JLP: The Second Coming (9)

Agent Carter sped towards the GPO tower as fast as the busy London streets would allow. In the rear of the car, Jago and Litefoot were jostled by speeds they were thoroughly unaccustomed to. With a final sickening lurch, Peggy brought the car to a halt outside the tower. The two gents thrown forward by the sudden deceleration were left glad of their seatbelts. While they were disentangling themselves from their seats and stumbling woozily onto the street, Peggy had already slipped briskly from the vehicle and was making her way towards the entrance of the building site.
"Damn it all. 11:32 already." she said, checking her watch. Drawing her pistol, she took aim at the gate lock and fired a round clean through it.

"Corks!" Exclaimed Jago, as the two men caught up with Peggy.

"We don't have time to lose, Jago. Needs must." she replied, pushing the gate forward.

"Please tell me there's some method of conveyance apart from stairs." Litefoot sighed. "I'm far from infirm, but I doubt my ability to scale such a tall monument in our time remaining."

"Don't worry, Litefoot. There should be an elevator around here somewhere." Peggy answered.  After a few minutes search, she found the elevator in question, and the controls required to operate it. With a few quick tugs on the starter cord, she activated the generator that could power the lift.

"All aboard! Quickly now." She said, ushering her companions into the lift, which consisted of a sheet metal floor, and an outer frame and guard rail made from steel pipe. She swung the gate closed as she boarded and latched it, before operating the controls.

"I say, this contraption seems somewhat flimsy. I'd go so far as to say that it's not sufficiently stable or secure. Can we trust it?" Jago wondered, wringing his hands with worry.

"Relax, Henry. Enjoy the view. I'm sure the tradesmen who use this machine daily are quietly confident of its sound engineering." Litefoot said, attempting to calm his friend.

"You're right, George. If I'm going to worry about anything, it should be the bomb that we're running towards."

"At least you're not in danger. You've tasted the antidote whereas Miss Carter, half of London and I are at risk!" Litefoot said, mostly lighthearted.

"Well stop that pernicious priest and his poisonous plot, don't you worry. We'll defeat the despicable deacon and his dreams of distributing deadly disease."

"The city is quite awe inspiring from this vantage point though, isn't it?" Litefoot said, gesturing at the view below. Lights flickered far below as far as the eye could see, stretching out across the vast expanse of London.

"It does grant a certain perspective on ones problems. How small we are in comparison to all around us."

"Yet, however small we are, we can do great things. We are each of us small, but together we can do so much more than the sum of our parts." Peggy interjected, steeling her allies for the final push. She checked her watch again. 11:48. Time was critical.

Agonizingly slowly, the lift finally reached its dock on the upper floors. The three heroes fanned out and split up, searching for any sight of Crowley's bomb. This high up, the tower was incomplete, mostly just steel support beams, concrete floors and report plastic sheeting to keep the elements at bay. At this level, the wind was unobstructed and gusts rattled against the plastic and through the semi finished building. Peggy found a stairwell that led to next and currently final floor. She called the two gents and headed up the stairs.

This level didn't even have plastic sheets, only a low guardrail at the perimeter. A small scaffold structure stood at the centre of the tower, where the workers would be installing the central sports for further floors. The wind was dangerously strong here, treating to blow them all to their deaths below. With some panic, Jago had to undo the clasp of his cloak, lest it act like a sail, though he made sure it fell back down the stairwell so as to not be carried by the wind. Rain had begun to mist also, adding an extra element of hazard to the environment.

"Up there!" Peggy yelled to be heard over the winds. She pointed to the scaffolding, specifically a large and out of place chemical drum strapped to the top of the structure. "That must be it!"

She strode carefully towards the scaffold, and began to climb the metal latticework. The poles were slippery and icy cold, it was an arduous and dangerous task. As she rose a leg towards the next foothold, her sole slipped a skidded forward. Unbalanced, she lost the grip of her right hand. Momentarily, it seemed as if she could hold one with her other hand and again control, but the gents could only watch in horror as she slipped and fell.

The gents ran towards Peggy's prone figure. Litefoot slipped off his jacket, using to prop up her head. It had not been a particularly  long drop, but she had landed awkwardly. As she attempted to rise up and try again, she cried out in pain and slumped back down.

"Easy now." Litefoot urged. "Don't move. You've had a fall. Wrist and ankle severely sprained at the absolute minimum."

Peggy looked again at her watch. Seven minutes left until detonation.
"The bomb." She said, wincing through the pain. "Must stop it."

"There's no way you'll be able to climb up there in this state. Let one of us go." Jago suggested.

"It will have to be you, Jago. I need to tend to Miss Carter's injuries. Do you think you can do it?" Litefoot said, solemnly.

"I... er.... well... corks!" He stammered in reply. Pausing for a breath to compose himself, he continued. "Yes. God help me, yes, I'll do it. But I don't know how to disarm a bomb."

"The bomb is on top of that drum." Peggy explained. "From down here, it looks like he's using C4 as a primary explosive. It'll be the rectangular packages around the drum. Somewhere on it there will be a timer, connected to the explosive, via a blasting cap. If you remove the cap from the C4, no boom."

"Right. Think I got the gist. What dies the cap look like?"

"A small cylinder with a wire at one end."

"Righteo. Oh, steel yourself Jago. Screw your courage to the sticking place." He muttered as he grabbed onto the scaffolding. Without thinking to hard about the consequences, to limited effect, he began to heave his way up the scaffolding. Slowly he worked his way up through the freezing cold and blustering damp, until he finally hauled himself into the upper platform. Less than three minutes remained on the clock. Jago began to search around the drum, looking for the timer. Once he had located it, he found three wires leading from it into three separate sections of C4. Three blasting caps?! He set about easing each from its mount, being as cautious as possible to prevent and accidental detonation. With ten seconds to spare, he managed to free the last if the caps. With panic, he flung the caps, still connected to the timer, from the roof. With a small poof, it popped harmlessly in the night sky.

"Good show, Henry!" Called Litefoot from below.

"Thank you. But I'm afraid I'm altogether unable to climb back down. I think the height is getting to me."

*****

Early the following morning, Peggy and the gentlemen returned to Ellie's. Peggy had one arm in a sling, and a mild limp I  one leg. She was holding onto Litefoot for support as the made their way inside. As soon as Jarvis noticed his injured friend, he rushed to take Litefoot's place.

"Miss Carter! What on Earth happened?"

"I'm quite fine Jarvis. Just a sprain."

"You three had better explain what happened last night. We've been here worried sick all night." Ellie exclaimed.

The three gave a detailed account of the previous night, and their foiling of Crowley's plan, with a few light embellishments from Jago. Once the story had been told, Jarvis raised a glass.

"To Christmas then. To the season of peace and goodwill. To good wishes for our friends and good riddance to our foes."

Everyone followed suit with a hearty cheer, and began to converse cordially.

"Say, Ellie." Peggy asked. "Is Angie still working for you? I haven't seen her around."

"Not exactly, Peg. She still rents a room upstairs, but I don't haven't seen much of her since November. She's got a lead role in one of the Pantomime shows."

"That's my girl. One step closer to the West End."

JLP: The Second Coming (8)

SHIELD had arrived to sort out any loose ends. Agent Carter supervised the clean up operation: the remaining weaponry was to be taken to the archives, Crowley himself was in custody receiving medical treatment for multiple head contusions, and several agents were engaged in thawing out and repairing the damaged toy shop. The two gents had offered to stay with her, while Ellie returned to her restaurant to prepare it for the following day's business. Jarvis volunteered his considerable experience to help Ellie out, leaving Peggy alone with Jago & Litefoot.

"He's conscious again, Miss Carter. And he's stopped ranting about apocalyptic portents. He's ready in the interrogation room at your leisure." called one of the agents, stepping from the mobile truck that doubled as both office and prison van.

"Thank you, Agent Costa. Gentlemen, duty calls, I'm afraid."

"Very well Miss Carter. We shall wait for you here, if you don't mind. I'd sooner know what if anything the cove has planned as he suggested." Litefoot stated.

"We always see an investigation through to its fullest terminus." Added Jago, tugging on his lapels.

"Suit yourselves then. Though given the aptitude he's shown so far, I don't imagine he could plan anything more intricate than the few scattered attacks he's already performed."

Peggy bid a brief farewell to the gentlemen, before heading into the mobile unit. She greeted the Agent manning the telecommunications setup, before heading further in to the prisoner's cell. The guard outside the cell nodded at her in affirmation, unlocking the door to allow her access. Within, she found Crowley, handcuffed and chained to a small desk. She sat in the free chair opposite him, crossed her legs and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table.

"Tell me everything. From the beginning." She instructed, firmly. Crowley laughed softly, mostly to himself.
"Of course.... of course it's you... I remember you now. Thought your face was familiar alright. Should have known you'd be here to bear witness. The Lord moves in mysterious ways."

Peggy leaned back into her seat, exhaling as she went, wondering how best to approach this interrogation. However, Crowley appeared to be particularly chatty now he recognized her.
"You were there, the day the Lord gave me a sign. In a way, you are his messenger."

"I can assure you, I'm no such thing. You were struck on the head, probably suffered a concussion, it would explain these delusions." Peggy insisted, but Crowley either didn't or wouldn't listen.

"You were my John the Baptist, your role to prepare me for my glorious mission... That day, as I lay injured on the floor of my church, I remember looking at the damage that you had caused. I saw the broken bell and shattered stones and I realized the truth."

"What true was that?"

"The bell is a symbol, to draw the followers to their place of worship. Here it lay broken, like God's message had been broken. Nobody heeds the call anymore. Without a flock, the Church would crumble just as my church had. I felt the Lord's rage, and sadness. I knew the time for judgement had begun."

"So, that's when you started performing your own brand of justice?"

"Not mine. My Lord's. I was taken to a hospital, the doctors there thought I was crazy. I had to escape. I had work to do. That was when I sent my first soul to burn in the fires of Hell. You must think me a cruel man...?" He paused, awaiting a reply.

"It had crossed my mind." Peggy replied, dryly.

"You do me a disservice then. You see, my victims are purely the heathen ones. In a way, by shortening their Earthly lives, I'm limiting their potential for future sins."

"I'm sure it makes a twisted logic in the confines of your addled mind, Crowley. But frankly, even the sight of you makes me ill. You have no shame. No remorse. The sooner I leave you to rot here the better. But what was your plan? How does killing a handful of Christmas shoppers usher in the Rapture?"

