Eve of Destruction
The following takes place following: Carnage
The Master heads into the sinister Wafka Police Station in Volkov and is led down the labyrinthine corridors to the cell block in the basement. As he steps through the heavy metal door and passes a few empty cells, he hears Travers' voice — singing loudly.
🎵 And you tell me over and over and over again, my friend...🎵
🎵 Ah, you don't believe we're on the eve of destruction..."🎵
Master Devlin stops for a moment as the sound of a harmonica rings out. It’s a strange comfort in the madness. The last few days spent fighting through layers of red tape to even be allowed this brief moment with Travers have drained him.
He steps forward and stands in front of Travers' cell. The harmonica playing abruptly halts, cutting off mid-note.
Travers is slouched in the corner of his cell, an old harmonica pressed to his lips, staring back with an almost manic energy. His hair is a mess, his clothes disheveled, and his eyes have the glazed, distant look of someone who’s been deprived of reality for a little too long.
Travers: “Ah, Master Devlin! Finally come to visit the condemned goblin, eh?”
Master Devlin: “Yes. Apologies — they were making it difficult for me to get access to you. I had to pull a few strings just to get in the door... Well, Travers, this is rather unfortunate. For once, you being in jail actually wasn’t your fault. You should know I’ve had Hilda and Greta shipped back to Germany for this little stunt. It’s something, but it doesn’t help you much...”
Travers: “What?? No, Master Devlin. How could you?? My favourite busty Germans... You’ve deported out of turn!”
Master Devlin: “Yeah, well, you had a psychotic meltdown out of turn, and they’re to blame. It also turns out that Widdle Frunkut was being hooligan during your drug-induced psychosis, which has since incited riots. As such, the police are blaming you for that too.”
Travers: “Hrmm. Typical. Always blame the goblins...”
Master Devlin: “However, one good thing — we published that story in a Waldopolis Chronicle exclusive, which Brian kindly edited. Since then there’s been an investigation into DRG. Here, have a look.”
The Master hands Travers another newspaper article.
Travers: “Oh... well that’s some good news. So anyway, I’m told I can expect my trial any day now. And apparently Travers is to be made an example of.”
Master Devlin: “Is there anything I can do?”
Travers: “I don’t think so. They’ve denied my request to represent myself and have told me I have to take the court-appointed representative. My appeal was denied.”
Voice: “And for good reason, Mr Travers...”
A man in a suit appears with a briefcase.
Man: “Ah, you must be Master Devlin? Joseph Worth — Mr Travers’ legal counsel. Perhaps you can be of some assistance. Mr Travers insists on pleading innocence.”
Master Devlin: “Yes… and so he should. Are you suggesting he plead guilty?”
Worth: “It’s not going to help his case. If he admits his guilt, I’m confident he can be out of prison in 15 years with good behaviour.”
Master Devlin: “He wasn’t in control. He was spiked.”
Worth: “I’m afraid that’s of little relevance.”
Master Devlin: “What? How can it be of little relevance? It’s key to his entire defence! Are you suggesting those who are spiked with Rohypnol and raped are also to blame for their fate?”
Worth: “I’m suggesting nothing, sir. The fact is, if the rampage were the only charge, perhaps we could make that argument. Unfortunately, he’s also charged with inciting violence and stirring up racial hatred over several weeks, which cannot be simply explained away with the claim of being ‘spiked’...”
Master Devlin: “What a bunch of horse shit. Reporting facts in the newspaper isn’t inciting violence or racism...”
Worth: “Yes, well, it would seem that public sentiment and the prosecution disagree with you, Master Devlin. In their eyes, Mr Travers is the leader of a violent insurrectionist movement of far-right thugs that has shaken this town to its core. The jury will not be kind to him.”
Master Devlin: “He has no association with the protests! He was already in jail when they started.”
Worth: “You might want to try to make that argument, but I wouldn’t advise it. I can’t lie to you about Mr Travers’ chances. Realistically speaking, his guilt has already been predetermined. I’m simply here to make sure he does as little time as possible.”
Master Devlin: “In that case, he shouldn’t bother pleading anything if it’s already predetermined.”
Worth: “Well, we have to have some form of trial, sir. We’re not savages... Though I admit it would be more efficient. But then I would be out of a job, wouldn’t I?”
Master Devlin: “Good lord. I mean, Travers is a shit lawyer, but you’re a fucking car crash, man...”
Worth: “Well, I can see where he gets his rudeness... Master Devlin, I was going to invite you to be a character witness, but now I see that would do more harm than good. In fact, I’d advise you not be there at all. Now, Mr Travers — shall I convey your agreement to the plea deal?”
Travers: “No...”
Worth: “That’s unfortunate and rather unwise, sir. I suggest you reconsider.”
Travers: “You have my answer. Take a hike, Weinstein.”
Worth: “That’s not my name anymore, Mr Travers!”
Master Devlin: “Weinstein?”
Travers: “That’s right. We’ve crossed paths before. Changed his name a few years ago — after the MeToo thing.”
Worth: “None of this is relevant to your case, Mr Travers. You are in serious trouble, and you should show me some respect. I’ll thank you to call me Mr Worth.”
Master Devlin: “I will be representing Mr Travers from here on. As for your worth — here’s something for your trouble…”
Master Devlin flicks a 10p coin at him. It rolls along the floor.
Worth: “Is that anti-Semitism?”
