Opaline-a FalmouthVerse Side Story

by The Blue EM2

Rating: teen
Tags: Crossover, Profanity, Opaline, Gore, Dark, Death, Thriller, My Little Pony: A New Generation, Horror, Equestria Girls
Length: 7608

"Those who play with the Devil's toys will be brought by degrees to wield his sword." Buckminster Fuller

Opaline Arcana. A woman of mystery. A wanted terrorist. An ursurper to the British throne. A self-obssessed, narcissistic psychopath who regards the world as her oyster.

However, it wasn't always like this. Every story has a beginning, and the experiences a person faces early in their life is usually what shapes them into what they become later on. Join me as we take a look into Opaline's origins, and chart the course that changed her from a normal, if somewhat egotistical, person to an irredeemable monster.

Set within my Thomas and Friends continuity. However, knowledge of the series is not required in order to follow the story.

Published 2024-07-22 07:10:00 UTC
Last updated 2024-07-26 14:55:31 UTC

Tape 1

Oh, hello there. I see you've arrived outside the cell.

Small place, isn't it? These four walls are what passes for a home around here. But that's what you get with these so-called 'maximum security prisons'. Horrific waste of space, if I say so myself. Had I remained on the throne I would have brought back the death penalty for lawbreakers. An effective method for decreasing the surplus population, if you will.

That telephone is basically my only line to the outside word. You know, it gets so quiet in here sometimes, you and your thoughts. Sometimes it's so quiet I can hear a pin drop. At other times it's as loud as a rock concert, especially if the guards are getting a prisoner under control.

So imagine my delight when I learned that a major newspaper wanted to interview me whilst behind bars. I will admit this is quite the honour. After all, you must be a special type of 'criminal' (I would do the air quotes, but my hands are shackled together and having to hold this phone at the same time, which is so tiresome) in order to be considered worthy of the time of a major media establishment.

Well, gladly. No doubt you've heard the official version of the story that the media and government are parading around. Opaline the insurrectionist. Opaline the tyrant. Opaline the monster who abused a child and mind controlled other people. Opaline who caused the deaths of so many.

Oh, hogwash! I didn't cause those deaths. I wasn't holding the guns or driving the vehicles, was I?

Incidentally, if you do ever see that mongrel, Sunny, tell her not to waste her powers. She'll be needing them sooner or later.

Oh, Sunny! I'll be getting onto her later, but safe to say she's a prime example of why royal and common blood should never mix. Such power she can barely control! It'd be funny if that sorry excuse of a human wasn't what passed for magic users these days.

I'm getting a bit off topic, aren't I. Yes, you've heard the stories about me. And I want to inform you now they are all lies. Falsehoods promoted by an establishment terrified of how the world really functions. How people really think. How the reality we function within holds dark and terrible secrets we can barely understand.

Their problem is that they see the world as they want it to be. I see the world as it truly is.

And this is why I agreed to this interview. It gives a chance to provide the other side of the story. To set the record straight. To ensure that the real version of the narrative is preserved. If I die without a chance to tell my story, then my truth becomes forgotten, and there's becomes facts. History is written by the victors, so they say, but all too often what is written isn't what really happened. It's what people want to believe happened.

After all, the only things you need to rewrite the past are a good lie and enough bullets.

I suppose it makes sense to start at the very beginning of my story, all those years ago. The story begins in 1930, which I know is a very long time ago but do try to keep up.

In an unnasuming Sheffield house on a relatively dingy day in June, a baby was born, one of probably thousands born that day. The world would scarcely have noticed another human soul being added to the population, but this baby was special. This baby was important. This baby was bound for greatness.

For you see, that baby was me.

I wasn't called Opaline back then. My birth certificate gives my name as Olivia Arthur Stuart. As you can probably guess from the name I was special. For my parents were descendants of the Royal House of Stuart.

The Stuarts are the true monarchs of this land, not these Hanoverian imposters that the current King claims lineage from. It is a very old name, deriving from a word that means 'Lord of the Sty.' This was a- stop laughing!

Looks like I'm explaining the obvious again. In this context, a sty is a place where animals are kept, not just pigs. As animals were vital for survival in Medieval times this job was very important.

