Proctor Who? Part Three

Toolbox

Who is the Proctor?

A question central to the latest Evil UnLtd volume.

The Proctor is a conundrum wrapped in an enema and – wait, either we’re getting déjà vu or we’re caught in a chronic hysteresis. We’ve been through all that before.

Today, we’ll be profiling one of the individuals who lays claim to the title of Proctor, cast in order of the garter.

The Third (?) Proctor

Proctor03

Exclusive Time/Space snippet:

Lisa McShane ran down the drab, gloomy corridor. Or up.

It felt like up, but most running did. She needed to cut down on the vino. On the other hand, she always needed a drink between adventures with the Proctor. And hey, as much as she had a hard time with the running, he had it worse.

He waddled at speed. Mind, he’d kill her with one of his withering glares if he whiffed her feeling sorry for him. He was giving her the hard stare right now, coming up yards behind her like a sore loser in a duck race on dry land. Of course, he was lumbered with luggage.

“I don’t know why you have to cart that thing round with you everywhere!”

The big blue Toolbox bashed against his little legs. In his other hand he wielded the Tool. “Yes you do! I might have to reach something!”

“Ditch it! You can stand on my shoulders.”

“Oh, can I really? How very BIG of you! Like a criminal on a down escalator.”

“You what?”

“Con descending.”

He was always throwing out lame puns just to annoy her. People who used humour as a defence mechanism forgot it wasn’t very effective against a punch.

“Oh, I get it. You’re insecure. Cos you’re short.”

“I’ll have you know I am very secure in my stature. It’s other people’s heights that make me nervous. I mean, they’re all so tall. They scare me.”

The Proctor fake-shuddered. For such a slow-poke, short-ass he always found time for mucking about while on the run from deadly threats.

Deadly threats like the machine of solid shadow and red-scratch eyeslit that trundled around the corner behind him.

“Proctor!”

He raised the Tool high, thumbed the controls. The Evil Robot’s micro-missiles and plasma fire bombarded a wall of hard air, metres aft of the Proctor’s heels. The tracked beast rolled forward, switching to some shrill sonic weapon that warped the force field like a glass wobble board.

Lisa ran on. The Proctor waddled faster.

“Corridors,” he quipped. “Don’t you just hate them.”

Lisa did. She’d lost count of the ones she’d run down. Or up. The up ones were the worst. Hence her huge disappointment at arriving on the rare and strange hyperstitial world of Hyperconda to discover more bloody corridors. “These corridors aren’t actually here. The planet occupies a dimension quite beyond the comprehension of us mere three-dimensional types,” the Proctor had explained. “The Hypercondans constructed a visual interpretation matrix to accommodate visitors in a reality that would make sense to the ordinary visual cortex.” To which Lisa had nodded dumbly and felt sorry for the Proctor: he only occupied a third dimension to about half the extent most people did.

Lisa hurled herself around the end of the passage, glued her back to the wall. The Proctor ducked in beside her. The robot tossed a plasma bolt the size of a caber in their direction. The Proctor swung the Toolbox up like a shield. The box flew from his hand, clattered across the floor. The Proctor blew at lightly cooked fingers.

The box was undamaged. Shame, because it could’ve used a few holes in its sides for extra leg room. And arm room. And bust room.

The Proctor snuck peeks around the corner and twiddled with his Tool. “I think we’ve angered it sufficiently.”

“You think?!”

 EvilFork

Watch this space for further profiles of this compelling character.

Alternatively, read Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

Royalties for all Evil UnLtd books go to Cancer Research UK.

SAF 2015

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