy his violent death? He grunted, but then he noticed they were tilting their heads, squeaking frantically. He turned to where they were pointing to see a clearing, and realized they were all trying to communicate a means of escape.

“Let’s get the hell outta here!” he cried out, pulling Slim into the direction of the opening.

“Don’t have to tell me twice!”

Slim took a couple steps back, pointing his spear meaningfully towards each Paramite. Satisfied with that, he turned and broke into a sprint. Just in time, too; a whole pack of Paramites was jumping out from almost every brush. They galloped just behind, screaming and hissing in their pursuit.

Conar knew he couldn’t do much; without Pants, he had no way to run, so he could only serve as extra weight on Slim’s back. He didn’t come all this way to get eaten, though. Maybe if he wrapped his tail around Slim’s waist like so, and turned himself around like this…

He found himself face to face with one of them, hot breath like rotting meat blowing against him. A swift uppercut slowed it down, only to be replaced with two more. Conar continued swiping and punching, keeping Paramites at bay with every hit. But the bouncing as Slim ran combined with his violent moves told him he couldn’t keep this up forever.

Man, what he wouldn’t do for a smoke about now.

“You – ow – see a way out of this?” he called out between blows.

Slim was still charging forward, eyes darting for any means out of this. Unfortunately, the only place he could go that wasn’t a clawed death or a watery grave led him to a dead end in the form of a rocky cliff face. Just from the look of it, it was too steep for either of them to climb in time to avoid getting mauled.

But there! If he could just find a way, maybe he could dislodge those rocks and at least scare the Paramites off. He lifted his spear and took aim.

“Any day now!” Conar shouted, trying to slash at the faces of what was quickly becoming a green mass.

“Hang on tight!” Slim replied, finally throwing.

Tak!

His spear connected, bouncing off one of the smaller rocks at the base. The rock shifted slightly. Slim had the sinking feeling that even if it gave way and there was a rockfall, it would come too late for them.

He looked out to the water. The least he could do was make sure one of them escaped alive.

“Get that Gluk for me!” he cried, before grabbing Conar off his back.

“Hey, what the hell--?” Conar cried out, before screaming as he was thrown into the murky waters.

He flailed in a maelstrom of silt for a moment before righting himself and breaking the surface.

“You bastich!” he sputtered. “I’m still not used to—”

He fell silent, however, as he saw Slim had four Paramites on top of him, all trying to break his armor, with many other ready to join in. They stopped, however, as the rocks finally came tumbling down, and turned to flee. Most of them made it out, but Slim was, best case scenario, trapped under the rubble.

“You idiot,” Conar shouted, swimming towards the rubble, “How’d you not guess those rocks’d land on ya?”

His paddling quickly became crawling again as he made it over to where Slim was. He tried to push against a rock here and there, or even dig through, but it was pointless. His visor got blurry as he turned away.

“Dammit, Slim,” he sighed, “I wouldn’t ‘a made it this far without you. You ain’t dyin’ on me now!”

A groan came from somewhere beneath the rubble.

“I hope not… if this is what death is like, it sucks!”

“You sonuvabitch,” Conar almost laughed, “You had me thinkin’ I was gonna have to carry even more dead weight!”

“Yeah, sorry to disappoint,” Slim said, coughing loudly. “Guess you’re putting up with me for a bit longer.”

“Well, you gotta get outta there first. I’m lookin’ for a way from out here, but you see anything?”

“Just the rocks piled onto my chest,” Slim coughed. “Kinda surprised I haven’t been crushed.”

Conar nodded. Whatever that worm’s hide was made of, it didn’t crumble under the earth, at least. All he’d have to worry about was helping that Mudokon escape.

“Damn,” Conar grunted after some more attempts, “These are… really not budging. Not sure I can move ‘em on my own.”

“I’d help ya out, but, y’know.”

Slim managed a short laugh from his rocky prison. Conar was shocked that he wasn’t seeing the humor.

“Hang in there, chump. I’m gonna see what else I can do.”

Conar allowed himself to slide off the pile and into the water. He doubted anything on the path could help him out. If only those Ratz had given him that gun, he could have tried to blast the rocks apart.

Speaking of which, he could see some paddling ahead of him with their singular feet. He didn’t know where they were headed, but they had warned him and Slim and given them safe passage. Maybe they knew how to save Slim. It was a long shot, but hey, so was trying to rob Zeb at this point.

He and the Ratz soon reached shore, with thick trees giving shade to caves all over. The caves were small, dome-shaped things, and they reminded Conar of the Sloghouses back at his former workplace.

Wait a sec…

He heard the growls just as the smell of rotting carcasses hit him. He turned to see four wild Slogs drooling over the meat of something he didn’t recognize. The biggest one was almost double Conar’s size, and it stepped over the corpse, warning him not to try anything with their meal.

“Down, boy,” Conar said in spite of himself. Jeez, how long had he been rearing Slogs?

To his continued astonishment, the Slog actually paused for but a moment. The other three looked up at their leader, tilting their heads. Conar looked up, hoping against all hope that gaping maw was smiling at him.

It wasn’t going to last, though. After a brief whine of hesitation, the leader let out a booming bark, one Conar had heard from truly hungry Slogs before they were shipped away to Odd-knows-where. The others joined suit, and Conar knew he’d be next on the menu if he couldn’t think of something, anything, to get him out of this rotting mass of caves.

Crawling away wouldn’t outpace even a newborn Sloggie, and even if he wanted to fight back, he had two claws against multiple sets of knife-like teeth. He had to figure something other than fighting or running.

He needed a long shot, and so he whistled.

“Here, boy!” he shouted.

He got several barks in response, and the Slogs began sauntering towards him. Conar realized with horror that he was covered in the blood and sweat of other animals, and smelled like a wounded morsel. They really were in no hurry.

In vain, he tried to crawl away, but one of the tinier ones had already reached his tail, pulling back while the incisors made him cry in pain. He had no choice; either die like a chump, or die fighting like a Slig.

Before he could even roll around to get his claws ready, though, he heard another growl in the distance. Even the Sloggie chewing on him paused.

It was another Slog, covered in murky swamp water and roots. Several others followed after, some larger than their leader, but all awaiting his next move. They didn’t have to wait long, as he charged forward, furiously barking as he grabbed the Sloggie in his jaws, tossing her into the mud before shifting his focus onto the leader. He let out a deep bark, the kind that Conar was supposed to punish Slogs for back at his job.

He was never told why, but he knew enough to crawl back.

The two Slogs lunged at each other in a flurry of snarls, bites, and the occasional kick. Before anyone else could join in the duel, the other swampy Slogs joined the fight, so everyone had a sparring partner.

Conar tried to duck around teeth and clawed feet, but he was reaching his limit. All the chases, the fall, the fights… it was catching up to him. His movements slowed and became clumsier, and he had to resort to keeping himself upright with his facial tentacles, but even they were struggling to keep him moving forward.

If only he could get back to Slim. He deserved to know why he wouldn’t be coming back.

There was a sharp whine behind him, and a howl. Suddenly, every Slog stopped and joined in, making a cacophony that could be heard for miles. It lasted for just a few moments, but it was clear there was a new top Slog.

Conar took his hands off his earholes, preparing to crawl again when a shadow loomed over him. He could feel the hot breath crawling on his back, to say nothing of the acrid smell that came with it. It panted, and he spun to see a swampy Slog, with blood on its teeth, looking down at him. He felt some of the moss and slop drip onto him, and readied himself for a messy end.

So why was this Slog purring?

“…Chairman?” Conar asked, before being nuzzled by the guy. “I don’t believe ya! Where’d you run off to?”

He was answered by a few licks and more slop covering him. Looking past him, he could see the Slogs escaped from that crate and the wild Slogs alike looking at the two, waiting for something to happen.

“C’mon, boy,” Conar finally said, climbing onto Chairman’s back. “What say we get to Slim?”

***

Slim waited, being unable to do anything else. With the pressure on his chest, even trying to get good rest was fruitless. He had made the mistake of opening his eyes once, only to have to close them again when muck and dust fell on his face. He tried to focus on breathing, then. Even if it was a little musty, he could at least do that.

He might have laughed had that not been too much effort. Here he was, finally free from slaving away and running away, and he was even more trapped than before. Even his companion had run off, who knows where to, and Slim couldn’t know if he was still alive or even looking for a way to help him.

Then he heard barking. It was all too similar to his former workplace, rubbing it in even further. It was even getting closer, like those times he had to clean the pens of untrained Sloggies. He’d be surprised if he didn’t still have bite marks on his butt from those assignments. At the very least, he didn’t have the Slig spectators to go along with it.

He swore, sometimes he saw Conar outside the pen with the rest. He laughed with the rest of them, but was never the one to shove him in, nor did he ever talk about betting. In hindsight, that was weird.

His train of thought derailed as he heard the barking come closer. He soon heard footsteps that became louder and louder before climbing above him. Once they reached what he could only guess was the peak, to his distress, they stopped walking, but continued barking in anticipation.

“Alright, boys,” he heard Conar say. “Dig!”

Slim couldn’t help but smile as he heard the Slogs growl and rock start to shift. In the distance, the sound of stone falling started to give a good rhythm to the whole thing.

“I hope you’re still not Slog meat,” Conar called down, “‘cause you gotta see this!”

#oddworld #oddworld conar's ambition #oddworld fic #draft 1 #oddworld conars ambition full chapter #chapter 12

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar’s Ambition, Chapter 11, Draft 1

“Maybe if we’re lucky,” Conar said, “our stuff’ll still be there.”

Slim nodded, rubbing his head. His cap was unsurprisingly lost in the chaos, but that was the least of his worries. He looked around, realizing that he had no idea where he had come from. The foliage was thick, and he couldn’t see any footprints amongst the roots, rock, or moss.

The buzzing of insects around didn’t help, nor did the sounds of distant rustling echoing from all sides. Slim crept up to the base of a tree trunk, putting his back against it as best he could. He heard a low rumble somewhere, and reflexively made a grab for a nearby branch, hefty hands swinging to break it off and make an impromptu weapon.

“Good thinkin’,” Conar said. “Better than going out there unarmed.”

“Shh!”

They waited for a few seconds, Slim deciding the branch made a better spiked club than it would a spear, shifting his grip accordingly. Eyes darted every which way, finally focusing on some underbrush that started rustling.

Slim raised his club, readying himself for whatever would lunge his way.

Conar slowly crept back, unsure of what else to do but give advice from the sidelines.

The rustling grew more intense, the thick leaves making a hideous hissing sound as the low roar echoed through the woods again.

“On my mark,” Conar said, “get it before it gets you!”

A trembling Slim nodded, not breaking contact with the bush.

“Ready…”

Even the trees nearby were starting to tremble, scaring the birds out. The cacophony of caws and screeches did nothing to make this easier for Slim.

“Ready…”

This was it. A tree buckled and collapsed, as if pushed by some leviathan. The roars were getting louder, and the ground started to shake, rattling small rocks.

“Now!”

Slim let out a yell and charged forward, bringing the club straight down. He thought it was a good battlecry, but Conar heard the terrified scream of an injured Meep in that.

His terror-fueled fury turned to confusion, however, when he was halfway into the brush and couldn’t see, feel, or hit anything other than the ground and some more twig-like branches.

Finally, he saw it – a Stunk had hopped on out of the bush, frantically trying to escape the wild swings and generally making the air fouler. Conar and Slim watched as it squeaked in protest of this assault, then started to scamper off. The rumbling was gone.

They looked at each other, wondering who would break the stunned silence first.

“Oh, man!” Conar finally burst out laughing. “I prolly could’ve taken him out myself!”

“Y-yeah…” Slim said, nervously laughing, “that thing really had us—”

And then the ground exploded.

Conar clung tighter to the tree, and could do little but watch as Slim was knocked over by a blast of mud and stone.

The Stunk was gone in half a scream, to be replaced with a massive, worm-like creature. It was briefly seen in the monster’s hideously fanged underbite before disappearing down the folded gullet. There wasn’t a moment before it turned to Slim, letting out another roar as it lunged. Slim could barely roll out of the way in time, and dodging the dirt and stone was out of the question.

He never got to his feet faster than when he saw the worm’s head snap towards him the instant it was out again. He jumped out of the way of another headfirst dive, the worm this time disappearing into the hole it made.

“Whatdoidowhatdoidowhatdoido!?” Slim demanded, making a mad dash for Conar’s tree.

“Whaddaya think, Mud?” Conar shouted. “RUN!”

He clambered down, watching for any kind of opening or anything. Maybe he could lure the creature into a lake or something, but it was clear that Slim needed help now.

Maybe a meal that couldn’t run so fast would be enticing, at least. It worked for Slogs.

He watched as Slim clambered up another tree, the earth raising and splitting a few yards behind him. Damn, could Mudokons run.

“Hey, lumpy!” he called out, hurling a stone as the worm emerged once more.

It shattered with no reaction against the beast’s plated back. There wasn’t so much as a pause in its circling the tree.

Conar could at least see that Slim found a good branch to stay on, gazing with wide eyes at the monster. His hand uncertainly held another thick branch, until it started to bend and snap, hanging on by just a thread. His grip then shifted to the tree itself.

“Oh, what the hell,” Conar muttered, crawling closer to the beast. “I’m right here! A nice, tasty distraction for ya! Hello?”

It was slow shuffling, but he made it within smelling distance of the worm. It smelled like the mud and bog around, but somehow wetter.

Still, the worm paid him no mind, continuing to tilt its head toward Slim and roar while encircling the tree. It wasn’t climbing up, though, instead occasionally diving into the earth once more. Both Conar and Slim could hear the sound of something cracking whenever it did.

Oh, shit…

Slim frantically inched his way up his branch, eyes darting and looking for a way out. There! Another tree! The branches weren’t as thick, but if he could just reach the trunk…

He wobbled a bit, standing precariously for his all-or-nothing leap. He let out a yell, leaping with his limbs splayed out, eyes closed to brace for what came…

Thump!

His arms and legs had wrapped around the trunk, and he slowly slipped down onto a knot. He risked opening his eyes, and he was alive! He couldn’t take the time to celebrate, though, for he could still hear Conar cursing as the rumbling and roaring continued below….

Conar had continued to throw what he could at the worm, with no response. Hitting it with a branch yielded nothing. Finding a sharp rock and getting a good cut across its body brought much of the same.

“What the hell is your problem?!” Conar demanded.

He was starting to take it personally at this point. Even Slogs knew when to move on from a meal that got away. And those green Ratz eyes he could see from the foliage weren’t helping any, either.

Well, at the very least, it gave him time to take a particularly nasty-looking piece of root and grab onto a plate of the worm’s back armor. He grit his teeth, instinctively shutting his eyes as dirt flung onto his visor. He barely had time to adjust his facial tentacles before he was pulled underground.

He gave his all to keep hold on the beast, not wanting an early burial, however better that would be than becoming Slig Soup. When he emerged, gasping for air, he looked ahead. The worm was still on the surface, so he had some time before he went under again.

He took the root and jammed it under the plating He rammed it as far as he could, and judging by that screechy roar and the worm turning towards him, he had finally gotten the thing’s attention.

“’Bout time… oh.”

Well, as Wiren once said, “When you’re cleanin’ the Recycler, might as well kick the blades”. That guy never was one for metaphor, but he had a point there.

Conar shouted in response to the thing’s roar, pushing down on the root. The plating started to crack as it lifted upwards, and the worm screeched like nothing else. It finally lunged towards Conar, who couldn’t leap aside so much as slide off it. The worm succeeded in scooping itself a few inches off the ground, hideously long teeth piercing its own flesh, even protruding and visibly lifting more of its back plating.

He had to laugh as the roars and cries were drowned out by the creature’s own death rattle as it slumped over. The chuckles faded, however, as the discomfort of the thing continuing to writhe and hiss started to get to him, and he had to crawl back to make sure stray thrashes didn’t hit him.

Still, he was quick to put a face of cocksure bravado back on before Slim could think he had gone soft.

“C’mon,” he called up. “My stuff ain’t gonna get itself.”

“B-but I still don’t know which way we went!”

“Well, figure it out before something like that comes around again!”

Slim’s eyes narrowed for the first time as his head turned, seeming to want to look anywhere other than at the worm corpse or Conar. His hands instinctively pawed against the mossy trunk, and he started to clamber up to a higher branch.

“Where’re you going?” Conar demanded. “Get back down before I…”

He trailed off. What could he do without Pants or a gun?

“…Just get down here, will ya?”

But Slim didn’t respond, and Conar couldn’t do anything about it. Guess he’d have to figure this out on his own, or try to climb up with two arms and a tail. Neither one was looking too appealing, but sitting around until he was something else’s lunch was even less so. He turned to leave; maybe if he found a body of water he could safely regroup and rethink his plan.

“Where you goin’?” Slim called out. “That’s not where that lake was!”

Conar stopped. If he didn’t have to support himself with both arms, he’d slap his head.

Why didn’t I think of that?

As it was, he turned back around to watch Slim slide down, deftly getting the occasional grip on a branch to slow his descent. Conar started, jaw agape as he saw how deftly Slim put his feet on any knot, branch, or lose piece of bark without stumbling once. He once again found himself wishing he didn’t have to rely on Pants, but at least he now knew he could use water as well.

“So,” he asked, watching Slim land on the ground with little more than a grunt, “where to?”

Slim took the cue and reached to pick Conar up, but stopped when the Slig briefly raised a hand.

“Actually, we need a weapon. Maybe two, so you can fight somethin’ bigger than a Stunk.”

“Y-yeah…” Slim nodded, looking at the corpse of the worm. “Damn, you really took that thing out, huh?”

Now that they weren’t getting chased by it, the two of them could appreciate just how huge the monster was. It dwarfed even that famed “Mondo Mama” Slog they once kept in the old Hut, and Conar was pretty sure that even the bits that were protruding from the ground were about as long as the Scrab was tall. The width betrayed the beast’s raw strength, if the thick back armor and long, sharp teeth didn’t grab your attention first.

There’s an idea…

Conar crawled up to his kill, eyeing the teeth and plating. Carefully using his tentacles for balance, he reached out, wrapping his fingers around one of the teeth that wasn’t embedded in the creature’s body. Unsurprisingly, it hung on to its gum for dear life as he tried to wriggle it out. Pulling, twisting, or trying to shimmy did nothing except give him slimy hands and a strange look from Slim.

“Look, we need somethin’ to protect ourselves if another one a’ these guys shows up! Now shut up and give me a hand!”

“I didn’t say anything,” Slim muttered, crouching down.

The two of them, with some grunting, managed to pull a nasty and huge tooth out, along with a lot of tissue that made Slim gag as he handed it to Conar.

“Thanks, wuss,” Conar muttered, taking the tooth and using it to pry the other ones out

 He soon had a set of loose black gums with massive yellow teeth sticking out of them. He nodded approvingly, wiping the gore off that tooth before using it to carve the other ones out. He tossed a particularly long one to Slim.

“Here, see if you can get that back armor off of him.”

It only took maybe fifteen minutes, but to Slim, it was an hour of agony. Not only was this truly morbid, but he had no idea whether something else would be coming while they worked. Nothing ever did, but distant whistles, caws, and screeches nearly made him jump out of his own skin. But, eventually, the two of them had a bunch of cleaned teeth, a set of massive scales, and the gruesome remains of a worm.

Slim looked at the scales in his hands, tapping them together with an oddly satisfying clink! Surprisingly, they weren’t that heavy, and the only signs of damage were miniscule. All he would need is something to take care of holding it up for him. Thankfully, he was surrounded by trees, some of which had leafy vines, with naught but the occasional Rat crawling along them. It’d be easy enough to scramble up and grab some of them, but if they were so easy to pluck, what would they be worth? No, he’d want something he’d have to cut, at least.

With this in mind, he set his future armor down and snatched a tooth from Conar. For his part, Conar was about to protest, but stopped, instead watching him with interest.

It didn’t take long to get enough good, strong vine for his armor, and he had to thank Odd he got practice tying old Slog leashes together – the same leashes that kept him alive this long.

Soon, he had fashioned at least some protection on his chest, stomach, back and shoulders. As for the teeth, he looked at Conar, and soon fashioned impromptu claws for him.

Conar grunted, but Slim caught him admiring his new weapons and taking a few test swipes with them.

The remaining were tied to a branch, making for a decent spear. It wasn’t much, but it would hopefully be enough.

“Ready to kick booty!” Conar exclaimed, causing Slim to turn just in time to see a tree buckle, half its roots and trunk having been shredded. He jumped back as it fell, scaring a nest of Bolamites away as its crash echoed into the distance.

Seeing this, and Conar’s proud smile, Slim couldn’t help but agree.

No longer did the two blunder through branches with no direction. Now, Conar carved the path ahead with reckless abandon, while Slim walked the two in the right direction. While Slim was trying to be as quiet and unassuming as possible, Conar was whooping and hollering as he tore through branches, hardly caring about any nests he happened to disrupt. The critters scattering only seemed to encourage him.

Slim was about to say something about it, but remembered that this was a Slig with deadly weapons. Protesting was not a good idea when they were having a good time. Instead, he found himself ducking and trying to at least soften the sound of falling branches by catching them. This was met with limited success, but it was better than letting the two just thrash through and make even more noise.

Somehow, no one was approaching them as they made it closer to that lake. In fact, Conar only increased in volume as he saw some large birds flying away once they were in earshot, and Chippunks covering their ears. He almost forgot that he was being carried by someone else, and he was feeling so much power. Even at work, he wasn’t allowed to tear the place up and scare the Slogs or Muds willy-nilly; there were policies against everything he wanted to do growing up.

Policies that no fellow Slig seemed to care about, of course.

Before he knew it, there was nothing left for him to slash; they had made it to the clearing where they first landed. There were still some crates floating in the lake. Some had been broken, either by the impact or by what was contained, and the whole lake reeked.

Neither of them tried to think about that, instead looking over the messy corpses of Sligs and animals alike, trying to find anything resembling supplies. There wasn’t much to find; whatever wasn’t broken had probably sunk into the water too long ago to check for them.

“There!” Conar pointed, making Slim wince with the claws racing past his head. “There’s our bag!”

The duo hurried over to the mud-soaked pillowcase which, beyond all probability, still had things in it. Slim bent down to pick it up, only to have Conar crawl over his shoulder and land on the muck. Conar cringed, but immediately wiped mud off his tentacles and used them to grab the bag.

Then he heard growling from inside. Dammit! Something was in their bag, and probably eating his stuff! He quickly let go of his bag, making a quick shushing motion to Slim. Hopefully, this fight would be quicker and less grisly than the last one he was on. He slinked over to the side, looking for the right place to strike. He rose an arm above the lumpiest spot, fist pointed downward for quick stabs with his claws…

And was swiftly lifted by Slim.

“Hey!” he cried, feebly flailing with his free arm. “Lemme go!”

“It’s not worth it,” Slim said. “Probably already got the food anyway.”

“Food nothing,” Conar grumbled. “I was just going for my Moolah and smokes.”

Slim looked at him incredulously.

“Look around!” he said, stepping back to put some distance between himself and those claws. “Do you see any Vendos, or shops, or anything other than snarling death?”

“Hey!” Conar snapped back, “I’m trying to think about the long term here! Once we get back to a Magog city, that Moolah’ll come in handy!”

Seeing that Conar wasn’t lunging or even approaching him, Slim decided he could push his luck with: “And the Lungbusters?”

Conar shrunk back a little. If he wasn’t a Slig still glaring at Slim with a cold red visor, Slim would have fount the sight almost pitiable.

“I’ve… never been out in the wild before, all right? I need somethin’ for my nerves.”

He took a moment to breath, and shook his head.

“I always wanted to be a RuptureFarms hunter,” he continued, slowly, “and it looks like part of my dream’ll be coming true! It’s… it’s exciting, that’s what it is!”

Slim rolled his eyes, but stopped himself. There, in the brush a ways behind Conar, he saw several pairs of glowing green eyes. The eyes stayed focused on Conar, the Ratz’ heads tilting occasionally. As they did so, the light from their eyes faintly illuminated something beneath them, as if they were pointing to it. 

“You wanna hunt?” Slim asked, pointing to the same spot. “You might want a gun then!”

Conar looked towards the foliage, slowly creeping that way. He avoided the low barks and chirps from what used to be his bag, but it was otherwise a straight line. No other creatures could be seen, though Conar still made a point of stabbing the muddy ground with each step of his hands. It took a yard or two, but he finally spotted the gun.

Just in time for the Ratz to wrap their tails around it and hop into the woods.

“What the?!”

He scrambled forward as quickly as he could, which was still agonizingly slow. Still, he could see their eyes in the dark, and they hadn’t become any less visible. In fact, Conar could swear they weren’t moving much at all.