None of which is relevant for the story, of course. I just find that standards of basic education have fallen through the floor.

My ancestry may have been royal, but my family and surroundings most certainly were not. My father worked in a pit- that's a coal mine to all of you who don't speak Northerner- and spent long hours down there digging coal out of the ground. My mother was the same, as she worked on the surface moving coal bins about between buildings.

Why didn't they use locomotives for that, I hear you ask? Simple. It's cheaper to have people push them about. She worked very long hours moving those bins about, putting in the same work as any man. And people still say women aren't able to do manual labour! Ha! As if.

As a result, life could be hard in that small home, but we got by. You see, although our circumstances were somewhat meagre, my family knew that a great destiny awaited them.

My father was very much aware of his royal lineage, as he had been able to trace his line back to King James himself, which was no mean feat. This was a matter of great importance to him, and he made sure I knew the truth of my lineage and how our birthright was stolen from us. That I was destined for glory.

Yes? You're wondering how I got my nickname, eh?

It refers to my hair. See this magnificent specimen? It's been this colour for the bulk of my life, this milky white colour. Opaline is another word for milk glass, which was extremely popular amongst French nobility.

Yes, I know the French King got his head chopped off in the Revolution, but then this country fought a series of wars that ended in another King being in charge of France. Just further proof that Kings and Queens running things is the natural order of the universe.

The turquoise streaks in it came later. I'll explain how those got there in due time.

But then came the War. I was evacuated from Sheffield, as were thousands of others, and sent to live in the countryside surrounding Sheffield. I could still see the city that I had called home from the family I had been sent to live with, and this meant I could see what they were doing.

Soon the reason for our evacuation became clear, as the Germans soon turned their sights on Sheffield. I can still remember the explosions and the flames, both from bombs dropping and anti aircraft guns firing, as well as the bright lights of the searchlights illuminating the skies above, trying to find German bombers.

It was always such a wondrous sound when the Spitfires roared overhead to intercept. Even as a young girl I understood exactly why this was happening. Why it had come to this. How the city I had called home was being reduced to a ravaged husk of its former self.

It was because we were weak.

We had the largest empire in the entire world! We controlled untold amounts of people and natural resources! And yet here we were being bombed on our own soil by a madman who fancied our place in the sun.

Had we been stronger we would never have suffered this indignity. Had we been stronger this war would never have happened, as we'd have wiped Germany off the map a decade earlier.

As I watched the carnage befall this country, I made a solemn vow. If I had power, I could prevent this from ever happening again by restoring Britain to her proper place in history. I would, one day, reclaim the throne that had been stolen from us and set about building a utopia unlike anything anybody had ever seen.

You're probably wondering what I did after the war. Well, given that the city was pretty badly bombed (in certain sections of the city you'll struggle to find anything built before 1945) we had to move. We ended up relocating to Derby, an industrial city in the East Midlands.

My leaving school with qualifications was a damp squib. Because of my family status I didn't stand a chance of going to University (because in those days you basically had to either be wealthy or have well connected friends). But in 1948, the railways were nationalised. The old companies came together to create British Railways.

And it just so happened there were openings at Derby for security guards. The pay was decent for the time, so I took it.

But the rest of the story will have to wait until we next speak, as I can see the security guard looming over me. Looks like it's my turn to eat the slop they call food around here. If you ever find yourself a resident here, bring your own food.

Tape 2

Ah, you're back for some more, are you? Very good, my fine fellow. I trust you typed up my tale at least somewhat accurately? I'm not permitted newspapers in here so I cannot verify for myself. Still, I can see it got you a lot of readers, as otherwise you wouldn't have returned to hear more of what I have to say.

Perhaps I could make more of this, after all.

Where was I in my story? Ah, yes. I believe we had gotten as far as Derby, which had become my new home as a result of circumstances unfolding in the world. Derby being a major industrial centre and a major focus point of American financial investment meant that the town underwent something of a boom. Things were looking up in Britain for the first time in a while.

