So. We're here. At last. The end of Season 6. It's a fairly decent episode to close out on, much as I would have preferred the Jet Engine or Edward the Really Useful Engine to finish it off. There's a fair bit of plot, which I will go into on the next chapter. That, by the way, will be the Pack episodes. I don't want to shove them inbetween Season 7 and 8, as I feel they rather destroy the climatic feel I'm going for, and putting them in during the HIT era is a bit too much of a clash for me. But speaking of the plot...there's going to be something in this chapter that will be a little confusing. Trust me. It will be explained in Season 7.
On another note, I was originally planning to show how the fight between Duchess and Juggernaut went, but I figured that the aftermath was more important.
And finally, yet another UK legend passed away recently, so I'm once again giving him a little shout out. Bruce Forsyth, it was nice to see you!
AaronCottrell97: Indeed. This one's the best of the Skarloey Railway in Season 6 IMO.
Reality Rejection Service: Ahhhh, I see what you did there.
Bronze Shield: Ah! I see! I'm glad you enjoyed it.
Game-Watch: That's an apt comparison, actually. Except unlike Mr Krabs, this is coming back to bite him hard. And that bubble is getting really damn weak now.
MattPrice01: Nah, it's cool! Yeah, there's a lot of hints of where we're going with the HIT era here. Especially in this chapter, but you'll be seeing more once we come back to Season 7 the direction we're going in.
JD145: That's a complicated question right there. At present, it's not cancelled, and I've got the draft for the second part of the episode I was working on...but the problem with Tugs is that it's actually fairly aware and mature in it's humor. So really, abridging it is quite hard. It's not totally cancelled, but updates are, as you can tell, very sporadic.
GreatWeestern1522: Possibly...have to think on that.
UGX7: That was the reference planned! Nice spotting of it.
GUEST: Awww, thank you very much!
CUE THE THEME!
"...What?"
"The HIT lot are moving in already. They want us to start work on the seventh season immediately."
David was aghast. "Do...Do they realize how hard you have to work to make this stuff look good?! I mean, it's why we take a year or so off! We can't just...churn stuff out on a yearly basis, otherwise it would look a bit crap!"
"I told them that, in far more understandable and calm language, but they said that they want to capitalize. They don't want us backing out of our agreements." Britt checked her tie and tapped her hand against the arm-rest nervously. "I've got a meeting with the man in charge in an hour. This is just a quick check in. David...are you sure that you won't stay on?"
"Nah. I can't do this sort of thing annually, I need a break. Besides, one of Gerry Anderson's lot got back in contact with me, says he's got an idea for some show we can do together...get the best deal you can."
"As if I'd ever do anything less than better."
The conversation on the car phone ended there.
And so Britt stopped, and sighed.
She'd taken risks before.
Now she just had to try one last time.
...
On this early morning, Duncan was waiting as patiently as he could for Peter Sam to arrive. He had to take the green engine's trucks to Strawberry Grove. Strawberry Grove, for those wondering, was not where Strawberry Shortcake took her summer holidays, and instead was the nearest thing Sodor had to a brothel. Admittedly, the only customers appeared to be Carlin and a rather despondent Jem Cole, but somehow through those two, it had managed to stay alive come rain or shine.
Duncan was also to take Headmaster Hastings and his new organ to...I don't know, the school? No one's telling me anything. Also, there was a random school kid for some reason there who ended up pumping the organ. We're not sure why.
As they waited, Hastings played a lively tune on the organ. By lively, I mean that it made Kelly and Cranky look like Zebedee in comparison.
Duncan, however, had had the misfortune of suffering a rather nasty plastic surgery botch. Hence his horrific smile.
Peter Sam had, for whatever reason, spent most of the night bringing Duncan his wagons. He'd stopped briefly for a chat with Mr Fox and Mr Pheasant about the inevitability of death and loss, and had taken the slowest route across the Island to try and psych himself up when going against Duncan. He was approaching the Junction, and looking forward to a nice drink...when a low hanging branch decided to take out his whistle.
"WOE TO YOU, TREE! A POX ON YOU!"
