Our Travels in the Metaverse
Part 3: The Evil Empire
Scene 1
Fade in: a view of a nondescript planet. But the view shows the planet is dying: weeping opencut mines; stagnant lifeless oceans; the sores of rampant unrestrained industrialism; occasional radioactive wastelands. The view sweeps towards a large city crouching on seven hills like a malignant beast. The Whore of Babylon has dark buildings and grotesque architecture. Smog billows around the city like feculent swamp gas. The view continues to sweep towards one building: a squat, dank hotel near the spaceport. Finally, a hotel foyer, with a milling crowd.
Scene 2
Wild Wombat crouched at the first sound of gunshots.
The guests in the hotel foyer scattered and dived under tables and behind armchairs. A screech of tyres, and then silence. The sobbing of the wounded started soon after.
Fulgrymm stood up from behind the upturned coffee table and smiled. He tipped his head at the dismembered and bloody bodies on the sidewalk outside. “Ten dead and uh…three, four, five wounded. Good kill ratio, eh Nand1!” Nand1 nodded: “Excellent. Come, come, Mr Wombat, nothing to worry about. We won’t allow a contract to be put out on you. You are here on official business! It’s just our way of life on Brutopia. Some boys letting off steam no doubt. It seems to have been a somewhat harmless prank, eh Fulgrymm”.
Fulgrymm nodded: “As you say Nand1, somewhat harmless”.
Wild got to his feet, unsteadily. “A very exciting planet. Shall we get to the theatre now? I’d like to see more of your exciting culture during my very short visit”.
“Most certainly. You will enjoy our cabaret! This way to our armoured vehicle”.
Scene 3
The cabaret was crowded. Wild sat at a table close to the slightly raised stage. Grim, heavy smoke wafted in the fetid air, writhing about the heavily-drinking and heavily-armed audience. The evilists, The Dark Lord, Evil Elvis, Nand1 and Fulgrymm sat with him, cradling their guns and pepsis. Wild clutched his beer, with a slight quiver in his paw. He had never been so frightened. The stench of evil permeated the air of Brutopia like a rotting corpse.
The cabaret lights dimmed and the Master of Ceremonies sidled onto the stage.
“Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!
Fremder, Etranger, Stanger,
Glьcklich zu sehen, Je suis enchantй, Happy to see you,
Bleibe, reste, stay.
Im Cabaret, Au Cabaret, To Cabaret!
Meine Damen und Herren- Mes dames et Messieurs- Ladies and Gentlemen,
Comment sa va? Do you feel good? Ich bin eur confrencier!
I am you host! Und sage. Willkommen! Bienvenue! Welcome!
Tonight, a special appearance by our newest star. Don’t shoot her until the end of the night! She needs no introduction…”
The curtain whooshed up to reveal a leather clad babe, lithe with short black hair sitting on a wooden chair. She wore knee-length leather boots. She held a leather whip. Wild stared in shock. He knew the singer: she was his temptress. She turned her head, looked at Wild, and sung to him.
Scene 4
The night was old. Wild nursed his head, stubbed out his cigarette, and lit another. He had started smoking on this hellhole, to settle his nerves. He knew that he could give them up when he left. With a trembling paw he gulped his whiskey. He coughed. He looked about. His hotel room was plush, in a tired way. His bed was crumpled, a little. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, and then gazed at her.
“I leave tomorrow, after the meeting with the Evil Council. And good riddance” Wild said, with a shudder.
The femme fatale ran her long, red-nailed fingers through her short, silken black hair, and laughed, a little madly. She reclined, willfully. “If they let you go. They argue about that even as we… speak”.
“What do you mean?”
“To them, evil is as evil does”.
“So”.
“They compete to be evil. What is more evil they ask. To hire the Special Forces to do evil? Or to kill you, an ambassador they have sworn to protect? They love moral dilemmas like this”.
“They’re demented”.
“Perhaps”.
“Why are you here?”
“They can be…manipulated…controlled”.
“You have your ways”.
