Enter The Edverse: Part Two
The following takes place following: Enter the Edverse: Part One
Chapter 4
Three months later...
The Master hobbled slowly toward the cells, leaning heavily on his walking stick. The wound in his belly, though healing, still throbbed with each step. His movements were slow, deliberate. As he neared the cell block, the sounds of life within grew louder.
Inside, Waldo was lounging on his bed, clearly enjoying his stay. He treated the cell like a vacation home, humming contentedly as he surveyed his surroundings. Travers, however, was a different story. His once-impressive mustache had been replaced by a long, scruffy beard that hung limply from his chin. He was no longer himself—dirty, disheveled, his unwashed state a silent testament to his crumbling mental state.
Upon noticing the Master, Waldo sprang up from the bed with a wide grin.
wF: "Ah! Saso! You still smell atrocious."
The Master winced, the scent of his aftershave unmistakable in the stale air.
Master Devlin: "It's the aftershave. I keep getting it for Christmas."
wF: "Ah, I see. How are you? Did you get my card?"
Master Devlin: "I got it... thank you. Also, Dr. Shawn sent me your article on surgical addiction in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry."
wF: "Ooh issat so? And?"
The Master hesitated, his gaze flickering with a slight discomfort.
Master Devlin: "To be honest, rather horrifying. Even for a dragon."
wF: "Thank you. You're too kind... So to what do we owe this pleasure? Are you here to release us? We should very much wish to leave now..."
Waldo gestures to Travers in the opposite cell.
wF: "The Travers man smells worse than you do... Look at him... constantly spanking it into his bed sheets. I imagine they need to be disposed of in a furnace by now."
Master Devlin: "I’m not here to release you. I’m here for your advice... Dr. Waldo."
wF: "And what sort of advice could such a distinguished masta like yourself expect to gain from Wiffuhuh? I'm afraid I know little about juggling multiple nationalities."
Master Devlin: "Several more bodies have turned up in the last couple of months. Similar modus operandi to how Captain Katsuragi was killed. I thought you’d have some ideas. I’m asking you to tell me what they are."
wF: "Why should we? Isn't the famous Lt. Waldo already on the case? Handsome fellow, isn't he? I like the cut of his jib. In fact, I've often wondered if we are related."
The Master rolled his eyes.
wF: "And if I'm not mistaken... you yourself were the prime suspect in that murder... Have you been a naughty dragon, Danny?"
The Master tensed but said nothing.
Master Devlin: "Lt. Waldo hasn't been seen for some time, and there was no evidence of my involvement," the Master snapped. "Besides, there was a lot more evidence implicating you in that crime. Still is. But you are in here. Copycat, perhaps?"
Waldo cocked his head, his smile never wavering.
Master Devlin: "As for why help me? There are things you don’t have I could get you... Research materials. Maybe even computer access. I can speak to Dr. Shawn..."
wF: "Dr. Shawn..." (snorts). "Gruesome woman... rather severe, isn't she? Though we must admit, she's rather fetching... You speak of her often. Tell me, Stan, do you harbor intentions toward the good doctor? Do you fantasize about her?"
Master Devlin: "I do not. And we aren’t here to talk about me... You will get to see the file on this case. And there’s another reason..."
Waldo raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued.
wF: "What other reason?"
Master Devlin: "I thought you might enjoy the challenge... And to find out if you are even crazier than the person I am looking for."
Waldo chuckled, his grin widening.
wF: "Very slippery of you, Saso... Appealing to Wiffuhuh's vanity... Frankly, we're surprised you even had the guts to come and see us after our last encounter. Speaking of which, how's your belly? Does it still hurt? Does it make you think of your old pal Waldo when you roll over in your bed at night?"
The Master’s expression faltered, a flicker of pain passing through his eyes.
Master Devlin: "....."
Waldo leaned forward, his voice turning softer, more probing.
wF: "Do you dream much, Stan?"
Master Devlin: "Goodbye, Doctor Waldo..."
The Master stood up and started to walk away.
wF: "But you haven't even threatened to take away my crayons yet!"
