Hi !
I'm in love with the Oddworld games so as long as it lasts I wanted to create a fanfiction about it for a while, so... I guess now it's time ! I'm currently writing my 12th chapter in french, and barely finished translating the first one ! So I probably made mistakes, please feel free to point them out !
In this story, most of the characters are OCs. I tried to give details for those who doesn't know this universe very well (you never know). The main character is a Slig. You know, the standard cruel and funny antagonist. I consider Sligs have an endearing and tragic side, even so little, and I wanted to explore this a little more.
I tried to stick as much as I could to the spirit of the Oddworld mythology, while taking some liberties. I hope you enjoy !
Again feel free to give me some feedback ! Thank you ^w^Y
ooOoo
Nolybab.
Even in the deepest night, the city was shining, no different from a sea of blinding lights. The streets were swarming with uncountable people, dressed in luxurious glittering clothes that projected sparkling rivers on the walls, creating a moving current in rhythm with the daily attractions. How could it be otherwise, it was one of the chicest districts of the Capital ? Here lived the best of the best, the greatest renowned experts leading Mudos greatest corporations. Perhaps the biggest in the entirety of planet Oddworld. The big names were growing even bigger here with each passing day, spending money lavishly or striking extravagant deals often resulting in consequences as colossal as they were destructive.
The big names. Something he sure wasn't.
How could it be when he wasn't even of the same species ? He was born to be at their service, the Glukkons service. It was an innate chain, preventing him to enter their world, ever.
And, well, it's not as if he had a name to begin with.
"Hey !" A booming voice yelled brashly in the middle of the street. "Stop draggin your feet, I'm going to be late because of you !"
Sir Gottlieb, the Glukkon who'd recruited him, was reflecting his peer : Shoes so polished that a miror couldn't stand in comparison. A costume hiding a body no one had ever seen, only revealing the moving shape of a flexible isosceles triangle, the base being the supposed shoulders. No arms, or at least they weren't visible (but what was the point in hiding them anyway ?) And finally a face that looked like the improbable result of a mix between a squid and an enormous crumpled potato. He had no better words to describe it. In this society, this kind of face was considered as pleasant, beauty being intimately linked to wealth.
"Hey ! I said c'mere !" Gottlieb bellowed again, almost spluttering on an outraged passerby.
In response to this sharp bossy tone, a bitter nasal cackle pierced through the crowd. Struggling hard, a hand with four black-nailed digits, contrasting with a rough green skin, emerged between two colorful suits. A disproportionate arm followed right behind, revealing prominent muscles in the forearm, while totally non-existing in the thin line between the elbow and the shoulder. After a few incomprehensible dissonant plaintive shrieks, his head (too massive compared to his frail body) finally appeared.
Truth to be told, his face, declared unsightly by society, remained hidden under a black leather respiratory mask. Long ago, the Glukkons had decreed that his kin were too ugly to be tolerated, so he was wearing this « protection » against gas and eyes since always, to the point he'd actually forgotten if he had ever seen his own face. Therefore, only his snout, made of five long tentacle-like appendage, was granted the privilege to be seen by the eyes of the decision makers. Even if, sometimes, the snout ended up cut off.
At last he managed to wriggle free from this group of camouflaged bodies. No one had deigned to step aside. On the side of his blackmecanical prosthesis, replacing the legs he never had, a carved serial number gently glowed.
583.
This number was his only identity, the only way to differenciate him from his many fellows. A code instead of a name, it was the lot of most of the Sligs. Well, truthfully, he had another distinguishing feature, but no one never deign to adknowledge any sort of difference between him and the other. ...unless when someone wanted to belittle him.
"Hey !" His furious master barked for the third time.
583 did his best to move his tiny tail frantically, stuck inside the prosthesis control board, to walk forward. He was barely able to catch his breath and was gritting his teeth under the mask that allowed his weak scrawny lungs to hang on.
"Yes sir, sorry sir" he muttered with his nasal voice.
His boss, with all his Glukkon-like nature, had used a huge part of his wealth to buy himself an outrageously expensive costume and had ordered 583 to find one for himself, with his not so wealthy ressources. Now, the Slig not only didn't have the money to buy a meech munchie anymore (extremely expensive here) but also his own 'sophisticated' costume was way too short for him ! He was suffocating in his over-tight jacket, was half-strangled by the elastic of his bow tie, his prancy top hat was compressing his skull. He never would have thought that wearing clothes was so horrible, it was a first he wasn't planning to try again. Usually, at Gottlieb Industriz, Slig security guards weren't wearing anything and it felt perfectly fine. Well, as long as they were wearing their metalic Slig pants.
