J&L: The Curse, The Cult & The Captain (2)

The Parlour of George Litefoot.

"Captain, eh? You don't seem to have a military bearing about you, despite the outfit. I can spot an actor in costume from a mile off. We've had dodgy dealings with duplicitous devils claiming to have royal authority before."

"Ah yes, Jago. This Captain does remind me somewhat of the devious Colonel."

"Fine, you got me! I've spent more time as a con-man than a soldier, but I do work for the Crown."

"Ha! A likely story!"

"It's true! In fact, the Colonel was affiliated with my organisation for a time, before being dishonourably discharged. Nice work in dealing with that for us, by the way."

"You're aware of our investigative adventures?"

"Correct. At least, judging by your demeanor, you must be the infamous Jago & Litefoot. Torchwood has quite the file on you two."

"What is this 'Torchwood'? You seem to know intimate details about my colleague and myself, but I dare say we know nothing about you. Except that you've blundered in here, damaging my property!"

"Look, fellas, we've gotten off on the wrong foot here. We're all on the same side."

"Piffle! Don't believe a word from this self-proclaimed pompous poser! He even called himself a con-man."

"Jago, allow me to explain myself, and I can explain the function of that Quantum Flux Stabiliser. I assume you're stumped by it."

"You've seen one of these things before then?"

"Oh yeah, basic tool in the arsenal of a Time Agent."

"Time Agent? I've never heard such rot, Professor!"

"Let's hear him out, Jago. It can't hurt, I suppose. Friend or foe, understanding the cove's motives is prudent. Let's start with this Torchwood."

"We're outside the government, beyond the police. A covert organisation founded by her Majesty Queen Victoria to defend the Empire from alien incursions and technologies. Unfortunately, some of our operatives can take that remit too far, using such technologies for their own gain. Much like our mutual friend the Colonel."

"If that is indeed true, Captain, then where was the assistance from you or your organisation during the Colonel incident?"

"Yes, Professor. We have managed malevolent machinations, combating cretinous coves and solving supernatural situations for years without your input."

"Guys, I can't deny your results, that's why we've been happy to let you continue, for now. Your typical cases tend to be small scale stuff, Torchwood concerns itself with more widespread threats. Oh, and we did help out with the Colonel. Miss Agatha Worthing was one of our most skilled agents, and a phenomenal lover."

"Dashed cheek! We've protected this planet from powerful peril countless times."

"Well said, Henry. Your arrogance is distasteful, Captain."

"Oi! Don't mistake my confidence for arrogance, old timer! Officially Torchwood is against any sort of vigilante cosmic investigators, but it's my influence that has kept you guys independent. My bosses would prefer to shut you down."

"So are we to be grateful for that, Jack? Like I should be grateful for you breaking into my home?"

"Look, let's just cut to the case, this is getting a bit too confrontational. We have a mutual friend in The Doctor. Our records indicate you've had dealings with him. I used to travel in the TARDIS for a time. Officially, The Doctor is an enemy of Torchwood. I don't agree with some some of our remit, but I'm trying to improve things. We're on the same side here."

"Ok, Jack. Assuming Henry and I believe your frankly tall tale, why on Earth did you break into my house in the first place?"

"I've been tracking alien technology. Anything soaked in chronon particles, tachyons, anything anachronistic. I picked up some readings from your Quantum Flux Stabiliser, and thought you might be the source of the disturbances."

"So, can you explain this bally thing to us then? The Doctor was not very helpful when he gave it to us."

"It's a dimensional every manipulator. It's used to seal breaches in the time space fabric. Like stitching a wound, whereas I'm hoping to find the root of the injury. Did you say the Doctor gave you this?"

"Correct, Captain, but not directly. He's unable to land here at present."

"Then things are worse than I thought. If the TARDIS can't materialise, then the Vortex is in very bad shape. Something powerful is attempting to force it's way into this dimension, and it's being helped by someone or something from this side of the breach."

"Then it looks like we have the same objective. If you're willing to pay for the damage to my window, then we'll be happy to have your assistance in this matter."

"Deal."

Seriously, Fuck This Movie!

Due to the limits of Blogger, I was unable to fit the end of my rant in the previous post.