The Master ignored him, his steps growing heavier with each passing moment.
wF: "The Bisected girls... There was something different about them, wasn’t there? Something involving gold, perhaps?"
The Master paused mid-step, then turned, his gaze narrowing as he fixed Waldo with an intense stare.
wF: "Go on then, give me the file. And I'll tell you what I think..."
The Master walks back over to the small cell. He's practically eye level with the little goblin. He pulls a specially made folder the size of a pocket notepad from his breast pocket, opens a compartment, and slips it through into the narrow opening. Waldo walks over and opens the folder with a creepy excitement.
wF: "Ah yes... Molten gold down the gullet. An oldy but a goody..."
The Master goes over and pulls up a chair and carefully takes a seat while Dr. Waldo reads over the little folder. The Master opens his jacket and examines his shirt, which is drenched in sweat. He also looks, feels, and recoils at his slowly healing wound. He notices Travers in the other cell, rocking back and forth, muttering to himself like a wild man.
wF: "We have a very disturbed boy, Stanley..."
Master Devlin: "The girls are all aged between 15 and 25. Different appearance, different races..." The Master starts to explain.
wF: "Let me guess, the WPD are at a loss to see how he's choosing them... All winding up dead in an alley, weeks after their disappearance..."
Master Devlin: "Yes... Cause of death, internal scalding, followed by post mortem mutilation..."
wF: "As if mauled by a savage beast..." Waldo remarks, looking at the claw marks on a victim's corpse.
Master Devlin: "..."
wF: "These girls... They came from well-to-do families, yes? Rich heiresses?"
Master Devlin: "That's right, but we couldn't find any other known connection..."
wF: "I understand there's been a spate of robberies recently... Goldsmiths and jewelers? One might want to compare notes on the cases... Also, the police should be looking into real estate. He's holding them somewhere. My guess is some kind of mansion, or better yet a castle... Somewhere private and upmarket, but with a view... I'm surprised you needed to come to me with this... Surely you would be best equipped to deal with this scoundrel..."
Master Devlin: "Meaning?"
wF: "Oh come now Danny... The victims—a bunch of little rich girls... Princesses one might say... A killer with an obsession with gold and burning victims... Our boy likes the classics, Stan... Most likely he's got himself a nice castle up in the mountains somewhere with a lone high tower, in which he keeps his victims locked within..."
Master Devlin: "You're saying he fancies himself a dragon?"
wF: "Indeed... either that or perhaps he simply IS a dragon... Like you, Danny..."
Master Devlin: "...."
wF: "So, now that Wiffuhuh has been of assistance and is all reformed now, I think it's only fair that it be set free—and we shall be taking Travers with us. He's a complete mess and we must rehabilitate him. For the good of goblindom..."
Master Devlin: "Unfortunately I can’t let you do that. Travers is very sick—and you certainly aren't equipped to reform him..."
wF: "Why not?"
Master Devlin: "You have disadvantages..."
wF: "What disadvantages?"
Master Devlin: "You're insane."
wF: "Irrelevant. The fact is we're due to be married soon. You can release us into the custody of our fiancé. She's a charity shop assistant—used to dealing with nutters all the time... As for Travers, Wiffuhuh is the only one who can help him. You lot have already done enough damage. Incarceration broke him. He spent the first few weeks consuming those dreadful Edverse novels. He was obsessed. Now he's turned into a deranged hobo. You should release him into our care... now..."
Master Devlin: "No. And you need to stop marrying people. It's ridiculous. As for Travers, I will need to go assess him before I can make a decision... Goodbye, Dr. Waldo."
The Master hobbles over to Travers’ cell. He is sitting on the floor facing away from the glass window. His hair is a lot longer and he has developed a scruffy beard.
Travers: "No, Mrs. Cumberworth. It is you who is speaking out of turn and you shall have no cakes today... No! I don't care... I'm the administrator of this facility and I say we invade the Netherrealm tomorrow..."
Master Devlin: (knocking on the cell window) "Hey Travers… snap out of it!"
