First of all, like the new cover? You can thank the very kind, talented and helpful genericuser22 for that! It's a lovely cover, suits the story very well, and he has made it look rather impressive! So, kudos to him!
Let's get the reviews out of the way!
Hughie99: Thanks very much, glad to hear you enjoyed reading these! I will definitely use that joke at some point, and credit it to you!
Reality Rejection Service: Basically!
TrainManiac: It's okay! She was a ton of fun to write, can't wait until we get to her being in more episodes. And to answer, no, Alec Baldwin was never on Shining Time Station aside from the movie, but I will try and write in an explanation for his version of Mr Conductor.
Bronze Shield: Hope you enjoy it!
Game-Watch: Really, the lesson she really needs to learn is tact. XD.
MattPrice01: They really are! British people make the best villains. Glad you enjoyed, that quote was a fun one to write, love writing Hatt getting flustered. Hope this chapter is okay!
It's time for a Villain Episode! Yep, I was planning to do one of these anyways in this season, primarily because I thought it would be interesting to begin linking together some details for later episodes, but Bye George is definitely the best choice to do one of these. I did admittedly struggle a bit with writing this one, but hopefully you all get some measure of enjoyment out of it.
CUE THE THEME.
"I'd hate to be you." said Toby, sympathetically to the rather miserable looking Percy. The tank engine snorted, and took a deep breath.
"Better head off and get him, I guess. I want to get this over and done with as soon as possible." And whistling goodbye, Percy set off in the general direction of the new quarry.
It was a nice day, by the Island's standards. There appeared to be no sudden spurt of snow or rain or hail or sleet or anything equally as random that appeared without warning. The sun was out, though it behind rather small, white fluffy clouds, and the engines were in relatively good moods.
It wouldn't last.
Mavis bustled up. "Morning, Toby! Ready for work?"
"Yes, of course. You take the trucks on the right side, I'll take the trucks on the left. Sound fair?"
"Sure."
"Mavis, I have to ask you...am I boring?"
...
The new quarry was a rather ambitious plan set in motion by the Fat Controller. Duck had subtly suggested the site of one of Davidson's many secret bases would make an excellent new source of rock and industry to throw the scent off of Davidson's other hideaways. A great deal of activity was usually going on there, Jenny Packard's team were up there quite regularly, Terrance and Trevor often helped out, and most of the engines had been drafted in to give one or two helping buffers. Helping matters was the fact that there were both standard and narrow gauge lines running into it, giving engines of all kinds a chance to talk together while they worked.
Not helping matters was that it did often lead to a lot of arguments between standard and narrow engines. Such highlights included Gordon and Sir Handel dissolving their student-teacher relationship when Gordon accidentally implied something rather nasty about Handel's funnel, Peter Sam getting his revenge on Henry for the Refreshment Lady incident and an incident where Skarloey, Rheneas and Percy had gotten so drunk that they had accidentally carved a anatomically correct penis into the mountain...somehow.
This was why the two little engines were being punished by watching George the Steamroller while Percy was punished by having to take him to another workplace. The workmen had flat out refused to work with George, Gotch had become sort of a pariah amongst the quarry workers for a series of thefts that they hadn't been able to link back to him.
George, as per usual, was being rude to someone, in this case, Rheneas and Skarloey. The latter two were grinning in sheer delight as Percy drew nearer. "You're just worn out hunks of scrap, riding on worn out wheels and worn out rails! Bloody reds, the revolution is coming, you fools! And you're ilk will be the first to go!"
"You need rocks for your roads. We help you. There's no bloody revolution without our help, you asshole."
Like most bigots, George responded to logic like someone lactose intolerant to milk being offered, with violent denial. "I need no such thing! Just to flatten engines like you in the scrapyard! Bloody bourgeois!"
Percy arrived, bringing great relief to the two little engines. He was coupled up to George's flatbed, all the while glaring at the newly named 'Mount Penis' with anger. George was still being his rebel with a terrible cause. "RAILWAYS ARE NO GOOD! TURN EM INTO ROADS! PULL EM UP, TURN EM INTO ROADS!"