But for an expedition to Nolybab, you had to be presentable, much to 583's annoyance.
And to think that, only a few hours ago, he'd been gloating when he'd learned he could go on this trip to the Capital, it was the greatest dream of any self-respecting industrialist, so it had to be great ! His best friends had sent him deadly looks behind their visor, consumed by jalousy. If only they knew ! ...or not. They'd probably mock him for the rest of his life !
Why him ? Why did it have to be him ?!
And all so that his stupid arrogant boss could strut about among the big names, so that he could show he was cut from the same cloth, so that he could proclaim he had entered their territory. Well, or so he thought. The glorious and almighty Magog Cartel, whose symbol was printed on the countless flags, blimps and shop-signs, probably had no use for the owner of a small company, specialized in water selling. Seriously, a fade, colourless and totally natural drink ? Honestly, who would buy this stuff ?
Groaning, the Slig tried to run faster again, to ignore the dizziness clouding his mind. But he tripped over his own feet and, in a crash of broken ceramics and panicked robot whirring, he ended head first into a huge exposed dinnerware set in front of a brand boutique.
"Argh ! Crap ! Fucking sh... !"
"Hey ! What the hell do you think you're doing ?!"
583 tried to collect himself and immediately stopped swearing. Through the mask lenses that were painting the world in red, he suddenly realized he was surrounded by unknown Slig guards. Armed Slig guards. They looked way better equipped, way better treated, and they certainly were paid a lot more than him. He swallowed hard, cowardice easily taking over his jalousy.
"Ya know what ya just did ? Ya just smashed our boss's centerpiece !"
"It'll cost you, be sure of that !"
"And even more if you can't pay !"
583 wasn't the smartest, but he had the feeling such an ugly crockery couldn't be a centerpiece. To lure the customers, the host had to show an appetizer, and then you could get the main course inside. Or maybe the store manager was a complete idiot.
Well anyway, this kind of thought won't help him getting away of this mess.
Nervous, he pulled his elastic of his bow tie to breath better. It slipped of his finger and snapped sharply against his thick neck. He quickly glanced around knowing it was useless. No one would help him here, not even his master. He spotted him not so far, angrily watching him. Gottlieb's mouth twisted in a contemptous snarl, then he turned around and walked away, leaving his panicked guard all by himself.
"Oh shit shit shitshitshit" the Slig whined. "Er... guys ? Can't we smooth this over ? No need to make a fuss about it, right ? Honestly, Fuzzles pattern ? Come on ! Slogs would have been much better ! Slogs are the best ! Ah ah !"
It was common knowledge, when a Slig wanted to buy a pet, Slogs were their favourite. Fierce terrifying obediant red dogs, that was just perfect. In comparison, the Fuzzles, those soft little brown furry balls with big gleamy eyes, were just pathetic.
583 noticed he had managed to make some of them chuckle, so he thought he was doing fine. Especially when one of them, probably the leader considering how heavily armed he was, pretended to think about it.
"Mmmm... that's a good point. So ? What d'ya think you guys ?"
The following cacophony sounded more like mockery than approuval.
"Okay, listen closely pal" the leader spoke again as he placed a suspicious hand on 583's frail shoulder. "Yer right, Slogs are the best, you sure have a point ! I think we can smooth this over indeed."
The circle narrowed around him.
"Hand over what you've got."
"Er... wut ?"
The fingers gripping his shoulder were suddenly almost crushing his bones. The leader was stronger than he looked.
"Don't play deaf, sucker. Hand over all the Moolah, or else yer ending up naked with some broken arms."
583 felt his heart pounding rapidly inside his skinny chest. He knew where this was going. But he had no choice, and he tossed what was left of his fortune (almost nothing) and took off his jacket, his hat and his bow tie.
"Ah ah ah ! That sucker still ended up naked !"
"Hey ya see dat ? No way we can broke his arms !"
"Yer right man ! Look at this !"
"Hey ! Have you always been a one-armed loser ?"
"You're lucky, yer prosthesis's quite pretty ! We could make some good profit with it ! And after that, you'll still have yer other arm to pay yer debt !"
583 learned long ago, when he'd been doing his hard training at Slig Barracks and when he'd been transfered to Gottlieb Industriz, that Sligs could be very social as long as they were on the same level of hierarchy, but they could become pretty envious of their superiors, and quite sadistic toward the lower soldiers. Right now, he had hoped things would turn to be different in Nolybab. Oddammit, he hated that bloody city ! How he missed his home, the factory filled with that familiar thick black smoke !
Why him ?
"Screw you !" He groaned in hostility, bracing himself for the worst.