Of course, if we'd simply kept those upstart colonies instead of letting them run off like disobediant children we wouldn't need to have taken loans from then in the first place. But I guess that's what happens when you let silly ideas cloud your mind.

Anyway, I had recently finished my schooling, patchwork as it was. Most people left school at 14, so to make it all the way to the end was quite something. As I said earlier University wasn't an option as I lacked useful connections, so it was time to find whatever jobs were available.

I soon found that British Railways needed security guards for the Derby facility, so I took the job. After passing basic fitness tests I was soon send forward for training. And it was a tough slog.

The world wasn't as open to women in many areas of work as it is today. In the late 1940s and well into the 1950s there was a common attitude that the workplace was simply unsuitable for women, and that they should only stay in the home and make sandwiches for men. What a load of tosh. Had they conveniently forgotten that women had more than proven they were capable of manning production lines or serving in military roles such as anti aircraft teams? The fact they were so hasty to praise these women for their work yet boot them back to the domestic sphere simply speaks volumes about their insecurity.

And I know the Haven's head of security is a woman. Former Royal Marine, I believe. That would have been basically unheard of back in the 1950s.

And as you can guess I was one of only a handful of women in the training program for the security guards. If you looked at the way the other recruits acted around us you'd think they'd never seen a woman before. Which I know is statistically unlikely as there's a high probability they would have interacted with their mothers (and on that note, tell the British public to stop referring to their female parent as 'mom'. Mom is not a word). I can only assume something else was going on in their minds.

Naturally, I got asked many times if I was lost, or was informed the kitchen was that way, or asked why I didn't have a bucket on hand. I got used to it after a while, simply shutting it out. I knew nothing I could say would convince them, but actions speak far louder than words. If I was to prove I belonged, I had to demonstrate to the world I had the strength to keep up.

So I worked relentlessly. I steeled my mind and body to the utmost point of perfection, to ensure that nobody could stand in my way. I wasn't the biggest of people, so I couldn't win through sheer brute force. Instead, I had to use the fact I was shorter than many of them to my advantage. Be quicker. Be smarter.

Boxing was something they often did recreationally, so naturally I took that up. Considering so many of them had gotten used to the idea of the opponent taking blows, I had a radical idea- wait for them to strike, duck, then hit them whilst they were trying to figure out where I had gone. Land the critical blow in their moment of weakness.

And it worked. Time and time again. When they cottoned on I had to change approach, of course. But being able to adapt is the most critical aspect of life, as without it your utility is about that of a chocolate teapot.

I wouldn't drink the tea they gave you, if I were you. The stuff they serve here is positively vile. Like drinking bleach, if you ask me. Not that I've ever drunk bleach, but if one were to drink bleach I imagine it would taste like that. I wonder how many microwaves they put it through before it got to here?

Physical prowess wasn't just needed for the role of a security guard. You had to know the rules and be proficient with firearms if protecting vital assets. Although British Rail's enemies were not numerous, there were always opportunistic thieves who fancied they could get rich quick by stealing from company lorries and selling the produce on the Black Market. As a result, knowing a firearm inside out was vital. It was a lot simpler back then. This was straight after the war, so none of the more advanced kit modern soldiers take for granted. As large amounts of weaponry was no longer required, there was quite the second hand market in firearms.

Most of us were initially equipped with Sten guns. Those were submachine guns- not always the most accurate of weapons, but could put down quite a lot of fire provided you remembered to only load 30 rounds. We often got the old ones with the brass bolts; the fire selector on those was a bit awkward as the weapon would often do the opposite of what the settings suggested. Less of an issue though, as the weapon was mainly meant for intimidation purposes. There was also a Bren gun to guard the gates if I recall correctly.

After that, I was finally ready for duty. I had proven I belonged amongst them, and despite periodically getting sexist remarks from personnel who seemed to believe only men could possibly do the work I was accepted into their ranks. The Opaline nickname got held over from my school days, and it somewhat stuck. It became very rare for anybody to call me Olivia, although it once got mispronounced as Olivier. As in the actor.