"Still need to work on the slogan" muttered Gotch.
"ROLLERS ARE RUBBISH! SO GOOD RIDDANCE!" called Rheneas, very loudly. Skarloey laughed, until he realized that the two of them were now going to have to go back and work with Sir Handel and Duncan for the rest of the day. He shuddered.
...
"What are ye doing, sir? Ye look like a prat, no offence intended."
"You have a funny manner if that's the case, Captain. Still, I don't expect you to fully understand what this is." The Fat Director had made quite sure that the newly brought to life vehicles had headed off with Lady and Proteus leading the way before slipping out of his hiding place and pulling the blackened piece of metal from Proteus's body. He set it down upon the ground, and had spent the past three minutes sketching something in the ground around it. It was a symbol, what looked like a triangle with an eye in the middle of it, Coming off from the eye was the symbol of the Other Railway, double arrows, on both sides.
"This is fascinating, but shouldn't we-"
The Fat Director pulled out a lighter, sprinkled a fine powder along the drawing, flicked the lighter on and then lit the powder up. And then he said some words that were...well, it's rather hard to describe what they are, since half of them appeared to be made up.
There was a brilliant flash of blue, and the powder caught alight. The symbol began to glow and crackle, and a faint shadowy face began to appear in it.
"This, my dear Captain, is magic. It's a rudimentary form, but it allows you to communicate with any spirits located in the item placed in the center of the drawing." The Fat Director bowed "I assume I speak to the Malevolence?"
"You show respect," The voice sounded pleasantly surprised, if pleasantly could be used to describe anything about the Malevolence "You know my name, you clearly have some knowledge of the dark arts...you're different from the others, aren't you? Where'd you learn such magic?"
"From you. Or rather, I will do."
"...Ah. You come from the future then."
"That's a bloody leap in logic. I mean, it's true, but I dinnae understand how you can reach that conclusion." muttered Captain Zero, before a rather sharp look from the Fat Director quelled his brief surge of rebelliousness.
"Yes, my lord, we do indeed come from the future. I have instructions from yourself to assist in your reconstruction. It will take a long time-"
"I have had nothing but time for centuries, millennia even, a few more will be an annoyance, at worst. However, I am curious, what exactly is it that you have planned?"
The Fat Director steepled his fingers together "It's quite simple. At the moment, you've been split into two pieces by the battle that you've just been through. There's the piece inside this bit of metal, that I'm communicating with now and will be delivered to this Island in the 20th century to a new body, and then there's the rest of your, for lack of a better term, soul. From what I can gather from what information you gave me, it's imprisoned inside the Island itself."
"First of all, if that is ye're definition of simple, ye're off the bloody chain. Secondly, we just saw yon Malevolence get, no offence, obliterated"
"My physical form, yes. But there's a reason that they call it an 'immortal' soul. It can survive practically anything." The Malevolence sounded thoughtful. "Finding a way to break the imprisonment would be a step in the right direction. But even with my soul reunited, it would take a lot of power for me to ever regain the form you saw me in."
The Fat Director grinned. Unpleasantly. "I have an idea on that score".
...
"Another thing I don't like about rails? They are so old-fashioned, I mean have you seen the way that road vehicles move? We look like swans! You look like chickens wiggling up and down."
"So, I'm going to have to cancel the party-"
"Another reason for me to hate the engines, I hear you ask? Your stupid faces. Have you seen James's face?"
"More times than I would care too."
"That is a face that a mother would smother if she had the chance."
"Any chance we could talk about something we both like?"
"No."
"Good to know."
George, shockingly, grumbled dreadfully as Percy pulled him along the fishing village towards the Old Branchline that only now had come into existence. He was going to turn it into a road, and a fast food place. Progress, am I right?
Men had already gotten to work on the dismantling of the old station, which is for some reason only now appearing in the series proper. There were some who said that it had used to be the station of the old number one engine on the Island, though few remembered his name.