At this precise moment, the shop door swang open and the owner suddenly appeared, seething with rage as he saw the state of his merchandise, almost dropping his cigar.
"HEY !" He roared. "WHAT'S GOING ON HERE ?"
Instinctively, the whole troup at his service jumped in fright together at one. Survival taking precedence over the natural fear he felt when an angry Glukkon was involved, 583 took his chance and shoved the smallest guard out of the way, breaking the deadly circle. Freed from his tormentors and from his infernal costume, he actived his mecanical legs, pushed on them like he never did before. He ran without turning back to blend into the crowds while the sound of dozen whiring pants chased after him.
ooOoo
It took a long time before 583 decided to slip out the garbage dumpster he'd been hiding into. He passed his unique hand over his organic body, then over his metalic legs to clean himself at best, and took the opportunity to let out his whole personal repertoire of insults. The night wasn't over yet. He had to find his stupid boss and when he will, he would probably get a painful earful.
"Pff ! I can't wait to be back to the factory ! I'll take it all out on those trashy Mudokons !"
There were some advantages with the slaves : he could beat them up without too much trouble, at least as long as he didn't kill them. They still remained the main workforce of the company.
"Ah ! There you are !"
There was no worry in Gottlieb's voice. Just a disgusted and angry look.
"How dare you appear like this before me ? Where are your clothes ? Do you really think I'll tolerate such an insult !"
The Slig didn't lose his time to justify himself, he knew he wouldn't have the opportunity to plead his cause.
"Sorry boss..."
"I don't need excuses ! I need to be perfect, I need perfect elements by my side ! Because I AM perfect ! Am I clear ?"
"Yes boss. You are exceedingly right, boss."
The Glukkon slowly avanced toward him. In the darkness of this alley, only his eyes shining with occult light were apparent on his annoyed face. He looked taller and more evil than ever. Wincing, 583 couldn't help but take a step backwards and he rose a fearful arm before him, overwhelmed with anguish.
"This is how you thank me ? I did hire you even though you were a defective product. I did allow you to have a prosthesis to replace your missing arm. I did give you about the same salary than your pals. I am offering everything you need, and thanks to me you have a chance to play a tiny role in our glorious society, the role any Slig should have and wish. Do you refute this truth ?"
There was only one correct answer.
"No sir. You are a model of charity."
Everything was true. Yes. Whether his boss' intentions were out of keeping with this truth or not, it was still the truth. 583, more than anyone else, needed a master, needed what his master was willing to give. Without this, he was nothing. His inferiority complex was gnawning at his insides more than ever, as Gottlieb was showering him with contempted charity.
"Well, in that case, I am expecting you to be faultless, more than anyone else. The exact opposite of what you showed tonight !"
The Slig could only lower his head. Shame, anger and fear were striking with each word. With a nasty face, Gottlieb turned his back on his underling.
"For now, let's go to my appointment. But as soon as we're back at the facility, you're being demoted ! Consider yourself lucky that I'm not firing you !"
"Thank you sir."
The Slig waited long enough to be sure his master couldn't see him anymore before giving him the middle finger. If only he still had this horrible glittering suit ! Until now, he had planned to sell it high after this day, but right now he was dreaming about the fantastically tempting idea of shoving it into his boss's backside.
The front of the building they were heading to wouldn't have paled even to the most excentric house of the city. The bright colors, the blinding lights, the false diamonds and – again – glitter... every touch was made to be an eye-catcher. There was such a useless concentration of frills and shiny things it was actually ridiculous. 583 had to refrain himself from letting out a disgusted 'urgh !'.
And yet, the place had an excellent reputation, otherwise it wouldn't be here. Otherwise they wouldn't be here.
Silently, 583 ran in front of Gottlieb to pull the crimson curtain blocking the entrance. His frustration and feeling of powerlessness remained invisible under his oxygen mask. Even if Glukkons apparently didn't have arms, nothing were preventing them to pass a simple curtain. But no, of course ! That too was reserved for the lackeys !
"Idiot" he muttered very quietly.
Fortunately for him, at such a weak sound volume, only a parasitic crackling escaped from the respirator.
When he went inside, he nearly gagged. The entrance was actually a very subtle prelude compared to the sight that laid before him right now. The walls were entirely covered with curtains of pearls, glimmering with sparkles of light that made even the most exagerated parody of romantism look pale. The sofas were submerged with glossy cushions that looked brushed with oil. Dozen of scented candles, each diffusing a different ultra-concentrated fragrance, were spreading a dense smoke invading every corner of the room. Despite having his mask, the Slig had the feeling he was choking.
It was simply awful !