Fine by him.

 He had finally made it to the bushes, and carved his way through. Some more critters scattered as he found himself on a drier patch of dirt, with tall yellow grass encircling it. He could see the green eyes glow from a knothole in the tree. Not only were they still there, but they wouldn’t be able to escape. That blunderbuss would be his!

Of course, there would be the matter of climbing up there to get the damn thing.

He twisted around, hand up, as he heard a rustle behind him. Thankfully, it was just Slim, spear in hand. His eyes were focused on the area surrounding, his eyes not even on the prize.

“This doesn’t feel right.”

“I know,” Conar nodded, relaxing again, “but it’ll be right when I got some firepower!”

#oddworld #oddworld conar's ambition #oddworld fic #draft 1 #oddworld conars ambition full chapter #Chapter 11

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar’s Ambition, Chapter 10, Draft 1

“Dammit!” Conar muttered, looking at the other Sligs through a gap in the crates. “Shoulda known they’d up the security on these things.”

“Wait, it’s not normal to have Sligs everywhere?”

“Not on the trains. Usually just Mudokons watchin’ over the cargo. But we saw more of Abe lately, right?”

Slim nodded, looking over to see an irritated and damp Slig stomping on what was left of his cigarette. The other one looked ready to clobber him with his club.

“Oh, this’ll be easy!”  Conar said, lifting a pistol up. “They were still too cheap to get real weapons for these guys, huh?”

He trained a bead, preparing for a rapid-fire solution to this problem that wouldn’t require anything else, but stopped. Behind them, there was the same Slog crate he had put Chairman in.

He couldn’t risk hitting a Slog, let alone his boy.

“Mama always said my head strap was a bit loose,” he grumbled, packing the gun away. “Probl’y got the standard firepower alarms, too.”

“Y-your head strap?” Slim asked, but shook his head. “What now, then?”

“Lemme know if you got any ideas,” he said. “I don’t think we could take ‘em without more incoming, and they just gotta get lucky once.”

“Well, let’s find a place to hide so we can talk about this.”

“I’m not sitting in Meep crap again.”

A few minutes later, they found a place where Slim could not only clamber up to a better vantage point, but also pull Conar up without issue. Once his companion was up, Slim lied down flat, trying to keep himself in the center.

“What the…?” Conar asked, before realization made him chuckle. “Eh, don’t worry. Not a lot of us look up. Too busy with the grounds we’re guardin’, I guess.”

He looked down at the grounds below, the labyrinth of beasts and light security suddenly feeling smaller than he had thought.

“Really kinda stupid,” he admitted. “I mean, death from above is a thing, yeah? I never got why they didn’t check for that.”

“Better for us, I guess.”

As Slim stood up, his dirty cap got caught on something, forcing his gaze upward to reveal another sprinkler. He adjusted his hat and took his surroundings in, soon seeing a screen showing the fire danger and meat doneness level. Even better, the Slog crate wasn’t that far.

“Hey, I think we could get a distraction goin’,” he said, taking his cap and wrapping it around the sprinkler above them. “And you might be able to get a smoke in, too.”

“Welp, I’m sold.”

There was no hesitation on Conar’s part. He was puffing and slouching before Slim could say anything else.

The alarms started blaring once more, and the sprinklers started going. Slim felt his cap soak in his hands, but kept strong. He wasn’t sure what kinds of animals they were standing above, and he didn’t need their noises attracting more attention their way.

Conar finally felt at ease again. It had been forever since his last Lungbuster, and he was going to savor this. Not even the blaring alarms or panicked creatures and guards below could bring him down. Idly, he watched as other Sligs ran around, trying to find the smoker to beat, or find the fire if that failed. He could see the screens go from “Still Rare” to “Medium Well”, and the meter was still rising. The picture of a Scrab went from happy to concerned.

A couple of Sligs ran close to their perch, still failing to look up at the source of the problem.

“You think Delkin’s in one of these again?” one of them asked, banging against a crate with his Bouncer baton. There was chatter from inside the box, but it quickly died down.

“Maybe he’ll share the *really* good stuff if we feed his arms to the Slogs,” the other laughed. He took out his larger baton, wrapped in metal plating, and slammed against the same crate. “Come on out, Delkin! We’ll take your arms off before we feed ‘em if you do! Promise!”

The crate Conar and Slim were on started to wobble from the force of the guard’s repeated pummels. The animals inside screeched. Slim struggled to keep his balance, let alone keep holding his cap on the sprinkler. Water started to spill down again, much to the dismay of everyone around.

What was worse, it was making the floor they were on far slipperier. Conar was still sitting, keeping a hand over his cigarette, but Slim fell over onto the crate with a thud, and his feet dangled over the ledge.

“What the hell was that?” One of the guards demanded, looking around. Conar scooted back just in case Slim was wrong and they would look up at him, but kept puffing as he turned to his companion. He reached a hand out without hesitation, which Slim accepted without hesitation. In seconds, the  two of them were in the middle again, sitting on cheap wood soaked in cold, greasy water.

They listened as Slig Pants rushed around them, trying to find the source of the noise.

“Coulda sworn I heard somethin’…”

“You don’t think it coulda been…?”

“Abe guy or not, something’s up. We need a vantage point.”

“Gotcha.”

There was the telltale sound of two Sligs grunting, and a pair of whirring Slig Pants stepping on wood.

Slim was prepared to climb the opposite way, but Conar grabbed his arm.

“They could be tryin’ a basic flank,” he whispered. “We oughta go to the right there.”

Slim gulped, looking down at the hissing Paramites they’d be trapped between. Those metal bars would hold, sure, but the way that claw face was going through them… he shuddered to imagine what they could do to his flesh.

He didn’t have to worry, though, as the alarms grew louder, and there was a hiss as steam rushed in from the ceiling along with the downpour.

“Oh, shit!” one of the Sligs cried. “It’s overcooked!”

“What?” the other shouted. “Where’s the phone; we gotta tell them—”

“No time!”

Slim watched as similar panic occurred with other Slig squads. They were all rushing towards one of the doors, banging against them and demanding the barely-awake guards to let them out.

“Guess that takes care of that,” Conar laughed, putting his cigarette out. “Now, lessee…”

Before Slim could say anything, Conar leapt down, taking a leisurely stroll towards the Slog crate.

“A-aren’t you worried about—” Slim called out, before yelping as a burst of steam nearly hit him head-on.

“About what?” Conar shrugged. “We should have plenty of time before anyone comes back on patrol. You can rest easy—”

And then the floor dropped out from the car.

Conar, Slim, countless animals, and a few unlucky Sligs plummeted, unable to focus on anything except the rapidly-approaching greenery below. The cries of any one of them were drowned out by the others, but Conar knew that from the trains above, many passengers would be laughing at their plight.

Thankfully, it was not a long fall.

 Further, there was a well below, and Slim was able to dive into it. He was always told not to hop into them, so he figured if the Glukkons didn’t want him doing it, it could be his salvation. His thought proved true when he was launched back into the air, just enough to gently land on the soft dirt on the shore of some murky swamp water.

Conar was not so lucky, however. As the animal crates went every which way, many shattering to free their inhabitants, Conar had landed straight into the water. He splashed and scrambled to keep his head above water. His mask was blurry, and he tried to paddle towards what he thought was Slim.

“Help! Help!”

To make things worse, he could feel water seeping into his Pants. It not only weighed him down, but he could also feel his legs seize up. It was only a matter of time before he sunk like that Paramite cage.

That blurry silhouette he tried to move towards waved its arms, and shouted something. Even if Conar couldn’t hear him over the splashes, he could at least tell it was Slim, and it looked like he was getting some planks from a shattered crate to try and reach him. He just hoped the board would be long enough.

At the very least, the plank Slim found was long enough for him to lose his balance. He wobbled back and forth for a moment before he was able to adjust his grip and turn towards Conar again. The board swung clumsily, but it was at least within arm’s reach after a few seconds. He gave a sigh of relief, gripping the rescue the instant he could.

But why wasn’t he being pulled to shore?

His still-blurry vision focused on Slim, who was struggling to stay upright. His end of the board was lifting, and Conar was once again feeling himself sinking. The plank grew slipperier, and there was nothing stopping Conar from an undignified death.

Nothing except…

Well, he could worry about his dignity later. For now, his tail pushed against the eject lever. He was used to it being a mere flick, but now he found that his useless lower half was struggling to exit the Pants.

After several agonizing seconds, he finally felt the lever give, and he could feel his Pants sinking off of him.

The moment he didn’t feel the comfort of unpolished metal on his tail, he shot up like a Mudokon that stole some Bounce, and quicky found himself bobbing on the surface.

Slim dropped the plank, slowly turning away as he saw Conar stop splashing. But then, he heard him start shouting again.

“The hell is this? I can swim?”

He turned, and sure enough, Conar’s panicked flailing had become a forceful paddling towards shore, tail acting as a clumsy rudder as he made his way over. Slowly but surely, he made it over, finally reaching the muddy banks of the pond. The transition from swimming to crawling felt… strange, somehow. It was as if something was wrong the whole time.

“Er, you all right?” Slim asked, still not over the sight of a Slig treading water.

“Yeah,” Conar said, “now shaddup about it. Let’s just… see what we can recover and—”

“You there!”

They turned to see another Slig, who was clutching his chest with one hand and pointing a gun with another.

“I… ugh… don’t know what you did,” he said, wincing through the pain, “But you messed with the wrong—”

And that’s when the Fuzzles leapt onto him. It was such a bloody blur that they couldn’t see how many, but it didn’t matter. He was gone in seconds.

Slim scooped Conar up and started to run in the opposite direction, not caring that he was stumbling into unknown foliage, where other Sligs or some kind of monster could find them.

“Hold up!” Conar demanded, trying to crawl out of Slim’s grip. “We gotta find Chairman! He could help us survive!”

But Slim wasn’t listening. He was too focused on dodging trees and stumbling in mud. He sometimes swerved to avoid the origin of a distant roar or screech, but other than that, he was effectively deaf.

“Slim!” Conar cried, trying in vain to flail out and even smack his captor. “C’mon, ya idiot, we gotta—”

He grunted in pain, his tentacles getting hit by branch after branch. His view was endlessly jostled- if something didn’t change, he could throw up or pass out. He could only hope the latter happened first.

Instead, his tentacles instinctively wrapped around one of the less thorny branches, and they held as tightly as Slim was holding Conar. Finally, Slim slowed down, but he was still trying to pull forward, holding onto Conar.

The branch bent, and Conar felt the strain of this tug-of-war. He groaned in pain, knowing it was either this or running deeper into the swampy jungle with no direction.

Slowly but surely, he slipped out of Slim’s tight grip, nearly getting flung off the branch to Odd-knows-where, but his tentacles held true. In fact, they allowed him to shuffle up towards the trunk and right himself, comfortably lying on his stomach again.

Slim, for his part, had fallen face-first into the soft dirt. He grumbled for a second, before noticing he was now empty-handed. He shot up, looking around frantically.

“Conar? Where are ya? C’mon, please!”

For his part, Conar climbed further down the trunk, getting onto the tanged roots below. The moss and Spooce there gave a similar sickly green to Conar’s skin. If it wasn’t for his mask, he’d blend right in, he imagined.

“There you are!” Slim sighed in relief. “I still need a guy who can shoo—”

He gaped, watching as the Slig effortlessly crawled down the roots, as if he was built to do it. His tentacles easily acted as a third hand, keeping him stable all the way, and his tail helped him stay in one place as he stopped to talk.

“Yeah, well,” Conar laughed, looking Slim in the eye. “that’d be easier if you didn’t run away from my gun and all our stuff.”

“Hey, you saw those little things tearing that guy apart! What chance’ve we got against those?”

“Better than out here, all lost and without a weapon,” Conar pointed out. “Unless you have somethin’ we can use to protect our asses.”

He shook his head.

“Man, I’m glad I got a smoke before we came down.”

#oddworld #oddworld conar's ambition #oddworld fic #draft 1 #oddworld conars ambition full chapter #chapter 10

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar’s Ambition, Chapter 9, Draft 1

The twenty-minute way there was relatively uneventful, but there were some cops around interrogating random passers-by. There was even another Big Bro among them, grabbing Scrub and Slig alike by the scruffs of their necks.

“You there!” a smaller police Slig demanded, shoving other pre-checked civilians aside to get to Conar.

“Ugh, here we go,” Conar mumbled. “Yeah, what is it?”

“You know a guy called Wiren? Eyewitnesses said he got green skin…”

He looked Conar up and down.

“…a cracked lens, can you believe…”

Conar turned his head slightly, hopefully enough that the cop didn’t see it.

“…A Slog and Mudokon with ‘im…”

Slim started to step back, trying his best to look like he wasn’t just associating with Conar.

“Okay, buddy, you’re comin’ with me.”

The cop grabbed Conar’s arm and started to pull him away.

“Hey, leggo!” he cried out. “I ain’t Wiren! I got the ID to prove it, and the chip…”

Slim blinked. He didn’t know Sligs were chipped. There was a rumor of Mudokons getting those, but these guys outright knew?

“You think I care?” the cop said. “I got a quota to fill, and a brand-new baton I’ve been dying to test out!”

Conar stopped a moment to look at the baton in his captor’s other hand. It was certainly nice, with silver trimmings and what looked like spikes on one side of it. It even had a handle wrapped in leather.

“Where’d you - ugh – get one of those, anyhow?” Conar asked as he was pulled away.

“What do you care? You ain’t getting one where you’re goin’!”

Conar took a brief look around. The other police he saw was too preoccupied with protesting Sligs and whiny Glukkons to be paying attention to him. They weren’t even caring about Chairman barking, as several other Slogs were drowning him out.

“Good thing I ain’t goin’!” he retorted, taking a good swing and socking his captor straight in the jaw. He went down, falling out of his Pants as he passed out. Conar wasted no time in grabbing the cap and that sweet baton. Searching the Pants, he even found the whistle to call everyone else.

“Hey, I got Wiren!” he called out, blowing on the whistle. “Better take that… that bastard in before he gets up!”

The Big Bro dropped his current suspect and trundled over.

“You sure dis the guy?” he asked, sounding almost disappointed. “I can still shake ‘em all down to check…”

“Look, we got a quota to fill, big guy. You gonna do your job or not?”

“Yeah, yeah,” the Big Bro replied, towering over him. “Juss remember who th’ muscle is, kid.”

With that, he effortlessly slung “Wiren” over his shoulder, giving a curt nod to Conar as he turned to leave. As he spun around, Conar could see the cop’s now-cracked lens. The lights in them were starting to flicker back to life, and they were staring right at him.

“The hell—THERE HE IS! GET ’IM!”

“Wha…?”

“Er, musta thumped ‘im a bit too hard,” Conar managed. “Might take a bit more interrogatin’, y’know?”

“Mem’ry joggin’, you mean,” the Big Bro corrected.

“No, wait!” the cop cried. “It’s me, the guy that drove ya here! Check my chip; it’ll tell ya I’m on the force with ya!”

“You think I care?” Conar asked, grinning wickedly. “We gotta show the boss results, and I got me a new weapon to play with!”

“You bastard! You haven’t seen the last of me, y’hear!?”

“Shut yer yap,” the Big Bro said as the two went through the crowd. “You can talk when we per-say you to!”

“I’m tellin’ ya, I—”

“Shut it.”

Of course, all this noise drew attention. Most eyes were focused on the arrest, but some were still looking at Conar. He adjusted his cap, letting his new baton go slack in his other hand.

“Right, what’re you lookin’ at?” he sneered. “Nothing to see here; show’s over!”

Mudokons, Sligs and Glukkons alike slowly dispersed, forming orderly lines again. A stable equilibrium was reached again, with Mudokons carrying huge packages, Sligs carrying letters and stationery, and Glukkons shooting the breeze when they weren’t too busy looking important. Another cop took one look at Conar and nodded. Some Scrubs were being sent to a Fit-Shape room, where they’d be boxed up and sent to their newest employers.

Slim clutched the bag he had been carrying, eyeing that queue warily.

“Right,” Conar said, “you’re comin’ with me. You’ll… help us get answers.”

Nodding slowly, Slim followed Conar, eyes darting from side to side. As Chairman trotted in front of him, he saw someone. A shorter, greener Mudokon with half a feather on his head, his gaze squarely on Conar. After a moment, he turned back to where the police had gone, and it was clear he was ready to go after them.

Slim didn’t have a moment to lose. He ducked over and grabbed the would-be snitch, dragging him behind a decorative arch.

“What the—Leggo!”

“You planning on ratting us out?” Slim hissed. “You gonna betray a fellow Mudokon?”

The smaller Mudokon squirmed.

“I… I’m sorry, but there’s Brew in store if I turn ya in! Ol’ Lenburr said he’d use some of the cash he’d get to buy the Scrub a round if they got him Wiren, and there he is!”

“That isn’t him,” Slim said.

“It aint?” He looked back. “Coulda fooled me with that description…. Anyway, in’t impersonating a cop a crime?”

“Lemme guess, one that you’d get some brew for reporting?”

“Yeah, yeah!” the shorter Mud rapidly nodded. “A whole shot’s worth!”

“A shot, you say?” Slim grinned, his grip loosening. “How ‘bout a full can, then?”

He gently let go, reaching into his pouch and producing the can of SoulStorm Brew he’d forgotten all about.

“How long’s that been in there?” the Mudokon asked, eyes wide. “W-who’m I kidding, give it here!”

He snatched it from Slim’s hands with frightening speed and strength, nearly slamming Slim into the pillar. Before he knew it, he was watching this Scrub drain the can, his throat carrying gulps that would be large for an Elum. He choked and sputtered, but still persisted in his quest to get his fill.

“Thank you,” he finally sighed, smiling at Slim. “I needed that.”

“So, you’re not gonna tell on me or my buddy?”

“What buddy? I just see a cop.”

“Good lad.”

With one last pat on the Scrub’s shoulder, Slim turned to leave. He heard dry heaving behind him, but chalked it up to the guy having drunken too quickly.

He soon made it back to Chairman, and through him, Conar. While the Slog sniffed and nuzzled his leg, it was disheartening to see that the Slig hadn’t noticed his absence at all. He was still looking forward, shouting for people to get out of the way. He was enjoying this disguise way too much.

“Psst!” he called out, just loud enough for Conar to hear.

“Whadda ya want?” he hissed in response. “Gotta keep this up, ya know.”

“The longer you do this,” Slim said, letting himself be pulled by the wrist by Conar, “the sooner they’ll know something’s up, y’know?”

“You think I don’t know that?” Conar asked. “I’m just tryna get to the front desk, and this is gonna speed it up.”

Sure enough, the two were almost up to the nearest desk, and there was just a Scrub with three enormous packages weighing on his back between them and the clerk.

“I don’t have time for this,” Conar growled, raising a hand.

Slim winced, knowing where this is was going. Poor Mud didn’t deserve getting smacked for just being there.

“You!” Conar demanded, turning to face him. “Help that idiot get outta the way!”

“…Huh?”

“You heard me! Get over there and help ‘im get outta the way!”

He seemed to be oblivious to the odd looks he was getting from others around him. A Slig, a police Slig no less, not taking the opportunity to beat up some sucker? It was almost unheard of! Slim would have to do something if he didn’t want them to get caught.

“Y-yes sir,” Slim nodded, keeping his head down as he joined the other Mudokon, sharing the load.

“W-where you putting’ it again?” Slim asked.

“Outta my way, that’s where! Now move it!”

“Yes boss, got it boss,” Slim frantically said, before pulling the crates and his new companion over towards the wall.

“Ooh, Harv isn’t gonna like this…”

“I don’t think he cares…”

“Damn right I don’t! Not unless Harv bought the law!”

“Er…”

In any case, they were out of the way, and Conar was face to face with the bored-looking Slig clerk, who perked up immediately.

“Ah, what can I do for ya, officer?”

“Yeah, I’m lookin’ for Zeb’s place. Got a few questions for ‘im, and I gotta make a house call.”

“Zeb who?”

“Y’know, the Gluk in charge of the Slog Huts! Quit wastin’ my time and give me his address! You don’t know what’s at stake!”

“R-right…” the clerk nodded, punching away at his computer. “Lessee…”

He peered at the screen for a moment, then turned to Conar.

“Sorry, sir. Looks like he’s out on business for the next week. He’s goin’ to the Fleech Fields headquarters for the Kennel Konvention.”

“Then that’s where I’m going. Gimme the directions, already!”

“Alright, alright, just give me a sec.”

The crusty printer slowly vomited a long dot-matrix sheet, hacking and wheezing as it did so. Finally, the clerk was able to hand Conar a grayscale map, full of ink smears but still readable.

“Right. You’re… off the hook for now, yeah? Keep your nose outta trouble, and all that.”

The clerk nodded, still at attention, but Conar knew he’d be grumbling and making rude gestures behind his back. It didn’t matter; he got what he wanted, and so long as he kept the cop act up for just a little longer, he’d be able to leave without much trouble.

Only problem he could think of is that he’d be expected to leave in one of the squad cars or jeeps. Of course, if he tried to do that, this hustle would crumble in seconds. He got lucky with the Big Bro not paying attention to his story. If he didn’t, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to answer the questions he’d be getting.

As they walked out, Conar’s head occasionally jerked back to Slim, as if hoping for something from the Scrub. Slim’s eyes shifted every which way, his sniveling posture presented for the benefit of onlookers. Still, he noticed Conar’s odd glances towards him. He risked leaning forward a little, taking advantage of a harsh pull from his “captor”.

“What’s eatin’ ya?”

“How we gonna get outta here without being caught?” Conar hissed back. “We just found our lead to Zeb - I can’t get arrested now!”

“You aren’t getting arrested,” Slim replied. “Where would that leave me?”

He stepped back, allowing Conar to drag him towards the exit as he thought about the risks. The outlook didn’t seem so good, especially as the actual cops were probably getting impatient waiting for them, but he was sure there were options…

“Over there!” he whispered, pointing at an Employees Only door.

“What? They’ll bust me for sure—”

“Follow my lead,” Slim said, stepping so that Conar was between him and the employee door. Much more loudly, he said “S-sir! Please, there’s nothing in the…the PO’d Box! You… haha… don’t gotta go there…”

“Oh… oh yeah? We’ll just see about that, now will we?”

With that, the two walked straight through the door, to be greeted with piles of envelopes and papers that reached the ceiling, with many blue-capped Mudokons surrounding them. One pulled a letter, causing half the pile to slide down. He sighed before putting the half-eaten envelope into a tube and tapping a few buttons. It shot up to Odd-knows-where, and the Mud slowly picked up the fallen letters.

“All right, ya bums! We’re lookin’ for a PO’d box, and you’re gonna show me where it is!”

The postal workers stared at him blankly, before one had the courage to step forward.

“Er… the post office boxes are out in the lobby. You passed them, sir.”

Conar looked at Slim briefly, before turning back.

“I… need a key. You better have spare ones!”

“Oh, sure thing! You got the box number?”

“Er…” Conar started, tugging Slim down so they could see eye-to-eye.

“I…I’ll never tell!” Slim said defiantly, turning his head away.

The mailmuds all turned away, knowing that whatever the cop did next, it wouldn’t be pretty. A couple turned back, however, when they heard Conar instead growl “Fine! We’re rooting through all o’ them!”

He turned, seeing their surprise at the lack of brutality.

“…Maybe you’ll fit in one by the end of it!” he added, almost sighing in relief after the Muds did. It was amazing, really; they were more scared of a Slig that didn’t hurt them.

“Now then,” he said, turning around fast enough to jerk Slim forward a little bit, “unlock those damn things!”

All the Mudokons in the room tripped over each other racing for the keys, knowing this would be a team effort with so many boxes to search through. Conar didn’t release his grip on Slim’s shoulder until the last one scrambled into the closet.

“There’s the door,” Slim said, pointing past a blockade of papers and packages. He could just barely see the push bar of a fire exit under all the clutter, the rust contrasting with the surrounding whites and yellows.

Without any hesitation, they ran to it, carelessly shoving a banded stack of tax forms and shoving against the door. No good; the bar wouldn’t budge. They pressed with all their might, but nothing worked. Slim kept pushing, checking the hinges and everything.

“Stand back!” Conar yelled, barely giving Slim enough time before he hurled a hefty package at the door.

Bang!

It was loud enough to ring through the entire room and their heads, but they had done it. The door was open, propped with a box spilling rolls and rolls of Moolah coins out into the alley. Conar had no idea who they belonged to, but with the alarms blaring and sprinklers pouring dirty water everywhere, he didn’t have time to care. He just stopped briefly to scoop an armful up.

“…Really?” Slim glared at him, shaking water out of his cap while Chairman panted, shaking drops of himself.