And thus, Peter Sam was shoved into the siding for the time being. "Can't run on the rails without a whistle!" He said to anyone who would listen. "Or else i'd be breaking the rules and putting everyone in danger! ...And yet somehow, Duncan is allowed out every single day. Unfair."
"An engine is not an engine without yon wheestle!" said Duncan, who was in the mood to mispronounce shit like that.
Mike, somewhere buried deep in the mountains, felt a sudden feeling of deja vu for some reason.
To prove it, Duncan let out a loud blast on his whistle. Everyone was momentarily deafened for the moment, but showed remarkable self-restraint and ignored the pompous scotsman completely.
So Duncan set off, fuming terribly. "THERE'RE JEALOUS OF MAH NEW WHEESTLE!" And as he puffed through the countryside, he terrified all and sundry with his long whistling. All save the sheep, who were too busy eating grass to give a care. This angered Duncan enormously. Who were these lamb chops with legs to be dissing his whistling? And then he congratulated himself on a rather clever rhyme.
Even though, it wasn't.
...
"Well, Duncan, I've hoped you've learned a lesson from this!"
"I HAVE!"
"Good, great, that's wonderful-"
"I NEED TO WHEESTLE LOUDER!"
After briefly crashing into several large panes of glass, Duncan arrived at a level crossing. There, a briefly cross-eyed Elizabeth was taking Champion the Bull to the market. To be brutally honest, no one was sure who to feel sorrier for.
"ELIZABETH, YE OLD KRAUT! LISTEN TA THIS!"
"She's not German, Duncan." muttered the driver.
This time, Duncan whistled as long and as loud as he could. Right in Elizabeth's face. For a moment, the old lorry thought that she was having a heart attack. Then she recalled that she didn't have a heart. The bull did, and mooed. Loudly.
"Stop that nonsense, Duncan!"
But Duncan carried on cheerfully down the track. Their day now made even worse, Elizabeth and Champion continued on their merry way. What the little yellow goblin had failed to realize was that his whistle had come loose. How he didn't notice this, no one knows.
...
Then Duncan happened upon Terrance, plowing a field. And smiling. Because of course he was. "AH HA!" said the stupid Scot. "I know what I shall do! I shall wheestle at yon scary bastard! That should teach him to be depressed like tha rest of us!"
This was a flawed plan, as you can tell. Not least because while Terrance had recently begun to have the signs of a double chin, he was still quite the indimidating factor. Even when he didn't want to be.
They'd yet to find Lorry 2's body buried underneath the field.
Duncan whistled...
And whistled...
And whistled...
And whistled...
At which point, it shot off like a mighty rocket into the stratosphere. Duncan came to a harsh stop, staring around in panic. Perhaps if he could just see where it went, but to no avail.
"Oh for-"
And everyone got off to look for Duncan's whistle. As they did so, Terrance casually trundled over and stared Duncan into a near death coma for the hour the search party spent. All the while smiling pleasantly and scaring the coal out of Duncan. By the time they returned, Terrance had hurried back over to the field, leaving Duncan to regret ever having gotten up this morning.
"Well, we can't go now! It'd be too dangerous, you...you...GIT." snapped Duncan's driver.
"LEAVE IT TO ME!" said Hastings."
"...So, um, are you going to tell us your plan?"
"Nope!"
"Fair enough." And for the rest of the day, Duncan didn't make a sound...for once in his life.
But the Headmaster's organ did- TITTER YE NOT! Get your mind out of the gutter this instant! Every time Duncan had to deliver his trucks, the organ started up- STOP IT. STOP THINKING LIKE THAT. And at every crossing and junction, up went the organ! ...Just...never mind.
It worked just as well as a whistle did, though Duncan didn't think so. Especially since he was getting knowing glances from several people.
Finally, the last of the trucks was dropped off.
But the organ didn't stop. As they crossed the mountain (Which had lost quite a bit of foliage since the war and was now...lower down than it had been), She'll Be Coming Round the Mountain When She Comes blared out. Hastings's playing needed work, but he refused to let that stop him until he got back to the Junction where the other engines were waiting.