Travers: "Go away. I'm busy. Diplomacy takes time..."
Master Devlin: "It’s me, Travers! Master Devlin..."
Travers: "Travers?? Who the hell is Travers? My name is Lt. General Trenton R. Havers. United Sovereign States Airforce. Do you have your ticket?? You need a ticket to be in here. You can apply for one at the bureau on 37th street."
Master Devlin: "Oh dear..."
A moment of recognition appears in Travers' mad eyes.
Travers: "Wait a minute... Kelvin? Kelvin Steele! As I live and breathe. It's been forever and a day. Why didn't you say it was you? So... Major... the Erusians captured you too, huh? Welcome to this little slice of hell. I've been here 7 years..."
Master Devlin: "Uh... Yes, General. I don't have a ticket though..."
Travers: "Oh... well... I can maybe let it slide this one time... just try and look like you belong here. Don't attract attention to yourself. That slippery fellow over there is an enemy spy... The little green one with the crayons."
Master Devlin: "I'll bear that in mind."
Travers: "So... how were things going before you got shot down? Are we winning? I've got a briefing with President Ryder in half an hour. I'm going to make my recommendation to her that we unleash our nuclear armaments on those bastards and bring an end to this Ed forsaken war. It's the only way!"
Master Devlin: "Indeed. If you'll excuse me, General..."
The Master goes to see Dr. Shawn hoping to learn more about what has happened to his friend.
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Chapter 5
Without knocking, the Master urgently barges into Dr. Shawn's office, waving one of the Edverse books and startling her as she secretly indulges in some chocolate.
Master Devlin: "Doctor, you're going to have to confiscate Travers's books and give him some new ones. He's tipped further over the edge and has now become the character in his book."
Dr. Shawn: "I don’t understand. What is the significance of these books?"
Master Devlin: "Please don’t lock me up for saying this, but... this series of books appears to have been written by someone who has been tracking our entire lives. The character names and job titles are different, but otherwise, they are identical to us!"
Dr. Shawn: "Okay...?"
Master Devlin: "Look, let me show you!"
The Master opens a passage from one of the books and reads aloud:
Master Devlin: "Following his appointment with Dr. Chilton, General Trenton Havers exits into the clinic reception, while Major Kelvin Steele stays behind to discuss Havers' seriously unhealthy sexual addiction with the doctor. Meanwhile, Havers disrupts the other waiting patients, loudly speaking on his phone and masturbating into a plant."
Dr. Shawn: "Dr. Chilton?"
Master Devlin: "Yes… and now our Travers thinks he is Trenton Havers, and I am Major Kelvin Steele. He still believes he is a national treasure, but now a Lt. General of something called the United Sovereign States Airforce..."
Dr. Shawn: "Oh dear… Where did you come across these books?"
Master Devlin: "A Waldostones in town."
Dr. Shawn: "Well, I’ll have his books confiscated then. Perhaps I’ll replace them with something a little more appropriate. The Brontë Sisters, perhaps. It might trigger him to respect women better."
Master Devlin: "Good idea!"
Dr. Shawn: "Who is the author of these books?"
Master Devlin: "An Edward Mulvin. I need to go track him down."
Dr. Shawn: "Hold on, isn’t Dr. Chilton a character from the Thomas Harris novels?"
Master Devlin: "Indeed. It turns out that this Mr. Mulvin has a habit of reusing characters from other books and films. There may very well be a plagiarism lawsuit coming his way."
There’s a knock on the door.
Dr. Shawn: "Come in."
A delivery man, wearing sunglasses and looking a bit like the actor Norman Reedus, enters carrying a package.
Porter: "Dr. Shawn?"
Dr. Shawn: "Yes?"
Porter: "Got a delivery here for Mr. Trenton Havers, c/o Dr. Shawn at this address... Sign here, please..."
Dr. Shawn signs the pad and takes the package.
Porter: "Have a nice day."
The delivery man walks out of the office.
Dr. Shawn opens the package to reveal a book. She sighs.
It reads: The Edverse Chronicles Vol. 8: The Waldoverse Conspiracy, by Edward Mulvin...
