Interview with an Author….


Transcript of edited video file, discovered by yours truly, and handed to the Police (screw you Wookiee).  It shows an interview with the author, John Charles Scott, and the beginning of the end (relatively speaking) for the bastard known as the Shaven Wookiee.

Date Stamp: 18/01/2011

Time Code: 10.06 am

Interview begins normally, with the two men sitting down in comfortable chairs facing each other.  Behind them is what appears to be the scene of a posh hotel room (discovered later to be Shaven Wookiee’s hideout).  Shaven Wookiee holds a pen and notepad, dressed in what I now know to be considered attractive to human females of the nerd variety.  John Scott, the subject of the interview, is relaxed, wearing smart-casual clothes, believing this to be a respected journalist.  Poor fucker doesn’t realise.

Shaven Wookiee: “Good morning, Mister Scott.”

John Scott: “Morning.  John’s fine.”

SW: “John” (Irritated) “Okay.  We’re here to talk about writing in general, self-publishing, and your own personal inspirations.”

JS: (Cheerily) “Yep.”

SW frowns, clearly irritated by JS’s overly cheery attitude.

SW: “So… You have a book out called The Legend of Adam Caine, a self-published print-on-demand title from Authorhouse.  I understand you also have another novel, set in the same universe, called Recon One-Five, that isn’t out yet as well as working on a Warhammer 40,000 title for submissions to Black Library?”

JS: “Yes to all three, although Recon One-Five is still in ‘production.’”  (Holds fingers to make speech marks).

SW: “Oh right, well, we’ll start with The Legend of Adam Caine, shall we?”  (Consults notes).  “The book is about a former Royal Marine transported two thousand years into the future along with a group of others, is that correct?”

JS: (Nods) “I thought you’d read it?”

SW: (Shrugs) “Some of it.”

JS now looks irritated –or frustrated certainly.

SW: “Where did you get the inspiration from?  I understand it was quite unusual.”

JS: (Sighs) “I grew up near a Royal Marines base, so any contemporary military story I did was guaranteed to feature them in some way or other…”

SW: “No, I meant the Underground thing.”

JS glares at SW for interrupting.  He looks like he’s going to walk out any minute or smack him a couple of times.  He’s certainly big enough to do some damage.

JS: “April 2006, I was on the London Underground on my way to see the Marathon when a voice came over the tannoy announcing that we had to move to another platform; it turned out there was a suspicious package left on the platform we were on.  But it got me thinking, what if something like that happened, with a sci-fi twist?  What would that be like?  And what would happen if they could never get back to their homes?”

SW: “I understand you like to advertise it as Buck Rogers meets Starship Troopers.”

JS: “Yes, it’s easier to give it a quick moniker like that if I haven’t got time to go into detail.”

SW: “It’s a presumptuous isn’t it?”

JS: (Frowns, shifts uncomfortably) “How so?”

SW: “Well, both of those are incredibly popular and well loved.  Isn’t it presumptuous for yourself –as opposed to a professional marketer or reviewer- labelling your novel like that?  Comparing it to classics?

JS: (Eyes narrowed, he looks like he is going to jump across the distance and strangle the life out of SW, something I’ve wanted to do for a long time).  “I never meant to compare it to classics, just trying to give people an idea of what kind of story this is.”

SW: “But isn’t it actually a short story collection?”

JS: (Through gritted teeth) “Yes, why?”

SW: “So it’s not an actual novel then?”

JS: “What newspaper did you say you were with?”

SW: “I didn’t.  So why did you choose such a flat title?”

JS: “A flat title?”

SW: “The Legend of Adam Caine.  It’s such a boring title.”

JS: (Anger on his face) “So if not a newspaper then what?  Oh god, please tell me you’re not a blogger.”

SW blushes quite badly.

SW: “Uh… Uh… No… I’m a respected journalist.  I have credentials.”  (He searches his pockets, but the search turns up empty).

JS: “Yeah right.”

JS stands up, grabs his coat, and starts for the door.

SW: “Wait, where are you going?  The interview isn’t over yet.”

JS: “I’m walking through this door, and I’m never going to see you again.  If I do, I’ll hurt you.”