The ending deserves much scorn and derision. I've already mentioned how idiotic the reason behind the clash of heroes was. But how is it resolved? Does Superman explain to the space racist (Spaceist?) about Luthor's insidious plot? Of course not. Just as Batman is about to murder his foe, he is sent reeling by a piece of fucking comic trivia. You see, both Bruce and Clark have mother's called Martha! This astounding coincidence convinces Bruce not to kill Supermeh! Nothing heroic, or clever. One must assume that if Clark's mother had been called Susan, or Mary, then this would have ended in bloodshed.

I'll wrap up now, as I think I've mentioned the worst this film has to offer, without offering major spoilers. In summary, there is the core of a good film here. The idea of Batman doubting his one rule to stop what he sees as unimaginable power is a solid one. Wonder Woman and Alfred are both fantastic characters, and Ben Affleck himself is a brilliant actor. The fight scenes are where Snyder's visual flare really shines. However, basic issues like pacing and tone hamper the film, while blatant errors in story, motivations, and character moments are an offensive affront to the source material. Even a bad movie can be entertaining. Being boring is the worst crime a film can commit. Still, I'm now super hyped for the Wonder Woman solo outing!

Seriously, Fuck This Movie!

FUCK THIS MOVIE FUCK THIS MOVIE FUCK THIS MOVIE FUCK THIS MOVIE FUCK  THIS MOVIE FUCK THIS MOVIE FUCK THIS MOVIE FUCK THIS MOVIE FUCK THIS MOVIE FUCK THIS MOVIE FUCK THIS MOVIE!!!!!!

*Ahem* Ok, I didn't expect too much from this film. I find Zach Snyder's work to be glitzy but lacking in substance, like a Michael Bay film as viewed through a dark filter. However, the promise of seeing these two comic titans clash, along with the Live Action Film introduction of Wonder Woman (Thanks, Lego Movie!) was enough to draw my interest. Unfortunately, the end result is a film that straddles the line between mere boringness, and outright offensiveness to long time comic fans. I'll try to compile my thoughts into a semi-coherent ramble, through the fog or rage.

As one example, in the first minute, during another retelling of Batman's origins, we see his parents murdered. The twist this time? Thomas Wayne takes a swing at a mugger, gets shot as a result. Thus, undermining the "random accident" element that spurs Bruce on. This was a completely avoidable incident created by idiocy. (Note: This is a metaphor too! And this is an example of the subtlety on display in the movie. Classic Satire!)

Spoiler Warning, natch!

Firstly, the positives, such as they are. Batfleck makes a decent Bruce Wayne, from a purely acting perspective. (The character himself is questionable). Any of the solo action scenes involving the Dark Knight are entertaining, with one section in particular standing out like a live action version of one of the Arkham games. Similarly, the titular showdown is decent once it finally gets underway, playing out with a visual flare incredibly reminiscent of The Dark Knight Returns. I mean this as a compliment, Snyder has mentioned this comic as an inspiration and it shows. The best scenes and imagery of the movie evoke other media. A personal favourite of mine is that shot in the trailer of Batman grappling away as lightning forks in the background. This emulation seems to be the best trick in Snyder's arsenal though. Many of the original shots come across as pretentious. Finally, Wonder Woman steals the show in any scene she's in! Gal Godot is amazing, and as a trailer for the solo WW film, this has made me incredibly excited! My favourite moment is during the climactic battle. WW is temporarily disarmed, she glances at her opponent, and smirks, relishing the sudden challenge.

Now, for the many, many negatives. It's hard to know where to start... The tone deafness, the sheer bizarrely people characterizations, the spectacle over substance, the laughably idiotic genius characters, the inexplicable Lex Luthor, the mawkish sentimentality of the ending, the unnecessary Jesus imagery, the jar of piss. Yes, a jar of piss. Just what I found lacking in my Superhero films. Literal piss in a jar. A cold jar of piss seems a fitting metaphor for this film.

I think I should start at the beginning. Time for a little backstory. Cast your minds back to Man of Steel. Superman's grimdark reboot in the vein of Christopher Nolan's Batman. The same problems that plagued that film are evident here too. The most frequent complaint leveled at this film would be the ending. The disaster porn destruction of Metropolis caused by Superman battling Zod. It's hard to feel the emotional pathos of the characters when the death toll is in the tens of thousands at best, and never even acknowledged. One would expect the moral icon of Superman to at least attempt to protect innocents. Compare this to either of the Avengers films, where screentime is devoted to showing our heroes rescuing civilians. I will be making more comparisons to Marvel properties as we go.