Dr. Shawn: "Waldoverse?"
She turns the book over and reads the blurb aloud.
Dr. Shawn: "General Trenton Havers has lost his goddamn mind. At least that's what everyone around him thinks. Since uncovering a mysterious series of novels called The Waldoverse Chronicles that bizarrely seem to mirror his own life and that of those around him, his grip on reality has started to slip. It's now up to his friend, Major Kelvin Steele, who must enlist the aid of an old adversary if he's going to uncover the mystery of the books and save his friend's sanity."
Dr. Shawn puts the book down. She takes off her glasses and rubs her brow wearily.
Dr. Shawn: "What the hell is going on? How did this even get delivered here?"
Master Devlin: "I don't know." (shaking his head) "I suspect it's another one of The Editor's tricks, but he tends to be more upfront about his mischief."
Dr. Shawn: "The Editor? I didn’t take you for a religious man, Steven."
Master Devlin: "I'm not... It's... complicated... Can I see that?"
She hands the Master the book. He starts to skim through it.
Dr. Shawn: "Hmm... Most of this book is empty!"
Master Devlin: "What do you mean?"
Dr. Shawn: "The text only goes up to... page 27! Look, the rest are just blank."
Master Devlin: "Strange. What does the last page say?"
Dr Shawn starts to read aloud.
"Dr. Frederick Chilton sat behind his large desk, scratching his head in bewilderment. Kelvin was standing before him, waiting impatiently for a response. His large frame obscured the morning light from the window, casting an imposing shadow over Chilton. Finally, Chilton looked up and spoke."
Dr. Chilton: "So, Major, if I'm understanding you correctly, you want me to release not only General Havers into your custody, but also Dr. Farquaad? What? So, you can go on some wild goose chase to find some writer?"
Major Steele: "That's correct, Doctor."
Dr. Chilton: "Perhaps you should be the one staying here. That's the most insane plan I've ever heard. And I'm the administrator of an asylum for the criminally insane...
Major Steele: Conventional treatment isn't working for the General. Look at how much he's deteriorated in such a short time of incarceration. We need a new strategy. Give him a purpose. I think the only way is to help him find this Ned Felvin guy who is writing the Waldoverse books and get to the bottom of this conspiracy."
Dr. Chilton: "I accept that treatment hasn't been particularly successful thus far, but the man's a raving lunatic. He's not fit to be out in public. And don't get me started on Dr. Farquaad. Have you forgotten he's a homicidal maniac?"
Major Steele: "I haven't forgotten. But you know as well as I do that he'll escape sooner or later. He's already getting bored with his 'holiday.' Better that I take him with us and make use of him. He's good at finding people. We need him to find the writer. He's unpredictable, I know, but I’ve had some success in the past when he's focused on a particular mission."
Dr. Chilton: "Be that as it may, I can't sign off on this ludicrous plan."
Major Steele: "I'm here as a courtesy, Doctor. My superiors have already approved of this plan. If you don't like it, I suggest you call President Ryder. She's already signed off on this."
Dr. Chilton: "Heh... I knew that woman was completely irrational. I'm pleased to say I never voted for her. Alright, fine, Major, have it your way... But I'm not going to be held responsible for what happens..."
Dr. Shawn stops reading and looks at Devlin.
Master Devlin: "Hmm, well, Dr. Shawn, I guess that’s that. The Editor obviously wants these two released, so we may as well oblige him."
Dr. Shawn: "I don't like it, but Widdle Frunkut is your pupil, so of course I will release it to you. However, if I'm going to release Travers, it must be under your care officially, as your pupil..."
Master Devlin: "Very well. So it is official, then... Travers is now the Master's pupil..."
****
The Master heads down to the cells to release Waldo and Travers. As the cell window slides open, Havers' pungent, ripe odour hits the Master like a truck full of manure. His eyes water, and he starts to tremble. His walking stick shakes violently. Havers emerges from the cell cautiously like an unsure animal, popping his head out and scanning the room before dropping down onto the floor. Waldo, on the other hand, runs over excitedly, climbs up the Master's back, wraps himself around the back of his neck, and proceeds to rub his head against him like a cat.
