Proctor Who? Part Four

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 another of the individuals who lays claim to the title of Proctor, in an eternal struggle between order and chaos.

The Fourth (?) Proctor

ProctorWho01

Exclusive Time/Space snippet:

Bibi broke from the path and barged through clumps of ornamental shrubbery. Where the plants resisted, she gave them a blast of her hairspray which doubled as an excellent defoliant.

She burst through and almost teetered into a pond. She veered left, hopscotching around its banks. Just as she reached the stone path, she hit a wall of sound. Or it hit her. Or both.

It was a horrible, grating sound like the braying of an asthmatic iron donkey with rusted lungs.

The sound gave birth to hazy blue light. The light sketched angles and lines in the air, tracing the outline of a box. Intersections glowed sapphire-bright before spilling their colour, flood-filling the surfaces with deep, metallic blue. The accompanying din terminated in a solid thunk, as though the donkey had keeled over and died, leaving only the solid confirmation that the object was indeed a box.

Beyond that, the unseen artist who had deposited this curio might as well have been snickering to himself and gleefully challenging, “Can you tell what it is yet?” Because Bibi still had no idea.

It boasted a chamfered lid like a toolbox. It even sported a carrying handle, although you would’ve had to be something of a giant to lift it given its coffinesque dimensions. Assuming it was as heavy as it looked. The thunk with which it had finally materialised could have been a sound effect, Bibi supposed. But it had sounded heavy as a falling star.

She looked at it, wondering what it would do next. Boxes tended not to do very much. Except contain stuff.

She glanced over her shoulder. On the far side of the pond, Mr Quiggs staggered after her, one hand still clasped over his eyes, the other waving wildly. He splashed blindly into the water, started wading across.

She should run.

But her legs wanted to stay rooted. As if her knees wanted to stick around and stare at the box. Despite her very human lack of eyes in either patella.

From out in the water, Mr Quiggs whined: “Please! Please, come back! I just wanted to talk!”

Bibi stared and stared at the box, willing it to do something. Anything. “Do something!” she urged it.

The box hummed.

A seam parted along its top. The lid opened like an oblong clamshell. Folding back to reveal an impossibly dark interior. And locking into place as a pair of tiered trays on either side.

In one of the trays lay a man.

Well, lay was too leisurely a word. He was squashed up in a cramped foetal position, the tray being nowhere near long enough to accommodate his tall, wiry frame. He wasted no time in leaping up and springing free from the box.

He aimed his head this way and that, his eyes darted everywhere – although hardly ever in the same direction as his head. He whipped out a very phallic silver tool, sized somewhere between pen and truncheon, tipped with a glowing purple knob. He thrust this bulbous end at Bibi.

What the hell? Two attackers now?

EvilFork

 

Watch this space for further profiles of this compelling character.

Alternatively, read Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

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

SAF

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

Proctor Who? Part Two

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 appearance, ugliest first.

 The Second (?) Proctor

Proctor02

(aka Proctor Occam)

Exclusive Time/Space snippet:

 

Talulah Belle’s eyes roamed so far and wide over the walls and ceilings of the Imperial Palace, why, it was a marvel they didn’t just set off on an adventure of their own. Travelling all this décor, they’d need horses to properly explore the splendor. Or a coach, for avoiding the saddle sores.

(Splendour, she belatedly corrected herself. While her mama had told her to mind her ‘P’s and ‘Q’s, her Gentleman was strangely more insistent about her proper inclusion of ‘U’s in all kinds of words that hadn’t previously shown any use for them.)

She’d been working the Dixie Cleopatra when he’d come and whisked her away and she’d thought that queenly old steamboat was pretty palatial, but she was a tramp compared to this space. Mercy, she could have counted the gentlemen who’d wanted to save her – for themselves – on the beads of one abacus. Her Gentleman was different: he’d promised to show her the wonders of the universe. She’d been real close to saying no, on account of his professing to be a proctologist, but then she figured it must be a big old universe out there, with plenty of call for all kinds of professions, and who was she to judge. It was only later when her misunderstanding came to light, in polite company, that he explained that no, he was a Proctor, and went to some pains to stress the differences.

As the Empress Sabella swept forward, Talulah curtsied, safe in the understanding that her Gentleman Proctor was not here to probe the royal derriere. Discovering any means of access under all those regal skirts would have been no easy feat anyhow and her escort of purple-clad guards looked apt to fend off any attentions too personal.