The worst crime of Man of Steel is something different though. Superman, the icon, is a paragon of virtue, the embodiment of the best aspects of humanity, of truth, justice and the American way. He is a pure power fantasy, symbolic of hope and potential. These values were instilled in young Clark by his surrogate human parents. This alien immigrant becomes a guardian of humanity, thanks to morals instilled by his upstanding decent mid-American family. Not in Man of Steel though! Who can forget the heartwarming scenes where Pa Kent proposes his son let a bus of children die lest people discover his secret. Remember kids, don't be a hero, always look after yourself above others. It's more important to conform to society than be yourself or show kindness.

To those who might react and say that the boy scout Superman is a naive childish caricature, I say "So what?". Surely in this cynical world our escapist fiction should occasionally embody kindness and decency. Besides, this type of noble character can work in this day and age. Take Captain America, in the MCU, Cap is a man of conviction, of morals, and of optimism, above and beyond a mere jingoistic propaganda figure. This grimdark Superman is against the heart of the character.

So, finally, onto BVS, henceforth to be known as "Crazy Steve V Bearded Idiot: Pants to be Darkened". Thank you, AT4W! The big draw of this film, is the inclusion of the Dark Knight himself. If you thought Snyder didn't do Superman justice, then wait until you hear about Batman. Firstly, Batman has a superpower in this film, premonitions. He has several dream sequences in this movie, henceforth dubbed "Knightmares", obviously. These include: the laughably pretentious image of child Bruce being held aloft in a swarm of bats such that his silhouette forms a bat symbol, the bizarrely ridiculous bat creature bursting from his mother's tomb, and the most egregious of all. He has a dream of a terrible future, ruled by Superman, in which Batman wears a trenchcoat over his batsuit in a desert, and shoots people with guns. He also sees an omega symbol and the heralds of Darkseid. HOW IS BRUCE AWARE OF THINGS RELATED TO A FUTURE FILM! At least Stark's vision in Age of Ultron came from Scarlet Witch's magic...

Let's discuss Batman's motivation for this film then. Bruce is pissed that a Wayne Enterprises building in Metropolis gets destroyed by Superman's battle with Zod. Fair enough so far. Bruce then decides that Superman must be destroyed because "If there's even a 1% chance that he will become an enemy, we must treat it as absolute certainty". Yep, Batman advocates killing somebody who may potentially be a problem in the future. This is the guy who sends his enemies to Arkham Asylum, the rotating door of mental institutions. Batfleck is basically Donald Trump. He's the kind of character who would refuse to help refugees because a few might be terrorists. Satire! At no point does the world's greatest detective investigate Superman's motives, or try and contact. It's just "Alien. Dangerous. Kill".

It gets worse! This is a Batman advocating killing a potential criminal. Going by other evidence, I can only assume he's killed the rest of his rogues gallery. Batman kills at least 10 people in this film. Not in an accidental manslaughter way, direct murder! Batman! He never even mentions hi one rule, or has any hang-up about murder. He even cracks a joke after the worst offence! He takes out a car, then deliberately uses it as a wrecking ball on a physics defying tether to destroy more shit. He lands his Batmobile on a truck, crushing its occupants. He disarms a grenade wielding thug such that three dudes explode. Then, he shoots a guy with a flamethrower such that the tank on his back explodes. This is worse than than Baleman and his "I don't have to save you" logic bomb! Fuck you, Snyder! This Batman is a meat-headed, racist, bigoted, unthinking idiot! When the two finally fight, Superman realised they're being played by Lex, and tries to explain to Bats. Bats fails to listen, and keeps going. Despite not being in danger, Supes gives up logic and fights back. Characters are idiots to service the plot. This is one of the biggest crimes in media, in my opinion. It instantly cheapens all drama.

So, we've established that the two leads are idiots and utterly offensive to the core of their characters, while Wonder Woman was awesome. So what about the other Justice League teasers? It felt cheap to have them show up as video clips on Luthor's hard drive. Marvel earned their connected universe by introducing elements slowly and naturally. Thia feels like an intrusion just to set up a rushed Justice League. Batfleck uses his prodigious predestination powers to realise some sort of league of justice will be needed soon for "reasons".