"Good evening dear sir, uh uh !" A masculine voice joyfully sang with a particularly kinky and effeminate tone.
A hopping shadow emerged from the fog and 583 really thought he was going to make a run for it. Their host's face was literally dripping with make-up. Long false eyelashes were batting excessively over the most tearful eyes anyone had ever seen. A thick layer of white powder were sticking to his wrinkled skin, and two big red circles were located on the cheeks. His lips were puckered languorously and were covered with a dark greasy substance.
No, definitely no. This Glukk had no sense of aesthetics. Whether he was rich or not.
"Are you here for an encounter with the Great Priestess ? Uh uh !"
The Slig sneaked a peek toward his boss and was intensely pleased to see him wavering, probably wondering what in Oddworld he was doing here. However Gottlieb seemed to get a grip on himself and took a deep big breath.
"That's correct."
"Uh uh ! Good good good, splendid splendid !"
Through the smoke, the manager scampered happily to the back of the room, where the shape of another curtain, thick and heavy, dotted with mystical symbols, could barely be seen,.
"Sweetheart !" He chirped. "Our very dear and esteemed clients have arrived."
There was no answer. However the Glukkon turned back to them with a wide goofy smile.
"She's waiting for you."
Once again 583 had to move himself to spread the heavy fabric open and let his Master go into the Priestess antechamber alone.
"Wait here !" He ordered sharply.
"Yes sir" the Slig muttered as he would have given anything to leave this room, far far away from this heady fragrance.
Thereafter, he tried best to ignore the irritating humming from the owner while avoiding to look at him. He chose to let his eyes rest on the displayed slogan on the wall, stuck between two cascades of pearls.
"'Knowledge is Power'"
583 turned his head toward the paint can who had dangerously approach (too much) closer with a sweet smile. The Slig was more used to see Glukkons bellowing orders and being extremely angry than smiling, and generally when it happened they all had a diabolical facial expression. But that one smile particularly sent chills through his spine.
"That's what's written here" the owner insisted. "You seemed rather interested."
"Ah... er... yeah... I can read actually..."
The sugary smile widened and his eyes narrowed.
"Oh ! I never thought Sligs were gifted with such intellectual abilities ! Forgive my rudeness, but considering the masks you're all wearing..."
He purposely let his sentence unfinished. 583 didn't understand what he meant by that.
"Uh uh ! Splendid splendid."
Well, in any case the Slig didn't like it. He was about to show his middle finger in a foolish fit of misplaced bravery when an harsh call from Gottlieb stopped him just in time.
"Hey ! C'mere !"
583 let out an annoyed swearing in his motherly language before heading for the chamber.
Much to his relief, the air was more breathable despite the small size of the room. The stony walls were bare and simple, carved with incomprehensible ancestral symbols here and there. It was as if he just walked into a cave. At the center stood the decoration of the ritual : a stylized carpet for the visitors where Gottlieb proudly stood on, and a stone backing, like an altar, where a fire was crackling. The flames were powerful enough to illuminate the room.
And behind all this stuff was the Great Priestess.
Then again, 583 almost spat in loathing at the view. Females, to whatever race, were extremely rare. But it didn't change the fact that she was a Mudokon above all, like all the slaves kept in the factories. He didn't like those good for nothing. From his point of view, Mudokons were the most freaky creatures of the entire planet, mostly because, while all other inhabitants looked strange and deformed, they were surprisingly well-proportioned and smooth. Two arms, two legs, a rather thin but muscular body covered with green skin. But not a green like his own skin, a purer, lighter green. It made him sick for some reason. As for the face, well, there was no nose, but they had very big yellow eyeballs.
However, 583 was struck with a notable difference with what he knew : her skull was covered with multiple pale red feathers. It wasn't common, quite the contrary. All slaves he came across during his life were all bald. Maybe the feathers were a trait reserved to females ?
After all, he's never met one before.
She moved just a bit when he entered and beckoned him to come. The gesture wasn't imperious, but he felt personally insulted. Slaves were lower than security guards and they had no right to formulate a request, even a silent one, much less a demand. The Slig glanced at his boss and, considering the dark impatient aura around him, he quickly understood he had to comply nevertheless.
While reluctantly moving forward, he kept studying her. The rest of her anatomy was more familiar. Her hands and bare feet (respectively with four and three fingers) remained big compared to the rest of the body, and it was only when he was close enough that 583 finally saw them. He had heard them at first, the slight sound of metal had warned him when she'd moved. Chains were restaining the wrists and ankles of the supposed Priestess, so the Slig allowed mocking and vengeful thoughts swirling through his mind.