“You never know,” Conar said, before the three ran to the back, taking a left and not stopping for anything.

He soon became aware, however, of a dim red light shining from behind them. They were being watched. He risked a glance behind to confirm, yup, there was a Suppressor just watching them. He used his free arm to fling that spiked baton he stole at it, not caring that his cap slipped off and was being left behind. While he managed to knock it back and crack its lens, it just shook itself and kept following.

“Crap!”

It was too late; the two of them were no doubt already registered, and their location was being fed to a central network.

“Gimme a gun, now!”

Slim scrambled to find the Popper in the bag he’d had Chairman carry, finally finding it and tossing it to Conar. In return, Conar threw the coin rolls towards Slim, who merely dodged them and let them get left behind. Conar’d have to argue about that later, but for now he took aim with a shaky hand.

POP!

The flying camera fell, lens shattering on the concrete as smoke billowed out from the exit wound. Its mechanical whine slowed and faded into nothing, but the duo knew they’d be hearing the whirrs of others flying to their location any minute.

“Quick! We gotta get that Mool—AUGH!”

Conar was yanked into a small gap in the wall, pressing uncomfortably against Slim.

“The hell’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “We finally get some loot, and you go and—”

“Are you crazy?” Slim whispered, eyes pointing to what little of the sky they could see.

Already, they were hearing the air whine, before seeing the rounded metal of another Suppressor hover into view. Thankfully, it was facing away, giving the two of them enough time to shrink back further. Chairman was busy barking at the camera, and Conar cringed. The poor Slog was going to get taken away from them, and possibly re-assigned. What was worse, he had no clue what happened to Sloggies that didn’t attack Mudokons or rogue Sligs.

He risked reaching a hand out to beckon Chairman, but Slim once again pulled him back.

“You don’t want that trackin’ us again, do you?” Slim hissed.

“Right.”

Conar instead reached out with his Popper and hit the camera square in its round back. Once again, it fell to the ground, forcing Chairman to leap back. Conar winced before breaking free of Slim’s grip and running to his Slog.

“You alright, boy?” he asked, patting Chairman on the head. Thankfully, Chairman didn’t look the worse for wear.

“Y’know,” Slim shook his head, “we oughta let… er, rein that guy in. He’s just gonna give us away.”

“Yeah, yeah…”

With a lot of coaxing and just a bit of tugging on leathery skin, Chairman was able to follow Conar into the alcove before another Suppressor came to look. Before he followed, Slim lifted and dragged the corpse of one of the cameras to block the entrance, the dead red eye staring them all down as they waited.

They heard something rapidly beat the air, and a crude engine sputtering. Conar recognized it as the envy of Slackers, the Pants replacement all Sligs hoped for – the Copter. He instinctively scratched Chairman under the chin, knowing this would at least calm any Slog enough to not growl or bark. He just hoped Chairman wasn’t hungry – if he made too much noise, they’d all be a crater within moments.

They waited, heartbeats almost as loud as the Copter outside, before they could hear it fade into the distance.

“What was that?” Slim whispered, after a few moments.

“A flyin’ Slig with a grenade launcher,” Conar replied. “Now shaddup; he could come ‘round again.”

They waited with bated breath. And waited. And waited.

Slim tried to step out, but Conar tried to pull him back into the hiding spot.

“What? I don’t hear him anymore!”

He broke free, stepping out of the hiding spot and scanning the skies. After a few moments, he shrugged and turned back. Conar slowly stepped forward, while Chairman rushed ahead. The Slog’s head tilted this way and that, and he started to sniff the air.

“What’s with him?”

“Must be hearin’ something,” Conar said, looking as Chairman instinctively shrank back. “Could still be the Copter. We oughta move.”

Using Chairman as a general compass away from Slig Copters, they headed out. They kept to shadows and side streets, but had to resort to ducking behind trash and machinery at times. A few times, Conar had to pull Slim aside to keep him from gagging in smog and blowing their cover. It was difficult to find clearer airs to drag his face to, especially since he couldn’t see anything himself, but it was necessary as they approached Coughworth’s Station.

Actually getting into a train to FeeCo, let alone the Fleech Fields, would prove difficult, however. Train security had tightened since whatever it was Abe had done. There were Copters and Slogs everywhere, on top of the regular Slig patrols Conar would have expected. They even saw a Big Bro standing guard in the boarding area.

 “Damn,” Conar muttered, looking past a Bounce Vendo, “they got the joint airtight. You got any ideas, Slim?

“…Slim?”

He looked back, and Slim seemed to be fixated on a patch of that green and yellow mold they were warned to keep from getting into Slog Huts. To Conar’s disgust and confusion, Slim raised a shaking hand, gently placing his fingertips on the disgusting and dangerous stuff. His body twitched, his eyes flickered, and he suddenly turned back to Conar.

“We’ll find justice in deeper bogs, and we shall team up with the Slogs.”

“What the--?”

“For now, though, we’ll have to reside in cargo and with Meep crates hide.”

Smack!

Slim fell to the floor, startling a couple of Ratz who just shook their heads and hopped away.

“I think I see why that Spooce crap’s dangerous,” Conar said. “Makes you guys act all weird.”

“Ow…”

Slim’s eyes refocused, and he slowly got back up.

“…I think… I just saw what we gotta do…”

***

“…No.”

“Come on, this’ll be the easiest way in.”

“But...” Conar protested, thrusting his hand towards one of the Meep. “This?! I’d rather go in guns blazing. At least then I’d have some dignity!”

The Meep looked at the green hand and tried to nibble, but just reeled back, trying to spit the taste of burnt tobacco out.

“Yeah, I’m sure these guys would be saluting your corpse. I’ve seen how you all laughed when that Slig tripped in the Recycler.”

Conar raised a saliva-covered hand, opening his mouth to protest, but he relented.

“…Yeah, point. But…”

He looked down at Chairman, who was growling at the livestock.

Slim sighed, taking a look at some of the other crates.

“I dunno, can he maybe go into some Sloggy cage?”

He heard muffled barking coming from a large crate of thick wood. Slim risked a peek through one of the airholes and, yup, there were at least twelve little Slog pups in there, rinning around and snapping at any loose thing in their crate. Slim was quick to jump back before one of them could see him.

“How ‘bout in here?” he asked, seeing as Conar was checking other crates, falling back as a caged Scrab snapped at him. “There’s just a buncha lil’ Sloggies!”

Conar got up, warily looking at the Scrab before turning to the Slog crate. He nodded, and the two of them were able to lift the lid and drop Chairman in. Conar couldn’t help but feel bad as he heard whimpers, but Chairman was quickly calming down as he seemed to notice the Sloggies and there were sniffs and purrs.

“Right, well, we coulda gone in there—”

“You might’ve been able to,” Slim replied, “If you wanna get eaten alive by twelve pups at once. You know how mean they get.”

“Yeah, I guess… Chairman might teach ‘em a thing or two, though. Sloggies are always looking for a boss of some kind.”

“You tell yourself that,” Slim shook his head.

The two of them heard a rumble, and turned to see that the cargo doors of the car were opening.

Conar wasted no time in shoving the lid back onto the Slog crate before grabbing Slim and throwing him on top of the Meep cage. As he kept his gun ready, Slim found the sliding door for the cage and hopped in. From between the bars, he lifted Conar up by the Slig Pants so he could reach the top, too. He tried to ignore the curious Meep licking his face, but he felt the metal weight lift off him as Conar succeeded in climbing up and in with him.

The two of them ducked and waited. Conar kept his possessions clutched tightly to his chest, while Slim just looked up, keeping as flat as he could against the wall.

“This is what I’m reduced to?” whined a Slig. “Watching the Mudokons lift animals into a train?”

“I told you the Blended Meep Chops were a bad idea,” replied another. “Now shut up and supervise before you get us in more trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah… Now, you three! Get these on the loading dock!”

“Y-yessir!”

There was grunting and the sound of wood sliding on concrete. There was hissing, both from some kind of animal and the steam from a loud machine. Metal found purchase on the wooden crate, and something clicked repeatedly before a loud thump signified the delivery.

Footsteps, and the same sounds over again. Metal scraped on concrete, and the Scrab shrieked, the Mudokons whimpering.

“You don’t wanna get bit? Then hurry the hell up!”

Slim could imagine the cold red glare the Mudokons were feeling. In fact, he didn’t have to imagine; he could see the light shining off him from Conar’s visor. He looked up at the window their crate had, and quickly tapped Conar’s shoulder.

“Hey!” he hissed. “Turn those goggles off!”

“…I can’t,” Conar replied. “For some reason, the damn things stay on until we take ‘em off.”

“Well, take ‘em off!”

“The hell I will!” Conar said, his louder words thankfully covered by Meep bleats.

“Shh! If they see it, it’s over!”

“I’ll just…”

Conar was about to say “empty the bag and put it over his head”, but all his stuff would be out in the open, and any idiot who worked with animals knew you do not leave things out in front of them unless you want them to get chewed up.

“…Fine. But don’t look. You won’t like it.”

Slim rolled his eyes, but turned away. Conar still felt weird, even though the only eyes on him were the dull, uninterested ones of the Meep. He let the goggles slide off his tentacles, landing on the floor with a clatter, though he was quick to snatch them before anyone else got to them.

“You can look now,” he said, cupping his hands over his eyes.

“Shaddup! I think someone’s comin’!”

Indeed, they could hear the Mudokons pant and gasp for air as they approached yet another crate, and all the contents shook and struggled to keep balance as they began to move.

Conar even forgot to cover his eyes up as he rushed to grab his things before they came into view of anyone looking in, or worse, got eaten by Meep. There was little light, but it was enough for Slim to confirm that yes, Sligs just have small, beady eyes, and nothing as horrific as they always suggested.

“Man, this thing’s heavy,” one of the Mudokons griped. “You sure this one’s just Meep?”

Conar was quick to lean back against the corner, re-cupping his eyes and holding his possessions tightly. Slim scurried to the other corner, watching their window as best he could.

He could see a yellow eye peering in, scanning over at the dopey Meep. He instinctively shrank back, hoping against hope that neither of them would be seen. His eyes widened as he saw a couple from the flock hop towards Conar. If the Scrub’s gaze followed them, the jig was up.

He only realized how tense he was when a bleat made him flinch. But who could blame him? He could have doomed himself and the only halfway decent Slig over some mold hallucination.

“The hell are you doing?” another Mudokon hissed. “You want us to get smacked around?”

“Shaddap and load the meat onto the train already!” the supervisor chimed in. “I’ll be glad to pack you with them!”

“Y-yessir!”

The two stowaways finally breathed again as they felt their crate lift, the mechanical whirrs and hisses of the claw easily covering up Conar’s groaning and Slim’s nervous laughter.

Conar was quick to slap his old visor on. It wasn’t as state-of-the-art, but they had a record of those stolen goggles. With any luck, they wouldn’t be looking for a helmet that was outdated minutes after its release.

As the familiar red flooded his vision, his gaze turned to his bag, and the Meep curiously looking at some Moolah that spilled out. It licked its lips, and Conar sprang into action.

“Be damned if some flea-bitten mutton eats my cash—Oof!”

He and several other passengers fell over, the drop onto the train car floor being jarring to all. Fortunately, this meant his Moolah wasn’t munched. Unfortunately, several bills, ammunition, foodstuffs, and the other pair of goggles scattered all over the crate.

“Don’t you dare!” Conar shouted, on his feet in an instant. He shoved some Meep aside, ignoring their bleats of protest as he scooped up as many of his things as possible. He didn’t have to worry about anything getting eaten, thankfully, since the Meep were more concerned with huddling in one corner from the sounds of crates crashing down everywhere around them. There was still much to load.

Slim would have been helping out, truly, but the smell was getting to him. The Meep musk was bad, but the real problem was the amount of pesticide that carelessly doused their wool. He sure hoped the mutton was cleaned before it was packaged, though something in him doubted it, given how Slog chow was. As it was, the one open window in this crate wasn’t helping the odor any, especially as he could see the fumes seeping in. As such, he sat and tried to enjoy the Slig scrambling to pick things up like he would have to do back home.

Conar hardly noticed any of this. All he was focused on was getting everything together, and it was going well. Thankfully, he only seemed to lose a couple of pre-processed foods to the Meep, along with about half their wrappers. If all else failed, he could maybe make some lamb chops himself if they needed food.

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” he muttered, shaking his head at Slim.

All that Mudokon was doing was sitting there and covering his mouth. He even pulled away when Conar approached, like he was trying to escape him. He couldn’t figure out why; Conar didn’t engage in excessive beatings like the others or anything. It couldn’t have been the smell; sure, it stank a little, but were Mudokons really so affected by that kind of thing?

The two of them felt their crate shake a couple of times, as more boxes were being carelessly dropped into the car. It was keeping the Meep too startled to even chew on the threadbare straw on the floor, and Conar had to sit rather than bother to keep his balance.

“Well, this seems to be working out okay,” Slim managed, slowly adjusting to the smell.

“Yeah,” Conar nodded. “Gotta hand it to ya, your weird mold trip got us a ride.”

They sat there in silence, listening to several animals protest as more were loaded on.

“Shoulda brought a radio or somethin’,” Conar finally said, after about five minutes. “I know a TV woulda been out of the question, but… something.”

“Hmm?” Slim looked up from tracing the grooves in the wood. “Yeah, I guess that would’ve been okay, but we could’ve gotten caught if you had one blaring, y’know?”

“I mean, I guess, but this quiet sucks! I’m usually watchin’ Name That Trauma or something by now! Maybe listening to something by Marley Mince, I dunno! Just not a zoo of RuptureFarms rejects!”

Slim stared at him for a moment, then shook his head.

“Man, you Sligs got TVs and music when work was done?”

Conar suddenly remembered the room in that dingy motel he found Slim in. Dirt floors, darkened rooms that were more like closets, and tons of graffiti.

“Er…”

“Why’re you going on a quest to rob Zeb, anyway? Sounds like you had it pretty good.”

Slim was casual about it, but Conar was getting an awkward feeling that he thought was beaten out of him when he was young. It was un-Slig-like, but he didn’t feel like he could laugh at Slim’s situation. Sure, Conar had it bad, but so did these Mudokons, really. He just hadn’t really thought about it until now.

And his memories of that game show were a lot less funny now that he was hanging out with Mudokons more. And some of the songs on the radio… and his former supervisor job…

“I mean,” Slim continued, breaking the silence, “I guess I can’t complain. Whatever your plan is, it let me out of my job too. So, uh, thanks.”

Conar grunted.

“And hey,” Slim added, grinning, “I’m glad I’ll stick it to Zeb, too!”

“Heh, yeah, that’ll be somethin’.”

A loud whistle blared, interrupting their conversation. It was joined by a chorus of bleats, howls, and roars, and the two of them covered their ears for a moment. Thankfully, it was over soon, and they could feel the train start to move.

Conar stood up and walked back to the window, looking out. He wasn’t expecting much, and, well, the view delivered. He scanned over the crates, looking for the Slogs, but he couldn’t see much past else other than several bird cages, with a caged Scrab snapping in vain at them.

He wondered why he was feeling less amused and more sympathetic to the scene.

It seemed particularly interested in one with a couple of Ratz at the top of its cage, though they seemed less concerned about the Scrab than they really should have been, their glowing green eyes focused on Conar.

“What’re you looking at?”

He heard Slim hum inquisitively, and realized he was talking to a rat like it could understand him. It was one thing to talk to a Slog, but talking to some pest? What was he doing?

He did his best to avoid eye contact with Slim as he sat back down. Looking into the vacant eyes of the Meep wasn’t much better, though, so he turned to his bag to see if he could get a smoke. With all the action he was seeing, a worrying amount of… ash?...leaves?…preservatives?...

Whatever Vykkers rolled into that paper, a lot of it had spilled out, and there were several unfurled papers. To Conar’s horror, he could only see two, maybe three cigarettes that were at least partially intact. He just had to hope to Odd he could make these last. As such, he picked the half-torn one and started to feel around for that lighter he found in that junkyard. It was a nice one, if all scratched up, with a decal displaying the Slig Barracks logo. It brought back wonderful memories.

Click.

It even still had fuel in it; Conar had to wonder just how much better the newer lighter the original owner got. He salivated thinking of it, and the smoother taste of smoke that guy was probably getting.

He was distracted from his decadent fantasy as Slim extinguished the flame.

“The hell are you doing?!” he demanded. “I need this!”

“You tryin’ to cause a fire? There’s so much here that can burn!”

“C’mon, I haven’t had a Lungbuster all day!” Conar protested, flicking the lighter back on after a few tries. “I promise I’ll be careful or whatever.”

“At least lean outside while using that crap,” Slim said, stepping back again. “Maybe the fumes’ll bother someone else for once.”

Conar rolled his eyes, leaning out to watch the Scrab as he lit up once more. The taste of pollution went down as smoothly as any snack, and the smell of the smoke billowing from his mouth was a welcome relief from all the animal smells around him. His nerves calmed just a little, and he was better able to think of what their next move could be.

Sure, they could ride all the way to FeeCo in this pen, but what would they do after that? If they stayed, they’d get caught for sure, but where could they even go to evade that? They had no idea what or who was in the other cars, and there’d be no way to escape view from anyone else…

His thoughts were interrupted by a loud ringing from above, followed by a violent torrent of water. Animals screeched all around, and he could hear the Meep behind him panicking. Some huddled around himself, and if Slim’s protests were anything to go by, he was getting mixed in the herd too.

“Dammit, put that thing out before anyone comes in!”

“Alright, alright!”

He put out the cigarette on the outer wall of the box before flicking it away, trying to aim towards the Rat that was still staring at him. While he missed, the Rat still hopped away, going towards a large screen.

It was labeled “Estimated Product Lost”, and showed a greenish-yellow screen with the words “Still Rare” on it, with a cartoon thumbs-up next to it. As the smoke started to fizzle out, the monitor changed to a deeper green, with the words “Fresh and Ready” replacing the previous ones. A picture of a happy(?) Scrab hopping into an oversized meat cleaver complemented the display.

Conar hummed to himself, seeing the door next to it. There was, as he might have expected, no handle on the inside, but there was a large window where another guard Slig still had his back turned to them. Honestly, Conar couldn’t blame him; if this was anything like the Slog Hut, there were all kinds of false alarms that went away in seconds. Still, part of him was appalled; there was a known terrorist who took out the head honcho and this guy was just slacking off.

Well, not that he could complain about that. After all, if someone did come in, he and Slim would have to stay in the Meep crate for Odd only knew how long.

“Hey, looks like the coast’s clear. You wanna see if we can find a good spot, or do you wanna sit around in Meep crap for the rest of the trip?”

Slim shot up quicker than a Sloggie on steroids at the notion, shoving members of a confused flock aside to reach the wall with Conar.

“Open that lid, willya?” he grunted, hoisting Conar up. “I’ll chuck you over!”

“Don’t just grab me like that,” Conar grumbled, shoving the lid just enough for it to slide off. He didn’t have time to grumble for much longer, though, as he was tossed over, landing with a heavy thud!

He groaned, grateful for his pseudo-helmet as he climbed to his feet again. He stepped back a little, looking up just in time to see that Scrab trying to snap at him instead of the birds.

“Hey, uh, get my stuff out, will ya?” he called back. “Or just my gun, that’d be good, too.”

“Yeah,” Slim grunted, clambering over the wall. “Got as much as I could.”

Conar’s things fell to the floor with a loud clatter, someplace to his left. He flinched, and from the stomps and snarls, the Scrab was taking this as some kind of challenge. He scrambled to get his bag, hoping to get his gun.

Clang!

He looked up from the bag to see the animal had tipped its oversized birdcage over, and was thrashing in the narrow thing, trying in vain to either pick itself back up or snap at something. It caused one of the bird’s cages to wobble, leading to a whole lot of squawking.

“Shit!” Conar hissed, looking over at the door.

The guard stirred, turning to the side. A red lens glared right at a frozen Conar for an eternity, the two visors locked in an extended gaze. After no movement for several moments, Conar risked a step forward. No response.

“Sleeping on the job,” he concluded. “Prolly thick doors, too.”

He could hear Slim allowing himself to breathe behind him. Conar himself gave a short laugh at this.

“Y-yeah, but we still got that, er, Scrab to worry about, right?”

As if on cue, the Scrab pushed against the floor, cage scraping closer as Slim jumped back to avoid its new biting range.

“Don’t think he’s gonna do much,” Conar shrugged, watching the animal pathetically flop and snarl. “Now hurry up, let’s get outta view!”

Finding a squawk-filled crate to hide behind was thankfully not hard. There were plenty of those to go around, and the thick wooden walls were better cover from whatever claws or teeth would mince them. On one side, there were crates of Fleeches and Riot Slugs. On the other, boxes full of Fuzzle cages and Meetles, almost obscured the Paramite cages on the other side, and the mewls of the Fuzzles did little to hide the hissing and squealing of the hand-faced monsters.

“Any relation?” Slim asked with a wry smile.

“Shaddup,” Conar chuckled.

He punched Slim in the arm, and to his surprise, it wasn’t even enough to bruise him. Damn, something about this whole thing was making him soft.

It still had an effect on Slim, though. He immediately started to duck, hands halfway up to his head, before he realized what he was doing. He shot back upright, groaning at his conditioned response.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” he finally said, after a long, awkward moment. “Old habit, I guess.”

“…Forget about it,” Conar replied.

He was glad for the visor he had on; Slim wouldn’t know he wasn’t making eye contact.

“Anyway,” Slim perked up, “Maybe we could look for Chairman now?”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

They still crept carefully as they checked the labels and listened for barks, not only due to the risk of some kind of patrol or security, but also because there were many cages with creatures eyeing them. They didn’t know if it was wariness or hunger, but it wasn’t worth the gamble.

After a few minutes, they heard the smoke alarm go off again, and cold, acrid water started raining on them. They retreated under a carelessly stacked box and looked up at the sprinklers, trying to ignore the ramblings of Chippunks above them.

“A fire?” Conar asked. “What could’ve—”

“No, no,” Slim mused, looking at the straw-covered floor, the wooden crates, and noting the smells not from the water. “With all this around, it woulda spread, right?”

“You’re right,” Conar nodded, readying his gun. “We ain’t alone.”

#oddworld conar's ambition #draft 1 #Oddworld #fic #oddworld conars ambition full chapter #Chapter 9

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar’s Ambition, Chapter 13, Draft 1, Part 10

Sligs didn’t really have a word for apology. “Sorry,” to a Slig, roughly translated to “don’t toss me to the Slegs!” As such, Conar wasn’t sure what he could say here, but he felt like he should try something, at least.

He crawled past several Slog legs, making his way over towards Slim. He still kept enough distance that neither could strike the other if they wanted to, of course, not that he expected this to come to blows.

“Er… You really… wanna make sure they’re okay, huh?”

“Tsch, what tipped you off?”

Conar said nothing.

“You’d think there’d be some kind of community with you Sligs,” Slim continued, “but if you don’t find each other useful, you’re out to kill each other’s asses!”

“Look, pal, it’s every Slig for himself back home! You gotta understand that, right?”

Silence.

“You guys keep getting replaced and swapped around; how the hell do you know anything about community?”

“I guess we had a common enemy,” Slim scoffed. “Bet you can understand that, huh?”

Conar could feel his headache coming back in full force. By Odd, he needed a smoke more than ever. At least that kept the discomfort quiet.

“Look…” he finally said, struggling to find the words, “I don’t want those guys hurt, either. I put a lot of work into helpin’ them train those Slogs, and… they were all right guys, okay? I dunno what we could do to help ‘em, but I bet they’ll do fine. And hey…”

#oddworld #oddworld fic #oddworld conar's ambition #draft 1 #chapter 13

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar's Ambition, Chapter 8, Draft 1

Both Conar and Chairman were panting a lot, but they still had to duck and weave past a lot of gas pipes, wires, and terrified Mudokons as the monster hunters pursued. A couple of potshots here and there made the workers duck, of course, before they were shoved out of the way and more bullets flew by.

Man, what Conar wouldn’t do for a smoke right now.

Suddenly, Chairman made a hard turn left, and Conar had to wrap his arms around the Slog to keep on, dropping his gun as he did so. Still, he only barely kept on, slipping backwards, his head no longer level with Chairman’s, the only thing keeping him from falling off was the sack of supplies tied behind him.

The two of them were in the narrow alley between two buildings, barely able to run past the haphazard trash can and various gauges back there.

Conar pulled on Chairman’s lip, slowing him down just before he dashed out of the other side. This was the most basic setup they’d use to trap creatures – a pincer maneuver with only four Sligs needed, once the thing was chased into a narrow area. One pair would be on one end waiting, and the other pair would wait behind.