When they arrived, George was rude once again. "ROTTEN RIDE ON ROTTEN RAILS!" He roared. "I KNOW WORDS THAT BEGIN WITH 'R'! I AM GLAD IT'S OVER!"
"So am I." muttered Percy. "God, you guys can have him."
"PAH!" said George with great feeling. Percy backed off as fast as he could away from the mad steamroller. Men waved and shouted, pleading to be taken with him, even if the alternative was working with James perfect his tan, but Percy was hard and cruel, and so left them to suffer working with George.
He was still fuming later on when he entered Tidmouth Yard, grumpily shunting away the flatbed that George had been carried on back into it's proper place, where it would seek a great deal of therapy for it's painful task. Gordon and Duck were relaxing, waiting for Gordon's express train to be put together. Gordon definitely wasn't staring at Duck's bunker. It may look like that, but he wasn't.
Thomas was there, casually chilling and wondering about five down on his latest crossword puzzle. "What's up, Percy?"
"The sky, birds, clouds, the moon, the sun-"
"What's wrong, Percy?" Thomas remembered you had to be specific when talking to Percy, or else he'd either say something stupid or act sarcastic about it. Probably both.
"It's George!"
"George?"
"Slow bastard," remarked Duck "Looks like someone permanently urinated in his cornflakes."
"He makes me feel down!"
"Then be up!" said Gordon, before laughing at his own terrible joke. Terrible jokes in this story, I know, right?
"Just ignore him, Percy! You know, like James does to all the times we try to tell him how to improve his life!" And so saying, Thomas set off, grimly determined to learn George some manners if he had to.
...
This place was disgusting.
It was so...clean. So tidy. So sugary sweet that it was rotting his teeth, and that was impressive, considering that he hadn't the best teeth to begin with.
It was infecting him and it made him want to throw up. People smiled all the time, apologized profusely for bumping into him, kids played baseball on the village green for crying out loud. It was like Happy Days, except worse.
Shining Time was an awful place for someone like P.T Boomer.
But he had a job to do.
The basement had been completely gutted. Anything that wasn't useful had been ripped apart, walls had been knocked down to create a massive area, free of nearly any sunlight, that would be quite handy for holding prisoners should it come to it.
He had gathered together quite a motley crew of bikers, who all admired him, especially how willing he was to fight to prove his dominance. It was on his instruction that they combed out the land, looked all over for any signs of the lost engine, or the Magic Railroad, or anything important.
He hadn't done much recently.
Well it was about time that he changed that.
...
"DOO DE DOO, RIPPING UP RAILS, WHAT A LIFE, DO DO DO! EVERYBODY!"
No one else sang, so George beatboxed the rest of his improvised song, he was now enjoying himself enormously as he flattened the decorative pebbles over what remained of the old branch line. He was happy, for once in his life time. He grinned as he saw Thomas approaching on the bank not too far from him. "Whatcha think of this, Thomas!? This is Elsbridge one day in the future! And I'll be there to watch you sob!"
"What did he say?" muttered Thomas to his driver, who shrugged. Thomas also brushed it aside and carried on by without giving any sign that he had even realized that George existed.
The steamroller, like most bigots, was enraged that the target of his rants wasn't listening to him, and swore revenge. "I SWEAR REVENGE! YOU'RE A USELESS BLUE PUFFBALL AND YOU SMELL! AND YOUR TRUCKS ARE BACK TO FRONT, WHY THE HELL IS THAT?! I'll show you who is boss, you little blue so and so!"
"Do you ever think we should have taken that job with the Other Railway?" muttered one construction worker to his friend.
They continued on this vein for about another hour, before the workmen reached the level crossing that Thomas had just passed across on. While this would be a pain to remove, as it did mean that they'd have to reroute Thomas and get rid of a rather helpful shortcut, it was necessary to make room for the road. The foreman looked very baffled. He hadn't expected to have to make any decisions for himself.
"What shall we do here!?"
"Tear it up! Tarmac it! Make sure that it was NEVER HERE AT ALL!" snarled George, frothing at the mouth. And because they had nothing better to do, the workmen did so. Unfortunately, this was not done properly. No signs were left behind (Because the workmen were lazy sods), the gates were shut (Previous excuse) and someone dropped a whole load of fish oil along the tracks (I...I don't know), and George knew this.