"Why look!" said Rusty, who was drunk. "It's Duncan the Musical Engine!"
"Huh. Never heard of that book before." muttered Skarloey.
"SHUT UP." said Duncan through gritted teeth.
"How about we join in the chorus!?" shouted Rheneas.
"Sounds good to me! TOOT TOOT, BOYO."
Peter Sam, now with a new whistle of his own, decided to throw Duncan a bone. Not that he deserved it, the pompous git. "You did really well, I guess, to deliver the goods without a whistle. I suppose."
"Do ye really think so?" said Duncan, doubtfully. It didn't help that Peter Sam didn't sound too convinced himself.
"Absolutely! ...Even if an engine isn't an engine without a whistle!"
"OH THROW THAT BACK IN MAH FACE WOULD YE?"
"Or an organ!" said Hastings, and played a few notes. All the engines tooted back, except Duncan who merely smiled.
"Can I go home now?" said the schoolboy, wearily. "My arms aren't half tired."
...
And so the season ended.
No one really paid much attention, however, to something that would lead the Island of Sodor into the 'New' era. It was on a small blog by the name of 'Stirling Work', which only a few people really subscribed do. The statement read in it's entirety:
OMG! Guys! GUYS. I've been invited to the Island of Sodor for some sort of trial period thing! Can't wait to appear on telly! Get your tapes ready, because it's going to be huge!
Hope they like drinking there as much as I do!
Emily.
...
"I say! This is absolutely corking stuff, eh, what?! I do love a good old knees up, especially when there's so many lashings of this alcoholic beverages, am I right, gentlemen?!"
"Indeed you are, Boxhill!"
"NICE TO SEE YOU, TO SEE YOU?"
"NICE!" shouted the other inebriated engines.
"Your brother's a very...interesting character, Stepney." Edward remarked, as the end of season party continued on in the same vein of it's beginning, i.e, with booze flowing significantly.
Stepney laughed. "Yes, well, he's a stupid idiot, but he's my brother. Honestly surprised he turned up, to be truthful with you. He's been handling Bluebell business for most of the last year, didn't think he'd get a chance to head down here...I think he's getting tired of it."
"Ah. So you'll be heading off then?"
"Give or take a year, Duck. Can't stay here forever. However, that 'loop line' of Fatty's...might make for a nice point of contact between our two lines."
"I'll drink to that!" said Edward, cheerfully.
Gordon was then violently sick in the corner.
"Or I would, if I didn't have to get that big lug home before he kills himself." For a moment, a flash of some unpleasant emotion raced across Edward's face, before a somewhat placid smile returned to cover it. "Drink well, you lot! ...We're going to need it."
...
The Flying Scotsman stared at the scene in horror. "Wh-What?!" His voice slipped slightly. Though they were wise enough not to show it, the other engines were far more rattled by this than what was in front of them. They had seen worse. No, the fact that the steam engine was rattled was enough to make them soil themselves, if they had the ability to do so.
There were times that Truro was glad for the faceplate. It meant that the massive smirk on his face wasn't seen by anyone.
Before, when he had had the Juggernaut kill St Eustace, at the very least the body had been left in one relative piece...not so much here. The Duchess's body was spread over the course of a mile. From what could be gathered, the Juggernaut had somehow managed to tear apart her wheels, scattering them everywhere, before forcibly crushing smokebox and face underneath his own wheels.
If there was one thing to take away from this, it was that the armor still wasn't tough enough. Much to his surprise, the Duchess had put up one hell of a fight. Certainly more than Eustace had. He'd had four guards with him, yet she'd managed to injured the Juggernaut far more so than anyone ever had done.
He was going to have to note that.
"What do we do, Truro?" Scotsman sounded crushed. For a moment, something that might have been Truro's conscience poked him in the side. Then he decided that it was just a loose bit of coal.
"Well, right now...I'd start making sure that the council's completely airtight. We can't have maniacs running about and doing what have you...no, I think it's time we show the world that the Iron Circle is done taking everyone's shit."
"...What about-"
"The armor? Don't worry. I'll get right on it. Any results I find, I'll give them straight to you."