Chairman growled, taking a couple of steps back.

“Don’t try it,” Conar warned, as calmly as he could. “They’re just gonna tear us to shreds.”

But what could the two of them do? If they didn’t come out, they’d just get shot anyway. He had dropped his gun, and he didn’t have anything else to protect them with. Maybe Chairman could chomp on one of the Sligs, but even that was going to be a tall order.

The best he could figure was to hide; maybe they wouldn’t be expecting a Slog to climb. To be fair, he didn’t expect anything like that, either; he was used to Slogs being raised in flat areas, only ever leaping straight up to snap at their next meals.

As such, he gestured for Chairman to climb up onto a set of pipes, and then the trash can, and the barred windowsill, and the two of them slowly made their way up.

***

Slim, meanwhile, wasn’t sure where to go. Wherever it was, it was slow going thanks to the heavy metal legs he was carrying. At least there weren’t many Sligs around for him to evade; they must have seen gone to see the show.

Slowly, he made it to the back door of some textile shop, and looked around. He couldn’t be down here with the Scrubs; any patrolling Slig would notice an extra Mudokon who wasn’t there before, and he was already getting weird looks from the others here.

He looked past the dust from two masked Mudokons beating a large, musty-looking rug, and once he stopped coughing, he could see an old, rusted set of ladders on the side of the building that might once have been an actual fire escape. Sure, it was possible that a Slig or Suppressor would be looking for him there, but the odds were in his favor compared to the backstreets. Besides, even if a Suppressor saw him, it would still take time for any kind of response.

The easiest thing would be to throw the Slig equipment up to that first platform. If nothing else, he’d be able to use it to test the strength of that old fire escape. After a couple of heaves and false starts, he hurled everything up, and it landed on the metal with a clang. The platform and ladder groaned in protest, but seemed to hold fast.

After it stopped creaking, Slim could hear gunfire. He couldn’t tell how close it was or where it came from, as the echoes came from all around. With this uncertainty propelling him, he scrambled up the wall before grabbing the lowest whole rung, which cried out in pain as he hoisted himself up.

Once his feet were on semi-solid ground, he breathed a sigh of relief. He crouched to pick up the Slig Pants again, making sure everything was still there and unharmed…

…When the platform creaked again, and Slim could feel the ground move from under him ever so slightly.

As he turned to the ladder and climbed up hastily, he saw something more concerning – the entire fire escape was tilting, the old rivets slowly losing their noble battle against neglect and gravity.

He went from hustling to scrambling, desperately trying to make it to the top before the top hit the ground. A couple more floors, but Slim was falling behind. More shrieks and groans from the old metal, and then the telltale snaps from the bricks.

With no other options, Slim ran over, making a leap for the wall, hoping to at least make it to one of those barred windows. He tried not to think of the literal weight on his shoulders as he reached out, hoping against all hopes the thin cement sill would save him.

Against all odds, he barely got a hold of it as the fire escape collapsed onto the ground below, sending Mudokons running in all directions.

After a few breaths, he reached a hand up, grabbing one of the vertical bars and holding fast. A few kicks later, and he was on the windowsill, hugging the bars for dear life. He could hear Mudokons chattering, and a quick look back revealed some of them were looking up at him.

Looking back down was a horrible idea, though, so he turned his attention upwards. Maybe if he could use any metal protrusions to finish his trek upwards… Yup, there they were.

He’d have to hurry, though; all this commotion was sure to attract the attention of security.

***

Finally, Conar had made it to the rooftop, and he could hear his pursuers below.

“The hell? Where’d it go?”

“It’s hidin’ somewhere, just start shooting!”

“You do that and I’m gonna see if that thing climbed outta here!”

And that was all Conar heard before he and Chairman started running again, hearing gunshots from the alley behind them. They weren’t sure where they could go from there, but Conar heard something in the distance: something large had shattered onto the ground several rooftops away. It wasn’t like he had much else to go on in terms of finding Slim, so he and Chairman turned that way to take a look. With any luck, they would be able to hop from rooftop to rooftop before the guards could.

Luckily, there was enough smog to conceal anything more than ten feet away. Unfortunately, this would also make his own escape difficult if he wasn’t careful. At least this was still downtown, meaning buildings were close enough together that Chairman could leap between them without issue.

After a couple of jumps, however, it was clear Chairman was not having a good time in the smog. He wasn’t as weak as a Mudokon, but he was still panting more than was probably healthy.

“Hang in there, boy,” Conar said, giving him a pat. “We’ll make it out soon.”

He looked behind him, seeing floating red dots in the fog. They didn’t seem to be moving closer, but they were rotating either way. Suddenly, one pair turned to him, and he could hear shouting.

Crap. How did they…?

Ah, right. His visor glowed too.

No matter; he had to run. Maybe whatever was happening with that crashing noise would be a good enough distraction for his pursuers, at the very least.

He didn’t dare look back again, fearing he’d give his position away a second time. He just focused on patting Chairman’s side in the hopes of easing his breathing a little, and on keeping his grip whenever they hopped a gap.

That is, until they ran out of rooftops. With no other option, they turned around to face two Sligs emerging from the gloom.

“What the…?” one asked, looking them up and down. “You tellin’ me this whole time, it was some guy on a Slog that’s been scarin’ the boss?”

The other groaned.

“Don’t think he’ll buy that. Maybe we could get us a cheap Vykker and…”

“Nah, not worth it. Let’s just kill ‘em and see if we can tell—”

He was interrupted by a loud gunshot. His artificial legs wobbled for a couple of seconds, but then he fell over dead.

“What the---” was all the other Slig got out before Chairman lunged, taking him out with notoriously powerful jaws.

Quickly, Conar turned around to see who fired that shot. To his surprise, it was Slim, holding a basic Popper pistol in one hand, and using his other to keep himself on the ledge.

“Shoulda known that crash came from you,” Conar laughed, pulling Chairman away from the corpse and walking over. He extended a hand to help Slim up.

“Hah, yeah,” he replied, accepting the help. “You know me, always bringing the house down! Oh yeah, I brough a few things for ya!”

He handed Conar the pistol, and dropped the Slig Pants and goggles that he had taken.

“You should get changed, yeah? That weird helmet…visor… thing gives you away, and I think you’d want to have legs of your own again.”

Conar stared blankly for a second, and then nodded. Thankfully, he didn’t see any Suppressors around here, and if he knew those things, their visuals could not penetrate fog.

“Right, but, uh, turn around. We ain’t so pretty without our masks, y’know?”

“It’s okay, I’ve…”

Conar looked up, and Slim didn’t feel it was the time.

“…Nevermind,” he shrugged, turning around. He could hear rustling sounds for about fifteen seconds, but wondered if he should ever tell Conar that he knows what a Slig face looks like.

“Whoa…”

Slim risked a glance behind him, to find Conar looking at his hands like he just remembered they were there. He had a pair of the more common pilot goggles on now, though in the commotion the right eye must have gotten cracked. Still, it looked like he could see just fine.

“…So that’s what made the newer models better,” Conar said. “It’s so much easier to see…”

He looked up at Slim.

“How do I look?”

“Lookin’ pretty good, but, uh, you might wanna switch to the actual Pants now. Thought you’d be more excited about that.”

“Oh, those?”

Conar looked down, scratching Chairman on the back of the head. The Slog purred appreciatively.

“I guess you’re right; we can do more damage as three, yeah?”

Once he shimmied into the new pair of Pants, it only took a moment to get himself calibrated. When you learned how to use Slig Pants, you never forgot, after all.

He decided to keep his bag on Chairman; keeping his hand and back free could prove useful, especially once he snagged some of Zeb’s moolah.

“So, we should probably see where that post office is—”

“Later,” Slim said frantically. “I hear more security incoming.”

“Well, gimme that pistol, dammit! I’ll take care of—”

“No, no.”

Slim tossed the pistol at Conar’s feet, but immediately pulled a rag from his loincloth, getting down on all fours.

“Dunno how many. Follow my lead.”

“What’s goin’ on over here?”

Slim’s face immediately went from panicked to frightened. Conar had to wonder how much of his terror when they were still at the Slog Hut was an act.

“Oh, th-thank Odd,” Slim stammered, taking a quick peak over the railings. “Th-there’s some kind of monster!”

“A monster? You think it’s that Clunk one, Jer?”

“Can you say ‘bonus’?”

They could hear hastened Slig steps, and metal clanging against metal as the security found a network of pipes to clamber up. Slim gave aloud yelp, throwing himself onto the roof. He glanced at Conar and jerked a thumb back, pointing somewhere over the edge. Conar ran over to follow his gesture, looking over the railing with his Popper ready.

Seeing nothing, Conar turned around in time to see the Sligs clamber onto the scene, shoving and swearing the whole time.

“Where is it?!” one asked. “Where’s the varmint?”

“You ain’t taking that moolah from us!”

“F-forget it…” Conar stammered. “It jumped off and ran somewhere that way.”

The two Sligs groaned, letting their weapons drop from ready to limp.

“You let ‘im get away?”

“Where’d ya learn to shoot, anyway?”

“Ah, um… that thing… was a helluva monster.”

“Wait… why didja bring a Mudokon up here, anyway?”

“Oh, him? Live bait. Figured with a Slog and a Popper, I could get ‘im no problem, but that thing’s no joke!”

“Y-you brought bigger guns, didn’t you?” Slim stammered, before ducking under his own hands. “That th-thing was tough. Y-you see what it did to my g-guard’s eye?”

“Damn,” one of the Sligs said, taking a moment to approach Conar. “These new goggles are meant to stop bullets. You must be somethin’ else to survive a blow like that, huh?”

“Yeah…” Conar nodded, straightening up a little. “damn right I am!”

Under his cowering hands, Slim cringed. He had a feeling he knew where this was going.

“C’mon, man,” the other Slig said. “Drinks are on me. You gotta tell us more about that thing, and then we can hunt the bounty together!”

“You’ll get half the cut!” the other added.

“Aw, man,” Conar laughed, “you talked me into it. Let me get my things with my Slog and Mud real quick, and then—”

“C’mon, we gotta make a plan now! Let your Scrub take care of all that.”

“…Eh, you’re right. I think he earned a promotion from live bait to pack Elum!”

The three of them laughed, though Conar noticed Slim glaring at him before he was spun around again.

“Stay close,” Conar said, just harshly enough to avoid suspicion. “We’ll need those goods if we wanna bag this… creature.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“You ever been to Bron’s, um…”

“…Wiren,” Conar said. “And can’t say I have…”

“Oh man, you are in for a good time!”

The three of them clambered down the pipes once again, leaving a dumbfounded Slim with Chairman.

“What did I expect?” Slim sighed. “Just another Slig…”

Chairman whined, following the Scrub down the way. He received a couple of pats from Slim whenever he got close, but the Mudokon was too distracted to comfort either of them.

***

“You guys got a light?”

Conar had a match shoved in his face for asking. He quickly took it and lit his smoke up. He didn’t have time to put the match out before Jer took it and threw it into some poor sap’s drink. All three Sligs had a hearty laugh over the fireworks at that guy’s table.

“Gettin’ a little spicy there!” Harb called out. He was immediately met with an uproar from everyone except the victim.

“Ah, man, you guys are great!”

“Not so bad yourself, Wiren,” replied Harb. “But we got business to attend to.”

“Yeah, you’re right.”

Conar reached outside, past the moldy window frame, and beckoned expectantly. Almost on cue, Slim slapped Mark’s old map onto his hand. Being the only one by that window, Conar was the only one who heard him grumbling.

“So…” he said, laying out the map, “We know it’s gotta be around here still, right?”

“Hell of a map,” Jer remarked.

Even with all the grease on the table, Mark’s various notes, doodles, and general pencil markings were as plain as day.

“…Yeah, I told that damned Scrub to keep the notes clean,” Conar finally mumbled.

“But why’s he talking about birds and gossip and crap?”

“Ah, erm, secret code,” Conar scrambled to say. “See, this here means the… monster moves slower than a Sloggie, at around… seven miles an hour at a good clip.”

“So that’s what ‘The flight from Gluks will come in the form of Shr—shree… shry…’ whatever, means?”

Conar nodded.

“Yeah, that.”

“So, we’re here,” Harb said, pointing at a muddied square in the southeast area, “and the creature couldn’t have gone far… I think you were here…”

“Yeah, so I think if you go here and Jer goes here… I’ll go north and one of us can cut ‘im off!”

“So you’ll be by the post office? What if someone else—”

“Really, Harb?” Jer asked, bashing his friend’s shoulder. “You think a monster like that’d be bagged by any chump?”

“Well, no, but…”

“If someone else gets ‘im,” Conar said, the tenth drink finally breaking the barrier to his mind, “I’ll… I’ll show ‘em what postal means!”

“Yeah, see? He’ll be doin’ the same thing we will!”

“Yeah… You hear that, world? We’re gonna kick your ass!”

“Says you!” a Slig from a nearby booth shouted, before diving onto their table.

“Get ‘em!”

***

Slim ducked by the wall, silverware and dishes flying out the window above him. He looked worriedly at a snarling and barking Chairman. While he was glad a Slog wasn’t barking at him, that didn’t stop him from associating that with torn flesh and spilt blood.

“Hey, hey buddy, it’s gonna be okay, just relax, right?”

He halfheartedly reached out to Chairman, though he pulled back when he saw another Slig coming. This one looked through a nearby closed window, barely even flinching as a fork embedded itself in, making a web of cracks.

He laughed, looking over to see Slim cowering under the sill.

“C’mon, even a Mud like you gotta appreciate art like this!”

“Um—”

Before Slim knew it, he was lifted up by his head, his face pressed against glass.

“I wasn’t askin’, bud.”

“Mph.”

He sure got an eyeful of the barfight, all right. Tables were turned onto their side, Sligs were punching each other left and right, some going as far as to use the knives and forks for impromptu dueling. Others still were smashing bottles over each other, but not before taking hearty swigs of booze themselves.

Conar seemed to be doing all right, though. He had shoved a table into a couple of assailants, knocking the wind out of them, and he had pulled another off of Jer. His advantage didn’t last; another Slig had knocked him down with a dinner tray.

“Mmph!”

“I know, right? Gotta soak it in before the cops get here, I always say.”

“Hm?”

Slim winced as best he could. There were a couple of Sligs kicking Conar on the ground, and his new friends didn’t seem too concerned, instead running down to tackle some other poor saps by the bar.

“Man,” Slim’s captor chuckled, “I wish I had someone with Moolah here; I’d be makin’ bets.”

Conar made brief eye contact with Slim, before flinching from another hit. Then, he made a grab for one pair of legs. One of his attackers fell down, out of his Pants. While that one was recovering, Conar was able to get up, socking the other in the jaw.

“What an upset!”

Taking a brief look around, Conar tried to make a beeline for the window. Slim was dropped, falling straight to the ground while the audience stepped in the way.

“You ain’t getting out that easy!” he shouted, forcefully shoving Conar back into the fray as he tried to escape.

Chairman snarled and barked the whole time, but Slim was quick to hold onto him before he did anything stupid.

“I know, boy, you can hear the action… hey, you’re a brave sumbitch, ain’t ya?”

“Huh?” Slim said, before remembering he wasn’t at Clunk’s anymore.

“Think you can control Slogs just like that? You think you’re above ‘em?!”

“N-no, sir,” Slim said, ducking instinctively. “I…I h-help wrangle ‘em!”

“Nice try, kid,” the Slig laughed, “but everyone knows Mudokons are nothin’ but Slog chow. Watch this: Here boy!”

To Slim’s horror, Chairman almost immediately ran to this guy’s side, turning to look in his direction. The Slig’s lenses narrowed, his hand raising to point straight at the hapless Scrub.

“Get ‘em!”

“No, no, c’mon, I’m sorry—”

But it was too late. Chairman had knocked the wind out of him, rancid breath overpowering his senses as that toothy maw approached…

And then briefly closed, nuzzling Slim.

“What the—” the onlooker started, before a glass tray shattered over his head. He fell down hard, bloodied scalp on full display.

“Hands… off the merchandise,” Conar panted.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, ‘course. Takes more than that to get me.”

Conar gave a hollow laugh, looking back at the brawl. Everyone seemed pretty occupied.

“How’s about we get goin’ before the cops—shit, they got Big Bros?”

Slim turned to see what Conar was, and he couldn’t believe it; there, under a comically small police cap, was the burliest Slig he had ever seen. This monster had beady red goggles, and stomped forward on four hulking metal legs.

What was worse, he had a massive riot shield and an even bigger club.

Slim ducked as he approached, but there was no need. The Big Bro was more interested in Conar.

“Youse causin’ this ruckus?” he growled, effortlessly picking Conar up with his shielded hand.

“N-no, sir,” Conar managed. “Just had t-to fight my way outta th-there, sir!”

“You wussy,” the cop laughed. “Betcha ain’t up for Slig work.”

With that, he threw Conar onto the ground, hard. Conar groaned, lifting his head just enough to see the Big Bro start to stomp his way to the front door. He didn’t even bother opening it, instead opting to charge through and shatter the glass. Instinctive gunfire was audibly deflected by that shield, and the Big Bro roared before turning a table into splinters.

“It’s the fuzz!” someone finally cried, and the violence sounded less cacophonic as several Sligs quietly surrendered or tried to pretend they weren’t fighting at all.

“Aw, c’mon, gimme a fight!”

The violence intensified, some Sligs even getting thrown through the windows. Conar took a second to lift Slim from ducking, and pulled him away, with Chairman hesitantly following them.

“You worried about your friends there?” Slim asked, once they were a block away. Not that he wanted anything to do with them, but Conar seemed to be getting along with them fine. Not helping this concern was the massive Carson-brand patty wagon barreling its way down to the restaurant.

“Nah, man,” Conar shrugged. “You’d be surprised how often that happens. Lot of us love a good scrap.”

“Erm, okay…”

“C’mon, it should buy us time. Let’s get to that post office!”

#oddworld conars ambition full chapter #Oddworld #oddworld fic #oddworld conar's ambition #draft 1 #chapter 8

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar’s Ambition, Chapter 6, Draft 1

The world was a red blur, with a jagged black line in front. Conar clutched his head, feeling a dent in his visor’s built-in helmet. As the world came into focus, he saw that his lens had a massive crack in it, though thankfully it hardly obscured his view of the mess of pipes planted in front of him. A quick glance showed they formed a makeshift cage around him, and he found it trapped him in the middle of a larger room.

Past the metal, he could see plenty of Mudokon feet, in a circle. Once the ringing became more of a dull roar, he could hear what they were saying better.

“…take care of those Slogs?”

“Yeah, I think so,” came Slim’s more nasal voice. “I mean, he could stop ‘em while they were chasin’ us, so…”

“A-all he said was ‘here boy’ and they forgot all about us!” added Mark’s voice, in his typical whimper.

Conar was glad that as a Slig, his voice had a nice harshness to it. He’d never get any respect when he still worked if he sounded like these guys. Not like he got any respect either way, but still.

“Sounds like a plan,” said the feather-headed Mud. “Once he wakes up, we’ll see if he—”

“If I what?” Conar grumbled. “You chumps have got a lot of nerve, keepin’ me in here!”

The Mudokons he didn’t bring with him stepped back. Slim was quick to grab the eyepatched one’s arm.

“Hey, cool it,” he said. “You really think he’s any threat in there, Gene?”

“I ain’t losin’ my other eye,” Gene hissed, grabbing a discarded poker. “Can’t be too careful ‘round them.”

He jerked his arm away from Slim.

“Don’t worry, Slig lover. I’ll let him make the first move.”

Slim sighed.

“We’ve been talking to these guys,” he said, turning to Conar, “and they’ll let us stay for a while.”

“Right. What’s the catch?”

“No catch,” the light-green one said. “Just a deal, y’know?”

“You know how y-you saved us from those Slogs?” Mark piped up. “Yeah, we—they wanna see if you can tame ‘em a bit… y’know, make Clunk’s yard s-safer?”

“What?” Conar exclaimed, climbing somewhat upright with the bars of his cage. “You think I can calm all those Slogs down? I don’t even got any legs!”

“Why didn’t that stop you before?” asked the feathered Mud. “You could halt… how many were there?”

“A-about ten—” Mark started.

“Three,” Conar said, flatly. “A mama and two pups.”

“Oh, the ones born here are worse,” the feathered one said, eyes widening. “But you got a family to leave!”

He leaned down, until he was eye level with Conar.

“Your friends called you Conar, right? I’m Eddie, and I’d love for you to teach me your ways!”

Conar dropped back down, crawling back to the bars behind him. He huddled himself as far back as possible as Eddie reached his hand into the cage, but slowly softened as the hand stopped, opening in front of him. He looked at the gesture, and Eddie’s hopeful face. His gaze moved up, through the grate above, to Gene’s glare and meaningful grip on the poker.

“…Guess I don’t have a choice,” he muttered, taking Eddie’s hand.

***

Conar was trying to ignore the fact he had to be carried by Slim out onto the field. He was already in a bizarre situation as it was, that might as well happen. Besides, his attention was on the horizon, looking for a Slog. There were a few Sligs disinterestedly on patrol, which mostly meant wandering around aimlessly, bashing corrupted Greeters with the butts of their guns, and smoking.

“See anythin’ yet?” Slim asked.

Slim, of course, was too Clakker to be out in the open, so he had elected to stay partially within the tunnel to the scrap pile, peeking Conar out to scan the area.

“Nothin’ yet. We’re gonna need to get out there and look for ‘em.”

Slim whimpered.

“C’mon, man,” Conar said, looking down. “You wanna get those guys’ respect, we need to see where those Slogs are. Probl’y got a pack going by now…”

“A pack? You think you can get a whole pack of ‘em to stop chowin’ on us?”

“I know I can,” Conar said, “But you gotta get our asses there first!”

He slapped Slim between the shoulder blades, hard, and the Scrub nearly fell over, just catching himself on the wall.

“Let’s go already! I got a gun, and with you as my legs I can keep us safe.”

“Don’t hit me and we’ll talk,” Slim said, glaring at his charge while he rubbed his back with his free hand.

“Walk it off, then! We got work to do!”

“Oughta throw you to the Slogs when we get there,” Slim muttered. “Ungrateful bastitch.”

Conar sighed, looking back down at Slim after one last scan.

“Maybe I can be less tough on you,” he admitted. “Don’t expect special favors or anythin’, but you… you ain’t half bad, you know that?”

“I’m touched,” Slim replied, flatly. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

He started to clamber up, but Conar quickly waved him down. The two of them were just able to hear the whirring of Slig Pants walking by, the owner humming classic old Magog jingles. A baton knocked against clutter as he walked by, making a dissonant rhythm that faded into the distance.

Once it was quiet again, Slim counted to four before climbing back out. His eyes were already adjusted to the darkness of this tunnel, so the gloomy blues and dark purples that made the night sky were a welcome bit of illumination. Some of the junk hadn’t rusted enough to prevent reflections from the pale moonlight. He looked up in awe at a full moon, not less because he could see a Mudokon hand on its face. Instinctively, he held his right hand up, matching the moon exactly.

As he did so, Conar was using the higher angle to look around more. Finally, there was something promising: a Slig slowly swinging his baton around, with a tiny Sloggy hanging on with a strong toothy grip.

“There looks promising,” he said, pointing. “Maybe we can follow that pup to the pack.”

“Huh?” Slim started, remembering where he was. He tore his gaze away from the cool moonlight, which was starting to fade behind the smog again, and turned to the harsh red line of Conar’s visor.

“Over there,” Conar clarified, trying not to growl. “Won’t be too long ‘till he gets tired of playing and moves on.”

“I thought Slogs were meant to keep goin’ and goin’, though.”

“Oh, no, I mean the guy who he’s playing with. He’ll get bored soon, or get yelled at to get back to work—”

“What’re you doin’?” another guard demanded, marching up to the one with the Slog. “That Gluk said a couple more Mudokons disappeared this mornin’, and they took out the Slig that escorted ‘em here! We don’t need more worshippers of that Abe guy around!”

“Sucks to be that guy” the first Slig laughed.

Slim could hear Conar grumble above him, then chuckle when that jerk was smacked upside the head. Slim couldn’t help but join in the schadenfreude.

“Alright, alright!” the Slig relented, brushing the Sloggy off his baton. “I’m goin’ already!”

Conar knew how tough Slogs were, but he still winced as the little guy bounced against the coarse ground. Thankfully, the pup was okay, and just had to shake some dirt off, giving an indignant growl to the Slig that dropped him. Still, he started to follow the two as they moved to patrol in the distance.

“If there’s a pup,” Conar said, “there’s a pack. Lessee if we can’t get closer.”