What a joke ! She was just one more slave, nothing else ! So useless, so old ! And certainly so sterile. After all, she was here, and not in a brooder. Another point to prove her uselessness. 583 felt strong before such a weakling.
At that moment, she began to talk.
"Be your master's hand" she said slowly while closing her big eyes. "Do roll the Dice of Destiny into the flames."
Her hands of chain and lead rose toward him in such a mysterious way that he couldn't know if he should snicker or play along.
"Do roll the dice... and enlighten me."
583 had serious doubts about her capacity to see anything with such glassy eyes. He still obeyed, convinced by the heavy look from his boss. With his valid hand, he took the two dices and tossed them as asked. Disturbed by the intrusion, the flames suddenly grew and stirred restlessly, the exploding light taking shades of blue, overflowing with energy. The Slig jumped in fear and took a few steps backwards. He hated fire. But despite this, though he didn't believe in those tricks, he felt strangely captivated by this pompous show.
The old female's wrinkled hands fluttered through the fire while she was reciting a silent incantation. Suddenly, her thick eyelids flang open and her wide bulging eyes pierced through 583 for three everlasting seconds. She tried to speak, to find her lost voice through her distress, but then she looked down and shook her head. The feathers danced subtly around her.
"Well ?" The Glukkon demanded, growing impatient with absolute disregard for her turmoil.
The seer shook her head again and plunged a hand into her feathery hair to massage her scalp with a faint clatter of iron.
"The messiah..." She whispered.
"What ? Speak louder !" The client commanded.
While still shaken, the female tried to sit straighter and to calm herself, her empty eyes staring into the shrinking hearth.
"Soon... soon a whole new world will appear before you. New horizons you could never have thought possible will be revealed. You will be tempted... to push them away. Tempted to dive into them. Your choice... your choice will be crucial. A whole world will hang upon your very decision. You will become one of the major components of what will happen in this decisive future..."
"Ah ! I knew it !" The Glukkon let out a triumphal cry, his chest swelled with pride and his famous evil grin spreading. "I knew I was special ! Tell me more !"
"Heroic is the one who acts totally freed from his peers beliefs. Rise above those old fake ideas that restrain you from being yourself. Rise. And when the time comes, do what you must."
"Ha ha ha ! Of course I'm going to rise ! I'm predestined for it ! They all say I'm fooling myself ! Obviously they speak nonsense ! Of course I'm freed from those absurdities ! Well then, when ? When will my moment come ? Speak !"
The priestess took her time before giving an answer. For the last time, she looked up and her spherical eyes stopped right on the Slig, as if she couldn't possibly take them higher.
"You will know."
ooOoo
After the last client's departure, the infertile locked herself away into a deep meditation. She listened to her own voice as she recited a mantra of oldest times. Times where her siblings were singing all together with guttural sounds, where their spirits could honor the freedom and the nature. She could almost hear them, along with the noises from the land that were no more. Living lands, untouched lands. The lands before the industralization. Before the slavery.
A land she could never see again if not inside her own oldest memories. But maybe, in a future she never thought she could believe in, others could see them again.
This possibility wasn't an absurdity anymore.
The curtain was pushed aside and the manager enter the cave, fully satisfied.
"Another great day, sweetheart ! I am fla-bber-ga-sted everytime I see the look of content on our client's faces when they're leaving. And they never come back to demand compensation, they never realize how deceived they are !"
The Mudokon took a deep breath in and let it out slowly.
"Maybe because my predictions are actually holding the truth ?" She suggested wearily.
The Glukkon let out an amused chuckle.
"Now now dear. You know your shamanic magic dried up decades ago, centuries even ! All you can do now is pretending, finding the perfect balance between being vague and being convincing, and finding the perfect moment to stop talking. This is only why they leave this place all confident, this is why they will work harder to ascend, to gain influence. And so their efforts yield results, and that is how your 'prophecies' are confirmed. This is how it works, and this is why our business is approuved by the Magog Cartel."
The female was listening with half an ear and chose to show her gloomy approuval by muttering a bored 'mmm-mm'. Her overjoyed master didn't hold it against her.
"But don't worry, sweetheart. As long as you keep things that way, you have nothing to fear. On the other hand I'm surprised that you chose to 'predict' such a grand 'destiny' to this tasteless liquid seller. It wasn't very wise in my opinion, I don't think this one will succeed in anything. We wouldn't want our blazon to be tainted by a first complaint, would we ? So be careful next time, okay love ?"
When the curtain fell behind the retreating hopping paint can, the seer allowed herself to smile ever so faintly, barely stretching the corner of her dried lips.
"He might come back to claim compensation, indeed. For I don't recall the moment I've precised he was the one I saw in my vision."