BigFatRobot

The institution was run by Dr Saliva Grey; a thin, little man with pale, taut skin. He had a toupée, which was poorly adhered to his head, and flapped wildly in the wind.

I watched as an airship sped past like an air-engorged leviathan. Its powerful engines shot out blue flames as it sped through the burgeoning storm clouds, towards some exotic distant destination.

Voluminous red drapery slowly peeled apart to reveal a massive, flyspecked screen. All the eyes of the expectant audience looked up, as a sepia-tinged newsreel flickered to life.

One puffy-gloved hand placed steadfastly on his heart, reminiscent of that other amusingly attired master of strategy. He was the general of Clown Queen’s army.