He and Slim moved closer, trying to stay behind any cover possible. Discarded fences, motion sensors, and the odd decommissioned Vendo were all prime hiding spots to use while trailing them. At one point, Slim saw a massive Mudokon silhouette, shuddering as he lost count of the bullet holes riddling it.

“Yeah, that…that ain’t gonna be you,” Conar mumbled. “Just keep goin’.”

Slim looked up in disbelief. A Slig wasn’t using something this to gloat or threaten?

“You…you’re saying that because I’m givin’ ya a lift, ain’t ya?”

Conar looked out for a moment.

“…Yeah,” he finally said. “Don’t want ya throwin’ me to the Slegs, heh.”

Slim shrugged. It was something other than abuse, so he figured he’d get used to it.

They saw the Sloggy turn a corner, past a pile of discarded cans, and quickly heard some loud clattering. Slim exhaled in relief; tiptoeing while carrying a Slig was hell on his toes. Better yet, the clanging wasn’t bothering any of the guards, and it was unlikely even a Slog could hear them coming up, even if they ran in tripping on every twisted pipe and piece of wire.

The pup was chewing on a rusty can, drying to drag it aside, causing a massive pile of scrap to wobble threateningly. Before it could collapse, a huge rust-orange Slog  crawled out of another heap, running over and scooping the tiny Sloggy up in her mouth.

“Here, boy!” Conar called, wincing as Slim’s shoulder flinched right into his gut.

“Whaddaya doin’?!” Slim demanded, taking a step back as the Slog was looking right at him.

“I got this, don’t—WHOA!”

Slim had tripped on a half-buried headlight, falling backwards and dropping Conar behind him. The Slog growled, slowly approaching while keeping her pup sitting right on her lower lip.

“N-niiiice Slog… goooood Slog…”

Slim’s pleas fell onto deaf earholes. He frantically started to crawl back, wide eyes keeping focus on the salivating maw while he tried not to imagine getting town apart by those powerful jagged jaws, skin further shredded by tinier teeth they were carrying.

“Down,” Conar called out, in a calmer tone than any Mudokon normally heard. “This one’s with me.”

The Slog slowed, but it was still drooling and stepping towards Slim.

“Hey! No!” Conar shouted, making those bizarre sounds no Mudokon understood.

To Slim’s amazement, the Slog actually stopped, giving a booming bark before letting her child down. The pup was about to rush forward, but a short growl from its mother stopped it.

“You still got the treats?” Conar asked.

Slim slowly nodded, not taking his eyes off the Slogs as he reached into a pocket on his loincloth. He produced a long-since thawed half-slab of Meep ribs, which didn’t look or smell too appetizing, but the Slogs started panting more, looking at Conar’s red visor in anticipation.

“Stay…” he warned, slowly turning to Slim. “Now, toss that to ‘em.”

Slim gave a half-hearted underhand throw while scooting back a little. He shielded his eyes as the Slogs jumped forward, but slowly lowered his arm again as they were focused on the Meep meat.

“Quick,” Conar said, crawling forward, “pet ‘em.”

“Are you nuts?!” Slim hissed. “It’s gonna bite my arm off!”

“They will if ya don’t do it before they finish eating!”

Slim swallowed, tentatively sitting up. Shaking like a malfunctioning crane, he reached his grey hand out, slowly going to the smaller Sloggy. He leaned back as the larger one gave a low growl.

“Get the mama to trust ya first, stupid!”

“R-right…” Slim nodded, close to sobbing as he reached for her. He closed his eyes, waiting for his fate.

His hand felt the leathery scalp of the mother, and he heard her stop eating. This was it. He knew this was a bad idea; why did he think trusting a Slig was a good idea? He was just going to become Slog chow and Conar was going to use this to his advantage and…

…Wait, why was his panicked thinking still going? Why wasn’t he feeling the razor teeth or the weight of the Slog’s feet?

He risked opening a yellow eye to find that the Slog had started chewing on the food again rather than on his arm. It gave a low rumbling noise, quite unlike the growling and barking he was used to. Honestly, it was the calmest moment he’d ever had with a Slog.

“The hell’s this?” he hissed to Conar, his hand still circling around the Slog’s scalp, brushing rust off as it went.

“They tell us not to do that,” Conar said. “Found out it was ‘cause it softens ‘em up.”

“Oh,” Slim said. He looked at the Sloggy, who had scurried under its mother. “…How’d you find that one out?”

Conar shifted his weight from one hand to another for a bit, not making eye contact with Slim.

“Well…” he finally said, “the camera by the kennels is busted. You get curious about these things, y’know?”

He looked up, expecting to be overpowered or laughed at, but Slim looked more puzzled than anything.

“Never heard of a Slig wonderin’ anything,” he said, after a moment.

Conar breathed a sigh of relief, but tilted his head.

“Whaddaya mean?”

“I mean…” Slim started, trying to lift his hand. The Slog had other ideas, though, and moved to keep her head in his palm. “Oh, okay, girl…Anyway – Odd, you really slobber! – How many Sligs do ya see going out to rob the boss, or… y’know, questioning anything?”

“I oughta…” Conar began to growl, before pausing. “…Actually, yeah. I kinda thought that woulda been an obvious plan…”

He sat down, wrapping one arm around another Slog that had come around, stroking its belly. This one wasn’t as big as the mama, but was still clearly an adult who grew up here.

“Doesn’t matter, I guess. More Moolah for me, huh?”

Slim chuckled along with Conar, although it rang a bit hollow. He didn’t really have any Moolah to begin with, so he didn’t see the big deal. But then, why was he playing along with all this? Did he really think he could pull something like what that Abe guy did? If the rumors were true, he went through RuptureFarms alone, tearing the place apart in a big storm after saving his brothers. Meanwhile, Slim had to be dragged along by a Slig, alone, unable to help his co-workers.

“We should get goin’,” Conar said. “It’ll take a bit for them to trust you guys, but it looks like the head mama likes ya, so that’s a good start!”

“The what?”

“Yeah, when you get a buncha Slogs together, usually a mama’ll be the boss! A big one, too!”

“…Huh.”

“Yeah, ever wonder why the Slog Huts never bring mama Slogs?”

“Not really,” Slim said, reaching a hand out to Conar. “We oughta get going, though. Gotta show the guys that we can do this.”

“Yeah,” Conar nodded, letting the Mud pick him up again, “Would be nice to get somethin’ to eat, too.”

As he clambered onto Slim’s shoulders, he beckoned for the Slog he was petting to follow them. After a brief look at the matron, the Slog gave a short bark and followed.

“So… you remember which way we came from?”

“Should probably find another bird,” Slim pointed out. “Don’t wanna lead any guards to us, right?”

“I guess,” Conar shrugged, “But where we gonna go?”

“Gene said something about looking for a Zap vendo, I think?”

“Hate that crap,” Conar muttered. “Alright, let’s try to find that, I guess.”

They crept quietly through, Slim taking care not to step on anything too unstable or noisy while he climbed the piles. Their Slog companion hopped along with them, and thankfully wasn’t doing much other than panting and sniffing. They didn’t hear the whirring of Slig Pants nearby, and sadly Conar didn’t see any discarded ones, either. Still, Slim crept carefully up the makeshift hill, ensuring he didn’t kick anything or make any clanging noises.

Just over the peak, Conar could see two Sligs seated on what might have once been a bench. They were just chatting and drinking, but Conar guessed it was booze based on how Slim’s nose wrinkled, even if he couldn’t smell it. Were Mudokons just sensitive?

He didn’t think about that for long, as he had to gesture for Slim to keep down.

“Gotta find another way around.”

Slim nodded, turning left to clamber down and around the face of this metal mountain.  He stopped, however, his blood running cold as his hand nearly touched a massive pair of metallic red lips. The rust and stripping of the Greeter did nothing to alleviate the dread that came with seeing one of those things.

What was worse, it had started to twitch. Something from inside that exposed can stirred, and the toothy grin seemed to widen to show just how few teeth survived this thing getting scrapped.

“H-h-h-hhhhhi,” it stuttered, its lone wheel grinding uselessly, albeit loudly, against the car hood below it. It was wedged between a couple of steel beams, but was making a valiant effort to rush forward nonetheless.

“Here-boy-here-boy-here-boy-here-boy,” it continued, making Conar shiver and the Slog growl. That distorted parody of a Slig voice was already sickening without its degraded and glitchy voice box.

Slim, meanwhile, was just focused on getting out of there. He’d heard of what Greeters did, and he wasn’t ready to get electrocuted. What was worse, with how much noise the thing was making trying to reach them, it was bound to attract some attention. He ran down the slope, and even over the clattering he was making he could hear rapidly approaching Slig Pants. He dared not look behind him.

The jolting and jostling were not making it easy for Conar to keep a good grip. He bumped and justled against Slim’s shoulder blades as the two of them dashed down the scrap heap.

“Hey, watch it—” he started to protest, but it was just a hair too late.

Slim had tripped on the handle of a discarded steel suitcase, and he went tumbling down. Conar lost the fight to keep hold to the only mobility he had very early, groaning while slowly getting himself upright on sore arms. He could only watch as Slim continued rolling downhill, getting a new palette of cuts and bruises along the way. He didn’t event think before trying to crawl towards Slim as fast as his arms could take him.

Finally, Slim stopped at the summit, groaning for just a moment before looking up. Conar couldn’t know if the Mud saw anything, but he knew they could both hear those Sligs incoming. In either case, Slim was doing the smart thing and scrambling under a plastic awning. Within seconds, he was out of view, which amazed Conar; just how often did Scrubs disappear like that under Magog watch?

He thought about this as he tried to crawl down, the Blunderbuss strapped to his back not doing him any favors. It was soon clear that he would not be making it to Slim without getting caught himself, though, so he lifted a nearby Magog Monitor and crawled under it. He was just glad those things were shatter-proof; just the way parts of the glass screen were dangling right over him was nerve-wracking.

From where he was, he could see the Greeter still smiling and rambling, his Slog still barking at it. He couldn’t help but smile at that sight; that guy was such a good Sloggie.

Meanwhile, Slim had a hart time seeing Conar; despite himself, he was concerned about the little green smudge he could see through a small hole in the awning. His attention shifted to two red lights that were appearing over the hill, and he could hear them shouting from all the way down in his hiding place. Instinctively, he shrunk back, still watching.

Conar could only listen as the guards crept up to the Greeter, and his Slog still barking at it incessantly.

“Idiot,” one Slig scoffed. “Just tripped that thing’s sensor’s all.”

“Wanna bust this old Greeter?” the other asked, hopefully. “We’ll get to do somethin’ for once!”

“You crazy?” the first one replied. “Those bastards blast into fireballs if you so much as hit ‘em with a few rounds. Not worth the paperwork, or gettin’ fragged.”

“So what can we do to get it to shut up?”

“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha,” the Greeter chuckled, for far too long. “Wha-wha-wha-wha-wha-what?”

“Watch this,” the first one said.

Conar heard a few metallic clanks, followed by a click.

“Hi! Hi! Hi……” the Greeter protested, before falling silent.

“Huh.”

“Not the first time I had to mute those things.”

Conar heard more clattering, and swallowed as he saw Slog claws step down into his view. His Slog was sniffing, leaning down to be face-to-face with him. He could smell his friend’s breath from here, and knew his own breath could be stopped if the Slog exposed him.

“The hell is he doin?” one of the other Sligs asked. Conar could hear the whirring of their legs, and knew he had to do something fast.

He reached out a hand, gently patting his snout. He hoped to Odd that the Slog wasn’t going to bark or snarl or anything to give him away.

Instead, the Slog continued to pant contentedly, though he did inch forward to be face-to-tentacles with Conar.

“…Atta boy,” he whispered, handing his pet a few pieces of Meep Jerky. The Slog snapped them up greedily, loudly chewing while Conar continued to pet him.

“Eh,” he heard one of those guards say, “Prolly just found somethin’ to chew on. C’mon, let’s head back.”

As he listened to the pair walk away, he wondered what his next move would be. He didn’t have a pair of legs to his name, so he couldn’t go to Slim. He could try waiting for Slim to come to him, but that wasn’t guaranteed. If the Scrub was smart, he’d stay in hiding for a while more.

Well, there was nothing to it. Without legs, he was a helpless little sap, but he had to at least try.

“All right, move over,” he grumbled, crawling out from under the Monitor.

The Slog kept trying to get under his arm as he moved down.

“Hey-! No-! Stupid-! You gotta move!”

Despite his protests, the Slog continued to try getting under his arm, constantly jostling him and the gun on his back.

“Stop- You oughta-“

“Who’s over there?” someone shouted on the other side of the hill. “Put your hands up, and no one…”

Conar could hear the two laughing from here.

“…No one gets hurt!”

“Crap,” Conar sighed. He knew he couldn’t do anything with that; without legs, a Slig was worthless. He couldn’t do anything except crawl around. He almost reached for his gun, but what would be the point? First lesson in the Barracks was that a weapon simply can’t be supported like that; you’re more at risk to leave yourself exposed, and it was against regulations anyway.

Wait, against regulations? He was past that, at least, but he remembered being a child in Basic Marksmanship, trying to fire without his first Pants, but failing miserably. He didn’t need Pants, but he needed something…

His companion was still trying to get under his arm. He looked at the Slog, and gently patted his head as an idea formed in his head…

***

Slim was about to crawl out to check on Conar, but he heard the Sligs call out again, in response to Conar’s grumbling. He ducked back, knowing he didn’t stand a chance against bullets.

Sure enough, he soon heard rapid-fire gunshots, and that Slog barking up a storm. He cringed, knowing he’d have to hide for longer. Without Conar guarding him, it’d be a long trek back to his fellow Mudokons.

He crawled further back, hearing footsteps growing closer.

He wasn’t about to be next, but he realized… he wasn’t hearing the mechanical whirrs of Sligs, nor their usual chatter.

“You got it, boy,” Slim heard Conar say. There was a short bark, and Slim saw red feet and a greenish tail from his view. He could smell gunpowder.

“Coast is clear, Slim. We goin’ or what?”

#oddworld conars ambition full chapter #Oddworld #oddworld fic #oddworld conar's ambition #chapter 6 #draft 1

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar's Ambition, Chapter 7, Draft 1

“Still think he’ll do something?” Gene asked, looking out into the night sky. “It’s been, what, two hours?”

“Honestly,” Eddie shrugged, “I expect it’ll take a few days, at least.”

“A few days?! Eddie, that Slig you shook hands with is out there with a Mudokon! We gotta protect our own, man!”

“Relax. You really think that guy wouldn’t’ve shot Slim if he wasn’t also escapin’? Those guys have no subtlety, you know.”

They turned, hearing a couple of gunshots in the distance. Thankfully, neither one of them could see anything. Gene sighed, his eye turning back to Eddie.

“I mean, yeah, but I think that’s more just that guy getting the drop on him or somethin’.” Gene laughed. “Hell, if anything, I betcha Slim’ll come back in one piece. Guy’s something else, holding a Slig like that.”

“I know, right?”

“But even with that, d’you think this weird Slog plan’ll work? I mean, c’mon, we’ve seen how those guys treat their pets…”

“Yeah,” Eddie nodded. “They want to keep ‘em aggressive, and ready to tear into us. That’s exactly it, though; it’ll take a Slig to calm ‘em down.”

“And if he doesn’t? He could be bringin’ other guards to us, and that’ll be it!”

“I mean, Slim’s carrying him, though. I don’t think the other Sligs would watch their aim to avoid hitting Conar. I doubt he’s that stupid…”

“Damn right!”

The two jumped, turning to recognize Conar immediately by the weird helmet-visor he had, before jumping back as the Slog he was riding barked.

“Down, boy,” Conar said, patting its head. “Cool it.”

The Slog whined, but relented, still glaring at the Muds, despite not having eyes.

“C’mon, you gotta get a pattern going, guys. Give ‘im some treats and a few pets…”

The two looked at each other, then to Slim, who had just caught up behind Conar.

“Yeah,” he shrugged, “it’s the weirdest thing, but it works.”

He crouched, giving the Slog a few pats. It purred a little, relaxing slightly.

Eddie and Gene looked at each other, then proceeded to check their pockets for any spare snacks, frantically feeling for anything from Paramite Pies to Elum Chubs to satiate the ravenous maw.

Finally, Gene produced a pack of Mystery Organs, giving half to Eddie. Nodding, he crept closer, throwing the gooey treats onto the ground in front of the enthusiastic Slog. Keeping his eye on Conar, he reached forward, petting the Slig’s mount as it ate.

In response, the Slog leaned its head into Gene’s hand, still chewing the meat it was given. Gene could feel it sniffing. That was a weird sensation from a Slog; he would have expected its breaths to be as harsh and painful as its jaw. Not that Gene had been bitten before, but he got a good idea from Mudokons who weren’t so lucky.

With one final snort, the Slog turned its attention to Eddie, clearly having smelt more Mystery Organs. It didn’t rush over or growl, but instead just stood, panting.

“Looks like he knows what to do,” Conar chuckled. “Don’t ya, Chairman?”

“…Chairman?”

“If this is gonna be my Slog,” Conar said, slowly, “he needs a name, right? He’ll be the big boss and all that.”

Eddie shook his head, smiling as he fed Chairman. This was working out way better than he could have imagined.

“You got any grub for me?” Conar asked. “It’s been a long day, and I could use a midnight snack.”

***

It was day four of staying at Clunk’s. Several Mudokons had taken to particular Slogs by now, trying to teach them to avoid the actual passages to the hideaways. It was met with mixed success, since several of the Slogs were too eager to meet up with their new friends.

Conar shook his head, going inside to take a well-earned break. He patted Chairman’s side appreciatively, and pointed for him to go to the lounge. There, he saw Mark and Slim, just watching that Magog Monitor. Apparently, it was powered by a dismantled Greeter, which Conar couldn’t fathom. They were able to repurpose it without getting cooked?

Anyway, the two were watching an infomercial channel, featuring some kind of Fuzzle-tested deep-tissue massager this time. The “Pester’s Tenderizer”, it was called.

“C’mon, guys,” Conar groaned, “You know this stuff’s always a loada crap, right?”

“Huh?” Mark said, looking up from the screen. “How d’ya figure? Those Interns look pretty relaxed…”

Conar watched. Those Interns did look like they were enjoying themselves, admittedly, but he couldn’t help but notice that they briefly sat up nervously whenever the device changed pitch.

“If it worked like that, those Vykkers woulda used it on themselves for this. They’re just gabbin’ about it, though. Prob’ly scared of something.”

As they continued watching, one of the multi-armed massagers slowly wrapped itself around a concerned Intern, the Vykker hosts oblivious to this as they talked about the device’s “gentle touch”.

Before Conar could smugly say “Told ya” in response to the payoff, the screen changed to that newscaster who just loved to interrupt the best moments of television. This time, the Slig was using his mic as a backscratcher before turning back to the camera.

“The Magog on the March: news for your blues!” he said, with a bit less enthusiasm in his voice than normal. “Warning, warning. Abe the Mudokon terrorist has infiltrated SoulStorm Brewery. Glukkon department heads explode; oh, the horror. Even though…”

Behind him, a mugshot of that stitch-lipped guy everyone knew appeared on the slideshow. Slim and Mark shamelessly cheered, while Conar just watched, nodding.

“I gotta tell the guys about this!” Mark said, dashing out of the room.

“…the management reports that everything’s gonna be fine!” the newscaster continued, before shaking his head. “…Uh-huh. I’m outta here.”

Conar could only blink as the newscaster blatantly tossed the microphone aside and jumped off the stage. After a moment, it cut to a color test, before the screen flickered back to the Vykkers, showing off the Pester’s Tenderizer. On screen, one could just see the feet of an Intern before they were dragged off the set.

“Huh. That crazy bastard made it.” Conar said, walking over to turn the dial to the dedicated M.O.M. channel.

“Y’now,” Slim remarked, watching Conar struggle to steer Chairman aside the Magog Monitor, “You’ve been takin’ out a few of your fellow Sligs; why haven’t you been takin’ some of their Pants?”

Conar looked at Chairman, and sighed.

“Didn’t think I had time,” he admitted, patting his Slog’s head. “Those things can take a bit to configure if you ain’t at a Getcha Pants machine, and who knows when backup’ll arrive? Besides, I’ve grown to like my boy here.”

“Uh-huh…”

The channel finally flipped, and M.O.M.’s Phong was on the scene, reporting at… Clunk’s garage? The Slig was there with his mic, pointing at the Gluk who ran the junkyard.

“Those idiots’re saying somethin’ about a Slog with a Paramite face around at night?” Clunk asked incredulously. “Betcha they’re just bored. Nothin’ happens around here…”

The camera cut, and Phong was now with the assistant in the garage itself.

“I swear I saw it! It had one red eye, and it screamed like a Slig ready to shoot some chump before going over the hill!”

The assistant looked from side to side.

“When I got up there, my buddies looked like they’d been shot! That thing musta been fast if it could have dodged their shots and got ‘em…”

He shrugged.

“Either that, or those guys were chumps…”

At this time, Mark had come back with several Mudokons, his jubilation quickly changing to confusion as they all watched.

The footage cut back to Clunk.

“I tell ya this, though. If that creature’s real, I’ll give a thousand Moolah for any of my employees who can get that thing’s head!”

“You heard it here first,” Phong said, turning to the camera. He produced a rough sketch of the monster, a two-clawed maw with a tentacle face and a bloodshot eye. “It’s payday for the guy who bags this animal! Back to you, Qwent.”

As the camera cut back to a different newscaster than the one who just bailed, several of the Mudokons were looking at Conar and Chairman knowingly.

“Seems you got a bit of a reputation here, man,” one of them said.

Conar grumbled. This complicated things, now that the Sligs here had a huge incentive to hunt him down.

“While that junkyard is monster hunting,” Qwen said, “we’ve snagged an exclusive interview with junior executive Nid from Soulstorm Brewery for more insight into the Abe situation. Glad you could join us, Nid!”

“The pleasure is all mine,” a Glukkon in a purple suit nodded on the screen next to Qwen.

“So, tell us, are you concerned about that terrorist in the facilities?”

“Of course!” Nid said, barely above the cheers of the Mudokons watching this interview. “We cannot let our Brew go to waste. We’ve invested too much Moolah and manpower to do so!”

“Whatcha gonna do about it then, sir?”

“Oh, believe you me, I’ve been making sure our security detail is impeccable! All the guards know their places, and anyone not part of those places will be shredded to bits!”

“And the reports of three high-ranking officers shutting the gates down long enough for him to get this far?”

“They’re hiding like the worms they are,” Nid snorted. “I’m certain Lady Margaret will be enjoying the trials once they and Molluck are found. I mean, who lets some floor-scrubbing Mudrun rampant and destroy a facility…”

He cleared his throat.

“Excuse me. Yes, they are under investigation, and I look forward to seeing your coverage once they’re found.”

“We’ll make sure to get the best just for you.”

As the interview continued, the audience was talking amongst themselves.

“You think he’ll do it?”

“Why’s he going after the brewery? I heard that stuff was good!”

“I heard it did things to Mudokons…”

“No kidding?”

“Well, if Abe thinks something’s up…”

“Think he could be wrong…?”

“If it scares the Gluks…”

Slim remembered the can of Soulstorm he had pocketed. Somehow, it had survived that night in Mark’s cab, and he was able to stash it in the old mattress his buddies here loaned him. He wasn’t feeling thirsty enough to drink the stuff, especially when so many Vendos around were still somehow full of incredible drinks. He didn’t know what was in those things, but he felt like he could walk on air when he took a sip of Bounce, and the sheer power he felt from Zap was something to behold. He couldn’t believe how casually Conar could drink the stuff!

Still, if Abe was going to do to SoulStorm what he did to RuptureFarms, his can of Brew could become a rarity… he’d have to remember to keep it in case of emergency.

Conar bumped his dry and cracked arm against Slim’s, jostling him out of his thoughts.

“You hear me? I said we need to get out of here before we’re hunted down!”

Slim looked around at the friends he had been making over the past few days.

“Will… will they be okay, though?”

“Yeah, sure, but we gotta get a map outta here!”

“Not ‘till we warn ‘em. They need to get defenses ready.”

“I’m sure they know—”

“Better yet, you tell ‘em. They’re huntin’ for you.”

Conar thought for a moment. An idea came to mind.

“You know, I think if I ain’t sneaky about leavin’, they’ll know their ‘monster’ is gone and look around…”

Slim blinked.

“…Yeah, I guess that works. I’ll tell everyone we’re leaving, then, and explain what’s going on.”

While he did that, Conar and Chairman walked over to Mark.

“Slim and I are gonna be leavin’ in a bit. You wanna come with?”

“Y-you kiddin’? You’re leaving a place like this?!”