Life in the facility was fairly simple, and I quickly saw things change as the 1940s and 1950s progressed. Things got progressively more positive, as new locomotives and coaches entered service to replace war damaged stock. Gradually, things came off rationing. We even had a new Queen in 1952- they brought sugar off rationing specifically for the coronation a year later. I never really like Coronation Chicken though, as it was rather too spicy for my taste. I've never been much of a curry person.

I even saw the start of the experiments with diesel power, as Derby often had demonstrator locomotives rolling around and doing various tasks. They weren't always reliable, though, as they could break down or suffer all sorts of strange mechanical issues. We saw them being towed by steam engines more than once, which always provoked a good laugh out of some of us.

There was, however, one building which had a rather odd reputation. None of us were allowed to actually enter it, as we lacked the correct security clearance. Only high ranking security was permitted inside, and as such the building soon took on an air of mystery. What was inside it that could be so strange and mysterious? Why were only a handful of people allowed inside?

We often discussed and debated what might be inside. Some of these theories ranged from the mundane- experimental locomotive technology- to the outright ridiculous, with one person claiming they were sticking people inside locomotives, which is how engines are sentient.

Utter nonsense. We all know the role of the Gold Dust, thanks to Sunny. That's the mongrel I mentioned last time.

It was a few years of work before I began to climb the ranks. I started out as a Level 1 guard, but by 1957 I had climbed to being a squad leader, with responsibility for four other guards. British Railways had us work in groups of five as that maximised flexibility and allowed us to cover more ground.

Things had changed a lot since then. With the world on a seemingly more secure footing, it seemed that peace would be the only constant- true, there'd been that mess in Egypt, but apart from that things were going reasonably well for Britain.

In comparison, it would be the next year when things would change. But as we're out of time, I shall have to tell you all that next time you visit. I shall see you then for the next part of my tale... if you have the stomach for it.

Tape 3

You're back! Nice to see you wanted to learn more. I thought you would return. It's quite the page turner, my life, isn't it.

I can only assume the column is doing well in terms of readership? It should be. I mean, who wouldn't want to know about my life? Like it or not, I have partly achieved my goals. I was Queen of this land, though it were only for a few hours. My face was everywhere, and my actions will be in history books they will teach to generations of children to come.

I am aware fame is preferable to infamy, but as they say in marketing all publicity is good publicity. My name will be remembered, even if for that. I mean, they remember Hitler and Stalin, and they both did infinitely worse than anything that kangaroo court charged me with.

Where was I? Ah, yes. You want to learn about the night that changed everything for me. Which put me on the course to what I am today.

I recall the night with almost perfect clarity. It was a cold, rainy day in March of 1958. The rain was pouring downwards most of the day, much heavier than would normally be the case. The streets were full of water, and the drains were blocked up thanks to all the rubbish being collected in them. (The drain cleaners were on strike, you see.) As the day progressed, the rain showed no sign of letting up, keeping the world dreary and dark.

But that didn't mean our work was over. Oh no.

Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact. Britain is not the sort of country to stop moving because of some bad weather. From Africa (hot), to the Falklands (not), we always kept moving no matter what sort of weather. Probably the reason we controlled so much of the world.

Most of my duties involved guarding a shipment of highly secretive equipment that was being shipped to the aforementioned building.

What do you mean, the aforementioned building? I mentioned it to you last time we spoke.

Yes, the one which we weren't allowed in, and had prompted all sorts of strange discussion about what might be inside. Do try to keep up.

I had wondered what was inside the container, as it seemed to oddly glow as it sat there on the back of that lorry. But I decided that to dedicate too much thought to that would have been foolhardy. Not to mention going in there would cost me my job, which I was quite keen on maintaining for obvious reasons.

Once all was done, I was permitted to head home for the day. I bid my team farewell and headed to my home for some rest. I had only just put some soup on when suddenly I got an unexpected call from Derby works. On that note, don't try the soup here; it's basically flavoured water. Utterly devoid of any taste. Personally it's what I imagine American cheese tastes like.

Anyway, I'm getting off topic. Safe to say I was surprised, given I had been there only a few hours earlier. So I put the soup into a flask so I could have it with me, popped it into a bag, and set off back into the rain towards Derby itself.

