Trenton Havers’ Reformation’s Reformation

The following takes place following: Dino Crisis

The Master enters the Chronicle building and makes his way upstairs to the office. The air is thick and humid, almost oppressive. Office plants have overgrown wildly, creating a jungle-like atmosphere.

Outside, the distant thrum of helicopter blades and muffled explosions can be heard overhead.

As he approaches the editor’s office, he notices Ermintrude sitting at her desk—topless. Around her are several other topless women, most of whom appear to be hookers or strippers, lounging with drinks in hand and painting their nails. Everyone is drenched in sweat.

Ermintrude looks up, her face lighting up with a mix of relief and excitement. She rushes over and throws her arms around the Master, who squirms awkwardly and blushes.

Ermintrude: "Master Devlin! It’s so good to have you back… Things have been… interesting while you were away. I’m afraid all the commotion has caused Mr. Travers to have a bit of a relapse..."

Master Devlin: "What’s he doing now?"

Ermintrude: "Well… he just sits in there all day drinking while these girls... tend to his needs. He also insists on keeping the heating on full blast, despite the record-breaking heat outside."

Master Devlin (grumbling): "Oh dear... I suspected as much. Don’t worry, Ermintrude — I’ll have a word with Travers."

wF: "Hey, man — you don’t talk to the Editor-in-Chief!"

Wally suddenly pops out of a filing cabinet drawer and jumps onto the desk in front of Ermintrude. He’s wearing a red bandana, sunglasses, a waistcoat over green fatigues, and has half a dozen busted miniature cameras hanging around his neck.

wF: "You don’t talk to him… you listen to him, man!"

Master Devlin: "What do you want, Widdle Frunkut? What’s all this? Are you broken again?"

wF: "No way, man! Totally the opposite! The bossman’s enlarged my mind. He’s a poet-warrior in the classic sense. Like, sometimes you’ll say ‘Hello’ to him, and he’ll just walk right by — doesn’t even see you. Then suddenly, BAM! He grabs you, throws you into a corner, and says: ‘Do you know that if is the middle word in life? If you can keep your head when all about you are losing theirs and blaming it on you… if you can trust yourself when all men doubt you…’”

“I mean — I’m not — I can’t — I’m just a little goblin man. I’m a goblin, and he’s… well, he's a goblin too but he’s also a great man, man. I should have been a pair of ragged claws scuttling across the floors of silent seas — I mean — uh, just a second!"

Waldo suddenly turns and, without warning, dives into Ermintrude’s bosom, trying to burrow between her large breasts. She sighs and picks him up like a mother cat with a misbehaving kitten, then calmly puts him back in the drawer.

Ermintrude: "Yes, well. As you can see, my ex-fiancé has also gone a bit funny. And somehow, he's managed to inflate Mr. Travers’ ego even more..."

Waldo pops his head back out of the drawer.

wF: "Nah, man — I just unlocked his true potential! The cat was always real spiritual, but he kept talking about answering to some higher power. He’d gather us disciples and teach us about putting our faith in the Almighty Editor. He’d say stuff like ‘Ed this’ and ‘Ed that’..."

"But one day I was like — ‘Bossman… YOU are the Editor. Look, it even says so on your desk, man.’ And he was all like — 🤯 — ‘NO WAY.’ And I’m like — ‘Yes way, man.’ It was truly a sight to behold..."

"Ever since then — he transformed, man. He’s on a whole other level of consciousness. Dude’s operating on a different plane, man. He’s like a—"

Ermintrude calmly shuts the drawer and locks it.

Master Devlin: "Hmm. I never expected him to change roles..."

Ermintrude: "What do you mean?"

The Master briefly zones out, his eyes distant — a flicker of something dark. Flashbacks to Cambodia. The late '60s. Waldo. Chaos.

Ermintrude: "Master Devlin? Are you alright?"

Master Devlin: "Oh... Um... Yes. Thank you, Ermintrude. Well, if you’ll excuse me…"

The Master strides over to Travers’ office door and kicks it open. The hinges snap — the door crashes inward.

Master Devlin: "Surprise, motherfucker."

He’s immediately hit in the face by a blast of hot, putrid air — thick with the stench of sweat, smoke, sulphur, semen, and other unnameable things. His eyes water.

Through the dense, misty fog that blankets the office, he sees Travers, reclining in his chair, shrouded in shadow. He’s smoking a cigar, receiving what appears to be an oil change beneath the desk. He wears a tribal-looking cloak, adorned with necklaces that seem to be made from teeth.

In the corner, a cassette player crackles as it repeats the sounds of helicopters, explosions, jungle noises, and a slow, twanging ’60s guitar.

Travers fixes his gaze on Devlin with a sinister, unnerving intensity. After several seconds of silence, he speaks — slowly, deliberately, as if just now recognizing him.

Travers: "Major... welcome back. Take a seat."

Master Devlin: "Travers, can you have your... ‘companions’ excuse us? I can't have a conversation with you staring at me like that — not while they're doing... that. You look..."

Travers glances down under the desk and gives a subtle nod.

A topless Debbie and Helen crawl out from beneath and silently shuffle out of the room, avoiding eye contact with the Master.

Devlin shudders.

Travers: "Well? What can the almighty Editor do for Major Steele this afternoon?"

Master Devlin: "Almighty… pfft. You’ve had quite a week while I was away, haven’t you?"

Travers: "You're not wrong. Unshackled by your puritanical moralism, Major Steele, Trenton Havers’ reformation has had a whole new reformation. One might even say he’s been quite the dirty dog. Tell me, Major... did you know that 'dog' spelled backwards is... 'God'?"

Master Devlin: "Yes."

Travers: "And what better description for the Editor in Chief?"

The Master rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

Master Devlin: "Why is the heating on in here? And why on earth does this place look like a jungle in Southeast Asia?"

Travers: "The plants... they speak to me."

The Master studies the overgrown greenery.

Travers: "They thrive on the heat... the fire in the air. It’s not just nature, it’s... power. Feeding on something dark... the blood of this forsaken land."

Master Devlin: "Yes, indeed. Anyway, do you have any idea what’s going on out there?"

Travers: "You mean the giant bird lizards? I’m aware."

Master Devlin: "Were you planning on publishing newspapers about any of this?"

Travers: "Why would I?"

Master Devlin: "I don't know. Maybe because it’s your job."

Travers frowns, almost coming back to reality.

Travers: "You... you talked me into this, Major. General... you should run the newspaper. It’ll be a good new career, he said..."

Master Devlin: "Not quite."

Travers: "Then you leave Havers in the lurch..."

Master Devlin: "What lurch?"

Travers: "What are we even supposed to write about? Nothing interesting ever happens in this town... Then you kick in my door... complain about how I treat the female recruits..."

Master Devlin: "Nothing interesting, eh?"

The Master grabs Travers by the scruff and hauls him to the window.

Travers: "Unhand me, Major! That’s an order!"

Master Devlin rips away the vines and pulls up the blinds, letting sunlight flood the room. Travers hisses and recoils.

Devlin points toward the pterodactyls and brachiosauruses moving in the distance.

Master Devlin: "That’s not interesting?"

Travers: "Old news... no one cares anymore."

Master Devlin: "Right, fine..."

The Master expands his wings inside Travers’ office, smashes through the window frame, and takes off toward Isla Waldista.

The Waldoverse continues in The Great Displacement