“Yup, we got a Gluk to rob!”

Mark looked to his astonished friends’ faces, then back to Conar.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna stay here, thanks. I don’t need to piss off another Glukkon, you know?”

Conar nodded.

“I get it, you’re a wuss. In all seriousness, can ya give me a map? I never got much outside of my routine.”

“Oh, that?” Mark asked, reaching into his pocket. “Sure, I don’t think I’ll be usin’ it…”

Conar returned to Slim, map in hand.

“Right, so we got direction…”

“Lemme see that,” Slim said, snatching the map and opening it. It unfolded to be maybe three times the size a regular map should be, and claimed to show all of Mudos. However, when Slim opened it, there were notes scribbled everywhere. There were a lot of “Don’t go here” and “Here be firing” messages, but there were also random notes, like fuel calculations or doodles. There were plenty of scribbled-out vents that were covering key parts of the map.

In fact, the only clear part was the town they were in, along with a few surrounding neighborhoods. Among those, Slim wasn’t sure if anything was going to be helpful at all.

“All I’m seein’ is the apartments, the post office, a few Greasy’s, some bars, Clunk’s…”

“We have a post office?” Conar asked. “Maybe we could get the location from there…”

“Maybe,” Slim shrugged, “but you might have trouble with Chairman there… you’re gonna stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Well, I ain’t leavin’ my boy behind!”

“I’m not asking you to. I just think you oughta know that I might need to ask around about this. We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

“Right. For now, let’s see about gettin’ past Clunk’s goons.”

***

It was about twenty minutes since Slim had made for the exit. Conar hadn’t heard any gunfire, so he could only assume that his companion had made it.

They reallyshould have figured some kind of signal.

“Is it clear?” he sighed, looking at Gene, who nodded.

Well, it was now or never. Conar gave Chairman one last pet before giving a quiet command to run.

Slim, meanwhile, was hiding inside a busted arcade cabinet. Somehow, a decayed Greeter was on the move, and it would not let up on trying to find someone in this area. What was worse, the Slig patrols were a lot more concentrated at this border, presumably because no idiot would try to break in or out of the front gates. The chain-link fence that broke a part of the wall seemed more like a dare than an actual security breach, especially as he would still have to somehow climb past that nasty-looking furnace that was just on the other side.

Thinking about it, he could see if he could harass the Greeter’s movement sensor so it could charge into the patrol, but he couldn’t even tell which way the mouthless pile of electronics was facing, and the fact it was just endlessly hissing static somehow made it scarier to approach.

He took a couple of deep breaths, slapping his own face a couple of times to work up the courage to approach. Right when he was feeling about ready, he stopped.

Conar was screaming, and he could hear Chairman barking like mad.

They reallyshould have figured some kind of signal.

He ducked back, waiting for Conar to arrive and charge in.

“There it is!”

“The monster! Get ‘im!”

“Payday!!!”

As Conar crashed in from above, even the Greeter was getting in on the fun, as its static blared momentarily before blindly giving chase. Conar ran, still yelling all the way. Gunfire blazed past everywhere. Slig swears were slung every which way. Chairman snarled. Guards screamed in agony. There was a loud explosion – that Greeter had been blown to pieces.

As it was slowly growing quieter, Slim risked a peek through the screen. He looked past the shrapnel that was caught in the glass to see that there was no sign of Conar or Chairman. Indeed, there were only a couple of living Sligs out there, both of whom were shooting through the fence and cursing.

Well, it wasn’t the distraction he was hoping for, and he knew it’d be a pain to meet up with Conar again, but it was still more of an opening than he had. He crept out, ducking behind any metal outcroppings that stood between him and the outside.

He crouched behind a car door, and realized too late that he was next to a Slig corpse. Blood pooled from a well-placed bullet hole in his chest. Slim cringed, trying to keep his feet from that puddle, but he noticed something. Miraculously, there didn’t seem to be any damage to his weapon, Pants, or mask. All of which could be useful if he was going to stick with Conar, and he had time to spare as the two guards continued to fire.

“Sorry man,” he grunted, trying to pull the Pants off. “Hope you don’t mind if I borrow these…”

It was easy to remove the Pants, once he disconnected those tubes from the mask. He was not looking forward to removing the mask. Rumor had it those already-ugly Sligs had some real horror behind those red lenses, and Slim wasn’t sure what he’d see. Still, it was going to be a necessary evil; Conar’s weird helmet-visor was going to draw attention.

He braced himself, half-closing his eyes as he slowly slid the mask past those tentacles. He was soon able to remove it safely, though, and placed it within the Pants for easier transportation. However, he risked a peek to find…

…small, beady eyes, one on each side of the head. Honestly, it wasn’t as hideous as everyone said it was; in fact, seeing they had eyes just like anyone else made Slim feel guilty for looting the corpse. Gently, he reached over and closed each eyelid, before slinging everything over his shoulder and checking if the coast was clear. The two Sligs were too busy arguing about who blew it to pay attention to anything else, so he just quietly clambered over the furnace and made his way into the city streets.

#oddworld conars ambition full chapter #Oddworld #oddworld fic #oddworld conar's ambition #draft 1 #chapter 7

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar's Ambition, Chapter 5, Draft 1

Conar woke up to the sound of a Mudokon banging against the metal floor with a grunt. He instinctively rolled himself up to a standing position, grabbing his gun and preparing to shout out.

He could see Slim lying on the ground, groaning and rubbing his head. Above, he could spot Mark, reaching down to try to help Slim up.

“Hey!” Conar barked. “Where do ya think you’re goin’?!”

“I-it was Slim’s idea!” Mark called out, frantically.

Slim only spent a moment glaring at Mark for that, knowing that an angry Slig was looking right at him.

“Y-yeah,” he said, backing up slowly. “We were gonna look into that hideout that’s right over there. Figure it’d be safer than being out here with an open roof, ‘specially with those hanging around.”

He pointed to the side, where Conar could see a Suppressor. Its red eye wasn’t turned to either of them; instead, the floating red sensor was floating in a corner, looking at another corner.

“What’re you talkin’ about? Those things are just there to watch you guys for wrong…doing…”

Conar realized what he just said, and started to circle around Slim, slowly making his way under the Suppressor. Once he made it out of its view, he moved his Blunderbuss from Slim to the mechanical eye. A few shots later and it started to fall, the light fading from it. He tried to duck out of the way, but the bots fall twisted and spun as it landed square on his back.

“Hey!” he called out, after his cry of pain. “Gimme a hand, wouldya?”

Slim took a couple steps towards him, but stopped. Conar got the feeling it wasn’t just the alarm that started blaring in the air.

“What’re you waitin’ for, Slim?!” he demanded. “Get this thing offa me!”

“You know,” Slim said, “I’ve been waiting for a moment like this for all my life. No more Sligs watchin’ us. No more taking orders. Mark and I, we’ll be free!”

“And who freed you, chump?” Conar retorted. “You couldn’t have gotten out of there without me! You won’t last two minutes without me!”

“I’ll take my chances. You can get someone else to push your ride.”

“You idiot!” Conar shouted. “I couldn’t blow our cover there!”

“Oh, sure,” Slim said, rolling his eyes. “It was the cover.”

He turned around, taking Mark’s hand and climbing up out of the train.

“Well, sayanora!” Slim said, before the two of them disappeared from Conar’s view.

“You traitorous lil’…” Conar started, before trying to pull himself out of the wreck.

He grunted and wheezed before suddenly popping out of his Pants. He was just able to crawl out from under the Suppressor and grab his bag, but there was no chance of him getting his Pants again. Not only was he alone, but he was helpless without his legs. He crawled around in the vain hope of finding a different pair or maybe even a flying harness, but the train car was as empty as before.

The alarms in the distance were soon punctuated with the conflicted chatter of Slim and Mark. Conar couldn’t hear all of it, but he hear things like “No, this marking means…” and “B-better hurry, I think I hear…” and “where is it?!”

The talk changed to more frantic gibbering as all three could hear Slogs barking, getting ever closer. Louder and louder, until they were snarling and snapping, and he could hear the Mudokons whimpering, the sound of metal scraping and falling as they presumably scrambled to higher ground.

“Serves ‘em right,” Conar muttered. “I gave ‘em a chance out, and what do they do? Ugh.”

He paced around on his hands for a moment, before spotting something. Some kind of bird graffiti etched into a darker corner of the train. Crawling over, he could see a crack in the panel, and he could see a full tunnel through there. Those Scrubs would have appreciated that; he figured what Slim was talking about was some kind of marking to this location.

Not that he needed Slim or Mark anymore. They fulfilled their purposes; who cared if they became Slog food now? He’d find another way to get to Zeb, once he got some Pants again. And besides, without his Pants, he’d be completely useless to help those two out, even if he wanted to.

He groaned, before giving a sharp whistle. The ravenous barking stopped for a moment.

“Here, boy,” he called out.

Three Slogs came into view, looking down at him. One of them was an older Slog, judging by her massive size, but the other two… well, they were just pups, really. Must have been born here, and were probably the offspring of the larger one. They were thinner than most Slogs he’d seen, and it was clear the mother was the only one of them raised or trained properly. Poor things probably just wanted a decent meal. Conar could sympathize, but he hoped he could dissuade them from trying Mudokon Mulch.

“Stay,” he said, keeping his eyes focused on the Slogs while he felt to search for his bag of supplies. It was a miracle he hadn’t brought it with him when he walked under the Suppressor. Reaching into it, past the ammunition, drinks, and cigarettes, he found that he was looking for: a whole package of Meep Jerky.

“You want some food? Huh?”

The mother Slog panted excitedly, her pups soon to follow.

Conar opened the food, and started to throw some of the largest pieces of jerky out of the train. After a few morsels were thrown out, the Slogs ran off to enjoy their treats, and Conar sighed, relieved he could do something still.

It was hard to hear anything over the Sloggies devouring the tough jerky, but he thought he could hear hushed chatter between the two Mudokon deserters. Sure enough, they were looking down on him a few minutes later.

“What was that?” Slim asked, smiling a little. “I mean, not that I’m not grateful, but you got bored of the Slogs attackin’ us that fast?”

“Yeah,” Conar replied, grinning under his tentacled visage, “you guys’re pretty boring screamers.”

He dragged himself over to the panel he saw before, lifting it slightly.

“This the place you were lookin’ for?”

“Maybe,” Slim said, hopping down. Mark followed suit as soon as Slim was with Conar. “Can’t say for sure, though; the graffiti was all wrong at the fridges, but did you see anything down…”

He looked at the wall, and saw the bird drawing.

“…here…”

It wasn’t a fat bird like the ones on the refrigerators, and it was a lot cleaner than the scratchings he saw back at the Slugbite Motel. He found himself drawn to it, his fingertips circling around it.

“HEY!” Conar shouted, snapping him from these thoughts. “We can’t focus on the pretty pictures; we got us a hideout to hide in!”

“R-right,” Slim nodded, feeling weirdly off-balance. “Lemme just get the door…”

He and Mark easily swung the panel open, and he grabbed Conar by the wrist.

“Hey!” Conar demanded, trying in vain to wrest his hand back. “Get offa me!”

“You think any Mudokons there’ll take kindly to some Slig going in?” Slim asked. “Come on, we gotta be dragging you in! Besides…”

Conar couldn’t help but feel an air of smugness.

“…you said it; a Slig without Pants ain’t worth the powder in his gun.”

The pantsless Slig sighed, trying to keep his bag close to his chest as they pulled him through.

The tunnel walls were lined with all sorts of trash, from old tires to old rails to piles of Slog chew toys. Conar picked up a rubber facsimile of a Glukkon that was relatively intact. The purple-suited toy had very few bite marks. After all, the Glukkon-shaped ones were designed to discourage Slogs from attacking the real deal with a bad taste. Of course, anyone who worked with Slogs personally knew that wouldn’t stop them from taste-testing their bosses.

He squeezed the Gluk in his hand as he was carried along. It served as a great reminder of why he left, and why he was putting up with this nonsense; so he could press a real Glukkon under his thumb.

He tucked the squeaky toy into his bag, and dropped the bag from his tentacles to his hand.

“Would it kill ya to get a better grip?” he asked, looking up at Slim. “My arm’s gettin’ tired.”

He could see Slim look at him, look at Mark, and then stop, giving a smile.

“Sure,” he said. “I don’t think this is working for me either, really.”

With that, he violently pulled Conar up. Conar, for his part, was shocked that he yelped in a very un-Slig-like way, dropping his bag to cover his mouth with his hand. Before he could reach for it again, his arm was grabbed, and he was tucked under Slim’s arm, his own arms pinned. Reaching with his tentacles was no good; as long as they were, he could not reach the ground from here. He scowled as Mark picked the bag up, handing it to Slim and looking on in awe.

“Yeah, what are you lookin’ at?”

“It-it’s that easy to p-pick you guys up?” Mark managed. He was somewhere between shock and amusement, and he made no effort to hide it on his face.

“Enjoy it while you can, twerp. Once I get Pants again, you’re gonna live to regr—Mmmph! Mmmph?!”

He struggled, but Slim had his hand clamped over Conar’s mouth.

“Shut up!” Slim hissed. “You don’t wanna scare ‘em off, do ya?”

“Mm,” Conar grumbled.

The three of them walked forward and turned the corner to see several Mudokons lounging in the orange glow of a rusty heater. A couple of them were lazily drinking from dirty bottles, while others snacked on crushed Paramite Pies. One with light-green skin looked up at Slim and Mark.

“Heya!” he called out, waving. “Welcome to the club!”

“What is this place?” Slim asked, looking around. A lot of the junk here looked like it was more deliberately placed than in the tunnel. Some of the half-melted bottles on one wall were even the same color as each other.

“You don’t know?” another asked, a shorter Mud with somewhat longer feathers almost covering his entire scalp. “We quit, just like you guys! Layin’ low, maxing and relaxing…”

He moved some feathers out of his eyes, and they widened as they focused on Conar.

“Oh wow, you took one of those guys out?” he nodded appreciatively. “Nice!”

“Mmph!” Conar protested as the rest came over to look at him. Being surrounded by six Mudokons total, some holding makeshift weapons just in case, in his state wasn’t ideal.

“How’d you get ‘im out of those legs?”

“Did he give you any trouble?”

“What should we do with him?”

“You think we could use him for something?”

“Can’t let him rat us out…”

Slim swatted hands and metal points away.

“Watch it,” he said, stepping back. “He’s been helpin’ us get here!”

He watched as everyone else’s jaws gaped in stunned silence. His eyes darted between them, and he finally relaxed as they all burst into laughter.

“Aw, man,” the light-green one said, grabbing Slim’s shoulder, “You really had me going there! A Slig helpin’ one of us?!”

“You know what a Slig is, right?” asked a Mudokon covered in soot. “They don’t help anyone. They don’t even think about helping their own!”

“They can’tthink,” the mop-topped one said. “Just got a tiny brain in their trigger fingers!”

The others started laughing again, while Conar sneered.

“A lot of big talk comin’ from a buncha layabouts!” he protested.

“Oh, we’re the bums? Who did the work for you guys while you napped and smoked?”

“I oughta throw you to the Slogs!”

“You guys don’t do nothin’!”

Conar realized he should have kept his mouth shut as they began to get closer, some of them preparing their weapons once more. Slim was slowly stepping back, but it wasn’t enough to avoid the crowd. He braced himself for a world of pain, looking at their faces of righteous anger, but Mark had stepped forward.

“Hang on,” he said. “It s-sounds crazy, but th-that guy did help us get here… S-sure, he’s a Slig, b-but he c-covered for me with Clunk and distracted some Sloggies for us…”

The encroaching Mudokons stopped, stepping back to consider this.

“He’s mean as any one of ‘em,” Slim added, “but he busted me out of the Motel, and made damn sure we escaped.”

Finally, after a moment of whispering, the light-green Mudokon stepped forward, keeping his sharpened pipe relaxed, but ready.

“All right then, Slig,” he asked, kneeling to be eye-level with Conar, “Why’d you help ‘em out?”

“That’s none of your—”

“He thinks he can just walk in and take a Glukkon’s Moolah,” Slim said.

Even Mark joined in the laughter that ensued.

“You… you reallythink…” managed the multifeathered Mud, before gasping for air again.

“Well, why not?” Conar asked. “I got a gun, and he doesn’t. Once I get to ‘im, that should be that.”

“Oh, yeah,” Slim said, rolling his eyes, “Getting to ‘im will be a cakewalk, huh? We both know Glukkons’ve got security tighter than a Resolver’s Knot. You’ll be in pieces before you make it to the front desk!”

“You got a gun,” the light-green one added, “but he’s got, like, eight hundred of them! And you just brought a coupla Mudokons? How d’ya expect to outgun ‘em?”

“That Abe guy did something,” Conar said. “I’m hopin’ to find out what.”

The laughing died into an abrupt and long silence. They were all staring at him, jaws agape, paralyzed for a few moments. The look of shock turned into a snarl on a few of them, while the rest shuffled their feet.

“What?” Conar asked. “That guy could take down RuptureFarms, and last I hear he’s goin’ after the FeeCo Depot. Must be somethin’ to you guys if one of ya can do that!”

The Mudokon with many feathers opened his mouth to speak, but it took a couple of moments to get the words out: “…You… understand Abe’s significance? You know he’s the…”

“Of course he doesn’t,” the Mudokon with an eyepatch said, raising his lead pipe in preparation to strike. “He just thinks he can talk about Abe and we’ll all do what he wants. No way is that happenin’!”

“Wait, I can—”

The pipe came down, Conar felt a brief heavy pain, and everything went black.

#oddworld fic #oddworld conar's ambition #Oddworld #draft 1 #Chapter 5 #oddworld conars ambition full chapter

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar's Ambition, Chapter 4, Draft 1

In the meantime, he puffed on his Lungbuster some more, thinking about what they could do next. Once they were all in the scrapyard, and found a secure spot, that’d be a good time to see about that map Mark probably had. From there, he could hopefully find out where Zeb’s offices were, and from there he and Slim could take him down, and Conar could finally have a fortune of his own.

His happy daydreams were interrupted when he heard another vehicle come rumbling down the road, and the sound of screeching metal against concrete. He leaned to look past the wall, and he had to cover his earholes as he saw an ugly yellow truck coming to the garage, sparks flying behind it as it carelessly dragged an enormous three-pronged hook behind it on a thick metal cable. He leapt back, afraid the tow cable might swing his way and obliterate him. Thankfully, it was nowhere close, and the truck was slowing to turn into the parking space anyway.

A Slig wearing a work vest came out, putting a well-worn yellow cap onto his head. He slammed a fist on the bed of the truck, and three Scrubs sat up groaning, and climbed out of the back.

Conar turned to the sleeping Mudokons, and was quick to tap them both with his Blunderbuss. They stirred, slowly standing back up. Just in time, too; the Slig had looked their way. He nodded before walking over to the passenger side. The door opened, and Conar heard the tell-tale sound of a Glukkon’s cheap dress shoes rapidly clattering. He was smoking an even cheaper cigar, and oil-stained suspenders over a hideously yellow plaid shirt. He sneered as he looked over at Conar and the Mudokons under his care, but his face softened as he saw the cab they came in with.

He hummed, running a few mental tallies.

“Quite a wreck,” he finally said. “Almost wish I’d seen the accident!”

He laughed, and if there was one thing any Slig learned quickly, it’s that a Glukkon’s laughter is contagious… or else. The Mudokons had no such obligation; while Slim and Mark were trying to keep their heads down, the three Scrubs in yellow loincloths just unloaded the truck of its six toolboxes. They politely waited by the door, struggling to stand up under the weight they were carrying.

“I take it you’re Clunk?” Conar asked.

“You ain’t as stupid as you look,” the Gluk snorted. “Why do ya ask?”

“Your guard over there says we need a ticket from you to get this scrap into the yard.”

Clunk turned around, seeing a wide-awake Slig waving his way from his booth, his magazine hidden from view.

“He’s right, you will need one. We gotta make sure we can’t fix it first.”

Meanwhile, his assistant Slig was watching the overly encumbered Mudokons. He was taking great pleasure in slowly opening the doors, at a couple of points even “accidentally” letting the doors fall a little, chuckling as the Scrubs groaned. Finally, he let them in, and they were able to set their equipment on the workbench.

“Right,” Conar nodded. “So when can we get started, sir? I’m already running late…”

“250 Moolah,” the Glukkon replied, simply. “We also gotta get your name and everything for our records. If we start going a little late, maybe I can let your boss now. Who knows?”

He leaned forward, enough to breathe smoke into Conar’s face.

“He might be feeling lenient and just dock your pay.”

He chuckled to himself, while Conar reached into his bag. Having only around 1400 Moolah to his name, this was quite a bit, but what choice did he have?

The other Slig happily accepted his payment, and turned towards his workforce.

“All right, get ‘er in so we can take a look!”

Conar and company watched as the cab was taken in, and followed when Clunk beckoned them in. They were directed to a lobby that had two very greasy chairs in it, as well as half another chair that was haphazardly lying against the wall. Clunk moved behind the front desk, where his assistant was waiting.

“So, you got an ID, ‘valued’ customer?”

“39872-A,” Conar said, automatically.

“Right. Place of employment?”

“Slog Hut 1884.”

“Quite a ways from here. What happened?”

“Got caught in some crossfire around home, sir.”

Clunk nodded.

“Right, we’ll see what we can do. You have a seat.”

Conar nodded, keeping the seat on his Pants rather than anything he could actually feel. The Mudokons, after one glare from the owner, shared the half-seat, keeping their feet splayed so they didn’t tip it over.

Clunk chuckled at the sight, and so Conar did too.

“Which of these chumps was the driver?”

Mark shrunk a bit, knowing what was going to come next, but before anyone else, Slim piped up.

“I was driving, sir.”

Mark was about to say something, but Slim’s elbow made a point against that. Clunk looked, and nodded.

“Brave Mud to admit that,” he said, turning back to Conar. “Make sure to get his license. Should have a number you can call on this phone here. They’ll take care of ‘im for losing company property, I hope.”

With that, he waddled over through the doorway, to the noises of metal clanging and tools hissing and whirring.

As soon as he was gone, Slim looked at the shaken Mark, then turned to Conar.

“Can you… can you pretend to call?”

“You ain’t tellin’ me what to do!” Conar replied. “I gotta call, that’s what he said…”

Slim’s look said it all, but he added “You want everyone to know where we are?”

“…Yeah, why don’t I just… not call, then?”

“Clunk’s probably gonna pop in at any moment. You really want to blow your cover here?”

Conar thought about it for a moment, then nodded. He’d have to ask about how Slim knew about this kind of thing later, but for now, he had a “call” to make to the taxi company. He stood up, holding a hand out expectantly. Mark looked at it for a moment, then sighed and produced a card from a pouch on his loincloth.

Conar snatched it and took a look. So he was supposed to call the Durtminch Taxi Service, but he punched random keys on the phone in rapid succession. He got a busy signal, but he pressed on.

“Yeah, hi… I wanted to report a Mud who drove through a gunfight…Yeah…We’re at Clunk’s… His name’s Mark…”

Clunk walked back in, watching while Conar finished his conversation.

“…ID, uh, 5928-22555…And this was 39872-A… Yeah, thanks.”

He looked up at the Glukkon.

“They said they’d discipline correctly.”

“Good,” Clunk nodded. “It’s important that they… learn. Anyway, we got some fixes underway. It’ll be ten minutes, but if it still don’t work, we’ll take it off your hands and getcha a ride.”

“Gotcha,” Conar nodded, walking back to take a seat.

Unfortunately, Clunk was staying at the desk, watching a monitor. No chance of using this time to rest, then; despite Conar’s reason for being late, he could still get reported for sleeping during work hours. Being late to the Slog Hut was one thing, but using this as an excuse to sleep was a one-way path to being detained until a co-worker could arrive and perform disciplinary action. Talking to the Mudokons was out of the question, too. No Glukkon liked seeing security being buddy-buddy with the workforce. So, he waited, listening to the sounds of mechanics hollering and metal clanging for ten minutes until, finally, the other Slig came back into the lobby.

“W-well,” he said, uneasily, “Got as fixed as we could, boss.”

The three Scrub mechanics walked in, covered in considerably more oil, soot, and burn marks than the Slig was.

“Well,” Clunk smiled, “Why don’t you have your driver friend there get the thing started, and we’ll see you off?”

Slim felt many eyes on him, and he slowly stood up. Mark followed suit, letting their half-chair slide and collapse onto the floor. He and Slim scrambled to get that back onto the wall, and then moved to follow the other Slig, with Conar following after.

He swallowed, climbing into the driver’s seat while Mark and Conar made it into the backseat.