"Sah!" Boxhill hurried up, and blanched at the sight of the Duchess. "Dear god in heaven! ...What happened?!"
"The Juggernaut."
"But...he's dead!"
"I know that! Apparently he hasn't gotten the memo." Truro glanced to Scotsman. "Look, Boxy, if you could get him back home, I think we all need a moment to collect ourselves before we get our arses into gear."
"Righty-ho, old chap!" Boxhill coupled up to the silent Scotsman, and with a whistle, he began the long task of helping him back to the sheds.
Truro smirked in triumph.
...
The assembled motley crew looked at each other with distrust.
The Railway Board had gathered here under the idea that they would be getting results on the merchandise and the possibility of getting more control over the way the Island operated. The pirates were here because they were under the impression that there would be a lot of looting and fighting and many murders. So many murders. Murders out the wazoo. There were many others too, ones that we can't name for fear of slander.
And no one was quite sure what the sallow, pale man was here for.
At last, the sound of feet on steps caught their attention, and they all just sort of straightened up.
"Thank you, Miss Allcroft! Yes, the franchise itself is going to go through something of a transition period. So we will, of course, be happy for you and Mr Mitton to stay on as long as you want!" It felt like he was speaking for their benefit as well. "A pleasure doing business with you! Have a safe trip! Goodbye!" And with that, the double doors swung open.
Zero entered. Clean shaven, clean cut, clean suit, overall clean, he strode in with a confident and cocky swagger. "Nice to see ye, to see ye?"
"...Nice?" answered the room.
"Good answer!" He coughed. "Whoops. Slipped back into the natural accent for a moment."
"...Why are we all here, sir?" Reginald asked, nervously. "And who is that?"
Captain Zero glanced back at the other man. The older, gnarled, grim looking man, wearing a sort of stereotypical harbormaster cosplay. "This? Oh, he's quite 'll get to him in a bit. Now, let's fucking get down to business."
He looked around the room and quickly began to talk. "You are here for various reasons. The gentlemen of the Railway Board, to get control of their railway back. My faithful lads, to murder and pillage, as in the old days. Those of you who came from the Other Railway, you want jobs and homes back. And this man-" He pointed to the sallow figure, who glanced at him knowingly. "-this, all of you, is J.D. My spymaster. The one responsible for all of this. Without him, we'd not be having this chat today. I'd still be scrounging for information on what it is I want to know."
"J.D?" One of the Railway Board turned and spoke at once. "NOT-"
"Drampf. Jasper Drampf. My father worked here some time ago, his death was...was quite tragic, really. All the fault of the Sudrians of course." J.D spoke with little inflection or emotion.
Zero continued. "Now, most of you here will have a rough idea of what it was that I used to do. Namely, work for a man who thought far too highly of himself and paid the price for it. At first, I considered throwing in the towel, forgetting the idea of taking over the world and going back to the old way of doing things...and then I realized something. The Fat Director failed precisely BECAUSE he stuck to the old ways of doing things. He overstretched the use of runes and complicated plans that spanned centuries, when in reality, had he just had the foresight to recognize his opponent's weakness and capitalized on them...well, we'd be having a far different conversation right now. But he didn't, so we're not."
He glanced around the room. "I've had to change a lot about myself over the last three years. My accent, for one. My dress sense for another. My attitude when talking to people, the type of business I conduct...but one thing that hasn't changed is my objective. I want to be on top of everyone and be in a position where no one can do without me. And I want to become very, very rich while doing so. I think we're all in agreement on THAT point. I will not go into the plan specifically at this point...but I can guarantee this."
He pulled out a large blueprint. "Over the next ten years or so, we are going to systemically destroy the Island of Sodor's reputation, it's industry...and eventually, itself in it's entirety. And by the time this escapade is over, we are going to be in a very, very successful minority."
He smiled. "And do you know how we're going to do it? Let me introduce you to my son. You might know him under another name. A name that has come to mean terror for all upon the high seas. A name that is more than worthy to, one day, become the heir to the title of Captain Zero. A name that, though simple, will no doubt be recognizable to you all. The name...of Sailor John."
TO BE CONTINUED.