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Chapter 6
The Master takes the two goblins back to the dormitory building and hoses them down outside before taking them indoors for a good scrub in a bubble bath. Afterwards, they're sitting down for a meal. Waldo is making a mess of his applesauce when there's a knock on the door. The Master hobbles over to the door and opens it.
Skunk PI is standing there, staring at the Master. It reaches into its trench coat pocket. The Master flinches as he pulls something out quickly, but then relaxes when he sees it’s just a folder. The Skunk hands it to the Master and tips its fedora before walking away without saying a word.
The Master takes the folder back to the table and opens it. It contains photocopies of documents and photos of what looks like the Editor.
wF: "Ah, so the skunk came through, eh? We took the liberty of hiring him a few weeks back to find this writer that Travie is obsessed with. Did he get an address?"
The Master stares at a photocopy of Edward Mulvin's driver's licence. It has an address listed, over in Walver Lake. It appears to be a flat. 37F Basildon Terrace...
Master Devlin: "Hardly the upmarket mansion in Walverly Hills that the girl in the diner had imagined..."
wF: "Yeah, well, the Major is from Montauk in New Yawk..."
Travers nods enthusiastically in agreement.
The three of them made their way across town, crossing the bridge into West Widdlington and heading up to Basildon Terrace, which sat at the southern end of Walver Lake. The contrast was surreal. On the opposite side of the road, pristine middle-class homes stood proudly, their lawns carefully manicured and children laughing in a nearby park.
But on this side, the scene was starkly different—a dilapidated apartment block with six units, its appearance suggesting it was more crack den than home.
They walked through the grim close of the building. Minor drug deals played out in doorways, and drunks were sprawled out on the floor throughout the halls. Graffiti covered the walls, an unsettling testament to the area's decline.
A woman in a tattered robe stepped out of her apartment, her eyes scanning the group before she leaned toward Travers and whispered, “Hey sugar, looking for a good time?”
Without hesitation, Travers took a step forward, ready to follow her inside. But the Master, ever watchful, grabbed him by the arm and pulled him away. They continued their ascent, reaching the top floor—Flat 37F. The Master gave the door a firm knock.
A slightly scruffy man opens the door. He looks at the trio with alarm.
Man: "Hello?"
Master Devlin: "Edward Mulvin?"
Man: "No... sorry. I think you have the wrong address..." The man scratches his head awkwardly and forces a slight smile.
The Master stares at him with frustration. It's clearly Ed—or at least it looks like him—yet he seems different. Even smells different. Waldo gives a wild smirk to his comrades. Travers is still thinking about the neighbour lady.
The man starts to close the door. The Master puts his foot in the gap, preventing him from shutting it. He looks up at the Master.
Man: "What do you want?"
Travers, still in a daze, suddenly speaks up.
Travers: "Royalties! ...And recognition... National Treasure..."
Man: "What is he talking about? Royalties for what??"
They stare at the man, trying to figure him out. Is this another Ed trick?
Man: "You've got the wrong flat. Take your foot out and leave, please. Or I'll call the police."
wF: "Get him, Stan!"
The Master barges through and knocks the door off its hinges. The man is knocked back and falls to the ground. The three of them bundle into the man’s flat.
Waldo and Travers run through the hall and into the man's living room. The Master casually fits the door back on.
Master Devlin: "Sorry about that..."
The Master then follows the goblins to inspect the place. He sees that it’s a simple flat. A few collectibles. Television. Games consoles. But no indication that this man is some wealthy author producing an epic series of novels. He turns to the man and stares at him.
Master Devlin: "What is your name?"
Man: "Frank... Simpson."
Waldo starts rummaging around, pulling things off shelves to examine them before casually dropping them on the floor.
Frank: "Hey, stop that! Look, what's this all about? I want you to leave..."
Master Devlin: "Apologies. This has all been a big mistake… We shall go."