"Truthfully, those 'liberations' were a way of passing time. Tangential to my real goal. They served to put the fear of God into London. Nothing like a life threatening scare to make the rats afraid of death again. On the heels of my jaunts, church attendance rose sharply. In the packed churches, I could carry out the true work." He spoke with such sincerity and almost a sense of pride. Peggy could barely stomach to sit so near to a man without empathy.

"You don't mean to say that you did something during masses? Trying to incite hatred in the loyal devotees?"

"I laced the Eucharist with a special blend of my own design."

"You mean you poisoned the mass goers?" Peggy exclaimed  all to aware that  Jarvis and Jago had partaken in the sacrament.

"You misunderstand. The faithful followers received the antidote."

"Antidote for what, Crowley."

"A disease only good Catholics will survive. At midnight tonight, it shall rain from the heavens. All of London will choke, the very air will turn against the Godless populace."

Peggy's eyes widened with shock she couldn't mask. Surely this had to be a bluff, she thought. There was no way this feckless priest had concocted such a chemical agent. Then again, she mused, he was a brilliant scientific mind in his youth.

"Let's say I believe you. How do you plan to disperse the chemical? A bomb somewhere perhaps?"

"I know you didn't partake in the Holy Communion. You're refused your chance at eternal life, so stop fighting to prolong  this one. You're a lost soul already. It's all over."

Peggy slammed her closed fists upon the table as she kept to her feet.
"Enough games! Look Christian, look at what you're suggesting... mass murder, millions dead, is that really what God wants? Can you be sure you haven't been influenced by the Devil?"

"No... Your words are false. You deceive me harpy!" He protested, yet his voice wavered.

"It's not to late to renounce him, Christan. Do the right thing, please." Peggy pleaded, gently.

"You... you... you will not sway me from my mission. I hear the Lord, I know it is He who speaks to me. I have faith in my conviction!"

"Spoken like a true Crusader." Peggy sighed, as she turned to leave the room. There could be no further point in continuing this farce of an interview. Peggy rejoined the two gents, and filled them in on what few nuggets of information she had actually pried from the priest.

"A bomb that will distribute a disease to all of London... where could it possibly be located?" Litefoot summed up.

"Assuming of course it is a single detonation point. This cove could have devices spread right across town." Jago added.

"Unlikely. He made it sound like there was a single target that would cover all of London. More devices means a corresponding increase in risk of detection. For a lone operator, one device is most probable." Peggy clarified.

"But where could a single bomb be placed that could effect the whole city? It must be a tall building of some kind, surely?" Wondered Litefoot.

"We're looking for the loftiest location in all of London. The tallest tower, the superlative structure.... A-ha, St Paul's Cathedral. Tallest building in London."

"No, I don't think he'd choose a church for his bomb Henry. Damaging a Holy building is against his modus operandi."

"You're right!" Peggy exclaimed. "Both of you. Tallest non religious structure in London would be.... the GPO Tower!"

"Evidently some new addition to the skyline. Can't expect us to know everything that's changed from our time." Litefoot muttered.

"Exactly. It's still under construction, so accessing the site would be easier. Plus, I'm sure he'd appreciate the image of a telecommunications tower being the beacon of his Holy revenge." Peggy was already striding towards a SHIELD car before Jago and Litefoot had caught up with her thinking, and the scampered after her.

"Henry, the game is afoot!"

JLP: The Second Coming (7)

The congregation slowly worked their way out of the church into the crisp winter night. Darkness had already crept inwards, but the streets were littered with coruscating orbs and glowing tableaus of festive imagery. Many of the exiting crowd turned towards the more illuminated streets, drawn to the late opening shops. Father Crowley meanwhile, had returned to the sanctuary to derobe, and plan his next move. The last Peggy had seen of him was a private scowl and white knuckles, which she attributed to him suppressing his rage at the less 'devoted' of his flock. Peggy and Litefoot let the crowd disperse as they made their way down to the altar, waiting to follow in the footsteps of their prey.

Jago, Jarvis and Ellie meanwhile had exited the building and walked around to the external door of the priest's chambers.
"Well. Here we are." Stammered Jarvis.

"Outside of the lion's den. The maw of mayhem. Jaws of death. Brave heart, Jarvis." Jago exclaimed, though he stepped no closer to the door.

"Perhaps we should engage in a spot of reconnaissance, before burst in?" Jarvis suggested.

"Good idea. The cove might have some some secret means of escape. Best to be prepared."

Ellie rolled her eyes at the excuses of her fellows, and strode forward, bursting through the door. The priest, now dressed simply in black shirt and trousers, wheeled towards the intruders to his sanctum.
"Heathen brigands! How dare you intrude unorthodox sacred space?" he bellowed.

"Quit the protestation Sonny. We're here to put an end to your wave of terror." Ellie intoned. Slightly behind her, Jago raised his fists in an attempt to appear intimidating. A look he almost managed to pull off with the addition of his red lined cloak billowing behind him. Jarvis copied the stance with less success. Crowley recoiled, practically bearing his teeth with a sudden hiss.

"Devil woman! My Lord tests my conviction to his Holy cause. Killing you shall assert my steadfast will. Just like the nurse..." he trailed off, remembering a prior victim.

"You won't harm a hair on the young lady's head without going through us." Jago stated defiantly.

"Good show, Henry. I'm afraid Padre, you're outnumbered and outgunned." Said Litefoot confidently as he entered through the other doorway. Beside him, Peggy was advancing, pistol ready and trained on the target.

"You will not interrupt the will of God himself. I am his humble servant, and I carry out his will. To challenge me is to challenge the Lord!" Crowley ranted, eyes bulging out of his head.

"You'd be more intimidating if I hadn't defeated worse things than Gods." Peggy said, nonplussed at his boasting.

"Besides, your actions speak louder than words. You're no Christian, and your murderous rampage is the work of the Devil, if anything." Litefoot added.

With a roar of indignation, Crowley withdrew his left hand from his pocket. Jago saw a flash of something in his palm. Acting on instinct alone, he made to tackle the priest before he could use whatever device he had taken out. Though he was fractionally too late. Crowley threw the orb to his feet, where it burst apart in a cloud of smoke. Within moments, the room was filled with impenetrable fog. Litefoot and Ellie tried to cover their respective exits, Jago searched blindly for Crowley but only managed to find Jarvis. Peggy lowered her gun, unwilling to fire without a visible target and allies in the firing line. She chose to run back into the church, hoping to pick up the trail. Luck was with her, and she saw Crowley running, near the rear of the church, with a holdall on his shoulder. Calling for her allies, she took off in pursuit.

Crowley ran towards the bustling streets, weaving his way into the nearest shopping mall. Peggy was hot behind him, with the gentlemen, Jarvis and Ellie following behind. The chase continued throughout the mall, in and out of heaving stores, pushing past oblivious shoppers. At one particularly busy intersection, Peggy paused, asking.
"Which way did he go? Anyone see him?"

"Into that... children's toy... shop... HGJ has the eyes of a hawk." Jago wheezed, out of breath. 
"Then we must make haste." Said Litefoot, also breathing heavily.
"Then we spread out. Each take an aisle and corner Crowley at the rear of the shop." Peggy stated, striding forward.

Keeping her pistol hidden in her clutch purse so as to avoid a public panic, but still in hand, Peggy advanced down the central aisle. Ahead of her, the priest was crouched over his bag, rummaging through its contents.
"It's over Crowley. Admit defeat with dignity and we can get you the help you so desperately need." Peggy urged. Crowley turned around slowly, two Christmas baubles in his hands.

"I'd be more concerned about helping these secular materialists if I were you. You'll have to put your plans to stop me, on ice!" He roared.

"Death threats are one thing, bit I can't stand bad puns." Peggy sighed. Crowley tossed the two orbs into the crowds and went to retrieve more from his bag. Thinking quickly, Peggy grabbed a child's tennis racket and deflected the nearest bauble toward the ceiling. It impacted harmlessly upon the ceiling tiles, covering it with a sheen of icy frost. Peggy didn't have time to intercept the second orb.

Jago however had a similar idea, though his weapon of choice was a rounders bat. "I was a dab hand at track and field in my youth."

"Ellie!" Yelled Litefoot. We've got to get these people out of the shop, and we don't want this panic to cause a stampede!"
"Right with you, Professor." She replied as they moved to oversee the retreat. Crowley kept tossing baubles, cackling as he did so. Eventually, he saw an opening.  While Peggy and Jago were distracted, he sprinted towards the clearest aisle, hoping to merge with the fleeing punters.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow you to pass." Jarvis stated, standing in Crowley's way.
"Step aside. I won't ask twice." the priest retorted, drawing a metre long string of tinsel from the bag.

"If you plan to distract me with shiny objects, you'll be disappointed."

With a flick of his wrist, Crowley made the strand of tinsel buzz and spark with electricity. Wielding it like a whip, he attempted to strike Jarvis, who managed to block the initial attack a plastic golf club. The tinsel wrapped around the end of club. Jarvis stood momentarily defiant, until the electricity melted through the plastic and his club wilted. Crowley pressed the advantage, striking repeatedly as he advanced on Jarvis. Jarvis dodged the first few attacks, until he had backpedalled far enough to reach a broom propped against one of the shelving units.

"Never dice with an irate Butler, we have a way with brooms."

"The only thing that needs cleaning up here is the hearts and minds of those Godless sheep making a mockery of Christmas."

"Oh, for God's sake. I've had it to the back teeth with you. As the frightfully dull Americans would say... it's time to take out the trash."

"Thanks for the distraction." Came a voice from over Crowley's shoulder. As he turned to face it, Peggy swung a hard haymaker into his jaw, knocking him out immediately. He crumpled into a heap on the ground, whip deactivated as it fell from his grip.

"Not a problem Miss Carter, I'm just glad to be of some assistance." Jarvis and Peggy shared a moment, before Jago joined them in their aisle.
"A-ha, I knew we had the measure of him."

Litefoot and Ellie had also managed to return.
"So I see you were successful in defeating the brigand then?"

"Correct. And no casualties here either. Was the evacuation a success?" Asked Peggy.

"The mall is empty and the peelers are on the way, Peg." Ellie said.

"So, is that it? I mean, I kind of expected a little more spectacle, if I'm honest." Jarvis added. With a groan, Crowley stirred from unconsciousness. Peggy was immediately upon him, pinning him to the ground and restraining him.