The sun had set by this point, so the sky was pitch black. The rain was still falling, and this meant the only thing cutting away at the oppressive blackness of the night was the street lamps, which glowed a sickly yellow in the night. Most people in Derby still had coal fires at that point, so smoke was a constant problem. I'd gotten used to wrapping a scarf over my mouth and nose in order to not inhale the fumes. Many people did the same. Your generation is lucky they will never have to experience that- the Clean Air Act was, I will begrudingly admit, a good thing.

As I made my way down the street, I couldn't help but notice people behaving erratically. Some were shambling around as though they'd spent a little too long in the pub. Which was possible; I've never touched the stuff myself as it dulls the senses. Makes it difficult to focus on the important things needed for life.

I also passed one person with bloodshot eyes, and another person who appeared to be not entirely with it. I also saw some strange substance in some of the water that was running into a drain. What was going on?

Once I had arrived, myself and my team were assembled at the briefing room. The head of security, it turned out, had a very special mission for us. Something that connected to what I had witnessed earlier.

Remember the container I mentioned earlier? Turns out that had been a bit of a problem. There had been some sort of leak in the building, and it was our job to go and investigate the problem. For the very first time, we were being given clearance to enter the building and investigate whatever may be inside it that was causing so much trouble on the ground.

My first query was why a higher level team wasn't being sent. It turned out there was a simple reason; they had, and they hadn't reported back yet. They were supposed to be checking in every fifteen minutes or so, and had missed several checks already.

So it was up to us to go and find them, check if they were alive, and then report back. I suspected the worst, to be honest. If our best team goes missing it doesn't bode well for the rest of us, does it?

So, it was off to the armoury to equip ourselves with the weapons and armour needed for the task. We were issued with our standard body armour and helmets alongside some other useful equipment such as a knife. We also got given grenades, which were not part of our usual equipment.

Since I had first joined our other equipment had improved considerably. Gone were the Sten guns. In their place was the vastly superior L1A1 rifle. Devastating at short range, with plenty of firepower. Not to mention less prone to jamming usually because they weren't being pumped out to suit an ongoing planet spanning war.

Once we had our equipment packed and loaded, and our ammunition secure, we headed out into the rain once more. I spotted several other security squads on the move. Many of them were heading for the gates of the facility, which seemed to be oddly busy. Large numbers of people stood outside them, as if queuing for something. That didn't explain the load moaning noises they were making.

One could only wonder what in the world had just happened to that lot. Still, it wasn't my problem, so that was that.

We climbed aboard the lorry and took our seats, the rain splattering down on the tarpaulin that had been put up as a makeshift roof. I was on point at the back, scanning for anything following us as we were driven across the site. As I saw our comrades vanish into the distance, I could only wonder what in the world was going on.

After a few minutes of travelling across the facility, seeing locomotives being stabled, I noticed something very odd. British Railways seemed to be moving large amounts of rail equipment away from the area and onto the Midland Mainline, heading towards Leicester. Why were they removing so many locomotives and coaches? Was something wrong?

I had plenty of time to consider this, before focusing my mind on the mission. We had to move in, get the main team out, then investigate whatever was going on here.

Even so, the things I had seen more than made clear this was more than just a simple incident. Nothing like this had ever been seen before in my time in the security services, and as such I was more than a little suspicious that British Railways knew more than they were letting on.

Sure enough, we eventually arrived at the building. The structure, which was hardly the most inviting of places at the best of times, looked even more threatening in the dark. A single light shone from the top of the roof, casting its cold eye down upon us.

We got off after the truck stopped, and then walked to the building entrance. We formed up in front of it, ready to enter the facility.

But. alas, we must stop there, as we're out of time once more. Not to worry. A little bit of suspense never hurt anybody, and I always was a master storyteller.

I shall, therefore, see you again at some point, even if that some point is well into the future. In the meantime, it appears as though I need to go back to being stuck behind bars.

But you never know. Stories have a way of surviving, even when suppressed.

Tape 4

Well, back for another round, are we? I'm hardly surprised. Most people who hear the story are unable to resist coming back for more. My life is just that interesting. People are unable to tear themselves away from the tale of this country's rightful ruler, after all.

