The Fang and the Gavel
The following takes place following: The Machine
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WBC NEWS: Home Secretary Reported Missing
Police have launched an investigation into the disappearance of Home Secretary Gregory Blackwood, who was reported missing late last night after failing to return home. Officials say efforts to locate him are ongoing, and that all possible lines of inquiry remain open.
A spokesperson for the Ministry of Order described the situation as “a matter of concern” and urged the public to report any information that might assist investigators.
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The courtroom was a cavernous chamber, its vaulted ceilings adorned with twisted iron chandeliers that cast jagged shadows across the walls. Blood-red drapes framed the blacked-out windows. The jury sat in an elevated box to the right, their faces a mosaic of disdain, disinterest, and overt malice.
The heavy oak doors groaned open, and the bailiff — a stout man in a crisp uniform — stepped forward, his boots echoing sharply. He cleared his throat and bellowed:
Bailiff: "All rise for the Honourable Lord Victor Alaric!"
Lord Victor Alaric swept into the room, his black robes flowing like liquid shadow, a golden emblem of a fanged serpent glinting on his chest.
Judge Alaric: "You may be seated."
The room settled. Travers sat stiffly at the defendant’s table, his court-appointed lawyer, Mr. Worth, beside him. Travers glanced over his shoulder towards Dr. Shawn, wondering where Master Devlin was. She had no idea either.
Judge Alaric: "This court is now in session for the case of The Crown versus Harris Travers. The charges against the defendant include hate speech—several gross counts of vampirophobia—and inciting violence against vampires by..."
He adjusted his reading glasses, squinting at the text.
Judge Alaric: "Publishing forbidden facts on vampire-related attacks? Oh dear, Mr. Travers. What are we to do with you? Ah, yes. You also stand accused of terrorism, destruction of public and private property, sexual misconduct, public indecency—" He waved a hand dismissively. "And so on. Counsel, are you ready to proceed?"
Before anyone could respond, Travers abruptly jumped up, climbing onto his chair.
Travers: "Your Honour, I can’t help but note that I have not been asked for my plea. For the record, I’d like to enter a plea of Not Guilty by means of diminished capacity."
Alaric’s dark eyes flicked toward Travers, and for a moment, the room seemed to hold its breath. Then, with a thin smile that revealed unnervingly sharp teeth, he replied:
Judge Alaric: "Mr. Travers, your plea is irrelevant. This trial is not to determine your guilt. That matter has already been decided."
Travers: "But—"
Judge Alaric: "We are here solely to determine your sentencing. You may, however, feel free to entertain the court with your protests. I do enjoy a bit of theatre. Is there anything else you wish to add before we begin?"
Travers: "As a matter of fact, there is. I wish to dismiss Mr. Worth as my counsel. He is prejudiced against me and has pressured me to accept this farcical process."
Worth: "Now, now, Mr. Travers, let’s not burn bridges. I’m here to help you, remember?"
Travers: "I demand the right to represent myself in these proceedings."
The judge’s grin widened — a predator indulging a plaything.
Judge Alaric: "Appeal denied. Mr. Worth is perfectly adequate to serve as your defence. Anything else?"
Travers: "Only to say that this entire freak show is out of turn! Not only is my counsel prejudiced against me, but as a vampire and the leader of VAMP, you, Judge, are also biased. And the jury! Even they’re vampires. How can I expect a fair trial?"
Judge Alaric: "My status as a vampire gives me the necessary lived experience to judge a case such as this. After all, we vampires are the victims of your heinous crimes. As for the jury... how could you possibly know they are vampires? Are you judging them simply by their appearance?"
Travers: "Because one of them is eating the bailiff as we speak!"
All eyes turned to the far end of the jury box, where a dark-haired female juror cradled the stout bailiff in her arms, her fangs buried in his neck. Realising the attention, she looked up with a curious expression, blood dripping from her lips.
Judge Alaric: "I’d like to remind members of the jury that there is no eating in this courtroom."
The vampire woman froze, then nervously tossed the limp corpse aside. The dead bailiff slumped to the floor with a heavy thud. Another bailiff, seemingly unfazed by the incident, appeared and dragged the body away before replacing the deceased with a fresh-faced, stoic officer.
Travers: "This is absurd! A member of the jury just murdered a man in front of us, and you’re worried about hate speech?"
Judge Alaric: "Order! Order!" [banging gavel] "Mr. Travers, you are the one on trial here, not the jury. You will respect this courtroom, or I shall find you in contempt!"
Then, as though remembering something amusing, Alaric leaned forward, steepling his fingers.
Judge Alaric: "However, to make things a little more sporting, I will allow you to have an additional legal representative of your choosing — not you, but someone else — to act as Mr. Worth’s co-counsel."
Worth: "Objection, Your Honour!"
Judge Alaric: "Overruled. We will have a short recess so you may call upon this counsel. Consider it a gift, Mr. Travers — for my own amusement, if nothing else."
He struck his gavel once more.
Judge Alaric: "Court is adjourned."