“Hold up,” the head mechanic asked, raising a hand, “What’s the deal with the other Scrub?”

“You know better than to ask questions like that!” Clunk scolded, causing his Slig to wince. “It’s like you know nothing about keeping customers!”

He coughed, nearly dropping his cigar.

“Right then,” he continued, turning his attention to Conar through the window, “Explain why you’re commutin’ with a Mudokon!”

“Ah, y’see, er…”

“’M a student,” Slim meekly offered. “Y’see, he’s my instructor, isn’t that right, ‘Slim’?”

“I—” Mark started, before having his toe pressed by Conar’s metal foot. “Y-yeah, I am. L-lemme give ya a… refresher on how t’start this thing… yeah…”

He reached over, adjusting the levers to get the thing started. A rumble and whining noise, but nothing happened.

“Try again,” Clunk said.

“O-okay,” Mark nodded, having another go. Same result.

“Oy,” Clunk muttered, shaking his head. “All right, my boys’ll ger this into the scrapyard and we’ll getcha a new ride.”

“Actually,” Conar piped up. “I got two perfectly good Scrubs here. Betcha they could do with a bit of exercise, y’know what I’m saying?”

“Not gonna happen,” Clunk laughed. “Can’t have your Muds diving under a hunk of metal and escapin’, can we?”

“No sir,” Conar said, nodding a little too hastily. “Can’t have ‘em fleeing.”

He lifted his gun up meaningfully.

“I’m sure Tess and I could keep an eye on ‘em, though… heh heh…”

Clunk looked at him, and laughed.

“Ah, you really wanna teach ‘em a lesson, huh? Can’t blame ya for that; even a Mudokon should know not to drive into a firefight.”

He turned to his assistant.

“You focus on keeping our boys in line. Let our friend here take care of scrappin’ that piece of crap.”

“Er, all right, sir…”

It was hard to see with his own visor and the other Slig’s pilot-like goggles, but Conar could swear he was getting a side-eye from the guy as he turned to gather his mechanics.

Conar, for his part, simply shrugged, grabbing a ticket as it printed before giving a somewhat forceful jab to Slim’s back with the barrel of his gun.

“Get movin’, you two! I wanna see that cab in the scrap heap, and I wanna see it there now!”

He gave a bit of a chuckle to keep appearances, and the three of them moved the cab out. Well, Slim and Mark did, while Conar kept pace behind them, cradling “Tess” in his arms, still keeping it quite visible in the tried-and-true “Slig At Work” pose.

“Some escape,” Slim muttered under his breath. “Make me wish I was back shoveling Slog poo.”

“Wait, we’re escapin’?” Mark asked, perking up. “I can quit driving Sligs around? No more chokin’ on smoke?”

Before Mark could get too excited, though, he had to flinch as two shots rang out from behind him. Both he and Slim immediately put their hands over their heads, resting their faces onto the car’s trunk. They were just able to turn their heads enough to see Conar looking at them, his smoking gun pointed straight up in the air.

“Enough yapping!” he barked. “You’re slowin’ down when you do that!”

Mark was shaking a little, but Slim just sighed before beginning to push the cab again. On the plus side, the guard had woken up from that, and was already watching them pull up. Conar was already waving the ticket up for him, so he pulled the lever on the left of the control panel.

The three of them watched as the gate shook, groaning and creaking as it dragged along the ground. In the twenty-two seconds it took for it to open, Slim and Mark were able to take a breather, which they gratefully took. They almost didn’t notice when Conar shouted for them to start pushing again, but self-preservation kicked in regardless, and the cab was shoved through the gate again.

It soon became clear that they were not moving past multiple piles of discarded metal, but instead walking on one enormous heap. There was enough rust to pass as dirt if you weren’t walking on it, and they could hear metal creak not just under their feet, but everywhere. In the distance, a stack collapsed onto itself. A crane with an enormous magnet lifted junk into a new pile, and a bulldozer shoved more onto it.

As Conar looked around, the two Mudokons took note of the red eyes floating around. They didn’t seem to be taking any interest in the trio, instead panning over the various machines.

“Now, let’s get this thing outta the way,” Conar said. “I think I see some room over there.”

He gestured over to a place between an old FeeCo train car and a pile of refrigerators. It was a tight fit, but nothing a bit of elbow grease and Slig threats couldn’t take care of.

“Right,” Conar said, “We should find a place to lay low, then. We can figure things out from there.”

He looked either way, and found the door was taken off the train car. That was as good an option as any to look, but Slim put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him from going into it.

“There’s a hideout in the fridges already,” he said. “Might wanna check that first.”

Conar paused to look at the pile on the other side, but outside of various graffiti tags, he didn’t see anything of interest. Besides, the train car was right here.

“I don’t know what you’re tryin’,” he said, pulling his shoulder away from the Mudokon, “but if you think you can pull one over me, you’ve got another thing coming!”

“I’m not—”

“Get in the train!” Conar shouted. “That’s an order!”

“Fine,” Slim sighed, clambering in. It was dark and cold down there, and the air had a metallic scent that was just powerful enough to be uncomfortable. Mark and Conar followed, landing next to him.

“It ain’t much,” Conar admitted, “but at least we should be hidden pretty well here.”

“I guess,” Slim shrugged, while Mark just nodded.

“It’s been a long night, so we oughta rest for a bit. We’ll work on getting started later.”

Conar watched as the Mudokons found a darker corner, huddling together for warmth. Despite the conditions, they found sleep far more easily than Conar did. The Expresso had long since lost its kick, but this was a far cry from the bed he was used to. What was worse, he was watching over recently-freed Scrubs. He could manage one, but what if the two were to gang up on him? Hell, Slim was already giving him orders! He was already getting a lot of nerve!

#oddworld fic #oddworld conar's ambition #Oddworld #draft 1 #chapter 4 #oddworld conars ambition full chapter

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld, Conar's Ambition, Chapter 2, Draft 1

[[Thanks to Tumblr updating the post length limit, I can finally put the full draft of Chapter 2 in one big post!]]

Slim was silent in line to Slugbite Motel. The chatter was hopefully decent cover; he didn’t need yet more attention after his outburst. If he kept his head down, he’d be fine, and wouldn’t get any more surplus bruises on top of the regular workday bruises.

He heard chatter all around him, gossip from other Slog Huts, Splinterz, and Flub Fuels.

“Management must be pissed, what with -”

“I can’t believe what Skrag did to me! What got into-”

“- hear about FeeCo?”

“We’re gonna be settin’ some electric fences up tomorrow, anyone know about -”

“ – say Abe’s got to Necrum –“

“ -Sligs must be worried if Abe’s getting’ to their place –“

Any talk of Abe was, of course, in whispers. No one believed him to be a terrorist, really, but everyone knew better than to celebrate. Well, everyone but him, apparently, but still. Slig forces were already pretty antsy right now, and there were cameras everywhere. Besides, it was a long day full of more abuse than normal. Everyone was just ready for bed, so to speak. Sure, it was less a bed and more a closet with a dirt floor and next to no elbow room, but it was a place to sleep, nonetheless.

It was almost his turn in the queue. Slim dug in his pouch for his meal ticket. With any luck, he’d get half a Scrabcake with the somewhat edible slop they served here. He presented the ticket to the Slig clerk Jeandis. Jeandis took one look, rolled his eyes from under his visor, and then slammed the counter to his left, deepening the indentation next to the bell. A Mudokon, wearing a light brown cap with deep red stripes and a similarly-colored loincloth, emerged from the back door, carrying a tray of gruel with him.

The tray had no trace of Scrabcakes, sadly, but it did come with a small can of that drink everyone was talking about – Soulstorm Brew. The green can with that nondescript Glukkon’s face on it was an interesting look, at least, and the somewhat sickly Mudokon in those commercials did look exceedingly happy when Director Phleg gave him a crate of the stuff, as if it was sorely-needed medicine. Slim even saw the server longingly stare at the can he had to give him.

“On the house… buddy,” Jeandis said, his line carefully rehearsed. “You saw the commercials; it’s a freebie!”

“Um, okay, thanks.”

Slim took his dinner tray and a plastic spoon over to find a seat that was open; this was no small feat in a Slugbite Motel. Many Mudokons had long since given up on the prospect, instead sitting on the floor against any given wall. He noticed how everyone was given similar cans of Brew, and a lot of the chatter he came across was already shifting from the recent Abe scare to the Oddsend the new drink was.

He walked through the throngs of fellow Scrubs, the smell of Brew filling the air. It was very strange; a tangy aroma that was also somehow familiar. The chatter grew louder and more animated as time went on, and even Slim was feeling a little less tired from the fumes and infectious cheer.

Still, it was a long day, so he still prepared to just sit down and eat. He found a place next to Ben, and dug in. Well, as much as you could dig in with whatever this was. Some said those were fruit chunks mixed in with the goop, some said they were Elum Chubs, but one thing for certain was they were undercooked. It was well known that this was the least of dinner’s concerns, sadly.

Slim took a few shaky scoops, doing his best to forget the words “gag reflex”. He was able to swallow the muck as usual, but he found himself coughing; it felt like he was eating sawdust under the slimy texture!

“Yeah,” Ben said, sympathetically, “Jeandis’ Special really sucks today, doesn’t it?”

“WHO SAID THAT?!” demanded Jeandis, so loud that everyone on the other side of the cafeteria could clearly hear the greenish-yellow Slig. The din died down as a furious head chef stomped over to the wall where the sound came from. There were at least ten cowering Scrubs under his wrathful glare, and they were all pointing grey or green fingers at each other.

“This is more than you deserve, ya miserable Chippunks! You oughta know I could—Eh?”

He was interrupted by frantic whispers from the server Mudokon, who was quick to rush up to his boss. He lowered his fist, slowly, and his face-tentacles sagged.

“…You oughta know…er…I could getcha another can of Brew to…wash it down…?”

Nine out of ten Mudokons were nodding enthusiastically, and the Scrubs at the surrounding tables cheered.

“Shut up and get in line again if you want another round!”

Almost all the Mudokons immediately shot up and sprinted into line. Some of them trembled excitedly while they waited.

Slim had never seen the cafeteria so alive or enthusiastic before. This Soulstorm Brew stuff must have one hell of a kick. If he drank it now, he’d probably be up all night. Best to save this stuff for when he needed it – no need to come to work tired tomorrow.

Besides, if all else failed, he had a bartering tool now.

With this in mind, he tucked the can he had into his pouch. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to sleep with a dry throat; he knew better than to ask Jeandis for anything else to drink.

His body still ached, and it had been a long day on top of that, so while Jeandis was occupied with his sudden fame, Slim quietly ate up the rest of his “meal” and left. With the “first come, first served” policy of getting a room for the night, he was able to get one right by the cafeteria for once. He might even be able to get breakfast tomorrow!

He dug in his pouch for his ID, and a quick scan gave him the room for the night. As the door closed behind him, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the windowless closet. When he did, he could see all kinds of scratchings on the wall. Short complaints about bosses and a variety of tally marks filled most of it, but there were some other things. There was the occasional crude drawing of a bird, which gave Slim nostalgia over something he never experienced. There were conversations between anonymous Mudokons, about the latest gossip, concerns, and anything else. It was comforting; they watched out for each other and kept each other informed even when they didn’t really know each other.

With his nightly reading done, Slim slumped down to the ground. The dirt here was cool, but nothing he wasn’t used to. With any luck, he wouldn’t wake up to Bolamites crawling over him, but that was a problem for future him. Present him just had to be absorbed by the soft earth, and dream of a better workday, one where Abe saved him from this miserable job and blew up the Slog Hut.

It was all he could do, really.

* * *

It wasn’t even five minutes before he felt a cold breeze, and the light of the hallway made him squeeze his eyes shut more before sitting up. A hand went up to shield his vision, but he was still blinded for a moment while he tried to make out the silhouette. A Slig, for sure, but that hardly narrowed it down. The Pants were pretty basic, being two robotic legs attached to a large ball. However, the giveaway was the mask that obscured this particular guard’s face. It was one of the older visors, like some Sligs still wore, with a single long visor. However, this one covered his scalp, forming an ugly black helmet rather than just a scary red visor. Only Conar had that version, but what was he doing here of all places?

Well, it couldn’t be anything good. Slim shuddered, wondering what he’d have to apologize for to get a manager from work to find him in this motel. But… no beating or gunfire came his way. In fact, Conar looked taken aback. He wasn’t aiming his Blunderbuss anywhere in particular, and his head kept turning either way, as if he wasn’t supposed to be here.

“Well, whaddaya know, Slim,” he said, after a moment. “Funny I’d run into you here…”

Slim blinked, lowering his hands, but remaining where he was.

“So, uh... you wanna get outta shoveling Slog crap?”

Slim opened his mouth to answer, but Conar grabbed his arm, so the Scrub’s confused questions were interrupted by his own yelp.

“Time’s up!” Conar said, hearing the chatter die down in the cafeteria. “We’re leavin’!”

“Oh-okay…”

“And you’re gonna shut yer yap! We ain’t supposed to be doing this, you know!”

With that, the two of them silently beat feet away from the hubbub of the mess hall, kicking up a lot of dirt on their way.

The hall separated into two different ways at the end. Conar knew that to the left was the back door he came from, and was going to drag Slim with him. But Slim had other ideas, nearly pulling Conar out of his Pants as he pulled them both to the right.

Conar adjusted his seat so he could run properly again, then struggled to get out of Slim’s grip.

“What the hell?!” he protested, before realization struck, and he quieted down. “The back way’s the otherhall!”

“Where do you think most’f the Sligs are?” Slim harshly whispered. “Seen at least four Mudokons try that, and they never make it to the parking lot!”

“Oh, and the front door’sgonna be much better? Hah!”

“Dunno,” Slim shrugged. “No one’s tried it.”

Conar was about to say something pretty snippy, but he saw they were close to the lobby. The pair stopped just short, and Conar looked ahead. There wasn’t much to see, past the dozens of bored Mudokons waiting in line to be checked in by a very bored Glukkon receptionist, complete with a very bored Slig there to type the guests’ numbers in.

No one was looking their way, so Conar motioned for Slim to follow, and the two of them walked towards the other exit. They made it about halfway through before the Pud looked up.

“Where do ya think you’re goin?!”

“Ah…” Conar started, before regaining his composure. “Y’see, he was volunteered to work overtime tonight! Just came here to pick ‘im up!”

The Glukkon rose to his full height, which would have been impressive if he had shoulder pads or any non-plaid clothing. His assistant also rose, clicking a pen as violently as one could manage. Both Conar and Slim hunched a little, preparing to put their hands over their heads.

The receptionists walked over, sneering. The Mudokons in the queue muttered, some talking about the scene, others complaining about this new delay between them and dinner.

The Glukkon leaned close, so close Conar could almost read the miniscule nametag.

“We have procedures for this, you know! Guests –“ he said the word like most would say “slurg”, “—are to be signed out before leaving the premises!”

Slim blinked. It was hard to tell if Conar did the same.

“Yeah, er…” Conar said, rubbing his head. “Sorry, sir. I thought you wanted ‘im in line, too.”

“And risk the liability?” the receptionist exclaimed. “No, we have registration protocol for a reason!You security and your..your… unprofessionalism!”

His assistant merely gave Conar a look of resignation before marching back to check the Mudokons in.

“If we were to mix the lines like that, our quotas would go kaput! And this is a fine establishment!”

Conar chose not to bring up the dirt floor or the mold-eaten wallpaper. He was already debating whether or not this endeavor was worth it. Zoning out and wondering about that was far easier than listening to this chump.

“…My brothers and I… investors….”

Conar nodded along, thinking about the future, and the riches that would be in store for him. Maybe he could force Zeb to work for him. Of course, something like that would come after a little bit of begging for mercy. But what to spend the well-earned Moolah on? Maybe he’d get himself a nice, classy suit, with premium Slig Pants, armor, and a nice, big gun with all the works…

“…So, I’d really appreciate it if you’d show some class and go to the other desk!”

“Yes, sir!” Conar nodded, moving over to the empty desk. The Glukkon waddled over to the other side, and started controlling some machinery with his shoes.

“Name?”

“Slim.”

Tap, tap, tap.

“…Not found in our records.”

“Can’t you just add ‘im?”

“We just went over this! There are procedures! It will not be as simple as your mind! I can’t just add a Mudokon who is already in the--”

As Conar prepared to sigh, Slim stepped forward.

“Sorry sir,” he said, putting on his best Gluk-pleasing face (that is, a weak smile politely begging for mercy), “He must not’ve read my ID. Do you need my number?”

The receptionist laughed, looking down at Conar while nodding. He kept chuckling at the absurdity of this Slig’s ineptitude as he worked the pedals, searching for Slim by number. He finally stopped adding to Conar’s humiliation, catching his breath while reading what came onto his black-and-white monitor.

“Right, right, you’re all set to leave. Can’t be too careful this day and age, with all those escapees… Anyway, give him a few corporate-approved smacks to keep him in line, would you?”

Connar nodded, a little too hastily. After a moment to ensure no signature or receipt was needed, he turned and poked Slim with his blunderbuss.

“Alright, get movin’. We’re goin’ to work, now!”

Conar couldn’t believe it; he was expecting a tense escape, maybe an amazing shootout. But no; he was walking through the front door, with a Mudokon openly in tow. He even waved at a couple of the guards on his way out. He looked up at Slim, who kept himself hunched and shivering in a clearly practiced manner. The two of them marched in silence for a while, with Conar occasionally tapping the muzzle of his gun against Slim’s back for effect.

“You’re welcome,” Slim finally said, once they were closer to the Slog Huts again, and well out of earshot.

“What, you expectin’ thanks?” Conar asked, laughing at the audacity. “I was the one bustin’ ya out, y’know!”

Slim gave a smug grin, leaning against the wall as he did so.

“Oh, really? You go out the back with a Mudokon like you wanted, they’d be throwing your lead-filled ass into the recycler faster than you can say—”

He tried making that noise he heard many Sligs shout, but it sounded more like his lungs were playing tug-of-war.

“Yeah, well, you seemed pretty comfy in that filthy closet.”

“Ha, yeah, thanks,” Slim laughed, looking around for a moment. “So uh, why didja get me out of there anyway?”

“Right, yeah,” Conar said, clearing his throat. “So, you’re gonna help me take Zeb down a peg. If that Abe guy can take down RuptureFarms, I figure you can help me get his Moolah and ruin ‘im!”

Slim’s smile faded, and he looked at Conar like the Slig grew legs on the spot.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Nah,” Conar shook his head. “This should be easy; we go in, hold ‘im at gunpoint, and—”

“And just how,” Slim asked, leaning forward until he was face to face with Conar, “do you expect us to ‘go in’? Do you even know where his office is?”

Conar’s smug grin faltered.

“Eh--? I…”

“To say nothin’ about the security he’s probably got! You got the news just like I did; they’re scared. They probably got security tighter than Jeandis’ skull there! Didja think any of this—”

He was cut off by a blunderbuss muzzle under his chin. So it was going to be certain death or immediate death, he saw.

“…G-got it. So, what’s the plan, boss?”

#oddworld #oddworld conar's ambition #oddworld fic #chapter 2 #draft 1 #oddworld conars ambition full chapter

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar’s Ambition, Chapter 1, Draft 1

           It was another uneventful day in Slog Hut 1884. Little Sloggies were being raised and trained. Food was brought in by the Mudokon Scrubs, and sometimes they would act as surprise treats for well-behaved, or simply fortunate, Slogs. Of course, they also had to clean up after the animals. The Sligs were too busy training them and making sure the Scrubs knew their place. They had a place to fill and a payroll to maintain.

Conar sighed as he punched in. Not that he didn’t enjoy his job; the visor, gun, and mechanical legs were the dream of any Slig. He was also fond of the Slogs. They were vicious, loud, and smelled awful, but there was something endearing about them.

But was it really worth being a nobody in a glorified animal pen? Making next to nothing overseeing both the future guard Slogs and the Mudokon janitors?

Eugh. Maybe he’d feel better if he caught a Scrub doing something wrong. Physical therapy was relaxing, he heard.

He walked out to the pens, passing several ravenous Slogs. They seemed to stare at him intently, but Conar knew they’d be trained and focused killing machines soon, and would be shipped off to Rent-a-Cop stations everywhere.

And Conar would remain assigned here. Maybe he’d be lucky and get a promotion from Slog Hut Corporal to Slog Hut Sergeant, but he’d still be here, just with a shinier pair of Slig Pants and maybe a small raise.

He shook his head. Sligs were supposed to know their place; it was part of the deal. What could he even accomplish if he had his things taken away? Crawling around without Slig Pants to hold him up, totally defenseless against people who would squash him after one look at his hideous unmasked Slig face.

He came up to his coworker, and gave a standard, professional greeting.

“Whaddap, you slime-skinned bastard?”

“Piss off,” came the return greeting. Conar’s colleague turned around, and only a Slig could see a grimace on another’s be-tentacled face, rather than casual boredom.

“Whoa. What’s gotten into ya, Wiren?”

“You ugly AND stupid?” came the tart response. “Boss is comin’ for a visit.”

Conar groaned. He completely forgot, but Wiren was right. Their Glukkon manager Zeb was gonna throw his weight around some today. Their pay was likely to be docked, but maybe it would sting a little less as they all sucked up to him.

“Well,” Conar said, hopefully, as they did last-minute patrol rehearsals, “the Anum Press said that we were sellin’ more Slogs than ever before. That oughta impress ‘im!”

Wiren shook his head. “Stocks been takin’ a hit since the Rupture farms fire. I don’t get it either, but the boss said sales don’t matter.”

Conar thought about this. It didn’t make sense. Gazillions of moolah and the stocks were crap?

They were stationed by the front-facing pens, so there wasn’t much to their patrol routes. They just had to make sure the scrubs were doing their jobs. A few shouts at and smacks upside the heads of the hapless Mudokons seemed like it was enough.

Conar felt his worries melt away as he enforced some discipline on them. It was what he was born for, after all.

“You call that feedin’?!” he demanded, hitting the back of one hapless Mud carrying an enormous bag of Slog chow. “You ain’t eating until all o’ the Slogs have! Now MOVE IT!”

The Mudokon grunted, stumbling a little on his path.

Conar heard Wiren behind him, repeatedly beating on one of the scrubs with the butt of his gun. He sighed. He’d be called a Mud-lover for weeks, but he never understood why his coworkers went to town when a simple jab or smack would do. Not that he cared about anyone under his charge, by any means – no self-respecting Slig employee would. No; it just didn’t make sense. If the Mudokons were here to work, they should be in decent condition so they can get it done.

With that in mind, he shoved Wiren to the side.

“What the hell? I was getting’ ‘im good!”

“Yeah, yeah, save some for the rest of ‘em. Now c’mon, we got a pissed-off Gluk to worry about.”

Wiren grumbled, moving back on path. Conar heard him grumble something about “no fun” and “scrub softie”.

Anyway, there was also the matter of which Slogs to showcase in the front pens. Neither Conar nor Wiren were in charge of those decisions, but it was known that they would need to help get the loudest, most vicious Slogs to the front. Obedience was the real goal, sure, but nothing impressed clients more than a slavering maw on legs ready to tear them a new one, apparently. Maybe they fantasized about those teeth ripping apart those beneath them.

Conar couldn’t reflect on this. Not only did he have the boss coming in, but he had the more pressing issue of one of the escorted Slogs breaking off its chain, and it was making a beeline for him. Without thinking, he turned to flee. He’d seen what happened to those who shot and missed. He’d rather step into the Recycler than suffer that.

The guffaws from his colleagues echoed in his mind as he ran, even though he would likely be doing the same any other day if one of them got into this. The laughs were being drowned out by the furious barks of the Slogs, but it was clear the other Sligs weren’t about to wrangle the animal until he gave this show an ending. He just had to get to the ladder, and he’d be fine. Hopefully, his co-workers could help get the thing back into its pen.

The Slog was fast, but Conar had a head start, and was quickly able to get to the ladder. He started to climb for safety, but a sudden weight and cheers from the other Sligs told him the Slog had clamped itself onto one of his mechanical legs. He looked down and, yup, the thing had its teeth imbedded into his lower leg. His joint whirred as he tried to shake the red thing off, but it held fast.

“It smells the Mudokon on ya!”

Wiren’s crack caused ripples of laughter across the workforce. Even Conar heard a chuckle come out of himself. You had to have a sense of humor at work.

Finally, after much shaking, the Slog slipped off its own saliva, grunting as it landed on the floor. Conar quickly clambered higher before it could focus on jumping at him again. The Slog was still snarling and snapping in his direction, and no one was too eager to move close.

Conar sighed. Seemed he would have to do this himself.