If I may, I would just like to put in a word for some of my associates, being falsely held behind bars or in hard labour. Remember them in your thoughts, and ensure that they get out someday. They only did what was right and good, after all, removing the false monarch from his throne and returning this nation to its rightful place in history.

After all, what is our country if not one ruling over everybody else? Look at us. We used to control a quarter of the planet's surface area, and here we are reduced to a few scattered island and this place whilst we clutter it up with buildings and excess people.

Take that Sunny girl I've mentioned a few times. Her mother's American. Why did she come over here instead of staying in the land of burgers and fries? They've got lots of space with nothing in it. Yes, I know she's married to a British citizen but that's hardly the point. The poor dear must be so confused. No wonder Sunny cannot speak proper English. A shame, really.

But I am getting off the topic, I know. I need to return to the topic or else things will get very silly indeed. So we shall return to the topic immediately.

When I had left off the last time, I had just arrived outside the building, and was about to enter with the rest of my team. The world wasn't ready to see what we were about to see in that place, but I shall save that for later.

Once we entered, we closed the doors behind us, with the lorry having its own security detail to hold the enemy back. If such an enemy existed. I've rather given part of the story away, haven't I?

We moved forward through the entrance area. This was a dark, dimly lit corridor with an office on one side (empty, of course). Those overhead lights that hadn't burned out were flickering or on the verge of failing entirely. This was going to be a problem, one that I did not want to deal with.

So, I switched my torch on and fitted it to the underbarrel attachment slot of my rifle, like so. I then ordered my fellows to do the same. Remember that this was the late 1950s; although the first night vision goggles had been developed during the Second World War they did not see widespread use in the British Army until the 1960s. Thus we did not have any.

We began to move forward, carefully checking the corridors for any signs of life or other problems. I had no real idea what to expect as I moved through those corridors. What was concerning was the large amounts of moaning I could hear in the corridors. Was somebody injured? Or something worse? We had to be on alert and be cautious.

We finally came across the source of the noise as we advanced deeper into the facility, where the corridor reached the main chamber. The rail access was at the other end of the building, so we only then encountered rails.

Lying on the floor was the body of a member of the security team sent in before us, and leaning over him was another person- possibly a researcher based on his clothing (a labcoat from the looks of it).

I called out to them to identify themselves. No reply. So I called out again.

Just then, the researcher began to get up, and turned around. His eyes were bloodshot. His skin was pale. His gaze was vacant. And there was some sort of rainbow like substance around his mouth, alongside blood.

I had barely any time to register what I was seeing when suddenly he charged at me, screaming the foulest noise I had ever heard. I didn't hesitate, and pulled the trigger. With a hail of bullets the thing was brought down.

I walked over, training my weapon on them in case they got back up. They didn't. But that confirmed what had happened to the other team.

They were dead. Their bodies were scattered on the floor, and there was little hope of their recovery now. All we could do was give them a proper burial when all this was over.

As we pushed deeper into the building, we could see more of this rainbow coloured substance all over the place, as if it had leaked. But from what?

Luckily, one of my soldiers found the source. A large drum. The exact same one I'd guarded earlier that day, as a matter of fact. It had a large hole in it, which was how it had leaked out and presumably affected the people in the room.

And then it got worse. We came across the control and research room, which had some notes left out. We studied them, and soon discovered the truth about what had been happening in this room. What British Railways had been trying to hide.

Remember how I mentioned earlier that we had often wondered how machines are sentient? They had been trying to figure out how that worked, and believed they had found the answer.

The container I had guarded? It was filled with spectra, which was apparently the liquid form of this magic- the document also made reference to this thing called gold dust, but they weren't experimenting on that. They were trying to figure out if there was anything special about this spectra.

Unfortunately, they had made many serious errors in doing so. When they had taken it for analysis, the canister had first leaked, then exploded. This had resulted in spectra leaking everywhere, and turning many of the people inside the building into those things I encountered earlier.

And it had leaked into Derby's water supply, which was why I had encountered all the people behaving strangely. The spectra was slowly changing them into something else.

