Guerrillas in the Mist

The following takes place following: Hung Kung and the Holy War

The Master heads to the kitchen to find Kaz.

Master Devlin: Kaz, I could really use your help.

Kaz: Chemical burger?

Master Devlin: No. Guerrilla warfare.

Kaz: Huh?

Master Devlin: We gave peace a chance. Didn’t work out. Now we need to take over Reg’s palace.

Kaz: Hrrmm. Fine. What the hell...

Master Devlin: Good. Get your gear on. Also, can you source some vehicles for us? Our militia needs transport.

Kaz: Sure thing, Boss. Anything else you need, just put the order into your iDroid and I’ll take care of it.

Some hours later...

The mansion courtyard is alive with activity. A makeshift militia has assembled—armed and ready. Lined up behind them: rugged vehicles. Armored Humvees. A beat-up APC. An assortment of Mad Max-style custom rides.

The Master, Kaz, Goblin Slayer, and Revy stand before the crowd of fighters. Yet, despite the numbers, it’s not enough.

Goblin Slayer kicks over a barrel, spilling out crates of weapons.

Goblin Slayer: We have more weapons than soldiers...

Revy: There’s a refugee camp in West Widdicombe, not far from here. Used to be one of Van Der Beak’s slave camps. Word is, he abandoned it when the VH clan went to war with him.

Master Devlin: Fine. Let’s go.

The West Widdicombe Refugee Camp. Formerly a slave labour quarry used for Reg’s grand sphinx project—now half buried and abandoned after the recent bombing. The guards are gone, but nearly a thousand people remain. They’ve turned the ruins into a rough camp, marked by graffiti and banners calling for the fall of the Pharaoh.

The people are bruised, starved, but burning with hatred. Some curse the VH clan too. Many are too sick or injured to fight. But not all.

The Master stands before them.

Master Devlin: You’ve suffered under Van Der Beak’s rule. You’ve lost your homes, your families, your freedom. I’m not here to give you false hope. But if you want a chance to take back what’s yours—to strike back—we’ll give you a place at our estate. Food, rest, training... and weapons.

The crowd murmurs. Slowly, voices rise. Some cheer. Some cry. But many begin to stand.

That night, the camp packs up. The healthy and willing board transports. The injured are helped along. They head back to the estate—no longer just victims, but an army in the making.

Later...Back at home base...

Kaz is training the new recruits in CQC and guerrilla tactics. Revy handles firearms. Goblin Slayer, silent and grim as ever, leads melee combat drills.

The Master observes from the sidelines. A limo suddenly pulls up beside him. The window rolls down—It's Travers.

Travers: Master Devlin, you are training out of turn. How do you expect us to gain peace like this?

Master Devlin: Peace? These people have been through hell at the hands of Van Der Beak...They don't peace. They want justice... And where the hell do you think you're going?

Travers: I'm off to put an end to this fighting. It's gone far enough. I intend to repair the damage you’ve caused. And if I have to inform Ms. Von Hildendorf and Pharaoh Van Der Beak of your deception, then so be it... Of course, if need be, I will defend you as well. Hopefully, I can get you off with another mere foot-kissing. Now if you'll excuse me... Mr. Boothe! Drive, please...

Mr. Boothe tries to drive off, but Goblin Slayer steps in front of the vehicle. The Master moves behind it. Revy approaches Travers and points both pistols at him with a wicked grin.

Travers: What's the meaning of this? You are impeding out of turn!

Master Devlin: You’re not going anywhere, Travers.

Suddenly, Goblin Slayer swings his massive club straight through the bonnet of the limousine, caving it in. The front tires burst. Smoke billows from the engine. The Master rips off the door and yanks Travers out by the scruff.

Travers: You... you destroyed my limousine!

The Master slaps Travers around.

Travers: Ow... Stop that, Master Devlin!

Devlin slams him to the ground, leaving him dazed.

Master Devlin: You deserve much worse, you treacherous sleaze...

Travers: Out of... turn...

Master Devlin: Oh, by the way. I thought you’d like to see Van Der Beak’s new royal decree.

He pulls out a royal parchment.

Master Devlin: He intends to outlaw all exotic dance clubs, brothels, escort services, and prostitution. Anyone providing or participating in such services… punishable by death.

Travers: WHAT???

Travers suddenly springs to life and snatches the memo from the Master's claws. He trembles with rage.

Travers: But... he can’t... he can't do this!

He crushes the paper in his hand.

Master Devlin: Well, not to worry. I’m sure you’ve got plenty of girls here.

Travers: No, Master Devlin, you are speaking out of turn again. Many of the girls have joined your war effort and Mayuri hasn’t given me an oil change in weeks. Van Der Beak was supplying new girls, but he’s been slacking ever since you reignited the war...

Master Devlin: Well... that’s unfortunate. Perhaps you should be faithful to your wife, then.

Travers: Fuck you. This isn't my fault. It's your fault!

Master Devlin: How is this my fault?

Travers: Speaking out of turn... inciting warfare out of turn...

Master Devlin: Ah well. Good luck.

The Master walks off as Travers seethes with fury. He calls back:

Master Devlin: Perhaps you need to stop putting your faith in that treacherous bird.

Kaz walks up beside the Master.

Kaz: Boss, I have someone for you to meet.

Master Devlin: Oh?

Kaz: After you asked me to look into developing something to give us an edge against Reg, I reached out to a former associate...

They head down to the mansion basement, now converted into a mechanical lab.

Kaz: Doctor Emmerich, I’d like you to meet Master Devlin.

Dr. Hal Emmerich pops his head up from behind a monitor.

Kaz: I used to work with his father. Boss—meet Dr. Emmerich, better known as Otacon. He’s been developing a battle tank for us...

Master Devlin: Outstanding.

****

After a tour of the latest tech, the Master heads back upstairs to find Travers giving an impassioned speech before the residents—with all the trademark Travers pizazz.

Travers: And so I ask you, ladies and gentlemen of Waverly Hills... What kind of world do we live in when some jumped-up office equipment thinks they can outlaw fine, upstanding Waldonian establishments—to the point where hardworking red-blooded—or green-blooded, for that matter—Waldonians can’t even get a decent oil change anymore?? Well I say to hell with that world, and TO HELL WITH THAT BIRD!!!

Cheers erupt from the crowd.

Travers launches into an excited little Southern preacher dance.

Travers: And with the almighty Editor as my witness... we shall smash those avian fascists once and for all! Now who’s with me!?

The crowd goes wild. Fists rise. Voices roar.

The Master watches with an amused smirk. Everyone loves Travers now... save for a few who still remember that, just days ago, he claimed Reg was a fine and trustworthy leader. But such details matter little in the Waldoverse.

Season 5 continues in Gypsy Syphilis