"You can't restrain me." He laughed. "No bonds of man can hold me now, for my soul is entrusted to the Lord. And his work will continue without me, for it has already begun. My grand plan has already been set in motion. There will be no need for such imprecise attacks like this, the faithful shall be spared while all heathens, non believers and scum will be purged in glorious rapture!" Peggy gave him a second knock to the head, just to shut him up.

JLP: The Second Coming (6)

Agent Carter outlined her plan to the rest of the group. At risk of being recognized, Litefoot and Peggy would observe Father Crowley from the church gallery during the evening service. Ellie and Jarvis, with Jago in a cunning disguise, would get close to the priest during Communion, giving them an opportunity to plant a GPS on their target. After the service was complete, a multi pronged approach would surround and corner their prey. Assuming everything actually went to plan.

Together, they headed off towards the church for the evening service. As they drew near the church, the group split in two to minimize suspicion, as they entered and took up their positions. Peggy and Litefoot found seats in the front row of the gallery, offering them an unobstructed view of the altar, and their allies below. Jago, Jarvis and Ellie sat together in a central position in the church. Both Jarvis and Jago fidgeted nervously, feeling tense as they awaited to carry out their subterfuge. Slightly frustrated, Ellie whispered in Jago's ear.
"Calm down, both of you. You look suspicious. Give me the tracker. When we get close to him, you two will be awkward enough to distract him, allowing me to slip it on him."

"She has a point you know, Henry." Jarvis added. "I'm positively perspiring and we haven't even gotten close yet. We'll stand out a mile."

"Henry Gordon Jago is a master of disguise, my dear. I'm more than capable of fooling this man of the cloth, with my adaptable acting acumen." Boasted Jago. As if out of spite, the spirit gum that held his false beard in place loosened, and a corner of his facial hair began to peel away. Embarrassed, Jago pressed it back into place and said.
"Err, of course I didn't have access to my usual theatrical supplies, so the quality of my deception is limited. Perhaps your plan is best, Ellie."

With the peal of a bell, the congregation rose, while the priest and his altar servers emerged from the sanctuary and took their place on the altar to begin the mass. While the priest began to speak, Peggy observed every detail she could about their target. He was completely bald, approximately forty years old, and had a large red scar running along one side of his gleaming head. He had a surprisingly muscular frame, and looked like he could have made a decent career as a pugilist. His voice had a cold, hard edge, and he spoke as if he had fire in his blood.

Before long, Father Crowley had reached his sermon, and addressed his congregation.
"My flock, this Advent period is a time for reflection. It is a time of peace and goodwill, in the spirit of Jesus Christ. But we are unfortunately not living in a time of peace. In recent days, we have already borne witness to two savage attacks. Obviously, our prayers are with the victims of these atrocities, yet we do a disservice to their memory if we do not attempt to understand the motives of the criminal responsible. He has already leaked some information to the media, and his choice of target are very telling."

Litefoot leaned towards Peggy's ear to whisper.
"Media? We're you aware of any published statement?"
"No. Though I expect tomorrow's papers will be plastered with it. Doubtless he waited until just after the final print edition of the day to reveal his manifesto."

Father Crowley continued.
"This vigilante is striking against consumerist, commercial perversions of the true heart of Christmas. In this modern materialistic world, people are too preoccupied with their false idols, with material goods, with the frivolous frippery and decorative ornaments. People no longer care about the Birth of Christ, about the religious season of charity and reflection. Now it's just a secular celebration of ostentatious wealth and greed, avarice and waste. This man is waging a war on Christmas, singled handed.

I cannot condone the methods he uses, but I agree with his sentiment. We have lost our way. You have lost yours. We much come together in the Holy Spirit and reject all foul temptations. The material rewards of this live are meaningless compared to the rewards of the life beyond. Condemn this villain and his methods. Mourn the innocent victims. But take to heart his message and intent."

The crowd had a mixed reaction to this impassioned plea. Some clapped in agreement, others grumbled uneasily. Most had already zoned out and weren't paying attention. Jarvis spoke softly yo his companions.
"I say, he has certainly found a way to spread his message. The violent attacks incite the public, allowing him to step in as the voice of reason and further his own agenda."

"Dashed clever." Jago admitted. "He has a point, in a funny sort of way. Back in my day, we had more convivial Christmas carols, homemade heartfelt gift and so on. But that's no excuse for slaughter."

"Believe me, Mister J. Things change less that it might appear. No point in harking back to the good old days. In my experience, there's no such thing." Whispered Ellie.

"Odd to have one so young espouse such wisdom. You really are a delight Miss Higson. Nostalgia has a way of clouding ones perception. Ever onwards and upwards, I say." concluded Jarvis, as the mass continued. A short time later, the congregation left their seats to queue for Communion, Jarvis was the first of the three to join the queue, followed by Jago and finally Ellie. As they shuffled forward, one by one, Jarvis had to force himself to act natural. It was as if he'd suddenly realized he would momentarily be inches away from a known murderer. Jago too was uncomfortable. His face was itchy beneath his beard, which made if feel as if it were slipping away from his face. He fought the urge to keep pawing at it, simply hoping for the best. As he reached Father Crowley, Jago made a show of tripping as he turned to resume his seat. He managed to push the priest slightly as he turned, allowing Ellie to swoop in and help the priest back to his feet. As she grabbed his arm, Ellie managed to slip the tracker into a pocket of the priest's vestments.

Above them, still in their seats, Peggy and Litefoot watched the force unfold below.
"A trifle unsubtle, but effective." Mused Litefoot.
"Let us just hope our quarry doesn't flee before we spring our trap."

JLP: The Second Coming (5)

Jago, Litefoot and Ellie had decided to reconvene at Higgies to discuss the events of the previous night's attack on a Winter Wonderland. Early the following morning,  the mysterious instigator of the attack had struck again, this time targeting early morning shoppers buying last minute Christmas presents. The morning papers confirmed the death toll had reached seven, while a dozen others were being treated for frostbite. A handle of others were also injured by some inexplicable burn marks upon the skin.

"Dreadful. Absolutely dreadful." Said Litefoot mournfully, as he folded the newspaper from which he had been reading. "As barbaric as these attacks are, to perpetrate them at Christmas, the season of peace and goodwill, is unfathomably cruel."

"The disgusting depravity of despicable dastardly evildoers is decidedly disheartening, Litefoot. But in the face of such devilry, we upstanding citizens of the Empire must stand firm as the Rock of Gibraltar. We cannot let the actions of anarchistic malcontents disturb the fabric of our lives." Jago stated resolutely.

"Well said, Mister J." Ellie said, with light applause.

"Hear hear!" Agreed Litefoot. Bolstered with courage, the group got back to discussing the identity and potential motives of the mysterious attacker. After a short while, there was a knock on the door of the restaurant.

"Bloody typical. The sign says we're closed." Ellie muttered, tetchily. The knocking on the door continued, louder and more insistently.

"We're closed!" Ellie yelled, loud enough to be heard outside. The knocking didn't stop. With a sigh, Ellie strode briskly to the door, opening it just enough to speak with the insistent caller. With an excited gasp, she flung the door open and  warmly embraced Peggy Carter. The two women released each other, laughing softly.

"Come in, come in! I didn't know it was you... who's your friend?" Said Ellie, gesturing to the man standing behind Peggy.

"Edwin Jarvis. At your service, miss?"

"Ellie. Ellie Higson, at yours. Can I fetch either of you a drink?"

"Not for me, Miss Higson. Thank you though. Ah, it's so nice to be back in a civilised society with a proper sense of etiquette. You wouldn't believe the tawdry habits of the American people." Jarvis bemoaned.

Jago and Litefoot, aware of the commotion, had risen to greet the new arrivals. Jago extended a warm handshake to Peggy, welcoming her and Jarvis. "What brings such convivial and cherished company to our doorstep?"

"My doorstep, more like." Ellie whispered.

"Indeed. It's so nice to see you again  Miss Carter. But despite the time of year, I doubt this is a social call." said Litefoot.

"Likewise gentlemen. While I am glad to see you, I'm also engaged in a mission which I need your help to solve." Peggy explained. "There's nobody in London whose services I'd rather call upon."

"Miss Carter does indeed speak quite highly of you gentlemen. A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, sirs." Added Jarvis.

Jago tilted his head upwards to add an element of heroism to his stance, before saying. "I see word of our exploits precedes us. I thank you for your kind compliments. The Professor and I have quelled countless crises and cracked cunning conundrums over our long and storied career."

Litefoot cleared his throat without subtly, silencing Jago's boast. "What my colleague means to say, is that we have some experience with the mysterious, and are more than willing to assist in any capacity."

"Don't suppose your case happens to concern the mangy cur responsible for freezing people to death?" Ellie interrupted, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"I suspected you'd already be familiar with the details." replied Peggy, glad to be in the company of the competent.
"However, I'll recap the details as far as I understand them, so we're all clear. The man responsible is Christan Crowley, a Roman Catholic priest ministering here in London. Early in his career, he was a brilliant scientist, working on technology to freeze humans as a form of crowd control. Experiments which were aborted after proving fatal. Records on the man are scarce, but it seems he found a second calling in the Church shortly after that setback. He's been leading an uneventful existence since then, until these attacks began yesterday."

"How have you confirmed the identity of our villain?" Asked Litefoot.

"The similarities between these attacks and the weapon development are too many to ignore, making him a target of interest. Eyewitness reports from the second attack suggest the attacker wore a dog collar and was bald, matching the description of Father Crowley."

"So, where can we find the cove?" Jago queried.

"Allegedly he should be stationed at a church less than a mile from here."

"But, the only church near this part of town..." began Ellie.

"Is where Miss Carter and ourselves did battle with Ulysses Klaue. That can't be coincidence." Finished Litefoot.

"You mean that place that we... by Jove! Where that priest got a nasty knock to the noggin!" Exclaimed Jago.

"Exactly my thoughts, Henry." Carter confirmed. "While we don't yet understand his motive, all evidence suggests the criminal in question is this priest. Perhaps as a result of concussion, he's embarked on a campaign of Crusading?"

"So, what do you suggest?" Ellie asked.

"Simple. We go undercover and confront the devil. Before he attacks again." Peggy said, firmly.

JLP: The Second Coming (4)

"Howard Stark. Explain yourself this instant." said Peggy Carter, the epitome of tranquil rage. She didn't raise her voice for fear of disturbing the baby, but the smell edge of her tone was all too apparent.