SW: “WAIT!  Can I at least offer you a cup of tea as a peace offering?”

He points to a pair of Styrofoam Starbucks cups sat by the leg of his chair.  JS sighs, drops his coat, and accepts one of the cups.  He takes a sip of the tea and frowns.

JS: “Does this tea taste funny to you?”

Date Stamp: 19/01/2011

Time Code: 06.20 am

The edited video file picks up almost twenty-four hours later.  It’s a different room with no windows, and looks suspiciously like an old basement.  There’s a light bulb with no shade hanging from the ceiling, a wooden stool, and JS sat barely conscious in a metal-frame chair, chains holding him down.  SW enters the room wearing rather crisp new overalls, and what I presume he thinks is intimidating goggles and an apron.  If he wore an engineer’s apron, it might have been intimidating, but he is wearing a frilly pinney… I tried not to laugh too hard when I first saw this.

SW: “Good morning Mister Scott.  Sorry… John.”

JS looks up, consciousness returning fully.  He sees SW and struggles to contain the obvious laughter.

JS: “What are you supposed to be?  The torturer’s mum?” (Starts snorting).

SW: (Angry) “We need to finish the interview.”

JS: “You’re kidding me right?  You knocked me out with dodgy tea, strapped me into this sodding chair… just so you can have an interview for some bloody blog?  WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

SW: “There’s no point shouting; nobody can hear you down here?”

JS: “Where is here?”

SW: (Snorts) “As if I’d tell you.”

He sits down on the stool, and pulls the goggles onto his forehead, with his legs crossed.  Poof.

SW: “I understand you’re married?”

JS: “Yes, and I’m sure she’s missing me.  Actually, more than likely, she’s gonna rip you a new one, and then me for being so stupid as to fall for this trap.”

SW: “Happy?”

JS: “Only if you undo these restraints.”

SW: “Do I look that stupid?”

JS: “You really want an answer to that?”

They both hear something from upstairs, and SW stands up and disappears to investigate.  Muffled voices can just about be heard from upstairs.  Only SW can be heard clearly though.

SW: “Mum, why are you interrupting my interview?”

Muffled voice.

SW: “No I’m not playing dress up again, mum!”

Muffled voice.

SW: “No, my friend doesn’t want any breakfast, mum!  You’re so embarrassing!”


The conversation upstairs stops, and SW re-appears down the stairs.

SW: “You shouldn’t have done that.  Although I shouldn’t be surprised.”  (Looks sad and hangs his head).  “All you authors are the same.  Abnett and McNeill wanted to leave me as well.”

JS looks at him like he’s mad –which, of course, he actually is.

JS: “You did this to Dan Abnett and Graham McNeill as well?”

SW nods enthusiastically, and turns his back on JS to touch a light switch.

SW: “I quite like my favourite decorations where they are.”

He points to one side, where a light comes on, and there are two large metal-looking slabs, both with a figure reaching out from inside.

JS: “You froze them in carbonite?!”

SW presses another button, and four chunky pieces of metal descend from the ceiling whilst some kind of steam rises from the floor.  A thin circular line appears around JS, and the floor within it begins to sink into the floor.  SW waves goodbye, and turns his back to find a seat.  Unbeknownst to him, the camera could see JS loosening his restraints the entire time.  Just as the massive prongs come down to the sinking hole in the ground, JS jumps out, narrowly avoiding being crushed.

Alarms go off and the prongs rise up, vapours squirting from the sides of the hole in the floor.

JS dives across the hole and tackles SW to the ground before punching him and knocking him out.  He crosses the room and taps the controls on the side of the carbonite slabs.  They heat up, and Abnett and McNeill fall out, shivering and wide-eyed.  JS finds blankets and wraps them around them.

DA: “Where the hell am I?”

JS: “Shaven Wookiee’s palace… or rather, his mum’s basement.”

DA: “Who are you?”

JS: “Someone who loves your work.”

GM: “Where did he go?”

They look over to realise Shaven Wookiee has gone, no sign of his escape, not even on this video…

Shaven Wookiee is still at large….


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