Suddenly, the radio lit up with traffic. Messages were coming in from fellow guards and workers. The gates had been breached by a burning lorry being crashed through them, and these things were swarming through the works site. If we didn't escape soon, we would be unable to leave. And I had no intention of dying that day.

We left the room and headed back for the exit, but as we did the blasted screaming started up again. The things had woken up, and somehow somebody had rung the dinner bell for them. It was most certainly time to leave.

They soon approached us from all directions. We resorted to staggering fire, with our group moving backwards in one row and forward in another. This allowed us to cover all angles and ensure our lines did not get broken.

We were almost to the door when suddenly things went wrong. A group of the things had appeared near one of the spectra storage tanks, and one of my men opened fire on the assembled monstrosities. Unfortunately, the fact we had rifles was a problem here.

Ever heard of overpenetration? It's when a round goes straight through the target instead of stopping in them, where it should. With rifles it can be a problem due to high stopping power, and that's what happened here.

The bullet went clean through the target and out the other side, hitting the tank they were standing in front of. It also hit a pressure release valve, which began to malfunction.

As we put down more fire to bring the monsters down, the tank was even more damaged. We were about to move through the door when it happened.

I don't completely remember what happened next owing to the confusion involved, but what I do recall is that there was a shaking in the room, followed by an enormous explosion. I focused on what was going on, but it was hard with all the noise in the way.

The tanks had seemingly ruptured, which was a serious problem. That stuff was starting to spill out, and so we had to run as fast as we could.

But we were pinned down. What I do recall is seeing the substance arcing down towards me, and being certain this was it.

But I shall have to fill in the rest for you another time, as once again we seem to be out of time. This seems to happen rather a lot, don't you think? It's perplexing, that's what it is.

But at least I can now return to something of quiet. Lunch is coming up, and as it is a Sunday they let prisoners who have been good eat actual food.

That includes me. The final part of my story will have to wait until you return, next time.

Tape 5

Well, here we are. The final stretch. The concluding furlong. The last part of the race until we hit the finish line. I could continue to use race metaphors the entire day, but I suspect you'd just get bored of hearing them after a while. Still, it allows me to use my vocabulary. I rarely get anybody to talk to, after all.

Well, where were we in my story? Ah yes, I remember.

I was watching my fellow guards direct their fire, and of course I was contributing bullets too. Each round that struck true was one less zombie for us to deal with. But our fire didn't seem to be reducing their numbers. For all I knew, the entire city was pouring through those doors and attacking us. This would, if nothing else, explain all the things that kept coming despite the furious fire we were putting down.

And, of course, there was the rather critical issue of the strange liquid coming my way. Given what it had done to those... things, I suspected it would probably be it for me. My goose was cooked, so to speak. On that note, the goose sandwich is halfway tolerable in the canteen, though one's enjoyment of food is rather impeded when surrounded by large men training firearms on you at every waking second. What threat am I to them all chained up like this?

Still, in that instant I thought it was over. The liquid slammed into me with great speed, knocking me to the ground. It spilled onto the floor, all over the place, and onto the ground. I saw it on my clothes and some had seeped onto my skin.

And into the pores, to my surprise. Within moments it was as if it had never been there. I got up and simply resumed firing, before we all fled for the door. Luckily the driver was still there, and the lorry guards layed down defensive fire to let us get onboard. They rode on the running boards as the driver drove away at speed, keen to remove us from the madness consuming Derby. It was quite the disaster, I can tell you- an entire city, reduced to madness and rubble. All because of some unethical experiments and unchecked scientific attitudes.

So, naturally, I wanted to know more. We were transferred back to the base and told to wait there until morning- the security system was still running, so we could hide there until reinforcements came, as the army was on its way to clean up the mess.

Naturally, as I said, I wanted to know more. I went to the archives, having switched out of my armour, and decided to see what I could find about this spectra substance.

It was whilst I was reading that another incident which confirmed the changes occurred. Another one which set me on the path to greatness.

I was reading, when suddenly I heard a low growling coming from nearby. I got out of my chair and looked around to try and establish what was making the noise. I was still doing my visual sweep when suddenly I saw it.