“Open that pen!” he yelled to a Scrub who was on cleanup duty in it. Without question, the Mudokon opened the gate. So there was that, at least, but the Slog wasn’t exactly inclined to go into the pen. Okay, lessee…

Moving carefully around the second floor, Conar guided the Slog into the pen, and shouted for the same Mudokon (he believed the scrub’s name was Mike) to close it. Mike made a mad dash out as the Slog shifted its attention to him, and quickly slammed the gate back shut.

“Right,” Conar said, as the other Sligs groaned. “Show’s over. Let’s try to make the boss happy for once.”

The rest of the time was spent trying to get everything perfected. Of course, there were a variety of stains on the floor the Muds could not scrub out, no matter how many whacks and threats they got from their managers. The tiling was still an ugly green, the Recycler looked as rusty and bloody as ever, and the back room with all the Slog huts was just too poorly-lit.

Still, the facility looked…at least a little more presentable. The Slig patrol routes were memorized down to each step, their guns were full and ready, the Mudokons were compliant, and the Slogs were not only safely contained, but slavering for anyone stepping out of line.

Everything was set up just in time – Zeb’s valet had come, clad in cheap brass armor and wielding a sizable hand cannon, to announce the boss’ arrival. Every other Slig’s posture unconsciously straightened around this higher-ranked one as he said “All right, you slack-jawed Stunkz, listen up! Zeb is here, and he’s already pissed, so make his day!”

Behind the valet/bodyguard, the unmistakable silhouette of a Glukkon stood. Orange eyes looked around, scowling as they searched for problems. Waddling forward, into the light of the Sloghut’s lobby, he revealed his unfeatured, deep blue suit, with a pin at the lower stomach area signifying his recent favor with the Magog Cartel.

Conar remembered the ceremony – very boring if you weren’t a moneymaker.

Zeb’s unusually thin mouth chomped on a small Sickly Smooth cigar – not a super-premium choice, but a far cry from the cheap Lungbuster cigarettes the middle management and security forces used. He waddled through the facility on a pair of shiny black dress shoes, barely acknowledging the saluting and bootlicking from his security, or even the cowering and sniveling from his Mudokon Scrubs.

He walked all the way to the back, and went up to the bulletin board, humming tunelessly as he assessed the personnel numbers.

“Oy!” he finally shouted, turning to the nearest Slig (Gurol from Slog training). “Explain why we have retired employees!”

“Ah, erm, sorry, boss! Some of the younger Sloggies are still teething, but…”

Gurol looked up at the board, reading the numbers.

“…That can’t explain all of ‘em, boss,” he noted. “We only ‘ad one Slig and a coupla workers get attacked back here…”

           “You serious?” Zeb asked, shaking his head. “You lot don’t know how much it costs to replace ya – you can’t even keep track of each other?”

           “Sorry, boss, but I’m in Slog trainin’. Maybe one of the front-facing guys can explain it.”

           The Glukkon turned to his valet and nodded. There was a little bit of spring to the Slig’s step as he marched back to the front of the facility, where the guards were patrolling once more.

           “You there!” he called out, grabbing the attention of the nearest Slig, who happened to be Wiren. “Boss wants answers!”

           Conar was about to follow as well, but he bumped into the valet’s outstretched hand.

           “Yer not desertin’ your post, Scrub-watcher. I just need the one.”

           “Yessir…”

           Conar couldn’t help but to chuckle a little as Wiren tentatively followed the high-ranking Slig. At least he wouldn’t be facing the boss’s wrath. He just hoped his co-worker wouldn’t cost him any of his pay.

           In the meantime, he knew that if anything worsened up here, it’d be on his head. So back to patrolling it was. He had to make sure the Mudokons didn’t relax just yet. Besides, he needed to keep his mind off the risks he might face. He could have his pay cut, get a reassignment to one of the worse Slog Huts, or even be fired and sent to Skillya as a soup ingredient.

           None of that. Focus on the job.

           Step, step, turn, step, step, step, hit Mudokon, step, turn…

            He had to give the Scrubs credit; the floor was less rough and grimy than it should have been.

           Step, step, hit Mudokon, turn, step…

           The Slogs up front seemed calmer, though the one that harassed him earlier still faced him at all times. It was less intimidating, but at least they were all still alert.

           Step, step, turn, step step…

           Okay, what was taking Wiren so long? He couldn’t keep concentrating on stepping and smacking Mudokons upside the head. He was supposed to start on his break ten minutes ago, and he really needed a Lungbuster, but if he left now, no one would be watching this Odd-forsaken floor, and he’d get chewed out for that. He just had to keep focus for a little while longer, that was it.

           Not like anything ever happened…

           The minutes stretched on and on, as did Conar’s need for a smoke. Nothing was happening, as usual, and his mind screamed that his break should happen now, if not sooner. Normally he wouldn’t have an issue just lighting up on his patrol, but it wasn’t technically allowed, for reasons Conar had trouble understanding. Everyone did it when the boss wasn’t around, and he wasn’t around often at all.

           Screw it. He was going to step outside. The Scrubs could take care of themselves for a minute.

               He was almost to the door when he felt a presence behind him. He turned, and winced as he saw those dress shoes tapping impatiently under that suit. Conar could hear that valet snickering behind him.

               “Uh, hi Boss. Just goin’ on break.”

               “Mhm. And I guess you’re leaving the Scrubs on their own, when there’s A KNOWN TERRORIST ON THE LOOSE?!”

               The secondhand smoke as Zeb leaned forward to get into Conar’s face wasn’t enough to satiate his needs, but it did help clear his head for a moment.

               “…But boss, that Abe guy was last seen at Rupture Farms, right? That’s nowhere near here!”

               “FEECO IS ON A COMPLETE LOCKDOWN RIGHT NOW!”

               “What?! When did that happen, boss?”

               “Watch the news for once, you insignificant ! It was just on an hour ago!”

               “Sorry, boss,” Conar said, shaking his head. “I was workin’ then. Couldn’t watch the tube.”

               “Well,” Zeb sneered, “the ‘tube’ says that that blue Mudokon bastard’s gonna try to break into Soulstorm! Is that close enough for you to take your job seriously?!”

               A cheer came from behind Zeb, cut short by a hand going over his mouth. It was one of the Scrubs, and Conar recognized him as the one he called “Slim”. Yeah, he probably had a name, but he was noticeably lankier than other Mudokons, and a little bit taller and thinner for it. Even his cap looked a little taller on his grey head. His yellow eyes quivered as Zeb’s valet spun around in an instant.  

               “Y’see?” Zeb said, over the sounds of punches and grunts. “We gotta keep ‘em in line in these trying times! If someone like that Abe guy shows up, who knows what’ll happen?! Moolah’s already tight as it is!”

               Conar had, just the other day, saw in the Daily Deception how Zeb and his associates at other Slog Hut chains gave themselves sizable bonuses this quarter. He silently thought about this.

               “Now, since your worthless co-worker couldn’t answer me, maybe you can …WHY ARE WE HAVING EMPLOYEES RETIRED!”

               “It ain’t my fault, boss! Idiots keep stepping into the Recycler!”

               He pointed to a giant fan of rusty blades that was on the wall opposite them. It was an effective way of making Slog chow, but all it took was one wrong step for the blades to start, and the suction power of the machine was insane. There wasn’t any way to turn the sensor or the fan off, either.

               “Well maybe if you bums didn’t try to sneak outta work, accidents could be prevented!”

               “It was past time for my break, boss…”

               Conar immediately winced, realizing who he said this to.

               “With your pay, I’d think you’d need the extra work time… LIEUTENANT!”

               The valet stopped beating Slim and was at his boss’ side in an instant, holding a notepad. “Yes, sir!”

               “Take a note! This incompetent Slog Hut is getting half pay.”

               “Already on it, sir!”

               Conar sighed. He could already guess who was going to have to deliver the news.

               “Oh, and there are gonna be some longer hours ‘round here… these upstart Mudokons need some closer watching. All hands on deck, at all times.”

               “Yes, sir,” Conar said, trying his best to keep his voice neutral.

               The lieutenant finished writing down everything, humming to himself the whole time. He pulled out a rubber stamp, signing the note on his boss’ behalf, before handing it to Conar. He read everything over, and his tentacles sagged as he saw Zeb nod at him. He started to walk over to the back, as he heard the boss and crony start to walk out the door. He overheard a little bit of their conversation as they left.

               “Smart way to save Moolah, sir!”

               “Just a few more cost cuts and Ma’s sure to be proud!”

               Slim gave Conar a weary look and slowly got to his feet. He was shaky, but he walked over and extended a hand for the note.

               “Wha…?”

               “C’mon,” Slim sighed, “I know you’re gonna have me tell ‘em anyway.��

               Conar looked at the note in his hand, then back to Slim. The guy already took a wallop, and such news would make him an outlet for Slig rage. Conar would enjoy the view as much as the next guy, but really, they were down enough workers as-is, and delivering news like these pay cuts was a good way to get a Mud thrown into the Recycler. Besides, the guy still had to clean up after the Slogs.

               “You tellin’ me my business?” Conar demanded, slapping the Scrub in the face. “Ya still gotta get the Slog crap!”

               He watched Slim carefully. The Mudokon’s eyes were wide as he rubbed his cheek, and it looked like he was trying not to smile from gratitude. Conar couldn’t stand it; he was a supervisor, dammit, not a caretaker!

               “And pick yer hat up! We got uniforms for a reason, and I don’t wanna see your ugly bald head!”

               That seemed to snap him out of it. Slim nodded and ducked to get his cap back on.

               The other Sligs reacted as well as could be expected. A lot of groans and pointing fingers echoed across the back room. Several Lungbusters came out and the room was quickly full of little red lights. The foul-smelling Slog Hut barely changed its smell. The Scrubs winced instinctively before the Sligs began to resume their duties their way. If the boss wasn’t around, why not? And they had a lot of stress they needed an outlet for…

***

               It wasn’t much longer until quitting time anyway. Conar didn’t mention that they were just being used as a ploy for Margaret favor; what would be the point? He was pretty sure everyone already knew. He simply waited in line to silently clock out. His fellow Sligs were already chatting as if nothing had happened, talking about different kinds of guns, grenades, and liquor. Not that Conar didn’t enjoy those things, but the boss had given him a lot to think about.

               No one noticed as Conar hailed a cab home. He’d normally hit the bar with his colleagues on days like this, but he wasn’t really up to the hell he’d get for delivering the news. He remembered the laughs he had when some other chump had to give the update. No Scrub was available, so the sucker was stuck paying on top of being raked over the coals after work was over.

               Conar was sure he’d still have to do that, but he wasn’t in the mood today. He just wanted to lie in bed for a bit, maybe watch some Name That Trauma, and get himself ready to endure another day. Thankfully, the Mudokon driving the cab knew to drive fast. Yelling at Scrubs was great, but it wore at the throat after a long workday.

               The cab stopped at a part of the city where a lot of Sligs lived. It wasn’t hard to tell, what with it looking like a barely-controlled war zone. Scorch marks, shrapnel, and bullet holes were everywhere. There was the smell of not only gunpowder, but also chemical weapons that were tested here. Even the Mudokon that dropped him off had a rag over his face ready. Conar never got it; every Slig knew the gas weapons were weak stuff. The Mudokons were just chumps, but that was no surprise.

               Conar pulled a keycard from a compartment on his pants’ waist, stepping over a broken mask and a discarded blunderbuss on his way to the apartment gates. He shouldn’t have bothered; he could see that someone smashed the lock again, and a couple of Sligs were working on it. One of them nodded absently while Conar just strolled in through the gate. Obviously, they weren’t security detail. They didn’t have the guns for it.

               No, once again the guy at the front desk had a pistol ready, loudly demanding to see the keycard of anyone coming in. Conar rolled his eyes as he showed his. The clerk grumbled, but let him in. Conar could tell the offending Slig was already taken care of; the clerk grumbled about “only gettin’ to take one shot” as he climbed the stairs.

               It was otherwise uneventful getting to his apartment, but Conar groaned as he opened the door. Ratz had gotten in. The place was more of a mess than normal, and green glowing eyes gave him a shudder. He knew it was a real load, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they were watching him, and taking mental notes for… something. He just wished they took notes of the gunfire that came their way when he came in. It was getting expensive for multiple reasons.

               And there was a reason outside of the bullets – this time he blew a hole into the wall. He could see his neighbor shooting out of bed with a start, turning towards him.

               “What the hell?!

               “Ech, Ratz,” Conar explained, taking another potshot.

               His neighbor rolled over, reaching for something.

               “No, don’t,” Conar said, shaking his head. “They’re already gone.”

               The neighbor sighed, carelessly dropping his gun again, and pulled the sheets over himself again.

               Conar walked over, and dragged his gun locker to cover the hole he made. He did not need this after a pay cut. What he needed was to unwind and turn the tube on. It took time to find the remote and dig through the fridge for some Paramite Pies, but it would be worth it for the season finale of Name That Trauma. It was always fun to see the Mudokons squirm and scream, and this one promised to have the most exciting and elaborate tortures.

               Thankfully, he got the TV on in time. Just at the end of the title card.

               It was a fine season finale, but Conar felt it was less creative and exciting than last season. It just wasn’t as fun when the Mudokons passed out before anyone could even answer.

               Still, it was good for taking his mind off things. He was able to guess along with the contestants, and more correctly than they were. He wished he was there on one of the podiums, because obviously none of the Glukkons, Sligs, or Vykkers they pulled from wherever worked security detail. He’d be able to retire a happy Slig. Hell, he could probably host. He’d put up with wearing that stupid fake toothy grin and gaudy wig if it meant he had moolah to throw around because people guessed things right.

               The Terminal Trauma round arrived. Conar was hopeful; they always saved the craziest and most challenging torments for last, and he hoped this would live up to expectations. Last season involved four different assaults on the Mudokon, one on each limb. How would the ante be upped this time?

               The hapless Mud shivered in the spotlight. His eyes darted nervously, as the crowd waited with bated breath. Two Sligs emerged from either wing of the stage, and the curtain came down…

               And that’s when an emergency bulletin from Magog on the March came on. Conar groaned; he knew that they’d be selling the season finale at an inflated price, and wouldn’t be doing reruns.

               “Special bulletin from the Magog on the March – news you can’t abuse!” the newscaster began. “Mudokon terrorist Abe was seen in Slig Barracks. General Dripik declares martial law!”

               The broadcast cut to a shot of the Glukkon general, surrounded by microphones at a press conference. Any Slig who graduated the Barracks could recognize him.

               “No mamby-pamby Mudokon meat puppet’s gonna make me look like a fool!” he barked. It was a similar inflection to the one he had at Conar’s class graduation speech, which was surreal to say the least. “We’ll have that traitor Abe in no time, or my name ain’t….uh…”

               All the brave resolve and vicious spittle stopped, as his one real eye looked around nervously. His brow furrowed.

               “Er…”

               “Dripik, sir,” Conar said, automatically. He could hear a chorus of the same coming from other apartments.

               Apparently, someone there reminded him too, as he perked up and repeated “DRIPIK! …I knew that, I-I did…”

               Conar sighed as the broadcast’s sponsor came on, M.O.M. ended, and it abruptly cut back to the credits of the game show. There went that highlight of the day.

               Amazing how some random Mudokon could have the big shots shaking in their expensive dress shoes. Abe had to have had that effect; why else would M.O.M. deal with this? Yet, such a powerful figure would be a humiliating way to be ruined? Sure, he was a Mudokon, but he’s the one who caused the Rupture Farms fire!

               “…gonna make me look like a fool!”

               Those words echoed in his head as Conar turned off the TV. He hadn’t put his mask or Slig Pants away yet; he was too distracted with the gears slowly turning in his head. Zeb seemed to be pretty scared of any of his Scrubs following in Abe’s footsteps, even as he and everyone else called them inferior.

               He looked at his pistol. He realized that Zeb might have the Moolah, but Conar might have the power to take it away.

               Of course, he mused, pacing around, he couldn’t do it alone; any Glukkon worth his suit had loyal security of some kind, who would eliminate any threat, no questions asked. He might become a very rich Slig, but he’d also be a short-lived one.

               The scary thing with that Abe guy is no one knew how he did it. How did he cause the Rupture Farms fire with nothing but a loincloth and a feather to his name? Surely if one Mudokon could cause such a ruckus, another could help him raise hell, too…

#oddworld conar's ambition #draft 1 #chapter 1 #Oddworld #fic #oddworld conars ambition full chapter

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar's Ambition, Chapter 6, Draft 1, Part 3

Conar was trying to ignore the fact he had to be carried by Slim out onto the field. He was already in a bizarre situation as it was, that might as well happen. Besides, his attention was on the horizon, looking for a Slog. There were a few Sligs disinterestedly on patrol, which mostly meant wandering around aimlessly, bashing corrupted Greeters with the butts of their guns, and smoking.

“See anythin’ yet?” Slim asked.

Slim, of course, was too Clakker to be out in the open, so he had elected to stay partially within the tunnel to the scrap pile, peeking Conar out to scan the area.

“Nothin’ yet. We’re gonna need to get out there and look for ‘em.”

Slim whimpered.

“C’mon, man,” Conar said, looking down. “You wanna get those guys’ respect, we need to see where those Slogs are. Probl’y got a pack going by now…”

“A pack? You think you can get a whole pack of ‘em to stop chowin’ on us?”

“I know I can,” Conar said, “But you gotta get our asses there first!”

He slapped Slim between the shoulder blades, hard, and the Scrub nearly fell over, just catching himself on the wall.

“Let’s go already! I got a gun, and with you as my legs I can keep us safe.”

“Don’t hit me and we’ll talk,” Slim said, glaring at his charge while he rubbed his back with his free hand.

“Walk it off, then! We got work to do!”

“Oughta throw you to the Slogs when we get there,” Slim muttered. “Ungrateful bastitch.”

Conar sighed, looking back down at Slim after one last scan.

“Maybe I can be less tough on you,” he admitted. “Don’t expect special favors or anythin’, but you… you ain’t half bad, you know that?”

“I’m touched,” Slim replied, flatly. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

He started to clamber up, but Conar quickly waved him down. The two of them were just able to hear the whirring of Slig Pants walking by, the owner humming classic old Magog jingles. A baton knocked against clutter as he walked by, making a dissonant rhythm that faded into the distance.

Once it was quiet again, Slim counted to four before climbing back out. His eyes were already adjusted to the darkness of this tunnel, so the gloomy blues and dark purples that made the night sky were a welcome bit of illumination. Some of the junk hadn’t rusted enough to prevent reflections from the pale moonlight. He looked up in awe at a full moon, not less because he could see a Mudokon hand on its face. Instinctively, he held his right hand up, matching the moon exactly.

As he did so, Conar was using the higher angle to look around more. Finally, there was something promising: a Slig slowly swinging his baton around, with a tiny Sloggy hanging on with a strong toothy grip.

“There looks promising,” he said, pointing. “Maybe we can follow that pup to the pack.”

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[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar's Ambition, Chapter 5, Part 3, Draft 1

The alarms in the distance were soon punctuated with the conflicted chatter of Slim and Mark. Conar couldn’t hear all of it, but he hear things like “No, this marking means…” and “B-better hurry, I think I hear…” and “where is it?!”

The talk changed to more frantic gibbering as all three could hear Slogs barking, getting ever closer. Louder and louder, until they were snarling and snapping, and he could hear the Mudokons whimpering, the sound of metal scraping and falling as they presumably scrambled to higher ground.

“Serves ‘em right,” Conar muttered. “I gave ‘em a chance out, and what do they do? Ugh.”

He paced around on his hands for a moment, before spotting something. Some kind of bird graffiti etched into a darker corner of the train. Crawling over, he could see a crack in the panel, and he could see a full tunnel through there. Those Scrubs would have appreciated that; he figured what Slim was talking about was some kind of marking to this location.

Not that he needed Slim or Mark anymore. They fulfilled their purposes; who cared if they became Slog food now? He’d find another way to get to Zeb, once he got some Pants again. And besides, without his Pants, he’d be completely useless to help those two out, even if he wanted to.

He groaned, before giving a sharp whistle. The ravenous barking stopped for a moment.

“Here, boy,” he called out.

Three Slogs came into view, looking down at him. One of them was an older Slog, judging by her massive size, but the other two… well, they were just pups, really. Must have been born here, and were probably the offspring of the larger one. They were thinner than most Slogs he’d seen, and it was clear the mother was the only one of them raised or trained properly. Poor things probably just wanted a decent meal. Conar could sympathize, but he hoped he could dissuade them from trying Mudokon Mulch.

“Stay,” he said, keeping his eyes focused on the Slogs while he felt to search for his bag of supplies. It was a miracle he hadn’t brought it with him when he walked under the Suppressor. Reaching into it, past the ammunition, drinks, and cigarettes, he found that he was looking for: a whole package of Meep Jerky.

“You want some food? Huh?”

The mother Slog panted excitedly, her pups soon to follow.

Conar opened the food, and started to throw some of the largest pieces of jerky out of the train. After a few morsels were thrown out, the Slogs ran off to enjoy their treats, and Conar sighed, relieved he could do something still.

#oddworld fic #oddworld conar's ambition #Oddworld #draft 1 #Chapter 5

[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar’s Ambition, Chapter 1, Part 7, Draft 1

Slim gave Conar a weary look and slowly got to his feet. He was shaky, but he walked over and extended a hand for the note.

“Wha…?”

“C’mon,” Slim sighed, “I know you’re gonna have me tell ‘em anyway.”

Conar looked at the note in his hand, then back to Slim. The guy already took a wallop, and such news would make him an outlet for Slig rage. Conar would enjoy the view as much as the next guy, but really, they were down enough workers as-is, and delivering news like these pay cuts was a good way to get a Mud thrown into the Recycler. Besides, the guy still had to clean up after the Slogs.

“You tellin’ me my business?” Conar demanded, slapping the Scrub in the face. “Ya still gotta get the Slog crap!”

He watched Slim carefully. The Mudokon’s eyes were wide as he rubbed his cheek, and it looked like he was trying not to smile from gratitude. Conar couldn’t stand it; he was a supervisor, dammit, not a caretaker!

“And pick yer hat up! We got uniforms for a reason, and I don’t wanna see your ugly bald head!”

That seemed to snap him out of it. Slim nodded and ducked to get his cap back on.

The other Sligs reacted as well as could be expected. A lot of groans and pointing fingers echoed across the back room. Several Lungbusters came out and the room was quickly full of little red lights. The foul-smelling Slog Hut barely changed its smell. The Scrubs winced instinctively before the Sligs began to resume their duties their way. If the boss wasn’t around, why not? And they had a lot of stress they needed an outlet for…

***

It wasn’t much longer until quitting time anyway. Conar didn’t mention that they were just being used as a ploy for Margaret favor; what would be the point? He was pretty sure everyone already knew. He simply waited in line to silently clock out. His fellow Sligs were already chatting as if nothing had happened, talking about different kinds of guns, grenades, and liquor. Not that Conar didn’t enjoy those things, but the boss had given him a lot to think about.

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[a-table-of-fics]

Oddworld: Conar's Ambition, Chapter 2, Draft 1, Part 1

Slim was silent in line to Slugbite Motel. The chatter was hopefully decent cover; he didn’t need yet more attention after his outburst. If he kept his head down, he’d be fine, and wouldn’t get any more surplus bruises on top of the regular workday bruises.

He heard chatter all around him, gossip from other Slog Huts, Splinterz, and Flub Fuels.

“Management must be pissed, what with -”

“I can’t believe what Skrag did to me! What got into-”

“- hear about FeeCo?”

“We’re gonna be settin’ some electric fences up tomorrow, anyone know about -”

“ – say Abe’s got to Necrum –“

“ -Sligs must be worried if Abe’s getting’ to their place –“

Any talk of Abe was, of course, in whispers. No one believed him to be a terrorist, really, but everyone knew better than to celebrate. Well, everyone but him, apparently, but still. Slig forces were already pretty antsy right now, and there were cameras everywhere. Besides, it was a long day full of more abuse than normal. Everyone was just ready for bed, so to speak. Sure, it was less a bed and more a closed with a dirt floor and next to no elbow room, but it was a place to sleep, nonetheless.

It was almost his turn in the queue. Slim dug in his pouch for his meal ticket. With any luck, he’d get half a Scrabcake with the somewhat edible slop they served here. He presented the ticket to the Slig clerk Jeandis. Jeandis took one look, rolled his eyes from under his visor, and then slammed the counter to his left, deepening the indentation next to the bell. A Mudokon, wearing a light brown cap with deep red stripes and a similarly-colored loincloth, emerged from the back door, carrying a tray of gruel with him.

#oddworld conar's ambition #oddworld #fic #chapter 2 #draft 1