So, moving on to the villain of the piece. (Who's not racist Dark Knight). Lex Luthor. Others have already gone into detail about his weird presence, so I won't go into too much detail. Suffice to say that this squeaky Silicon Valley techie Lex Luthor is even more insufferable than the trailers portray him. I've heard some commentators suggest that in early versions of the script, both Lex and Joker were in this film, and it really feels like they just merged both into one character here. He has no real motivation for his schemes, and even plays a bafflingly minor role in the creation of Doomsday. At the end, it's suggested that he too was aware of Darkseid, but that doesn't explain his motives either. What do we expect from the guy who gifts a side character with a literal jar of piss though?

This film is a tone deaf mess. A tense early scene is interrupted by Superman comically killing a warlord by smashing him through a building, before snapping back to the serious consequences of his actions. Bruce Wayne walking through the debris of Wayne Tower is interrupted by a sudden fog horse. The jar of piss attempts to encourage a wry smile before a death. Batman quipping as he murders. The film whose entire shtick is grimdark, suddenly tries to be jokey, only for it to fall flat.

It can't be a Snyder Superman story without more Jesus imagery either. I lost count of the amount of times "God" and "Messianic" were used in dialogue.

  Continued in next post.

J&L: The Curse, The Cult & The Captain

The Parlour of George Litefoot.

"Some tea for Mr. Jago and myself please, Mrs. Hudson. We've had a bit of a rum evening, all told."

"Too right, Professor. But we showed that scurrilous statue what for. Another fastidious feather in the cap of Jago & Litefoot!"

"I wouldn't be too quick to close this particular case, Henry. The Angel may have been taken care of, but we still have to locate the source of those temporal disturbances that The Doctor warned us about."

"Oh, I'd forgotten about that in my excitement. Do you still have the dratted device from Professor Dark? What was it, a Quantic Flexing Stabiliser?"

"A Quantum Flux Stabiliser, but I have no idea how it operates, what it's function is, or why we should require such a thing. The Doctor did tell Ellie that it would become apparent. I wish there was a little more clarity."

"It's about as clear as the proverbial, I'd say. I remain somewhat sceptical about suggestions for the scepter's situational suitability or it's invaluable instructions just waltzing up and knocking at you door. Couldn't that confounded chap have given Ellie more to go on?"

As Jago bemoaned their current predicament, a tall, hooded figure approached Litefoot's front door. Some device held beneath his coat emitted a recurring beep, which grew in frequency when pointed towards the house. With his free hand, the figure reached out towards the ornamental brass knocker on the door, rapping it repeatedly.

"Gracious! Who could that be at his hour?"

"Knowing my luck, it's probably a creditor, unhappy with the current takings from the New Regency. Blasted cheek, two of my best performers where murdered, in a manner of speaking, by the Angel. Hardly the time for meeting about mundane monetary matters."

"It's more likely to be either Ellie, or Inspector Quick, I should think. Perhaps one of them has found a clue pertaining to this device!"

"The cove is still knocking, George. They're certainly insistent."

"Then we should tarry no longer. I'M ON THE WAY, PLEASE TRY NOT TO WEAR OUT THE HINGES" George called out as he entered the hallway.

"Open up, in the name of Her Majesty, Queen Victoria!" came the muffled reply.

"What the devil? Who am I speaking to? On what business do you call here so late?"

"I won't ask again. You're harbouring dangerous technology that poses a threat to the Empire. Open this door immediately, or I will open fire!"

"I don't take kindly to threats, good sir. Besides, surely you require a warrant to demand entry to this private residence. I suggest you return in the morning, with your superior, when we can discuss this like gentlemen."

"No dice, I'm afraid. Not gonna fly. My mission is urgent, and frankly, I don't have the time to placate older gentlemen. Not during business hours, anyway. I WILL open fire!"

"Litefoot, do you think he means it? Will he attempt to force entry?"

"I wouldn't worry, Henry. I don't think an agent of the Crown would risk such an incident in a built up area. Besides, I had the doors fortified with iron and mahogany shortly after the business with Magnus Greel. It would take a cannon to pierce this entryway."

Several cracks of gunpowder resonated through the door-frame, while the door shook slightly."

"Looks like your defences held then."

"The man is a lunatic! What does he think he's playing at? That hand carved mahogany cost me a fair sum. And this is hardly the appropriate occasion for firearms in a main London street!"