The Proctor settled for a stiff bow. Formality rooted in gentlemanliness as well as a general stiffness of bones and joints and pretty much everywhere in his body apart from where it had mattered most to the bulk of the clientele on the Dixie Cleo. He cranked his old back upright and smiled. Something Talulah Belle recommended he did sparingly, seeing as how his cheeks were so hollow and his nose more befitting a bald eagle, and stretching his wiry lips to any degree often made him appear creepy. His brow was more furrowed than a ploughed field, topped off with a ghostly frosting of hair like fresh-whipped cobwebs and cotton candy.

“Your Majesty,” he said in his voice that scraped like a fiddle that had mouldered in the grave longer than John Brown’s body.

The Empress, bless her heart, showed no signs of being intimidated. She held her head aloof, nose at an angle to guarantee any errant sneezes an uphill journey. “Proctor Occam, I understand you have a gift for me.”

“Indeed, Your Majesty. I hope you will keep it in an extremely safe place.”

He stood aside and gestured like a showman at their captive.

She was like a caged tigress and she was in no mood to perform. She beat against the invisible walls of her containment field. Talulah did not begin to pretend to understand the technology – walls clearer than windows, hard as anything she’d encountered on the Dixie Cleo – but she’d seen the girl go through similar motions in one of her promotional music videos. Her Gentleman showed her one sequence where the girl appeared in paroxysms of orgasm while sealed in a glass tank that would have been better situated in an aquarium. She had thrashed about, steamed the glass with her breath and imprinted the mist with big fuzzy red kisses. The song was called Love My Brain. A marriage of image and lyrics that struck Talulah like a lot of marriages, leaving her to wonder what in tarnation had united the two together in the first place.

The Empress swanned up to the container, almost gliding in those skirts of hers.

“Careful, sugar,” Talulah warned. She sucked at her pinkie. “She bites.”

The Proctor whipped out his Tool.

The royal guards levelled their fancy rifles. Something folks invariably did when her Gentleman produced his Tool all sudden like.

EvilFork

Watch this space for further profiles of this compelling character.

Alternatively, read Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

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

SAF 2015

Proctor Who? Part One

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, although not necessarily in that order.

The First(?) Proctor

Proctor01

 

Exclusive Time/Space Snippet:

The earth moved. Not in a sexual way. More in the way you’d expect when two worlds bumped into one another. Actual planetary collisions were probably rare and Zennor Doone suspected there was a simpler explanation behind the seismic seizure.

“Proctor! What did you do?!”

The ground had another go at throwing her on her ass.

The Proctor squatted by the small hole he’d cut in the machinery that all but filled the chamber. His Elven features reddened and sweat glossed his bald head. Heatwaves crashed in through the cavernous entrance as if someone had left a huge oven open.

“Nothing much.” He sprang to his feet and waggled his Tool. “I reversed the polar conditions and the nutrient flow.”

Ice ran briefly to water from pipes the size of tower blocks before hissing away in fits of steam. Something like an apocalyptic convoy of trucks rumbled through on its way to the planet’s core.

“That’s bad, right?”

“Nonsense! Those are happy sounds! The planet’s thermovascular system coming back to life.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means… we should run!”

Zennor ran. Had it been an officially officiated race she would’ve been disqualified for dashing off two tenths of a second ahead of the bang. He frequently fired off that prompt like a starter gun and she’d gotten used to anticipating. And pre-empting.

She raced out onto the causeway with a good head-start.

She’d been in the habit of jogging most mornings around Dartmoor City Park, but that was nothing to the amount of running she’d done in space. Served her right, she guessed, for agreeing to travel the universe with this crazed loon. At least the exercise was a good way of working off the threat of DVT between trips in that ultra-cramped box he called transport.

“Why’d you park so bloody far away?!”

She ran on a jigsaw. Interlocking float discs wobbled underfoot, losing their interlockedness. The causeway started breaking up, piece by piece.

That is an excellent question!”

“And?”

She glanced back. Big mistake. There was the convoy: a tsunami of burning treacle. Lava rolled and thundered after the Proctor, devouring the trembling causeway. Walls fissured, feeding fiery tributaries into the main wave.

“A question far too excellent to be answered glibly while on the run!”

Translation: he didn’t know.

Worse news: sturdy vault doors swung open, all along the tunnel walls. More and more of them, further ahead. Black bulks stirred within. Slits lit up, bloody razor slashes in the black.

They were waking up.

“Proctor! Evil Robots!”

EvilFork

 

Watch this space for further profiles of this compelling character.