“Of course. To some, I show a bit of flesh. Others respond to the whip. It’s a matter of taste”.
“Or perversity!”
“Perhaps. They love it when I’m a bitch to them, and I love it too”.
“There’s more to it than that. You could have had anyone. You could have had me…”
“Listen Wild, and listen good. I used to have this girl friend known as Elsie, with whom I shared four sordid rooms in Chelsea. She wasn't what you'd call a blushing flower. As a matter of fact she rented by the hour. The day she died the neighbors came to snicker: well, that's what comes of too much pills and liqueur. But when I saw her laid down like a queen, she was the happiest corpse I'd ever seen. Wild, I think of Elsie to this very day. I remember how she turned to me and said”. She paused. “Well I forget now”. She ran a hand through her hair and gulped her gin, and poured another. She laughed. “That’s what comes of too much booze and bex, Wild. And as for me, ha! And as for me, I made my mind up back in Chelsea…when I go, I'm going like Elsie”.
Wild raised his whiskey glass in a mock salute. “Here’s looking at you kid”.
“You despise me”.
“If I gave it any thought, I’d despise you”.
“Well I love you. But they pay me”.
“Do they make you happy?”
“They don’t make me unhappy”.
“Do you know what your problem is…?”
“I only have one?”
“You don’t know what you want”.
“Whatever Wild. I’ve made your bed, and now I’m going to sleep in it”.
“Yea, well. I don’t know about that sweetheart”.
“You gave in to your temptation once. Doesn’t that day mean anything to you?”
Wild poured another whiskey, shakily.
He groaned. “I don’t know what’s right anymore. You’ll have to think for both of us”.
“So I have carte blanche? How wild Wild!”
“Tell me temptress. Were there others in between? Or are you the kind that doesn’t tell?”
“There were others. They were all like any wombat, only less so”.
“Ha. This will be the last time I see you sweetheart”.
“Perhaps”.
“But at least we still have the toilet cubicle”.
“Oh, kiss me, Wild. Kiss me as if it were the last time”.
Scene 5
The Evil senators crowded about the room. They felt slightly bilious and glanced accusingly at Darth Durron who sat in a corner with several headless chickens.
“Was that evil or just a bit stomach-turning?” asked Nand1, to no one in particular.
They all grimaced. The Dark Lord tweaked several of his piercings and offered: “I’m more evil than Darth Durron”.
Fulgrymm tittered. “Oh please. Everyone can see the streak of good in you. I’m clearly more evil”.
“I’m the vilest, and I can prove it” said Evil Elvis.
“How?” asked HairyTheTaco.
“Look, it’s really evil to lie isn’t it?”
“That’s what my mammie tells me”.
“Well then. I say with complete hubris and utter conviction, that I am the most evil person in the Evil empire. And I always lie”.
“Oh”.
“He’s playing with our minds” gasped Base Delta Zero.
“I can do better…ah, worse than that” shouted Fulgrymm. “If lying is really evil, then I say I am the nicest person in the Evil empire. And I always lie”.
“Wow. That’s eviler”.
Bakka snapped his fingers. “Guys, can’t we just keep to the point for a minute? Do we murder the wombat or let him go? If we let him go, do we pay the Special Forces to do evil in the Metaverse? Or not?”
Nand1 glared at bakka. “Would the Special Forces accept an evil contract?”
Bakka reflected for a second, and then shook his head. “Probably not. And he’s a stubborn wombat, and cunning. I don’t know that we could persuade or murder him…”
The Evil senators looked thoughtful for a change.
“Anyway, I’m more evil”.
“No you’re not, I am!”
“Am not”.
“Am so”
“Not”.
“Am”.
Scene 6
The view: the room of bickering evilists. Darth Durron caressing his headless, little ones. Pepsi and Coke bottles littered across the table. Bowls of lollies and sweets. The scene leaves the room, slowly. The door starts to close. Bakka, a look of anguish on his face, turns to look at the door. The last escape route closing. He mouths ‘save me’. And the door: closed. Fade out: blackness.
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