The Master sighs, pulling out a roll of money and handing it to the man.
wF (calling from a closet): "Not so fast, Pizza! What's all this then, eh?"
The Master walks over to find Waldo has uncovered a large stack of fresh Edverse novels, as well as accompanying documentation. Some of the copies are signed Ed Mulvin. Waldo hauls this stuff out all over the floor.
Frank starts to look very awkward and guilty and doesn’t dare say another word. Waldo pulls out a switchblade and waves it menacingly at Frank.
wF: "You're in trouble now."
Travers: "Kick his ass, Major!"
Travers is doing a little dance, half asleep in the corner.
Frank: "Alright! Alright. Fine. Yeah... It’s true, I’m the author Edward Mulvin, but it’s not my real name... It’s just a... what do you call it... nom de plume? I like to keep my life as an author separate from my personal life. And I especially don’t like having crazed fans like you showing up at my door! That’s why I asked the publisher to stop putting my photo in the new editions. I’ve had some real fanatics approach me in the past."
The Master raises an eyebrow but keeps his glare locked on the human.
Frank: "Though, I have to admit, those are the best costumes I’ve ever seen... I’ve seen a few interpretations, but that’s exactly how I envisioned the characters. How did you make them so realistic?"
The Master and Waldo give each other a puzzled look.
Frank: "So what do you guys want? An autograph? A photo?"
Master Devlin: "No, we don’t need any of that. And we aren’t wearing costumes... My name is Master Steven Devlin. This here is Widdle Frunkut, a goblin. That confused and disgusting individual who is relieving himself in the corner is Harris Travers, former Emperor of Waldonia... Up until very recently, we had absolutely no knowledge of you or your work. By chance… or perhaps not, we came across your novels. After closer examination, we found that there are very big similarities between your main characters—Major Kelvin Steele, Wyndell Farquaad, and Trenton Havers—and the three of us."
The human scans the three of them and is becoming just as confused as they are.
Master Devlin: "Naturally, I would say maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I don’t treat anything as a coincidence in these lands. There is always something sinister going on... You don’t strike me as someone who is involved or has done anything malicious here. You’re just the author. But something is definitely afoot, and I intend to get to the bottom of it... So. Who is your publisher?"
Frank: "Hold on... so you’re saying that you aren’t fans in cosplay... and that you really look like that?"
Frank says, shaking his head in disbelief before letting slip a bemused smirk.
Frank: "Yeah, right... Okay..."
The Master turns to Waldo and makes a gesture. Waldo proceeds to go into slime mode, then slithers across the room, up the man’s leg, and takes the shape of a green duck in his hands. Then after a few seconds, the duck turns into a green snake. Frank stares down at the snake hissing up at him.
Frank: "I see..."
After a few moments, the man speaks again.
Frank: "Well, assuming I’m not having some sort of psychotic break—which I can’t rule out—it would seem you guys are indeed real-life versions of the Edverse characters..."
The Master nods and again enquires about the publisher.
Frank: "Well, it’s currently a company called DRG House LLC... I’ve actually been trying to be free of them—cut ties—but they’ve been sending threatening letters."
Frank leaves the room briefly and comes back with a bunch of letters and hands them to the Master. The Master skims through them. They are indeed very threatening in tone—talk of lawsuits and even implied threats of violence.
Frank: "I don’t know what to do. I’ve taken these to the police, but they won’t do anything. That’s the other reason I was cagey. I’ve been worried their goons might eventually show up."
Travers stops dancing and suddenly comes back to reality for a moment.
Travers: "So, Mr. Author Man... if you don’t know us, where did you get the idea for the books? Huh?"
Frank (sighs): "Okay, look. I’ve never told anyone this, but you guys seem on the level and just as confused as me, so I’ll be straight with you... The truth is, I don’t really write these books. I’m really more of an editor... co-writer at best. This is a bit long-winded and complicated, but bear with me..."
"It all started a few years back. I was on a gaming forum and I met this guy. His name was Scribe. Scribe1502, to be precise. We would chat about life, philosophy, politics, etc., eventually continuing that in private chat. He seemed interesting, even though a little odd. I thought he was autistic or something, as he struggled with jokes."