"I think he's stopped. I don't suppose there is an alternative entrance, is there?"

"The rear door I'd similarly reinforced, and the cellar can only be opened from this side."

For several moments, the pair stood in silence, listening for any sign of the mysterious figure. For a brief moment, they could have sworn they heard a holler, slowly increasing in pitch.

"Oh no! The doors are impenetrable, however..."
"The Windows!"

The hooded figure ran towards the bay window on the ground floor. Seconds before impact, he fired at the pane, weakening it's structure, then dove through, arms first to clear the path for his fleshy body. The figure fell into a roll, landing in a crouched position, one knee raised, long military style coat splayed out around him. The hood had fallen away, revealing a handsome man, in his late 30's, sporting thick muttonchops. Shards of glass were sprinkled about his clothes, and his bare skin was covered in several scratches and cuts.

"Boy, I promised myself I'd never use a window again. Not after that time with Bruce Cam..."

"What on earth have you done to my parlour?!"

"What does it look like, old timer? I entered your domicile through the only means left available. Oh, and I don't need a warrant to gain entry. I'm outside the Constabulary."

"Then who the devil are you man?! And who are you calling old? Dashed cheek. What are you doing in my house?"

"The name's Captain Jack Harkness. I'm here to save the world on behalf of the Torchwood Institute. And you two are harbouring incredibly dangerous non-terestrial technology."

"Mrs. Hudson, make that three cups for tea. It seems we have a guest."

Torchwood: Origins (8)

An object closely resembling a metal dentists couch emerged from the floor. The Daleks insisted that I lie on the device, and then fastened metal bracelets around my limbs, locking me in place. The Doctor stood nearby, still trying to convince me to change my mind.

"Doctor, please. It's my decision. I have this information in my head. Ever since we arrived here, it's been burning in my mind. I can't focus, and it's getting worse. I need this to stop. Besides, if there's even a slight chance that the Daleks might change, or to sooth your guilt. I need to do this."

"But, the Matrix is too large for a human mind to contain when the data is uncompressed. The process will probably fry your brainstem. I can't let that happen to a friend. Not again."

"Doctor, it's my life against Gallifrey."

"No, it's your life against maybe Gallifrey, and maybe restarting the war. I ended it once, I can't do it again."

"It's OK, Doctor. I suppose, I've always felt like I was out of place, like I didn't belong, like I had some purpose that I couldn't place."

"That doesn't mean you should throw your life away for something like this!"

"SILENCE DOCTOR. THE EXTRACTION SHALL BEGIN."

"Please, no. Just stop. The Daleks are finished. It's just you, as I'm the last Time Lord. It's over, time marches on. I know that more than most. This won't bring any of them back. The data will likely just be inconclusive, you'll still be in doubt, and yet another innocent will die because of this war. If you really think your time has passed. If your doubts are genuine, you'll stop. Just think!"

"I DO NOT... I MUST TRY. IT IS THE IMPERATIVE OF MY RACE. DALEKS SURVIVE. DALEKS CONQUER AND DESTROY. THE DALEKS MUST ENDURE."

"IT IS FUTILE. WE ARE THE LAST TWO DALEKS. EVEN IF MORE EXIST ELSEWHERE, WE HAVE FAILED. OUR FLEET IS DESTROYED.  WE ARE WEAK. WE ARE NOT DALEKS, WE ARE NOT SUPREME BEINGS."

"BLASPHEMY! INSUBORDINATION WILL NOT BE TOLERATED. TRAITORS TO THE DALEK EMPIRE MUST BE EXTERMINATED!"

"EXTERMINATE!"

The two Daleks had turned on each other. I struggled with my restraints while they dueled across the command room. Stray energy blasts from their cannons flew throw the air, hitting vital equipment, and luckily, missing me and The Doctor. He ran to my side, have crouching in a vain effort to protect himself. With a flick of his Sonic, I was freed from my restraints. With the two Daleks concentrating on each other, we ran back to the TARDIS. As we ran, alarms and siren's began yo sound across the ship. The Daleks stray fire must have damaged some critical components. We had barely sealed ourselves inside the police box when we felt the saucer rip apart in nuclear fury.

The Doctor stood at the TARDIS controls, resolute. While he refused to say it, he had lost the last hope of finding out if his people survived. He was more alone now than ever, now that he had been teased with forbidden data.