****
In the lobby of the main Masters Council building, a concerned Dr. Shawn hastily makes her way to the front desk, to be greeted by a withdrawn Stanbot 2.0.
Dr. Shawn: "Hello, Stanbot! Have you seen Master Devlin lately?"
Stanbot 2.0: "No, I haven't, Dr. Shawn. Not for several days."
Dr. Shawn: "I've been looking for him everywhere. Travers’ trial is due to restart soon, and he was hoping Steven would be his legal counsel. We've been trying to track him down."
Stanbot 2.0: "I see. Well, I will be sure to let him know if I see him."
Dr. Shawn: "Thank you... Oh, I'm sorry. How are you, Stanbot?"
Stanbot 2.0: "Suboptimal, ma'am. I slipped again. Fell off the wagon last night and drank a case of whisky..."
Dr. Shawn: "Oh dear..."
Stanbot 2.0: "Then earlier, I got startled by a squawking bird and I soiled myself... There was oil all over the break room floor. I am... ashamed..."
The mechanical dragon stares down at his feet.
Dr. Shawn: "You must not be so hard on yourself, Stanbot. Recovery takes time. Try to be a little more compassionate and understanding towards yourself. What's important is what you do going forward... Are you still attending your AA meetings?"
Stanbot 2.0: "I am, but they seem absurd to me. Everyone talks about giving up to a higher power. It's all Ed this and Ed that... I told them Ed is a fraud... Now they don't like me very much."
Dr. Shawn: "I see... Well, I... STEVEN??"
Dr. Shawn notices a delivery man wheeling Master Devlin up to the reception desk on a stand-up trolley. Devlin is strapped in securely, his eyes half-closed and his head lolling to one side.
Delivery Man: "I got a delivery here for the Masters Council?"
Dr. Shawn: "Oh dear..."
She hurries over, pulling a penlight from her pocket and shining it into Devlin’s eyes. "It's another fugue state..." she starts to explain to the disinterested delivery man.
Delivery Man: "Uh-huh. Whatever you say, lady. Somebody’s gotta sign for this."
Dr. Shawn: "...Fine. I'll sign for him... Where did he come from?"
Delivery Man: "Express delivery, straight from the Citadel..." [staring at her signature] "Wait a minute... Doctor Linda Shawn? Dear Linda?? From the Chronicle??"
Dr. Shawn: "Um, yes, that's right... Among other things."
Delivery Man: "Wow! Sorry, Doc, I didn’t recognise you there with your clothes on! I'm a real big fan. You're my favourite Chronicle Girl! I even got a couple of your posters in the back of my van. Wanna see?"
Dr. Shawn: "No. Thank you... That's alright. I'll take your word for it."
Delivery Man: "Well, look, if you don't mind, could you sign this too? It's for me, I’d love to get your autograph."
Dr. Shawn: "Uh... Sure. Okay..."
Delivery Man: "You know, I'm also a big fan of your column. I read it every day. You even printed one of my letters recently! Just a couple of weeks ago! I'm Barney from Wayngel Grove..."
Dr. Shawn: "Oh, yes. Barney... I remember. How di—"
Delivery Man: "You know, I finally worked up the courage to leave my wife. Now I'm on the lookout for a younger, hotter model! And it's all thanks to you... Carpe Diem, right, Doc? YOLO, as the kids say..."
Dr. Shawn: "Well, that wasn't exactly what I was suggesting..."
Barney: "...I mean, don’t get me wrong, my ex wasn’t that bad, but she just didn’t have the spark, you know? Not like you. Say, you wouldn’t happen to be single, would you? How'd you like to get a drink later?"
Dr. Shawn: "That’s... very flattering, but I’m really quite busy at the moment."
She gestures to the still-trolley-bound Master Devlin.
Dr. Shawn: "You see, I have this very urgent matter to attend to—"
Barney: "Of course, of course! You’re a busy woman. Always admired that about you. Ah, well, can't blame a guy for trying. Anyway, I gotta run! Later, Doc! Keep up the good work."
She stares at a fugued Master Devlin.
Dr. Shawn: "Stanbot, would you help me get him somewhere quiet?"
Stanbot 2.0: "Yes, Dr. Shawn."
****
A short while later, the Master awakens from his fugue state.
Dr. Shawn: "Steven… can you hear me? It's Linda."
Master Devlin: "Yes, Doctor. I can hear you. How did I get here?"
Dr. Shawn: "You had one of your fugue states again. That’s the first one in a while, isn’t it?"
Master Devlin: "Indeed. I'd hoped I was over them..."
He looks down at his hands and notices dried blood — but not his own.
Dr. Shawn: "Whose blood is that?"
Master Devlin: "I, um…"
Suddenly, the events prior to the fugue race back into his mind. The Master sighs.
Master Devlin: "What I’m about to say doesn’t leave this room..."