"Look, Peggy, it was a long time ago... About a decade back I was involved with a  Government initiative, to create new forms of weaponry and warfare. Now, I had the notion to focus research on non-lethal devices. Incapacitation, not extermination." Howard said, defensively.

"Well, that has obviously worked out splendidly, hasn't it." Peggy hissed. Howard continued as if he hadn't heard her.

"I assembled a team of twelve budding minds, the cream of the University crop to research such weaponry. Electrical charges, stun guns, sonic dispersal devices, we had the whole shebang. But there was one guy in particular who stood out among the others. A biochemist with radical ideas. He single handed designed and prototyped a sort of ice grenade."

"An ice grenade?" queried Peggy.

"Something you could toss it, detonate, and have everything in the blast radius harmlessly encased in ice until such time as they could be dealt with."

Peggy narrowed her eyes. "Evidently it didn't work as intended."

"Exactly. Finding a way to generate a rapidly expanding chemical reaction that drew in heat from its surroundings was the easy part. But the effects were too dramatic. The sudden freezing action destroyed organic material. The targets of the grenade couldn't be frozen without lasting injury or death."

"The antithesis of a nonlethal weapon then. What happened to the research? Could someone have accessed the files on the weapon? Steal from one of your storehouses? Again."

Howard took a step towards Peggy, arms raised and spread wide in a gesture of protest. "No. Absolutely not. I had every copy of the research and all prototypes destroyed at the end of the project. I was thorough."

"If I am to take you at your word, then only one suspect can exist. Who was this brilliant student, and what became of him." Asked Peggy.

"A Christian Crowley, I think. Bit of a Bible basher, but undoubtedly an expert of science nonetheless."

"So, Christian by name, Christian by nature." Interjected Jarvis, searching for some levity to ease the tension in the air.

Howard continued. "We had a few disagreements over the direction of the project, and the feasibility of his invention, but nothing severe. Eventually we parted amicably when he resigned. Said he had to follow another vocation. Think he wanted to join the Priesthood."

"Christmastime, and a ghost from your past has returned with a vengeance. If I were you I'd see about buying a Turkey for Tiny Tim.

"Oh, very droll, Miss Carter."

Peggy gathered up her purse, and retrieved her stylish scarlet fedora from a nearby hatstand, preparing to leave. "Howard, I don't have time to charter a flight. Could I trouble you for a trip in your private jet? I'm needed in London post haste, and this mess is somewhat your fault."

Anna stood to her feet, baby in her arms. "I think Jarvis should be the one to accompany you."

"But, my dear... I can't go galavanting off and leave you alone with Margaret." Jarvis stammered.

"Nonsense. You miss your little adventures with Peggy, I'm your wife. I can tell. I've heard you rocking our child to sleep with tales of your heroism. Go on, have a few days to stitch your legs. Besides, I've got Howard to help out with baby duties." Anna flashed a vicious smile briefly at her host.

"I think it's a spiffing idea." concurred Peggy. "You could do with a little practice in the homely arts Howard."

"Hold on now, hang on. I need to go with Peggy. In case Crowley has other dangerous technology..." Howard said desperately.

"Nonsense, I'm sure Jarvis and I will manage. Besides, there are a few old friends I can call on."

"Very well Anna. Miss Carter. I shall endeavor to have this mission successfully completed before Christmas Day. Shall we?"

"With pleasure. Enjoy the holidays Howard!"

JLP: The Second Coming (3)

Jago, Litefoot & Ellie forced their way through the hoards of Christmas shoppers as they raced towards the source of the explosion. It was an arduous slog through the mass of people, most of whom were moving away from the epicentre with varying degrees of panic. The trio managed to arrive at the grotto with some difficulty, and began to make their way inside, cautiously.

"Some manner of Winter Wonderland. Dashed enterprising. The tykes must love it." mused Jago, distracted by thoughts of a business opportunity.

"They probably prefer it without the threat of incendiary devices though." replied Litefoot, dryly.

"Quite right. This is not the occasion for flippancy. Still, the practical effects here are outstanding."

"What do you mean  Mister J?" asked Ellie.

"As someone with decades of experience in the theatrical trade, I have developed something of an eye for superlative set design. Look at the ice on the walls and floor for example. They look practically genuine. And as for the statues.... Argghh!" Jago's explanation was interrupted by a cry as he lost his footing, and slipped to the ground.

"Henry!" Exclaimed Litefoot, concerned. "Are you alright?"

Jago sighed as he rubbed his tender side. "Nothing bruised except for my dignity Professor. Slight pain in my posterior, no need to fuss."

"That explains why the ice looks so genuine... it is!" Ellie reasoned. "But it hasn't been cold enough for frost today..."

"I very much doubt it was frozen by natural means." Litefoot said, deep in thought. He took in the surroundings, attempting to gain fresh perspective. They were stood in a wider, open area, having traveled through a short entrance corridor. A number of fir trees decorated the interior of the room, while the walls were painted a dark navy colour and dotted with small lights to create the impression of a starry night sky. Three adult figures were standing around a large cushioned seat, like a throne. The figures appeared to be carved from ice, one dressed as Santa and the others as a pair of elves. Fake snowdrifts littered the floor, but centred around the three figures were streaks of actual ice. Running closer, Litefoot noticed that the streaks appeared to radiate outwards from a central point.

"Hmm. Most curious." He muttered. Jago was now picking himself up from the floor. As he straightened himself up, he asked Litefoot what was on his mind.
"See the pattern of the ice... radiating outward from the centre of those three statues. And there's ice on the nearest trees to them also."

"You think whatever caused the freeze originated from that spot?" Ellie asked, cordoning on to Litefoot's theory.

"Exactly my dear."

"But, what could cause such an effect?" asked Jago, as he stepped towards the nearest statue. "Hey, I don't suppose that these statues could be..." As he approached the figure, he wobbled on the ice beneath his feet again. This time he managed to keep his footing, though he knocked the statue to the ground with his flailing. It shattered like glass into thousands of tiny shards. "... frozen folk..." he finished.

"I fear you're correct Henry. These poor unfortunates were staff members of this attraction." Litefoot confirmed.

"Corks! I've just smashed the poor soul!" Jago cried out.

"Don't worry too much, Henry. These people were killed upon the moment of freezing. The human body is approximately 70% water. Rapid cooling and the formation of ice crystals within the cellular structure of the body results in irreparable damage to the cell walls. There's nothing that can be done for these poor people." Litefoot explained solemnly.

"Hang on, what's this?" Asked Ellie, as she store gracefully over the icy hazard and held up several gold fragments she retrieved from the ground.

"Like pieces of a puzzle." Jago mused. "Looks like they might fit together to form a sphere. Part of one at any rate."

"Maybe this contained whatever explosive caused this mess?" Ellie added.

"Possibly. But look at the pattern. It's make of some kind of plastic, with glitter on the outer surface. Probably just some Christmas ornament damaged in the attack." Litefoot said.

"Who would do such a thing, and why?" Said Jago.  In the distance, the sound of sirens was growing rapidly closer.

"Sounds like someone has called for the peelers. We'd better make a getaway. You two hardly want to try and explain this to the police." Ellie warned.

"Quite right. Come along Jago, I think we've learned all we can from this place anyway."

JLP: The Second Coming (2)

Stark mansion, California. The palatial surroundings were decked out in the finest, if somewhat ostentatious, trappings of Christmas. In the lounge, Howard Stark was busying himself with the task of crafting his own cocktail. His butler, Jarvis, had been given the day off to relax. Howard insisted that he could take care of himself. Despite this however, Jarvis found himself continually gracing at his employers attempts at the oaken minibar, occasionally wincing at every inefficiency and blunder. Each time Howard hacked through a citrus fruit, the knife blade scored the wooden countertop, and each mark left Jarvis feeling like the blade had cut him directly. He frowned at the chaotic mess Howard was leaving in his wake also. Juices and split alcohol were soaking into the lacquered surface. Piles of pips were left in plain view. He would surely have intervened if not for the gentle hand of his wife Anna upon his shoulder. This was the true reason Howard insisted upon helping himself of course. This was Jarvis's first Christmas as a father.

With a gesture, Anna directed his attention toward their infant daughter, who was cradled in the arms her godmother, Peggy Carter. Under her breath, Anna whispered to her husband "Peggy is great with our little Margret, isn't she?"
"Indeed, my love. And if I'm frank, far more at ease than I would have imagined. Children suit her."

Oblivious to her audience, Peggy was cooing at the tiny human in crooked in her arm, who giggled and gurgled in reply. With her free hand, she reached into her bag an withdrew a slight worn teddy bear. One arm had been reattached multiple times, it's shoulder a patchwork of coloured threads. One eye drooped lazily and it's chest had several patches of other fabric covering holes in its fur. Holding the bear in front of the child, Peggy spoke softly.
"His name is Tiddums. He was my best friend when I was a little girl. I think you'll give him a good home, little one."
Baby Margret raised her tiny arms towards the teddy, making grabbing motions with her hands.
"Merry Christmas, Margret."

Jarvis walked over to his old friend and sat down beside her. Briefly he tickled his daughter under the chin with an outstretched finger before speaking to Peggy.
"Miss Carter, I'm sure Margret will treasure this gift." He said, warmly.

"I'm sure you will too. Howard took the liberty of adding a few upgrades to him."

"Should I be concerned?" Asked Jarvis, flustered.

"Not at all. I hope not, anyway. No, he's just installed a microphone and transmitter. You can use the bear as a monitor of sorts, hear her when she cries, that sort of thing." Peggy explained.

"How useful." Jarvis said, unconvinced.

"Hey, family matters! Who's for mojitos?" Howard called from the bar, holding a tray of drinks.

The moment of festive fun was interrupted by the shrill ring of a doorbell. Instinctively, Jarvis rushed to the door, forgetting his lack of responsibilities. After a brief conversation, he called for Peggy to join him. "Miss Carter, it's for you. SSR business."
"Can't they take a break for Christmas?" moaned Howard.
"Crime is not in the habit of sleeping, Howard." replied Peggy, as she handed the baby back to her mother. As she headed towards the door, Jarvis returned, holding a folder.
"This is for you, Miss Carter." he said, handing her the object. She took it from him, and found the only dry spot of the bar to lay the folder down. She began to speak aloud, partially to Jarvis, but mostly to herself.

"Explosions reported in London, approximately four hours ago. Outside a Santa's grotto."

"Good heavens. Any casualties? The children..." exclaimed Jarvis.

"Seemingly it happened after close of business. There were only staff members on site when it happened. Three confirmed dead." Peggy clarified.