Master Devlin: “Define the word and I’ll tell you.”
Mr Worth stares at the Master before shaking his head gently.
Worth: “I would, but I have a defence to prepare… Master Devlin, it’s been a pleasure. Mr Travers, I’ll see you later.”
Travers: 😒
Mr Worth starts to walk away.
Travers: “Later, Weinstein...”
Worth stops, tenses slightly, and continues out of the cell block, stopping to pocket the 10p along the way.
Travers: “So, Master Devlin... in your opinion... exactly how fucked is Travers?”
Master Devlin: “It isn’t looking good, Travers. To be honest, you’re getting rammed from both ends. They’re going to lock you up for good.”
Travers: “But I’m too pretty to go to jail... The bird will eat my lunch…” Travers shakes his head. “Well, it’s not over yet. There’s still a chance I can charm the jury, I suppose.”
Master Devlin: “I’m not sure we want to rely on that strategy. There’s someone I could go visit and ask for help… but you may not like it.”
Travers: “I’m not sure how it could get much worse.”
Master Devlin: “Perhaps not. Anyway, it may also take some time.”
Travers: “Fine, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll leave it to your judgment. Do what you think is best.”
Master Devlin: “Very well then. In the meantime, I’ll use the paper to put the word out. People must know what’s happening here.”
Travers: “Thanks, Master Devlin. You’re a good friend. Also, I’d appreciate you being at my trial. I don’t care what that weasel Weinstein says — I could definitely use my emotional support dragon there...”
Master Devlin: “Of course I’ll be there. Oh, I almost forgot — I snuck you in some contraband.”
The Master slides a pornographic magazine through the bars.
Travers: “Thank you, Master Devlin. You’re a good man!”
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The Fangs of Tyranny: Vampire Madness and the Authoritarian Grip on Waldonia
By Douglas Weary, Vox Waldonia
In what can only be described as the most chilling erosion of civil liberties in modern Waldonian history, the authoritarian state is tightening its grip with an iron fist—and fangs. Over the past week, the government has responded to the protests and riots sparked by the "Vampire Madness" with a brutal campaign of arrests and censorship, silencing dissent wherever it arises.
Hundreds of Waldonians now languish in custody, awaiting trials that could see them locked away for years. And it’s not just those caught throwing bricks or lighting fires—no, even those who dared to express their solidarity with the protesters on social media have been rounded up like common criminals. A single tweet, a post, or a like is now enough to brand you a far-right thug in the eyes of the government. The message is clear: resistance, in any form, will not be tolerated.
Let me be unequivocal: I disavow the violence that marred these protests. Burning buildings and attacking bystanders will never lead to meaningful change. But what is happening now is an overreach so vast and oppressive that it shakes the very foundations of our supposedly free society. The protests are dying down, yes—but not because the grievances have been addressed. They’re waning because people are afraid. Afraid of the state. Afraid of being arrested, charged, and dragged into a Kafkaesque courtroom where justice is as foreign as garlic to a vampire.
The trigger for all this unrest was, of course, the now-infamous rampage of Harris Travers, editor of the Waldopolis Chronicle. Travers, a man already in hot water for daring to publish inconvenient truths about the rising death tolls and cultural shifts since vampires descended upon Widdlington, found himself in the centre of a storm after his frenzied spree through the city. His friends and colleagues insist his drink was spiked, an assertion backed by his psychologist, the widely respected Dr. Linda Shawn of the Master’s Council. And yet, the authorities seem wholly uninterested in pursuing this angle.
Instead, Travers has been charged with terrorism, inciting violence, racial hatred, and—because why not?—hate speech against vampires. The list of charges reads more like a political smear campaign than a fair indictment. Travers, a trained lawyer, sought to represent himself, only to have his appeal denied. Denied, too, was his choice of another lawyer. Instead, he has been forced to accept a court-appointed representative.
And the crown jewel of this farce? The announcement that Lord Victor Alaric, Supreme Court Justice and the figurehead of VAMP, the pro-vampire advocacy group, will preside over the trial. The Crown Prosecution has gallingly justified this by claiming that since vampires were the victims of Travers’ alleged crimes, it’s only right that a vampire should oversee the proceedings. The sheer absurdity of this logic would be laughable if the stakes weren’t so high.
This is the Waldonia of the so-called Justice Party, under Prime Minister Konrad—a man conspicuously absent from public discourse while his Home Secretary, Gregory Blackwood, takes centre stage as the enforcer-in-chief. Blackwood’s rhetoric has been harsh and uncompromising, branding all protesters as “far-right thugs” and demanding swift sentencing for everyone involved. His disdain for the fundamental principles of justice is palpable.
Where is the balance? Where is the recognition that not everyone who protested was a rioter? That many Waldonians were simply speaking out against the creeping influence of vampires in our society? The Justice Party, ironically named, has turned a blind eye to nuance in its quest to crush dissent.
What is happening to Harris Travers is not justice. It’s a grim parody of it. The very foundations of our legal system—fair representation, impartiality, and the presumption of innocence—are being systematically dismantled. And it’s not just Travers who suffers. It’s all of us.
I will continue to call out this madness, this descent into authoritarianism, for as long as I can. If that means my own arrest is imminent, so be it. But let me leave you with this: a government that fears its people will always seek to silence them. And a people who do not resist will soon find themselves silenced forever.
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The Waldoverse continues in The Machine