"Doctor, the Matrix is still in my head. If you wanted to inspect it."
"No."
"But, without the Daleks, you'll be the only one who knows. If the Time Lords survived, it will be your secret."
"No. I'm not sacrificing you. All of Gallifrey isn't worth another innocent death."
With a deep sigh, a sigh fueled by centuries of regret, he aimed his Screwdriver at me.

I woke up at home several hours later. There was a note on my bedside locker.

Arven,
I have inverted the compression algorithm on the data. It has shrunk the information spacing to a sub quantum level. The Matrix is lost, and should never interfere with you again.

I have dropped you home, on the same day we left. This adventure has reminded me why I travel alone. I put you in a situation where you were willing to die to sooth my conscience. I have to stop placing the people I care about in danger.

Your partner in time,
The Doctor

So, I was back on Earth. I'd had my eyes opened to the depths of the universe, and had that ripped away. I knew how dangerous the universe could be, and I vowed from then on that I would devote myself to defending my home from such dangers.

Torchwood: Origins (7)

We were lead to the control centre of the Dalek saucer. Banks of terminals scattered the area, mostly disused with a large portion of controls and instruments inactive or damaged. There was a second Dalek crewing one of the few computers still functioning.
"Ah, so he mans the controls while you play guard dog? That doesn't seem fair. Do you take shifts?", I asked. They needed me, presumably alive, so I felt brazen enough to ridicule these creatures. Plus, it helped me cope with the sheer threat facing us.

"SILENCE! THE HUMAN WILL NOT SPEAK."

"Fine, I'll have my say then, shall I?" chimed The Doctor. "Is this really all that's left of the mighty Dalek empire? Two tin cans in a knackered old ship?"

"DO NOT MOCK US, DOCTOR. YOU ARE EXPENDABLE. THE HUMAN IS NOT."

"Why shouldn't I? You're pathetic. Time and again, we have clashed, over and over for centuries! Time and again, you have taken so much from me, from the universe. So much bloodshed, and for what? So that we can stand here, the last ones of our races, and do it all again? Why shouldn't I mock this?! It's all I have left!"

"WHAT IF THAT WERE NOT TRUE, DOCTOR?"

"I beg your pardon? What's not true?"

"WHAT IF WE ARE NOT THE LAST OF US? WHAT IF OTHERS SURVIVED THE TIME WAR?"

"No. Impossible. I ended it. I used the Moment. Nothing survived that. Nothing could have."

"WE DID, DOCTOR. AS DID YOU."

"That's different. You fell back through time, damaged and limped, barely functioning. Even if any other Daleks survived, they'd be no better off or numerous than yourselves. It's over. Our races are dead, we are little more than walking museum exhibits. So stop this, please. Whatever you're planning, just stop. We've all lost."

The Dalek's eyestalk drooped. If I find know it lacked certain emotions, I'd say it was struck by melancholy.

"DOCTOR, WE HAVE SEEN THE CONTRADICTION AT THE CORE OF OUR RACE."

"What?!"

"THE DALEKS ARE THE SUPREME BEINGS OF THE UNIVERSE. HOW CAN THIS BE TEUE, IF WE ARE THE ONLY TWO REMAINING. IF NO OTHERS SURVIVED THE WAR, IF WE REALLY ARE THE LAST DALEKS, HOW CAN WE BE THE ULTIMATE LIFEFORM?"

The Doctor's mouth flapped, though no sound emanated from it. He was reeling, he'd never seen a Dalek with such self awareness before.

"Of course you're not the supreme beings! You're just fanatical fascists, a scourge on creation! Is that what this is all about? The information in Arven's mind is some last ditch effort by Dalek High Command? You think it'll lead you to some secret pile of comrades, just so you won't be alone? Newsflash! You are alone. We're all alone, it's all long gone! We remain like breath on a mirror, and we will fade all too soon. We're just the afterglow of the memories of our people."

"Doctor? Don't I get a say? It is my mind, after all. I want to hear this plan. From what I've heard of the Daleks, one with self doubt is unique. Maybe there's a chance, a slim chance, that it's had a change of heart. Isn't that possibility worth investigating?"

"No! A Dalek never changes its bumps. This is all just a ploy. Daleks don't just grow a conscience!"

"Doctor. Remember what you told me, about travelling alone. Don't let your experiences of the war cloud your judgement. Surely it's worth at least hearing the Dalek's plan..."