"I don't suppose there's a chance this could simply be an accident?" Jarvis asked, doubtingly.

"Unlikely. It wouldn't be an SSR case otherwise. These were no ordinary explosions, by all accounts. Eyewitness reports say the explosions burned with a blue flame, and the blast site was frozen over by the time emergency services arrived."

"What could do such a thing?" Anna asked, shocked.

" I'm afraid I might have an answer to that." Admitted Howard, sheepishly. Peggy sighed and rubbed her temple.
"Why am I not surprised?"

JLP: The Second Coming

The year is 1963, at the heart of social and cultural upheaval. Professor George Litefoot and Henry Gordon Jago have been accidentally transported through time, swapping the Industrial Revolution for a cultural revolution. Lost in time, these Victorian investigators of infernal instances find themselves in an unfamiliar land, struggling to cope with modern sensibilities as they search for some means to return to their own time. This search is not an easy one however, and the two gentlemen are resigned to spending Christmas away from when they call home. In an effort to cheer up her dearest friends, Ellie Higson has arranged a small Christmas party for them at her restaurant.

It was late on the evening of the 20th, and the regular patrons had already left for the night. Higgies was decorated in the trappings of Christmas. Multicolored fairy lights were strung between the wall lights, casting a festive glow upon the dark green walls. Tinsel bordered the backs of the booth seats, creating joyous holiday alcoves. Decorating each table was a centerpiece consisting of a red and white candle, cradled in a base of holly. Ellie, Jago & Litefoot sat deep in conversation, finishing the last remains of their desserts, each wearing a flimsy coloured paper hat.  In this moment, the three old friends could pretend that they were home, in their rightful time. 

"I must say Ellie, a finer and more fulsome festive feast I could not fathom! And the decor! Festooned with such finely furnished festive filigree and furbelowed fandangles!" Said the more portly gentleman. Jago's ruddy complextion and fleshed out features were those of a man fond of his ale and his grub. He had chestnut brown short curly hair, which extended down his face to form his signature muttonchops. His suit had been well tailored once, as befitting a theatrical impresario. However, the slightly threadbare fabric and tight fit indicated that the wearer was making do, unable or unwilling to afford a suitable replacement. Jago patted the gilded waistcoat covering his stomach lightly, signifying a much enjoyed meal.

"Indeed. My compliments to the chef." Replied his dining colleague. Litefoot was a police pathologist of some renown in his own time, but current circumstances had driven him to manage an antique bookshop instead. He wore a finely crafted suit, creased to perfection, with a handkerchief folded precisely in his breast pocket. Even his prematurely greyed hair and mustache were trimmed with precision. Litefoot was a man of not inconsiderable means, though he did not possess the aloofness that plagues the upper classes. Both men were firmly middle aged, and unlikely friends who crossed something of a class divide. They had crossed paths as a result of the Doctor over a decade ago (relatively speaking) and instantly became the best of partners, with a friendship rivaling that of Holmes and Watson themselves.

"Thank you sirs. I'm glad of the chance to remember the old days, truth be told. It's nice to have old friends at Christmas again." Said Ellie, modestly. Unlike the two gents, she had reached the sixties in the traditional manner, so to speak. Technically immortal  following an encounter with a group of Vampires, Ellie had been living for decades longer than her own lifespan, yet she still looked like a young woman barely into her thirties.

"Likewise, my dear. I'm not too proud to admit that I felt momentarily morose at the thought of spending this Christmas in such foreign environments." said Jago, wistfully.

"But your most kind and generous invitation was the remedy for our melancholy." continued Litefoot.

"A toast then. To old friends, and older times." smiled Ellie, with just the slightest hint of a tear in her eye.

"To old friends!" chimed the gentlemen simultaneously.

Jago took a noticeably greater sip of the Christmas Champagne than his dining partners. With an almost subtle belch, he exclaimed.
"Of course, it's only fair that George and I repay your honourable hospitality, celebrated chef skills and captivating comestibles."
"To which end, we have each brought you a token of our appreciation." added Litefoot.

Ellie was somewhat speechless.
"You shouldn't have. Just being here was gift enough for me." She stammered. As the gifts were placed before her, she composed herself and added, sternly, "Really. You shouldn't have."

First to reveal their chosen gift was Litefoot.
"I'm not exactly in the habit of purchasing gifts for a lady, excepting Mrs Hudson, but I thought jewelry would be a safe option. The lovely young man in the shop said this piece was particularly... what was the word... Groovy."
In his hands hung a silver necklace, with a large, almost coaster sized "Peace Sign" hanging from the chain. Ellie took it gingerly, wordlessly, and all the while forcing a pleased grin. With some trepidation, she turned to receive Jago's present.

"Ah. Can never go wrong with a gift of perfume for a woman. A fresh fragrance for a femme fatale. A sweet-smelling scent, an ambrosial aroma for your perfumed pleasure."

Warily, Ellie took the bottle from Jago to test its scent. Even her iron will was unable to disguise the wrinkle of her nose.

"Good grief Henry!" Exclaimed Litefoot. "Did you purchase the bottle from a mortician's supply cabinet? I'd swear that smells of formaldehyde."

"They all seemed the same to me in the shop. Couldn't sniff a bally difference between the samples. And I have the nose of a bloodhound."

"S'ok Mr. J. It's the thought that counts after all. Thank you both for the gesture."

"You are most welcome Ellie. And thank you for the wonderful meal." said Litefoot.

"And for the champagne." laughed Jago.

"Jago, my friend. I have a gift for you too of course." Litefoot smiled.

"Too kind, too kind, George."

Litefoot stood up and walked behind the bar, to where he had placed his cane and a paper bag upon entering Higgies. He handed the bag to Jago, who removed a rectangular package wrapped in plain red paper with a green bow, slightly bigger than a magazine in profile.
"I came across this as part of a donation to my shop, and knew it'd be perfect for you, old friend."

Jago excited ripped the wrapping apart to reveal the gift. It was a small poster frame, containing the playbill of a Victorian theatre.
"The New Regency..." whispered Jago, fondly.
"Perfectly authentic, I assure you."
"Six Gun Sadie,  Madam Mystere's prodigious prestidigitation... I remember each of these acts. A particularly profitable period if I recall correctly. Thank you, George." Jago was full of wistful memories, and admiration for his friend.

"I have a little something for you too. It's not much, and certainly not as personal as your present to me. But it's homemade, and made with heart. As you know, I'm a dab hand in the seamstress arts. The amount of costumes I've had to darn last minute... here you go George."

He handed George a loosely wrapped parcel covered in cartoon penguins. Litefoot carefully unwrapped the gift, revealing a mass of stripped purple knitwear.
"A scarf! How thoughtful, Henry. I have found it somewhat nippy these past few weeks. Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" Replied both Jago and Ellie.

No good moment can last forever, unfortunately, and so this charming Christmas dinner was brought to an abrupt end as a distant shockwave trembled the building. 

"Corks!" Cried Jago.

"What on Earth?! That sounded like an explosion." exclaimed Litefoot.

"Criminals never sleep Professor. So neither can those of us who stand in their way." Ellie proclaimed, standing to attention.

"Can't we just have a few days off. To enjoy the festivities?" Grumbled Jago, unwilling to get involved in any shenanigans.

"I'm afraid Ellie is correct, old chum. People could be injured, we have to help!"

TW Casefiles: Silver Linings (4)

In a vain effort to distract myself from the utter failure of a date, I returned to the hub to begin my investigation into the strange disappearances on campus. I'd have to wait until the morning to visit the crime scene, as I had no hope of sneaking in while it was crawling with Garda forensics. As I emerged from the lift into the hub, I tossed my overcoat to the left. I missed my initial target of a nearby chair, and the coat flopped messily onto the floor but I couldn't muster the energy to retrieve it. Instead I took the central seat in front of the main terminal and got to work pulling up the evenings CCTV.

This victim was an Asian male, believed to be a foreign exchange student but it was too early for a formal identification. I poured over the security footage around the timestamp of the reported disappearance. This particular stretch of path was not well travelled, so it took little time to locate the person of interest. He entered the frame from the left, walking at a leisurely pace and appeared to be listening to his headphones. So he wasn't in distress, or being pursued, as far as I could tell. Just as he reached the other edge of the frame, I saw a blur of movement behind him. A few flicks of the mouse rewound the footage, zooming in on this activity. I stepped through, frame by frame, trying to see the source of the motion. The footage was grainy, monochrome and recorded at a low framerate. It was difficult to discern the source of the activity from the background.

Eventually, I found one decent frame. Details were still unclear, but it appeared to be a humanoid torso. At the waistline, a number of trailing stands spilled out behind it, like entrails. It moved by swinging between lampposts with its strong arms. It's face, though blurry, appeared expressionless, with dead black eyes and a hollow, empty mouth. It appeared to have horns of some kind, emerging from the sides of its head and meeting atop it, forming a kind of crown. It wasn't like anything I was familiar with, and the footage didn't leave me with much in the way of clues. I set the Hub computer to run a search of the Torchwood databases, hoping it would turn up something, but given the broadness of my parameters, I doubted it would be useful.

I stood up from my chair, and surveyed the wide, empty, expanse of the Hub before me. I thought again of my insistence that my friends remain unaware of my true nature. If I just told them, they could be by my side, working together and sharing the burdens of responsibility. But it would open them up to risk. I couldn't let any of them die. Not again. Better I take all the risk upon myself, I thought. I had nothing to do until the computer had finished its search, so my mind was free to wander. I thought back on my date with Susan, on my pathetic lie, how my double life may have destroyed whatever we might have had. But it wasn't over yet, I reminded myself. I would talk with her tomorrow, explain myself. But could I tell her the truth? 

I woke the following day with a headache and a stiff neck. I found myself slumped in one of the Hub chairs, half reclining and at an uncomfortable angle. I must have crashed with tiredness whilst fretting over Susan. I heaved myself from my makeshift bed, groaning as I stretched away my stiff joints. With a stifled yawn, I turned to see if the computer had finished it's sweep of he database. As I'd expected, no conclusive match could be found. Still, no matter. I figured it was time to investigate the site of the abductions myself. Hopefully that would turn up some new leads. I picked up my phone from the desk, waking the screen to check the hour of the day. 11:30! It was almost the afternoon already, I'd been asleep far longer than I'd thought. But that wasn't the worst news my phone relayed to me. There was a missed call. From Susan.