One of the people who worked here was infected- I forget their name now. They lunged at me, screaming, and slashed at my arm, leaving quite a nasty cut.

I recoiled and ran for it, trying to put some ground between him and me before he attacked again. I had to find some sort of improvised weapon before he closed to range, as even with training he had caught me somewhat off guard. I was looking for a bar of metal, a fire extinguisher, preferably something heavy that could smash open a skull if need be. Or at least blow the thing's limbs off before it could inflict any more damage.

I rolled under a table and stopped to catch my bearings. But then the most peculiar thing happened. There was some sort of strange light coming from near me, so my eyes adjusted to try and figure out precisely what was going on to be producing it. My vision scanned about to try and locate the source of the problem. And then I saw it.

My injury was glowing a rather unusual colour, and as I looked it healed up very rapidly. Within seconds it was as if there had never been any injury there at all, which was very odd.

Had something changed that allowed my body to heal so quickly?

I soon had to get out of there, but found myself backed into a corner. As I focused on finding a way out, suddenly the light came back, and a blade of purple energy erupted from my arm, seemingly hovering over it. My skin had seemingly gained an energy layer over the top.

Naturally, with a weapon on side I lunged, and the blade went clean through. The foe fell to the floor, dead.

I panted as the strange energies powered down. What in the world had just happened? And how was I suddenly given these strange abilities?

I later found out the truth, of course. The spectra substance was capable of bonding with the human body, but most could not handle its immense power, and simply became shambling fools. Only those of full or partial royal blood can control it properly, and of course my royal ancestors meant I had that power.

I now had melee weapons on demand, and could fly with the help of wings produced from glowing energy and fire. I also could recover from any injury I sustained far quicker than any mere mortal, as the wounds healed up in seconds. It also has seemingly slowed my aging- as you can see from my bountiful locks and fine face I have barely aged since that day despite technically being in my nineties. That's when I gained the turquoise streaks, incidentally.

I understood the importance of this power almost immediately. This new power had, purely by chance, given me power beyond any mere mortal in the world. I had the capability to take back the power that was stolen from my ancestors and return Britain to her rightful place in history.

So, I began to assemble an army with which to achieve my goals. I had conducted more research, and had discovered the source of all the magic- three crystals, kept on an island called Sodor and protected by three clergymen.

I thought this would be an easy job. I mean, three men with strange collars against one such as me and a group of soldiers? Seems like the most one sided battle in the entire world.

And so, a long time later, I staged an assault on Sodor, keen to claim these crystals for myself. If I had them, I controlled all the magic, and with magic I would be effectively unstoppable.

But, unfortunately, those three meddling priests had thought one step ahead. When I arrived they were long gone, and the CCTV footage of the room they had been in confirmed they had pulled the crystals apart to stop me from getting my hands on them. That's what caused a dramatic reduction in the number of sentient machines, by the way.

I knew I lacked the power to take on the system directly as I was. So it was time to play the long game. I entered a long wait, planning and plotting. Force wouldn't do the trick; I had to subvert the system from the inside and insert my own followers into every level of government and the military.

Which was surprisingly easy. I had time on my side. Decades, as a matter of fact. The recruitment of Boomer and his men made things easier, too.

But when things came to a head two years ago, I knew I could step up my plans. I knew not where the crystals had been scattered to, for they had been well hidden. But one of my spies informed me that the crystals had been reunited in a small town called Falmouth, in Cornwall. At last, I could put my major plan into motion, and emerge victorious. True, Sunny and her idiot friends would not be pushovers, but I could sweep them aside.

And that is rather where the story ends, I'm afraid. You rather know the rest of my tale, and how it ends.

I have done what I can to set the record straight and give you a true record of what really happened all those years ago. What led me down the path to the person I am today.

Know that this isn't over, not by a long shot. You may have me behind iron bars, shackled into restraints and locked into a cell, but know that I'm fully able to play the long game. I have been my entire life.

If you ever see Sunny, tell her to be ready. There is a storm gathering in the distance, one that will challenge all of us.

One that I don't think even she can defeat.