You may be wondering why I'm doing this. Well, remember the story about Diesel Ten, er, Nick, and how he's learning to be himself? How did things in that universe differ from the one you're no doubt more familiar with?

Here's the story of how. And it doesn't start with a tank engine named Thomas.

No, like the original stories, it starts with a tender engine named Edward.

October 9, 1922

A hundred years earlier, the Northwestern Railway was but eight years old. The Great War had only recently ended, and the world had entered a new age.

Tidmouth Sheds in those days housed but six engines, and right now they were listening to a radio report about post-war operations in Mainland Europe. "Ha!" Alfred, a pompous blue ex-LNER B12, smirked. "Those blasted Gerrys really got their just desserts, didn't they?"

"Bloody did!" laughed Juliet, a red ex-LNWR Claughton Class. "Those blokes are lucky we didn't blow 'em to smithereens!"

"Hm..." Eagle, a red ex-L&YR Class 27, frowned. "Don't you think you're celebrating prematurely?"

"What's 'prematurely' mean?" Crovan, a blue ex-GCR 8K, asked.

"It means you're doing it much too early before you know that nothing else is going to happen to make it worse or better."

"Oh, don't be such a spoilsport!" Alfred snapped. "Be glad! This was the War to End All Wars, you know!"

"Or was it?"

This question came from Edward, a blue ex-Furness K2. He was the oldest out of all the engines in the roundhouse. Though smaller and not as strong, he had an innate sense of wisdom to him.

"Whatever do you mean, Ed?" Juliet asked quietly.

"I mean that there's going to be consequences. The instigators of the war were Serbia and Austria, so why aren't they having to pay reparations? This war was nothing more than a bunch of petty family drama."

"Shut up!" Alfred growled. "What do you know? You never went to the mainland to fight!"

"And neither did you!" Edward retorted. "But I know a loose end when I see it. This upwards economy can't sustain itself forever, and the way I see it, it's going to crash by the end of this decade. The Germans will become angrier than ever, wanting revenge by any means once they can't pay us back, and some opportunist will take the chance to hijack its government for their own personal agenda."

"Do you really think that'll happen?" Henry, a green experimental hybrid between an LNER A1 and a GNR C1, asked timidly.

"I don't know," Edward replied. "But given that such things have happened before many times, it's a safe bet that if we don't act now, it'll happen again. And that fight will not be the War to End All Wars; it'll be the War to Ruin the World For the Rest of Time."

"...Well, that was bloody depressing!" Juliet said angrily.

"The truth hurts sometimes," Edward shrugged.

"Yeah! That was scary! No wonder they don't pick you anymore!" Crovan added.

"Don't you go there!" Edward snapped.

"Hey, the truth hurts," Alfred snarked, and the shed was silent for the rest of the night.

Edward sighed the next day as he shunted trucks in the yard. "David, am I old?"

"Depends on who you ask," the blue ex-LT&SR 69 replied. "For a human, not really. For an engine? Who knows?"

"I know what you are," said a gray 7-plank wagon. "You're just a bunch of old iron!" She cackled to herself, but screamed when Edward shoved her down the line.

"Back off, Splinter!" Edward barked. He sighed. "That was...oddly therapeutic."

"I know, I just love hearing their screams," David chuckled. "Don't worry Edward, you've got friends! There's me, and Eagle, and Henry, and the coffeepots, and the coaches I think..."

"Thanks, David."

"Anytime, chum."

Suddenly, a man ran up to Edward. "Edward, you used to pull coaches on your old railway, right?"

"I did, why do you ask?"

"Dean cracked a cylinder during his passenger run!"

"Again?!"

"Yes, and we need you to take his train while Eagle takes him to the Steamworks!"

"I'm on my way." And Edward set off with a new puff to his wheelturns.

"Whiteleggspeed, Edward!" David called to him.

Dean, a green ex-GWR 3300, grimaced as Eagle pulled him away. "Get well soon, Dean!" said the first of the coaches, Ecgwynn. She and her sisters, Eelffleed and Eadgifu, were now stranded. But not for long.

"Hello, ladies," Edward said on arrival. "I'll be taking you to the rest of the stations."

"Ooh!" Ecgwynn swooned. "You haven't taken us since the war ended! Bloody shame too, you're one of the best engines here!"

"Indeed," Edward supposed, coupling up to Ecgwynn. "Come along, come along."

"We're going, we're going," the coaches replied, and Edward smoothly chuffed away.

"Well, I think that's the most excitement I'll ever have again," Edward sighed sadly as he dropped the coaches off at Knapford Yard that evening.

"I must disagree, Edward."

Edward gaped. "S-sir?!" Approaching him was Sir Christopher "Topham" Hatt, the controller of the entire NWR.

"You're a really useful engine, Edward, and I'm sorry that I haven't considered your need to do more diverse work than just shunting. So I'd like you to pull Dean's trains until he's repaired, and then we'll alternate between the two of you to reduce the strain on him."

"Excellent idea, sir. But...shouldn't I be repainted first?"

Sir Christopher chuckled. "I suppose so. And don't worry about your shunting, David's going to be getting some...help."

"You WHAT mate?!" Juliet shrieked at David, who'd come to deliver the news to the engines of the roundhouse.

"We are NOT common tank engines! We do NOT shunt!" Alfred growled.

"Sorry gang, fat man's orders. I'm still going to make the trains, but you're going to fetch them yourselves," David replied coolly. "There simply isn't enough of me and my splendor to go around the yard."

"Sounds fair enough," Henry admitted. "Though I question the 'splendor' part of the equation..."

"Oh shut up, Henry," Alfred groaned.

"Well, I must say, Edward must be quite pleased with himself," Eagle mused. "So good on him, then."

And that, dear reader, is what started it all.