Any number of scenarios rushed through my mind, ranging from bitter breakup to tearful reunion. Trembling, I dialed my voicemail to hear her message to me. My heart skipped as I heard her voice. She sounded concerned.

"Hi Arven. Obviously you're busy at the moment, so I'll be in touch later OK? It's just, we should talk. About last night... Maybe I overreacted, but you shouldn't have lied. Look, it's difficult to explain, but you've been acting weird recently. Ever since you finally drummed up the courage to ask me out, in fact. I don't know if you're going through some personal issues, or whether you're just happy with us, but it's clear you're hiding something. Something is eating away at you. I just want you to be honest with me, OK? Hope you're alright. Talk soon."

With that, she finished speaking, but the voicemail hadn't finished yet. Perhaps she forgot to end the call? As I was about the end it myself, I heard a clattering noise followed by a static crackle, as if her phone had been dropped. There was the beginning of a scream, followed by a mechanical clunking and another burst of static. The message ended. With a sinking feeling in my stomach, I tried ringing her back, but she didn't answer. At least the call rang out though, so her phone was still switched on. I rushed back to the terminal and ran a GPS trace for her phone using the Torchwood systems. I cross referenced this with a map of Cork, and sure enough, her last location was on Campus, outside the Centre of Infectious Diseases & Organic Investigation. The same building where two others had vanished days before.

Once again, I pulled up security footage,hoping to find some clues as to Susan's attacker. I saw her pacing while she dictated the message I had just heard. She moved the phone from her ear, about to end the call, when the same torso-figure as before lunged downward from the lamppost above her. Sue dropped her phone as the creature clung to her back. They tussled for a few moments until it touched it's arm against her neck and discharged some kind of electrical impulse, like a taser. Susan collapsed instantly, and the creature dragged her body out of shot of the cameras. As the footage ended, I was already in the lift, racing to the spot where she had been attacked.

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In this seminal work, Guy imagines a world of scientists, too smart and aloof for their own good, who machinate to create scientific monstrosities. Using taxpayer money, their labs (staffed by non-national immigrants, no less) are a wretched hive of avarice. These are not the brave British minds that innovated technology to defeat the Nazis, these are foreign mad scientists experimenting beyond the bounds of morality. Their creations an affront to God himself. One such creation, a splicing of Orangutan, Human, Dung Beetle, Dog and some others. Part man. Part animal. All ugly, racist and dickish.

During a protest against the inhumane practices occurring within, noble patriots breach the lab crying "No more experts" and "Get out ye black and tanned". In the confusion, the horrific beast escapes. Through a series of whacky events, it finds itself besuited and in America. Angry at the forces that created it, and disgusted by its own existence, it must seek the highest office in the land to set right the balance of power. Can it win a victory for patriarchal, sexist, racist bigotry? How can an orange turd stand to stand for white supremacy? Will the white man finally be able to catch a break in this cowardly new world?

Find out, Jan. 1st.

TW Casefiles: Silver Linings (3)

Susan and I were shown to our table, an intimate booth nestled under the large leafy arms of a potted plant. Our table gave both of us a perfect view of the waterfall. Torrents of crystal clear water cascaded down to a small pool on the far side of the restaurant. Candles dotted around the tables cast a warm flickering glow across the scene, illuminating the mist from the waterfall like fairy dust. It was an utterly magical moment. How I wished that such a moment would last forever; A brief window of bliss, before the coming storm.

Our waiter handed us each a menu, and took a drinks order as we perused the menu in silence. Desperate to ease the tension I could feel building, I spoke.

"So, what are you thinking of ordering?" It wasn't exactly inventive, but it was the best I could think of.

"Honestly, I'd take anything. I'm starved! I've been helping my cousin pick a wedding outfit all day. All day!" Sue replied, smiling.

Again, I began to doubt myself. Was she beeping her usual amusing self, or was she flippant? Maybe she wasn't being serious because she didn't see our relationship as serious. I knew I was being idiotic, and taking everything far too seriously, but I couldn't help my mind running off on such tangents. For as long as I could remember, my mind was always like this; Assuming the worst, searching for the negative interpretation, and it took great effort to overcome the initial fears I always had. But I wasn't going to let my mind get in the way. Not this time.

"Who's getting married?" I asked, in a voice that I hoped sounded genuinely chipper, but was probably forced.

"Denise. She's a close friend of my cousin, Jane. The wedding is in January, so Jane needs my help to pick a dress. Not to sound ungrateful of course, I love her to bits, but why she thinks I know about fashion, is anyone's guess."

"Not at all! I mean look at you. That dress is beautiful on you." I replied.

"Nah. Thanks though. Besides, I didn't even pick this out. Jane bought it for me on my birthday. In her words 'If I'm to be seen with you, Suzie, you're going to look your best.' Don't get me wrong. She's lovely. Just a little materialistic."

Curses! Political minefield. Behind my concerned gaze I was freaking out. If I agreed, then Sue might think I was offending Jane, but if I didn't Sue might feel I wasn't respecting her opinion. Again, this was a time in my life when I felt that I could do no right. My subconscious excelled at warping my worldview to fit the narrative of my ineptitude. Such thoughts were not really my own.

The waiter returned to take out order, absolving me from the responsibility of answering Susan. I ordered a roast breast of duck with a medley of vegetables, while Susan went for the lamb shank. As the waiter scurried away, Susan spoke to me again.

"So, what made you choose this place, Arven?"

"Why?" I asked, concerned. "Is there a problem with it? I'm sure we could cancel our..." I stammered.

"What? No! I mean, I love it! It's all so magical. Thanks for taking me here." She exclaimed, then after a small pause, she continued.
"Unless of course, you're not happy with it?"

"Not at all!" I replied, quickly. "It's awesome here. I just wanted to make sure you we happy with it..." I decided it best to change the subject.
"Actually, Tony was the one who recommended it. He was here with Sarah last month."

"Let me guess, he was 'gushing with praise' over the waterfall, wasn't he?" She joked.

I laughed in reply. "Yeah, you could say that his praise was free-flowing." 

"Woooow..." Sue drew out the word. "I couldn't say which pun was worse."

"Well, yours actually made sense, so this time it was mine."

"Fine. Fine. You win, King Punderful." She said, faking a sulk. "But don't get too cocky. I'll have my revenge!"

Suddenly, I realized my cheeks were pained. I was smiling so hard that it hurt. I couldn't remember when I'd last felt so content and just... at ease. No worries, no stresses, no racing thoughts... just living in the moment with the person I loved. However, I know better than most that good things don't last. As I sat there, smiling, I felt my phone vibrate. Almost without thinking, I took it out and checked my notifications. The Torchwood systems had picked up on a Garda dispatch to UCC. I realized how rude I was being on my phone, and chose to put it away. Whatever was going on could wait a few hours. I had a date to focus on.

Sue and I continued to enjoy each others company as our food was brought out. We chatted about work, and life and our mutual acquaintances as we enjoyed the feast before us. I'd even managed to mostly silence my negative instincts and live in the moment for once. As the waiter cleared our table and left us a pair of desert menus, I felt my phone vibrate once again. Almost instinctively, I had my phone in hand as I read the latest updates. The medical Campus had been cordoned off once more, and another student was reportedly missing, having apparently vanished from the same pathway as the previous girl. Something sinister was afoot, I'd have to investigate it soon. But it could wait until the morning, I decided.

As I put my phone away, I realized Sue was staring at me, brow slightly furrowed.
"Something the matter, Arven?" she asked, a little too tersely. How long had I been on my phone for?

"Err, well..." I began, before stopping myself. I couldn't be honest here, could I? I couldn't exactly use "alien scheme" as an excuse for being rude on a date. This wasn't the time to explain my life to her. Nor could I say I was checking the news, because that would just be rude. I'm not proud of the excuse I stumbled upon however.

"Sorry. Just checking in with home. My grandad is in hospital." I lied, surprising myself with the scope of it.

"Oh my God! I'm sorry! What's wrong?" Sue asked, an adorable ball of concern.

"Oh nothing like that." I backpedalled, fighting the guilt I was feeling. "It's a relatively minor thing. But it's just at his age anything sounds worse than it is."

"Well, if you need to step out and take a call, please do. I wish him the best." Just as I thought I'd gotten away with it, Sue frowned at me.
"Hang on... I thought you told me you only had one grandparent left. Your Nana."

"Urk!" I exclaimed.

"Arven. I don't care about you checking your phone. It's 2016. But for God's sake please don't insult my intelligence by lying to me." She said, voice soft with anger.

"Sue. I can explain..."

"Leave it. I don't want to hear another excuse. I just want you to be honest with me Arven. Look..." she said, pausing to sigh.
"Ever since you asked me out, you've been acting kind of weird. You're not as chatty, you seem almost paranoid, always dashing off for phone calls or something. You've been distant. Distracted. Now I find out you're lying. To my face. Blatantly."

"I'm sorry. It's just..." I tried to defend myself, but only half heartedly. She was right, really. I hadn't been myself ever since the Vakarian invasion. And I couldn't defend myself without mentioning aliens and sounding like a madman.

"Arven. I thought you were serious about us. I certainly was. But if you can't even be honest with me, then there's no point in us continuing. I think we both need to go away and have a long think about what we both really want. Maybe we just weren't meant to be." As she finished, she stood up quickly, to hide the tears in her eyes. I motioned to follow her, but she gestured for me to stay put as she almost ran to the till. I sat, dazed, for a few moments, feeling the strands of my life pull apart as the sky began to cave in. How had a date that started so well end so badly. It was my fault. I should have just told her about my second life.

There was no point in sitting feeling sorry for myself. If I was to have any chance at salvaging the night, I had to act. I followed Sue to the till, but as I reached it, she had already finished paying.
"I've sorted my half, Arven. It's only fair. Don't think about following me home for some grand demonstration of your affections. If you have any respect for me you'll let me walk out that door right now. Let's both have a night to consider, and we can see where we stand in the morning." I was painful for her to say what she was telling me, and almost as painful to hear it. But I understood her perfectly well. I let her leave, as I paid my bill. Who knew what the morning would bring?

CSI Skaro (Or, You're Suckered!)

While the world of televisual media continues to churn out endless copy paste, carbon copy police procedural shows, those of us who enjoy original content are starved of decent television. Each one is functionally identical to the last, with only the central gimmick varying between shows. I envisage a day when the writers run out of locations or scenarios to spin off such shows, and they turn to fictional universes instead. With this in mind, I present to you, dear reader, my concept for a Dalek procedural. CSI: Skaro. Mostly because I haven't been able to stop laughing after thinking about it.