He stayed quiet, which should have been a massive red warning flag right there and then.
So they left a large section of the track completely covered with tar. Unsurprisingly, the workmen would later be fired for this.
Later, Thomas was returning home on the same line, pulling trucks filled with vegetables for some reason. Perhaps they were going to have a midnight feast at Tidmouth Sheds, I don't really know and I don't really care. He wasn't really thinking that much of anything important, but his focus was not on the track ahead. The signalman had fallen asleep, in what was to become a disturbing regular occurrence, and had forgotten to warn the driver of the change.
So what you're basically learning is that everyone on this Island is incompetent, which to be fair, is not something that will surprise you. It's even their motto (In latin, of course, Confusio et mora).
"That's nice, we don't have to stop!" said Thomas blithely.
"OH HELL YES WE DO!" screamed the driver, who applied the brake as hard as he could. Unfortunately, it was too late. The second his wheels left the rails and landed on the tarmac, the slippery oil propelled them forwards off the rails, down the bank and into a conviniently placed shed.
"HORRORS!" cried Thomas, and said something far stronger as he shot through said shed, running through straw, chickens and even a very startled cow, before finally coming to a less than grateful stop outside.
The farmer was outraged. "LOOK WHAT OO'VE DONE TO MY BREAKFAST!" He bellowed.
Thomas was becoming more and more used to this by now.
...
The next day, Gordon and Percy were talking about George yet again. Thomas had last been seen being pulled away by the Works Diesel swearing revenge upon the steamroller, at which point a egg had hatched in his boiler. He was now jealously guarding Thomas Jr with his life.
"HA!" snorted Gordon "You're just small engines! That's why he's rude to you and Thomas! Because he can get away with it! But ME, a big engine?! He wouldn't stand a chance! Now, the express calls! You just wait and see, little Percy, I shall teach him a few things before the day is out!"
As he set off, Toby and Edward looked at each other knowingly as they shunted trucks.
"So, how many hours do you reckon it'll take? Three?"
"Being generous. Two, more likely."
Meanwhile, George had been moved to Crosby, and was taking a great deal of joy in just rolling around, practicing for the day when he could massacre the steam engines in full. He wondered if he needed to talk to someone, and then dismissed it. As he chuffered about, he rolled towards the rails, just as Duck arrived pulling a line of trucks.
The two eyed each other warily as George came to a stop right in the way of the Great Western tank engine. Normally, Duck would have been happy to take George down a peg or two, but his last truck was stuck on the end of the line, right in the way of any train passing. The reason there was no brakevan was because the Spiteful Brakevan had refused to work with Duck, and had poisoned most of the other brakevans in the yard against him.
"Let me pass!"
"I'm too busy doing important stuff! You'll just have to wait!"
"You are literally sitting on the line doing nothing!"
"It's very taxing!"
"Anyway, I can't just sit on my arse and wait, Gordon'll coming through with the express, and I need to get my trucks out of the way so that we don't have another one of those rallies again! The one that nearly cost us a fortune to repair Elsbridge was a nightmare!"
"PAH! Gordon'll have to wait too!"
Duck's driver hurried off to the stationmaster to complain, but by the time the stationmaster had stopped drinking straight from the bottle to call the signalman, the latter had already switched the points to let Gordon in from the main line.
Gordon was in a good mood, his passengers were singing his praises, he was making near record time and he was smugly convinced of his own superiority" as he crossed over the viaduct. "I'm the greatest! Ever! Just watch me fly by!" He whistled long and loud as he hurried towards the station.
Suddenly, his vision kicked in and he suddenly saw the truck on the line. "GET OUT OF MY WAY!"
The truck, shockingly, couldn't move.
Until Gordon forced it, by accident, with a tremendous crunching noise that somehow managed to break the laws of physics and gravity, sending the truck flying up into the air like a bizarre frisbee. Duck and George watched with open mouths as the truck did three somersaults, a backflip and won a ten from each of the three judges who were spontaneously there before landing and shattering.