"One day I asked him about his username, as I’d seen similar names on a few other message boards—like Scribe, then a bunch of numbers. Thought maybe it was a clan or something. Anyway, he revealed to me that he was part of a privately funded think tank and charity organization called The Scribes. He claimed their primary goal was to reach out to disenfranchised young men and help them make something of themselves. I tried doing some research, but they seemed pretty elusive..."
"One day he asked me to help him with his creative writing. He had these characters, plot points, and worldbuilding that would later become the Edverse, but said he struggled with structure and dialogue, so he emailed me his work and asked me to have a go at rewriting it. I mostly just added some of my weird humour and rewrote the dialogue. Well, to my surprise, he liked it."
"Soon after, he informed me that his group had landed a deal with a modest company called Gentoo Publishing, and that I was to officially take the credit for the writing and be the face of the author. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t want the credit. I didn’t feel right about it, but I was unemployed and my benefits had been stopped, so I was having to think about money. Not only was the publisher going to offer me decent money, but I was also going to receive a monthly payment from this Scribes group. So I took the offer."
"And for a while, it was good. Scribe would send me weekly notes, and I’d craft them into something resembling books, which ended up on store shelves. Then, after a while, they started getting weird. The plotlines were an incoherent mess. He just blatantly stole characters from TV shows and such and incorporated them into the stories. I protested against this, but he made it quite clear that it was non-negotiable."
"The past year, the notes I’ve received have been sporadic at best, and when I do get them, they’re increasingly deranged. I messaged several times that I didn’t want to work for them anymore, but they just keep sending me more. And I still get paid..."
"At the same time, I’m having to deal with the publisher, as I said. It was fine with Gentoo. They seemed okay, but six months ago, they were bought up by DRG Investment, an American company, I think... Then the new publisher, DRG House, started sending letters demanding not only more frequent finished books, but that they were also to be more 'diverse and inclusive'. They wanted more black characters, LGBT... that kind of thing, as well as storylines with preachy progressive messaging."
"I wrote to Scribe, but he didn’t reply, so I took it upon myself to write back to DRG and tell them where to go. Told them that I wasn’t going to 'forfeit my creative integrity' chuckle... That’s when they became very threatening. So I told them that I quit. That I wanted nothing to do with them. But it hasn’t stopped them harassing me. It’s also been two months since I’ve had anything from Scribe..."
"Anyway, that’s about all I can tell you... all I know for sure, at least. Rumours and wild speculation aside..."
wF: "Rumours and wild speculation are our favourites! What do they say?? Tell us now. Speak!"
Frank: "Well, I’m not saying I believe it, but there are some people online... they talk of a conspiracy theory about the Scribes. They believe that, essentially, they are in fact the writers of our very existence... That everything in our lives is controlled by their will. That none of us have free will. That everything is scripted out by this all-powerful group..."
Waldo and the Master start to notice sinister, ominous ambient music begin to play. The room seems to get darker as Frank continues.
Frank: "Have you ever given much thought to simulation theory? Like The Matrix? Descartes' evil demon, stuff like that? Have you ever wondered, for example... what if the characters in these books aren’t based on you guys... What if you guys are based on these books? What if none of this is real? That we’re all in some virtual world, or even fictional characters in a story ourselves..."
The Master and Widdle Frunkut give each other a puzzled look. The ominous music seems to scratch out, and the light returns as Travers storms in front of them, demanding their attention.
Travers: "I just have one question... something that doesn’t make any sense... How the hell do you not know who I am?? I’m an Ed damn national treasure!"
Frank: "Dunno. Probably because I don’t watch the news... Or get out much. I pretty much only leave home for exercise—and I usually run over to Warwyck Forest and then come home."
Master Devlin: "This DRG Investment? Do you know who owns it? It sounds like a Goldenstein subsidiary business..."
Frank: "I’m not sure. I think I might have seen that name before..."
Frank picks up a tablet off the table and begins to look up the company.