We open on two Daleks patrolling a Skaro street. Our hero, Detective Inspector Derek Dalekson, and his partner, Sargent Arthur Dalek.

Derek: "My functionality is impaired. I require my morning infusion of steaming oil."
Arthur: "Infuse! Infuse!"

Our investigative pair divert to a Dalek equivalent to a coffee shop for hot vessels of steaming oil and doughnut shaped power cells. While they enjoy a beverage, a dispatch call comes through.

Radio: "Alert! Alert! Criminal is on the run in sector Alpha Delta."
Derek: "Acknowledged. Arthur, roll out!"

Both Daleks emit a wailing siren from their voice boxes, as their dome lamps flash blue and red. Lots of quick cuts indicate action as we follow the pair as they chase a Sontaran down a series of back alleys. Finally, the Sontaran is cornered. Panicked, his laser rifle is discharged, striking Arthur. A fatal blow. Enraged, Derek exterminated the criminal.

We cut to the opening titles. Derek travels on his flying disc across the Skaro badlands, zooming amongst rocky outcrops as "Dangerzone by Kenny Loggins plays. This scene is spliced by other clips from the series, showcasing some of the other regular actors. Names appear in 80's font, cascading with repetition of many colours.

Our episode continues after the trippy diversion as we enter the office of the police chief, as played by Davros.

Davros: "You are a loose cannon, Derek."

Derek: "But boss, I get results!"

Davros: "Be that as it may, you cannot be trusted to act in the interests of the Dalek race as a whole. Your wild card tendencies are too unpredictable. You got your partner killed, Derek!"

Derek: "Varga-crap! There was nothing I could have done. Nobody mourns his loss more than me. Don't pin it on me boss."

Davros: "DALEKS DO NOT MOURN! You killed the Sontaran in anger. Daleks do not act according to the whims of petty emotions. Daleks are the ultimate race. You are a disgrace to the force! Hand in your badge and gun arm."

Derek: "Fine by me boss. I'm better as a lone operator anyway."

We enter the era of Derek as a lone wolf private operator, who eventually earns his position back on the force. Most of what follows are mere vignettes, ripe to be expanded if (when) it gets commissioned.

Devoid of weaponry, Derek hastily duct tapes a pistol to his sucker arm.

The Master appears occasionally as Derek's criminal informant.

Daleks in a police station screaming "Interrogate! Interrogate!" at a flustered criminal.

A Dalek judge deciding whether to "Exterminate!" or "Incarcerate!"

Derek, taking the law into his own sucker is able to act outside the law.
Derek: "Daleks have no concept of juries. I am judge and executioner!"

Simply, whenever Derek arrests a suspect, his catchphrase is "You're suckered mate."

TW Casefiles: Silver Linings (2)

I left the Hub and all thoughts of my mission behind as I walked back to my apartment. I had a date to prepare for, with the most amazing woman I'd ever known. It was only a couple minutes walk, in pretty much a straight line. It was nice to live so centrally and directly between the two college buildings where I split my time. As I rounded the corner to enter the apartment complex, I passed the small on site newsagents, which stocked all of the emergency rations a horde of students might need. You can imagine these for yourself. I glanced at the newspaper rack standing forlornly outside of the shop.

"UCC Student Missing: Suspected Late Night Assault" read one headline, on the Examiner.
"UCC Probed Following Student Disappearance From Campus" exclaimed the Independent.
"Lock Up Your Daughters: Psycho Killer On The Prowl In UCC Campus?". Obviously one of the tabloid papers, this one.

I bought one of each paper, and hurried back to my apartment to scan the articles.  I'd spent most of the morning with Captain Jack, and somehow I'd missed a story right in front of me. The gist of the articles revolved around the disappearance of Amanda  Murray, a student of Commerce and a native Corkonian, 21. Amanda was last seen on CCTV walking through the college's medical studies campus at about 2am. The footage showed her walking off screen, passing through a blind spot between security cameras, and never emerging. She was not seen on any cameras after that moment, including the cameras watching the exits of the campus. Garda investigations found nothing significant on campus, nor in any of the buildings near her last known location. There were no eyewitnesses to the event. Leading speculation varied from sexual predators to an unfortunate accident involving a nearby bridge. I vowed to have a look at the site the following day, just in case there was more to this than first impressions would suggest.

I grabbed a quick shower, while I decided on what to wear. I wanted to appear well dressed and decidedly dapper, without being too formal. I settled on a green and purple checked shirt with veridian chinos, trendy Converse, and just a dash of hair gel for that "inch perfect scruffiness" look. I realize that using the word "trendy" in any context should preclude me from any lasting social contact, but it was my reasoning at the time. As I got prepared, my mind raced to the dark corners via the corridors of over analysis. My subconscious kept throwing up potential future details of a relationship with Susan. I had remarkably detailed images of a wedding, children, even sitting in a bank trying to arrange a mortgage! Meanwhile, my conscious mind was fixated on all of my myriad faults, and the thousands of ways I would mess up that night's date. Maybe I'd crack a tasteless joke? Maybe I'd make an arse of myself? Maybe Sue would just see right through me at the gibbering idiot she'd foolishly agreed to have dinner with?

I shook my head, in a pitiful attempt to physically clear my mind from such nonsense, destroying what little improvement I'd had on my hair in the process. Such a line of thought was unfortunately common too me. Some days I wondered if my head was simply broken, mostly I just assumed everyone was like this but they managed to hide it better. I'd managed to loose time due to my mental meandering, so I opted to grab a taxi into the city centre to save time.

In short order, I had arrived at the restaurant where I was to meet Susan. It was a beautiful place, with a 25-metre waterfall taking up one whole side of the outdoor seating area. A romantic spot recommended to me by Tony of all people, loathe as I was to trust his advice. I was still debating whether to wait outside or venture in to confirm our booking when I saw Susan approach.

"You look.. beautiful." I said, unable to think of anything more eloquent at the time. And she did. I've never seen a more stunning sight than Susan walking towards me with open arms. We embraced warmly before separating sand standing apart awkwardly. I took the opportunity to get a better look at her radiance. The smooth curves of her face, that smile that could melt glaciers, auburn hair cascading over her left shoulder. She was dressed in a colourful patterned knee length dress, with a red cardigan keeping out the chill of an October evening. Upon closer observation, I saw that the pattern of her dress was make up of a kaleidoscope of cartoon skulls.

I realized that we had been stood silent for an uncomfortably long while. Eager to break the silence, I blurted.
"I feel a bit overdressed now."
Then my brain caught up with my mouth, before running a mile ahead.
"Not to suggest you're under dressed of course. I mean, you're the correct level of dressed."
Damn. That sounded seedy.
"Of course, what I er... mean to..."
Oh God, how had I managed to ruin everything so quickly?!

Susan merely laughed softly, before replying.
"Arven. Relax. I'm nervous too, it's fine. Why don't we just head inside and find our table?"

TW Casefiles: Silver Linings (1)

It had been about two months since the Vakarian incursion had been thwarted by our little group. I was the only one on the planet to remember it had even happened, thanks to the timey-wimey nature of their technology. As a result, I was once again alone in my stand against whatever evil the rift would deposit in Cork next. It pains me to keep such a secret from my friends, but I had no other choice. There was no way they would believe me if I started to rant about secret invasions and alien warlords. Besides, in defeating the Vakarians, most of my friends were injured or killed. I couldn't risk that again. Next time, there might not be some handy temporal reset button to see the day with.

It had also been two months since Captain Jack Harkness had offered me a job with Torchwood. In that time, he had made arrangements to set up a Cork Hub as a base of operations. There was already some refurbishment work being carried out in the central building of the college's IT campus. A few bribes and generous doses of retcon ensured that an additional basement level was built, strictly off the books, of course. Jack also saw fit to furnish the new Hub with spare technology from one of the old Torchwood warehouses apparently dotted around the UK.

The central room of the hub was a large, round working area. In the centre of the room was a large metallic pillar of sorts, made of various sized panels stacked overlapping each other with not obvious pattern. Several gaps in the panelling acted as windows, showing glimpses of a blue electrical light source pulsing within. The top of the pillar split into a web of pipework as it reaches the ceiling, which ran upwards through the walls of the building above to a sort of lightning rod on the roof of the building. This was the rift manipulator, a prototype of the one installed in the Cardiff Hub. The computers in the Hub could connect to the manipulator and use it as a sort of probe to gauge rift activity. In dire circumstances, it could even be used to adjust the rift itself, though this was too dangerous to consider. Jack made sure to keep the key to the device, to make sure I wasn't tempted to mess with the rift ever.
"Sorry kid,but I've seen firsthand what happens when a team messes with things they don't understand. I'm keeping the key."

One section of the outer wall of the room was dominated by a large curved computer screen, showing various readouts of local news headlines, background rift levels and other such details. Below the screen were two chairs and input terminals. On the opposite side of the room were the doors to a lift which linked the Hub to the building above. Either side of the life were small workstations and tool benches, with a variety of investigative tools I was not yet familiar with. Two other doors led off from this central chamber. One led to a medical bay which contained several human sized morgue freezers, and a small armory. The other led to a corridor which split in two. One branch led to several prison cells, while the other led to an engineering bay and a small garage. The garage contained a ramp leading to the campus carpark, whose exit was disguise with a perception filter outside. As a parting gift, Jack had left me with an older model of one of the Torchwood SUV's. A jet black Land Rover that acted as transportation and mobile hub.

"Right kiddo, that about does it for the tour. When does the rest of your team get to join you in your new clubhouse?" Jack proclaimed, in his loud American drawl.

"They don't. I mean, I don't have a team. Yet, anyway." I answered, somewhat sheepishly.

"You mean you still haven't told them about the Vakarians. About what they've done? You might be good kid, but you can't run all this by yourself!"

"They won't believe me anyway." I said, looking for an excuse, if I'm honest.

"Then show them all of this! Give them proof and they'll believe you. Besides, if it doesn't work out, you have a stash of retcon in the med bay."

"I can't just drug my friends!" I exclaimed.

"Yeah, well, you can't do this on your own either. Being a part of Torchwood means making tough decisions. If you do this alone, without backup, you will die. Sooner or later." Urged Jack, aggressively.

I sighed. There was no point in hiding, I was only fooling myself.
"The reason I haven't.... I mean... even if they believe me, and join... This is dangerous. They might get hurt, even die. I've seen it happen once and I can't go through that again."