Alternatively, read Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

Royalties from all books in the Evil UnLtd series go to Cancer Research UK.

SAF 2015

Who Is The Proctor?

ProctorWho01

Who is the Proctor?

A question central to the latest volume in the Evil UnLtd series.

The Proctor is a conundrum wrapped in an enigma and possibly wearing a different face every time you meet him. He travels the space-time continuum in a strange blue box, brandishes his Tool and frequently asks young ladies to come with him.

It’s a wonder he’s not been arrested.

But condundrums wrapped in enigmas who pick up young ladies are open to misinterpretation and hopefully Tempus Sinister will shed further light on this mysterious fellow.

One thing is for certain: he is an enemy of Evil UnLtd.

And any resemblance between him and –

Two. Two things are for certain.

One: he is an enemy of Evil UnLtd.

Two: any resemblance between him and any persons, living or fictional, travelling space and time in a blue box is purely coincidental.

Watch this space for further profiles of this compelling character.

Toolbox

Alternatively, read Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister.

Available now for Amazon Kindle. All royalties for Evil UnLtd books go to Cancer Research UK.

SAF 2015

Towel Day Plus One

E4. Now showing on Towel Day Plus One.

Evil4Cover 

There comes a time in every book’s life when it must fly the nest and venture forth into the world wide web. That time for Evil UnLtd Vol 4: Tempus Sinister is now.

Actually, that time was yesterday. But in keeping with its time travel theme, not merely content to be long overdue, it showed up another day late.

We at Galaxy Six would like to blame the global economic crash and Saturn’s retrograde motion through the House of Capricorn and Simon Pegg.

(Ha, if he thinks superhero movies are cultural genocide, wait till he gets a load of Evil UnLtd.)

Also, some stories just take their own sweet time.

Time, appropriately enough, is the enemy in this one. Or the enema, we can’t quite remember. But the enema of my enemy is my friend, so it makes little difference in the end. Although some would argue that the end is exactly where an enema makes the most difference.

But we digress.

Toolbox

This volume concerns itself principally with Time. Capital T.

And especially Professor Doomladen’s long-cherished ambitions of Chronocide.

And if that’s not enough to whet your appetite, we should point out that there’s more to it than that. So much more that this series is in danger of needing a Previously On… Luckily, all three preceding volumes are still available so that’s covered.

At this stage we can’t really tell you much more about Evil 4. We don’t want to spoil it for our army of fans. So – until next time – just like we do for Game Of Thrones, we will confine ourselves to spoiler-free tweets like:

OMG!!!!! #Evil4

And

Oh wow! I can’t believe they did that to [INSERT CHARACTER NAME HERE] #Evil4

Evil UnLtd

They’re back and it’s about bloody Time.

Available now on Kindle at Amazon UK and Amazon US.

Other ebook formats and paperback edition to follow.

(100% of royalties for all books in the Evil UnLtd series continue to go to Cancer Research UK.)

SAF

Watch this space for more Evil news, extras

They’re Back And It’s About Bloody Time!

Ladies, gentlemen and bowls of petunias, synchronise your swatches.

Towel Day (May 25th) is almost upon us again.

In honour of the occasion we will be releasing the latest Evil book. In honour of the book involving an element of time travel, we are releasing it later than originally planned.

Here, to whet your readerly appetites is the cover blurb:

Evil4Cover

The Farce Of The Dark Side.

Villains are the new Heroes in this epic Sci-Fi series.

Chronocide.

A long-cherished ambition for Professor Doomladen. Time is relative and in his estimation she’s a crabby, demanding old aunt, past overdue for bumping off.

Dexter Snide has murderous intentions towards other targets – Six and the PHUX Corporation who have stolen his TV station and his Tree, obliging Evil UnLtd to slum it in a derelict girls’ school in the branches of a mere Sapling attached to the hull of a Myxomatosan Death Warren.

In an imperfect present, one means of getting Evil’s future back on track is to turn back the clock. Dexter’s uber-devious scheme provides a tempting opportunity for Doomladen to achieve his ultimate goal. To kill Time.

But such temporal tampering is a sure way to attract the attentions of new enemies. Like a certain mysterious traveller in a blue box…

Worse, Time is a bitch. Mess with her and she messes back.

Watch this space for further announcements.

(WARNING: Actual book may contain spoilers.)

SAF 2015

Note: 100% of royalties from all Evil UnLtd sales continue to go to Cancer Research UK.

  • Vol 1 – Kindle (UK)

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  • Vol 4 – Kindle (UK)

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