George quietly slipped away. He knew that this wasn't going to be good for him.
...
It had been messy.
It had been messy and showy and flashy and all of the rest.
He hated murders like that. No, it was best to kill your victim quietly, in a way that didn't attract too much attention. He had been damned lucky to get away without alerting anyone to his presence. They'd know now, of course, but it gave him time to slip away.
St Eustace had been tricky in life, it only felt fair to say that he had been tricky in death.
Not a word on his employers. He had kept it dark until the second he had died. In a strange way, he could almost respect the arrogance and stupidity that this entailed.
The Juggernaut roared. It wasn't from his mouth, rather from the engines that had been built into this armored suit, to ventilate steam and allow for air to be taken in and cleansed of all of it's little germs and microbes and viruses.
Slowly, he began to move out.
It was time that he paid Duck the Great Western engine a visit.
...
"Oh jeez, oh jeez, oh jeez, oh jeez, this is going to be really bloody painful." muttered Gordon, who was worried that the Fat Controller was going to be cross. Edward and Toby looked at each other, knowingly. Two hours and a half. A new record.
The Fat Controller was cross. Not with Gordon, for once, though. "WHOEVER CAUSED THIS DISTURBANCE-" He slurred, having drunk twice his weight in root beer "-WILL HAVE ME TO ANSWER TO!"
He then promptly walked off the platform and fell face first onto the rails.
...
The portal dropped the Director and the Captain in a rather secluded area of the Island. This time, however, there was more signs of modern activity. Rails were lying across the ground, in the distance smoke from a factory could be seen, and the faint sound of cars and buses bustling to and fro were in the background.
"Where are we?"
"Nineteen fifty, give or take a year." The Fat Director cleared his way through the trees and bushes, still holding the piece of metal that contained the Malevolence in it. "Now, if the instructions I've been given are correct, and they should be, what I'm looking for should be right...here!"
Zero gulped, and the metal seemed to pulsate with a sort of shock. "Hang on! Isn't that-" At the Director's nod, Zero looked to the piece of metal, then to the steam engine in front of them, then at the Fat Director "So...now what?"
The Fat Director took the piece of metal, smiled rather nastily, and walked forward. There was a rather convenient hole in the middle of the boiler, which funnily enough was the exact shape and size of the shattered piece of steel. So, casually, it was slotted into place, making a satisfying clicking noise as at last, the engine was complete.
For a moment, there was nothing. And then:
What is the plan here?
Zero jumped. "Where-"
Now that I have a solid form, even one which I have no control over just yet, I can communicate with you via telepathy. It's a rather nice trick that we demonic figures can do. So, what now?
"Now, sir, you wait. In exactly three days, someone will find you lying here, and assume that you've been abandoned by a war that the inhabitants of the Island were having. You'll be taken back to their steamworks, whereupon you will be infused with the metal that gives engines their life, their ability to move and talk and think and do anything really, you can go about, learn all about your main enemy, kill them, take their souls, gain their power, and with every passing day, grow stronger and stronger."
I see. And the other half of me? The one trapped inside the Island?
"Leave that to us. By the time the two parts of you are reunited, you should both be as strong as you were during the battle against Lady and Proteus. Combined together...well, I doubt anyone can be able to stop you."
You are a clever man. Where did you learn of such an idea?
"Oh...you taught me well, sir."
The Fat Director dragged the gawping Zero back through the portal, leaving the Malevolence to ruminate upon his new body.
...
A few days later, Thomas and Percy arrived at a very old logging camp, supposedly to pick up some timber for the new quarry. They were delighted to see something very, very cathartic.
"Look who's here!" chortled Thomas.
"HA BLOODY HA!"
George had been found out by the Fat Controller, and as Gotch had abandoned him to try and begin negotiations to bring him across to the Other Railway, he had been punished severely by being shoved on his own in the yard. He looked miserable.
"Now we'll get some peace at last! Hang on, is that Duke's old shed next to him?"