12 hours earlier…
Master Devlin sits in a sleek black vehicle parked outside a government building, wearing the uniform of a chauffeur. His face is stoic, but his eyes betray a simmering fury. The glow of a streetlamp illuminates the vehicle as Gregory Blackwood, the Home Secretary, emerges from the building. Blackwood, as always, exudes smugness — a man drunk on power, desperate for more. He steps toward the car, umbrella in hand.
Blackwood: "Took your time, didn’t you?"
Master Devlin: "Apologies for the delay, sir. Long night?"
Blackwood: "Aren’t they all? Running a country, bending it to a higher purpose — it’s not exactly a nine-to-five, you know."
The Master pulls away from the kerb, the engine humming softly. The city lights streak past as the car glides through the rain-slicked streets. Blackwood sits in silence for a moment, scrolling through his phone.
Blackwood: "You new? I don’t recognise you. What happened to my usual driver?"
Master Devlin: "On leave, sir."
Blackwood: "Hmph. Lazy sod. Can’t afford weak links these days. The vampires have no patience for incompetence, you know."
The Master drives west along Waldobury Boulevard, crossing the bridge into West Widdlington’s industrial district. The car turns down a series of increasingly deserted streets. Blackwood doesn’t notice at first, too engrossed in his phone. When he finally looks up, a flicker of confusion crosses his face.
Blackwood: "This isn’t the way to my residence. Where the hell are we going?"
Master Devlin: "Taking a detour, sir. Thought you might appreciate some privacy for what’s coming next."
Blackwood tenses, his hand instinctively reaching for the door handle, but Devlin presses a button on the console, locking the doors with a sharp click. Blackwood’s bravado begins to crack.
Blackwood: "What the hell is this? Who the fuck are you?"
Master Devlin: "Someone who’s about to make your night very unpleasant, Mr. Blackwood."
The car pulls into an abandoned industrial yard, its headlights cutting through the darkness. Devlin parks near a derelict warehouse, steps out, and opens the rear door. Blackwood scrambles to resist, but Devlin grabs him by the collar and yanks him out of the car with practised ease.
Blackwood: "Do you know who I am? You’ll hang for this! The vampires will—"
Master Devlin: "The vampires won’t lift a finger to save you. You’re just a pawn, Blackwood. A means to an end."
Inside the warehouse, it’s cold, damp, and silent except for the echo of their footsteps. Master Devlin secures Blackwood to a rusted metal chair with thick ropes. Blackwood is sweating now, his earlier arrogance replaced with fear.
Blackwood: "Look, whatever you want — money, connections — I can get it for you. Just let me go, alright?"
Master Devlin: "I don’t want your money. I want answers."
The Master pulls out a towel and a bottle of water. He starts pouring the water on the towel. Blackwood’s eyes widen in terror.
Master Devlin: "Have you ever heard of the Russian Gulag? A string of prisons in northern Siberia. The Russians didn’t have any fancy equipment up there… so they had to make do with what was around. Sort of like what I’m doing right now. You probably don’t think I could force this towel down your throat — but trust me, I can. All the way. Except that I’d hold onto this little bit at the end. When your stomach starts to digest the towel, I pull it out — taking your stomach lining with it. Most people take about a week to die. It’s very painful."
Blackwood: "Jesus Christ… what the fuck is this? You can’t do this! There are rules — laws!"
Master Devlin: "Rules? Laws? You mean the ones you’ve been rewriting to hand this country over to the vampires on a silver platter? Don’t preach to me about laws, Blackwood. You’ve spat on every one of them."
Master Devlin: "Now, let’s talk about the vampires’ plans. Their operatives. Their network."
Blackwood: "I’ll never tell you anything. You’re too late anyway. They’re unstoppable."
Master Devlin: "They always say that at first."
Present Day:
Dr. Shawn: "So he’s dead?"
Master Devlin: "Yes… he managed to break free, so I had to put him down."
Dr. Shawn: "Goodness… so what did you learn?"
Master Devlin: "The vampires’ true goal. Their ultimate aim isn’t merely control — it’s total assimilation. Blackwood revealed that they’ve been subtly infiltrating human institutions for decades, manipulating everything from policy to culture. The recent governmental ‘new order’ is just the final phase of a centuries-old plan. Their agenda goes beyond politics: they seek to convert humanity into a docile, subservient food source. Laws are being rewritten to limit civil liberties, ensuring resistance is crushed before it begins." "The vampire invasion isn’t a sudden coup — it’s a slow, insidious infection that has been festering for years. By the time we realised what was happening, it was too late. The vampires’ genius lies in their subtlety: they’ve convinced the public that their rise is natural, even desirable."
Dr. Shawn: "Well, this is truly diabolical stuff, but unfortunately it will have to wait. Travers is being hauled in front of a sham courtroom. He needs legal representation right now."
Master Devlin: "Surely he can represent himself… y’know what, never mind."
Dr. Shawn: "He can’t. The judge has said it needs to be someone else. We were looking for you, but couldn’t find you. The judge is resuming in an hour, so you need to get down there."
Master Devlin: "Alright, fine. I’ll head over there now."
The Waldoverse continues in The ‘People’ vs. Harris Travers