Frank: "Hmm... Diamond Ruby & Gold... American multinational investment company... ESG... Ah! Here. You’re right! Key people: David Rubin-Goldenstein, Founder... Current Chairman & CEO, Adam Rubin-Goldenstein, President... I take it you’ve encountered these people before?"
wF: "Uh huh! Then the Masta got his botton stitched shut!"
Frank: "I see..."
Master Devlin: "Shut up, Waldo! Mr. Mulvin—or Simpson, rather—you may recall from your novels a massive battle incident at a mansion in Antarctica? Well, myself and Waldo… may have contributed to his timely demise. Specifically Mr. Goldenstein, former head of the empire, was hung, drawn, and quartered. Since then, the sons have had a little bit of a grudge towards myself and Waldo..."
Travers: "Loathsome family... They tried to cancel me! ME?! Trenton Travers! Treasure to all those of North Haverbrook... preposterous..."
Frank (frowning): "Right... I see..."
Master Devlin: "Frankly, they all need a culling. Too many of them."
Frank: "Jews?"
Master Devlin: "...Goldensteins."
Frank: "Ah... So they have a grudge against you... Why are they harassing me? What’s their interest in the books?"
Master Devlin: "I actually don’t know… They like to control things. Could be that simple. Or the Editor is involved."
Frank: "Who?"
Master Devlin: "Some prick... A slimy weasel—a G-man of sorts."
Frank: "Wait, I’m confused... is he a literal weasel? This place is weird."
wF: "No! He looks like you!"
Master Devlin: "Indeed. He can appear in many forms—or not at all. Generally appears in human form when he wants to make himself known, and curiously, very similar to you..."
Frank: "Weird..."
Master Devlin: "I don’t actually know what he is, but unfortunately he does have powers and claims to be God. Travers here worships him..."
Travers nods enthusiastically while still staring off into space.
Master Devlin: "...He doesn’t make himself known to many folk. But he has been found to torment me quite a bit."
Frank: "Ah... well that sounds like Ted. A recurring character who claims to be the 'Producer' of a TV show called The Edverse. It’s all weird and meta. In fact, they beat him up in that Antarctica scene you mentioned... It was never really explained who he was or what his deal was."
Master Devlin: "Yes... our Editor—or Ed, as we call him—lost all his teeth in that scene. The question is: do you recall writing that character into your stories? This might be key to identifying this whole chicken-or-egg situation we’ve found ourselves in... You see, the Editor invented this character called Goldenstein to promote diversity and inclusion. He later claimed he was being controlled by a bunch of executive producers—including Goldenstein—and led by a diversity and inclusion officer called Davina Ruben. She was aimed at changing the whole demographic of everyone involved. Anyway, it turns out the Goldenstein clan of hook-nosed weirdos are a little larger family than anticipated."
Frank: "Seems to be a lot of that going around... Well anyway, I didn’t invent Ted or any characters. It was all in the email notes. I had to write him in, but wasn’t given much to go on. I assumed all would be explained in time. There was a character in that book called Stanley Stinklestein... Although it doesn’t sound like the books and your reality are always exactly the same. There is some divergence. But he was some sort of producer as well—and seemed to be getting MeToo’d for bad behaviour behind the scenes, and was therefore trying to change the image of the Edverse for his own selfish defence. He was seemingly killed by a Lovecraftian cosmic entity that had been uncovered from the ice... Turned Stinklestein inside out."
Master Devlin: "Hmm... well it sounds like much of this has been conjured by our old friend, the Editor."
Frank: "I see. Well, I can’t speak to that. Anyway. I think I’ve told you all I can."
Frank stands up, walks toward the living room door and waits silently with his hands behind his back.
The Master nods and they take their leave, unsure how to proceed.
wF: "So Masta, perhaps we should go pay our old frens a visit down on Wald Street? See what they’re up to... maybe even have a little carnage?"
Master Devlin: "You know, Widdle Frunkut, for once I don’t disagree with you... However, I’m hungry. Let’s go back to the Council. I could use a chemical burger..."
Enter the Edverse continues in Enter the Edverse Part Three