Jack put a warm hand on my shoulder. Looking me in the eye, he said.
"Listen. This is not all fun and games. This is a life or death situation. Whatever comes through that rift is a threat, and it will be deadly at times. Believe me when I say I've seen too many good men and women die in the name of duty. Ianto, Tosh, Owen...and so many before them. But they all died ensuring the safety of this planet. And I've seen what happens when you abandon all attachments and go it alone. People still die. Nameless people, bystanders, who might have lived if only you'd had backup, support."

He was right. Was it selfish of me to keep my friends out of it? I'm sure most of them would jump at the chance to be the hero. If they knew about the Hub, I couldn't keep them away, despite the risks. By not telling them, was I just prioritizing their lives over those of the people I was trying to defend? If I kept them in the dark, wouldn't they just be more faceless bystanders anyway? Wouldn't they be better off knowing what was out there and being prepared, rather than being victims of rift activities?

"Look." Jack continued, as I thought about his warning. "Start with one. So you're not alone. What about your hot friend?"

"What?!" I said, confused.

"You know, the one you keep giving puppy dog eyes to. The one with the disarming smile and winning personality." He smiled, enjoying watching me grow increasingly flustered.

"You mean Susan?" I asked, hesitantly.

"That's the one. Stunning, she is. Have you made a move yet? You could bring her down here for a good time. Give her a go on your blaster cannon." He winked, in a way that I can only describe as perfectly Jack.

"How dare you." I began, before Jack interrupted.

"What? There are lots of toys in the armory, surely shell enjoy one of them." His tone changed, as he became serious once more. "I mean it. Tell her about you. About this. Worst case scenario you have to retcon her. Just don't be alone down here."

"Well, actually, we do have a date tonight."

"Perfect. No excuses so. Anyway, I'd best be off. I've left Andy in charge. Gwen and Rhys have a parent teacher meeting. Better get back or there will Winne Weevils in the Assembly. Again." With a final cheeky grin, he activated his Vortex Manipulator and vanished in a puff of electricity. Meanwhile, I had a date to prepare for.

DW - War: The Soldier's Song (10)

"Enough!" bellowed the Warrior, attracting the attention of the Dalek Architect. I could see in his face that he was pained, struggling in vain to retain memories of his comrade, recently erased from time. I took advantage of the distract to continue sneaking around the Dalek towards the lens matrix of the superweapon. The rows of computer terminals provided just enough cover to mask me and the bulky roundel I was entrusted with.

The Dalek wheeled around, to face in the direction of the Warrior's voice.
"DOCTOR." It's electronic grating voice sounded more arrogant than a regular Dalek. "I WAS EXPECTING YOU TO ATTEMPT TO INTERVENE. THOUGH YOU ARE FAR TOO LATE. THE WEAPON HAS PROVED TO BE A SUCCESS."

"At what cost?" replied the Warrior, voice almost cracking. "I can't even recall the victim of your weapon. It doesn't just kill. It rewrites a person's entire existence. They never existed, and nobody remembers them."

"IT IS THE WEAPON THAT SHALL WIN THE WAR FOR THE DALEK RACE. TIME CAN BE REWRITTEN IN OUR FAVOUR, WHILE THOSE WHO OPPOSE US ARE FORGOTTEN."

"I thought the Daleks were the master race? Surely a weapon of this magnitude is merely the last resort of someone afraid of a straight fight?"

"THE DALEKS DID NOT DECIDE THE TERMS OF THIS WAR, DOCTOR. IT WAS YOUR PEOPLE WHO FIRST TRIED TO ERASE OUR EXISTENCE."

"That was lifetimes ago. Before I had the courage to do what was necessary to stop you. It is not a mistake I shall repeat. I was there at your very Genesis and I assure you, I will be there at your end."

"WE SHALL SEE, DOCTOR. YOUR COMPASSION ALLOWED US TO THRIVE. WITH THIS WEAPON, WE HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO PREVENT THE RISE OF THE TIME LORDS. DALEKS WILL BE PRONE TO NO SUCH WEAKNESS HOWEVER."

As the pair bickered with each other, I continued to make slow progress. I was beginning to feel the weight of the load I had to carry. The muscles in my arms were burning with the strain, and I had to struggle not to let it slip between my fingers. I was so preoccupied with the task ahead that I arrived at the lens matrix almost without realizing. Now, all I had to do was hoist the roundel in place, and hopefully everything else would take care of itself.

I was sure that I was in the Warrior's line of sight by now, as I clambered into position. I hoped he could delay the Dalek for a few more moments.

"THE WEAPON IS PRIMED FOR ANOTHER BLAST." came a voice from one of the Daleks below, transmitted via intercom. Unable to turn around in my current position, I could only assume the worst as I heard the Architect engage his motor drive. I would be impossible to miss.

"Eh..." stammered the Warrior, stalling desperately. I heard the motor stop, and reverse slightly. "You can't just take out Gallifrey, you know. It has defences."

"YOU DEFENCES WILL BE NOTHING COMPARED TO THIS WEAPON, COMBINED WITH THE STRATEGY OF THE EXPERIMENTS."

"It's not just the defences though. I mean, the histories of our two races are so deeply linked by now. If the Time Lords were wiped out of time, the consequences on your historical development and the Universe as a while are incalculable."

"THIS MEANS NOTHING. A PATHETIC DEFENSE."

"It could spell the destruction of your own race. Of life as we know it!"

"IT WILL SPELL NOTHING MORE THAN THE ULTIMATE TRIUMPH OF THE DALEKS. EVEN IF TIME IS RIPPED APART, THIS VESSEL, THE EPICENTRE WILL REMAIN. IF WE BECOME THE ONLY LIFE IN THE UNIVERSE, WE SHALL HAVE PROVED OUR MASTERY OF ALL LIFEFORMS. WE WILL BE SUPREME!"

I was done! I flashed the Warrior a quick thumbs up and readied myself to drop back to the floor. I heard the Dalek move again, obviously tired of his engagement with the Warrior. Just before I released my grip, I realized that I hadn't yet primed the roundel. Until I activated it's time field, it was just some heavy plastic! With a desperate flick, I watching in relief as some LED's lit up on its edge. I dropped down behind some electronics as the Dalek spun around.

"SET TARGET FOR GALLIFREY." Ordered the Dalek to his minions below. I began to hurriedly scuttle back to the warrior.

"I urge you to reconsider." warned the Warrior. "You can't be sure of the consequences. Whatever happens next is the result of your actions."

"ENOUGH, DOCTOR. YOUR TIME IS COMPLETE. FIRE THE WEAPON!"

With a shuddering tremor, the beam sparked into life again. The large cylindrical beam struck the lens matrix as it had before, except this time a temporal reflector stood in it's path. Instead of focusing the beam through a network of amplifiers, it was redirected back towards its own origin. The red tint of the beam grew darker, like blood, as the light doubled back upon itself. The barrel of the weapon began to glow white hot. Wailing sirens rang out across the vessel.

"EXPLAIN! EXPLAIN!!" Cried the Architect, panicked.

"I tired to warn you." said the Warrior, with a smile that held no mirth. "Your weapon has been rigged to reflect upon itself. Effectively removing itself from time. This is frankly impossible, but don't worry. The paradox engines will give out long before causality is irrevocably strained. In fact, it's a tactic I picked up from a human who fought off some of your damned Vakarians."
"Doctor!" I yelled, no time now to sooth his ego with the relevant title. "Shouldn't we be getting out of here?"
The Dalek Architect was livid, sensing it's imminent destruction. It was only a matter of moments before the unleashed temporal forces ripped him and his craft into atoms. It unleashed an energy blast from its ray gun, destroying the lift controls and our escape route.

The Warrior and I dove for cover behind a particularly large cooling bank to our left. The Architect rose into the air above us, but was still unable to get a clear angle on us. Switching tactics, it fired a continuous beam at the metal bank. In seconds, it was already glowing red and beginning to fizz harshly. The Dalek would punch through in moments. The Warrior withdrew his screwdriver.
"What are you going to do? Fix the metallic structure as the Dalek rips it open?!" I cried, almost hysterical.
"Don't you pay attention. Really." He snorted in response. As he activated his screwdriver, I remembered our earlier escape. I actually cheered with joy as I heard the TARDIS once again. It formed itself around us, keeping us free from external dangers. The Warrior was unable to relax as I was however. He rushed to the controls, keen to remove us from the disaster zone before the whole thing blew.

We rematerialized in the space around the saucer, in the middle of the square of Time Lords summoned earlier. Below us, the vessel crisscrossed with glowing cracked lines. Parts of the hull seemed to disintegrate, revealing a writhing mass of burning energy below us, like the fires of a white sun. There was a dramatic flash, and by the time my eyes had adjusted, the vessel was no more. There was nothing in its place. An implosion, rendered non existent as the weapon destroyed itself. Except for one remaining object. A pirate ship floating in space, before us. With a sudden bang like a punch to the head, I remembered the Corsair. Then I remembered forgetting the Corsair. Time, I had decreed, is weird.

After a brief congratulatory chat with the Gallifreyan strike force, the Warrior bid farewell, saying it was time he dropped me home.
"Probably for the best." I mused, although honestly I didn't know if I wanted to stay or go. The Warrior needed someone by his side, a companion to keep him in check, but I wasn't built for war. Fighting rift based threats in Cork was not comparable to the horrors of time based warfare.

"Here we are. Same rooftop where I picked you up, and only five minutes have passed in relative time."

"Doctor, I..."

"Don't! For the last time..."

"Doctor. Listen, please. You are a good man, whatever you tell yourself. I know you need to think that you're a different person right now, to give you strength to keep fighting. But you are fundamentally the same man you have always been. You are not cruel or cowardly, despite what you tell yourself. Even today, you stood against the Daleks without flinching. And despite their plans, you still have them a chance to back down. It was their own arrogance and blood lust that killed them, not you."

"Mere semantics. Any act if war can be justified or rationalized in the moment."

"Believe what you must, Warrior. But you're still the Doctor to me."

As I said my final piece, I was ushered out of the TARDIS by the Doctor. Form the doorway, he gave me a final cheery wave, before responding.
"You are utterly incorrigible, Arven. And stubborn as a mule. Humans just don't take no for an answer! Nonetheless, I look forward to meeting you again. When I've shrugged of this mantle and the Doctor can return."

"Goodbye, Doctor."

With a chuckle, he shut the door. Moments later, the TARDIS vanished, off to some other battlefield, no doubt.