"I want to get rolling again! But it's a whole week until I do!"
"And then you'll be just as rude, bossy and assholeish as before, eh George?"
I hope not, do you? ...Why am I asking you? You never talk back to me. I'M LONELY DAMN IT. THEY DIDN'T EVEN PUT MY NAME IN THE TITLES THIS TIME!
"So, is no one going to talk about how Duke's shed is right there next to him-?"
"SHUT UP PERCY!" said Thomas, George and the narrator. God I need a break.
...
Gotch looked at the whiskey bottle with some distaste. It wasn't the really good stuff that the engines got, but then he'd had to be a bit sneaky about buying anything lately. The Fat Controller was many things, but a complete imbecile was not one of them. He had begun to put together the dots with regards to how many strange accidents seemed to happen to someone matching the description or using the same name as Adrian Gotch, or names along the same line. He had therefore asked the Mayor of Sodor to put some pressure upon the police to, at the very least, bring him in for questioning.
Gotch couldn't have that. The last two or three years had been spent rather painfully, as he tried to keep his head down and live off the land on Sodor, whilst also trying to get back into the good books of any of the higher ups of the Other Railway.
There were those there that thought Gotch to be responsible for the mishandling of the entire Drampf situation. It had been he, after all, who had put together the leaking of Edward's war time service tape, it had been he who had been reporting as a intermediary between the Other Railway and Drampf's team, and it was he who really should have seen the Davidson incident coming. He had tried to argue that Marklin deserved equal blame, but at present the ghost was...struggling with a problem.
So the blame was on him.
He was alive because he provided a service, new vehicles, converts, a new army in the wake of the disaster that was the attack on the Other Railway. But he wasn't invited to meetings with the Fat Director and Captain Zero anymore, wasn't kept up to date...he was a messenger boy, that was all.
If he could just find one thing that would get him back in their good books, then it would all be-
He tensed. The glass dropped from his hand, striking the table with a dull thud. It didn't shatter, which was good because right now Gotch didn't want to have to worry about a cut open hand.
The hut he was living in was surrounded.
These weren't Island of Sodor police. They would have knocked on the door, said something along the lines of "Ello ello, what's going on ere then" and then bullied him into giving them tea. No, these were actual professionals.
Gotch slowly lowered himself to the floor, feeling around with his hands for the secret trapdoor. At last, he found it, yanked it open and slipped into the space, taking his phone with him just in case.
He crawled across on his hands and knees, feeling both floor and ceiling so as to find where the second trapdoor lay.
"Hello Mr Gotch."
Gotch screamed. He couldn't help it. It was very dark, but he was able, just about, to make out the figure of a rather corpulent man, relaxing against the wall of the tunnel and casually smoking a second hand cigar.
"My name is Hargreaves. And I think it's time you and I had a little chat."
...
1950.
This was new.
This was very, very new.
Was this what she felt like? Was this what his great enemy felt like, in that body of metal? He was aware of the saying that most heroes told each other, don't become He Who Fights Monsters. Well, was there such a saying that worked in reverse? He had lost his form, his most magnificent and amazing form, through no fault of his own, and now had to compromise his own already loose morals to live and survive?
No. It was necessary. He had to gain an understanding of how her creations worked. How they saw things. How they acted.
How to break them.
This engine was to be found in a workshop in a year or so. As of yet, it didn't quite have the necessary things to make it technically alive. It had yet to have a soul. But soon, the necessary parts would be supplied from the accursed Island, parts with the metal supercharged by the magic, parts that would make this engine come alive. Once that happened, he could take control, speak, think, examine the other engines. And all the while, his own soul would feed on that of this engine's, until the words Marklin and Malevolence were not two different entities, but one and the same.
Even death wouldn't change that.
And afterwards, when he had power again? He'd keep this form, this form of a ghostly tank engine. It would be the first soul he had to take. The first of many. Every soul meant more magic, more power, and more magic and more power meant more chance at regaining his original form.
Marklin grinned to himself.
Oh yes.
This was going to be a very interesting game to play.