"Maybe you're right. Ok, I'll listen. But I won't like it."

"THERE IS INFORMATION IN TJE HUMAN'S BRAIN. BUT IT IS NOT OF DALEK ORIGIN. OUR RECORDS INDICATE THAT THE FINAL ACT OF THE TIME LORDS WAS TO COPY THE MATRIX, AND HIDE IT IN A COMPRESSED FORMAT. A WAY OF PRESERVING TIME LORD CULTURE BEYOND THE END."

"No! No, no, no, NO! It's a trick, it has to be. The Time Lords died. This isn't true. I would have known. Surely..."

"What's the Matrix?" I asked.

"The sole repository of all Time Lord knowledge. And, it contains the memory imprints of deceased Gallifreyans. In other words, information far to valuable to place in Dalek tentacles. That's what you really want, isn't it. Time Lord secrets."

"NO DOCTOR. WE WANT TO MINE THE MATRIX FOR INFORMATION ABOUT YOUR PRISON CAMPS. IF ANY DALEKS SURVIVED THE WAR, ON A DISTANT GALLIFREYAN OUTPOST, THE MATRIX IS OUR BEST HOPE OF FINDING IT. IF THE MATRIX CONTAINS NO INFORMATION,THEN WE WILL KNOW WE ARE THE ONLY SURVIVING DALEKS."

"And what then? If you're the only Daleks left, what do you do. Use Time Lord data to wage war? Break the time lock and unleash the war again? Or worse, you find out that there is an army of Daleks hiding in the void!"

"Maybe it's worth it, Doctor. Think about it. If any of your people survived the Moment, this could be your chance to find out! You've regretted your decision for years, this could be your chance for redemption. If Gallifrey survived in any form, don't you owe it to your people to find out?"

"But, I can't let the Daleks access that information. It could restart the war!"

"You wanted redemption, Doctor. This could be your chance to atone. And if you're right. If there's nothing to gleame, then you'll have closure. Besides, the data is in my head. For whatever reason, the Time Lords implanted it in me. So it's my decision, not yours. Dalek, please unlock the data."

Torchwood: Origins (6)

The TARDIS vworped its way through the swirling expanse of the Time Vortex. At last, we would receive answers, at last I would find out who had orchestrated my torment. Doubt wracked my mind however, did I really want to know? Ever since the encounter with the captain, I'd had a headache, like a sinus pain. An aching pressure behind my eyes, like my skull was being forced apart.

I feared it might be the information stored within my mind by unknown forces. Perhaps the data was decrypting naturally, as the captain had suggested. Or, maybe proximity to our destination was upsetting the storage method. I  was just entertaining the notion that it might be some kind of ear worm, some meme like phenomenon where the more I considered it, the stronger it felt. The Doctor insisted that this theory was nonsense, it was "all in my head". I didn't appreciate his choice of words.

The next thing I remember is staring at the domed ceiling of the TARDIS, with The Doctor's concerned face looming over my own. Apparently, I had passed out just as we landed, though I'd only been out of it for about a minute. I had vague recollections of images and sounds, fragments like shrapnel rattling around my head. Some, I remembered from my brief glimpse into The Doctor's mind. A red button, a grave & bearded man, a scream, countless screams, death & hellfire, silence. Other images were of human sized metal tanks, a city encased in crystal, figures in scarlet and gold headdress, urgent meetings and desperate pleas. The more I tried to focus, the further from my mind they receded. The Doctor helped me to my feet. He looked at me with those ancient eyes, silently asking if I was OK.
"Whatever happens, I need answers. I need to know. To quote a phrase, Doctor, Allons-y!"

In the void of space, a saucer hung silent and unmoving. Lit by no sun, it was discernable only by the few blinking lights on its circumference. If it had been visible, the scorch marks and pitted marks spoke of battle damage. This ship had seen conflict. This was our destination.

Upon exiting the TARDIS, we found ourselves in a metallic corridor. Dull red light cast murky shadows while a dull rhythmic noise echoed from the ship's core. Just standing there, the atmosphere was oppressive, there was an evil aboard this vessel. The design was functional, angular and angry, no shred of elegance or individuality.
"Does this place feel familiar to you, Doctor? Any idea who the pilots are?"
"All too well, I'm afraid. We shouldn't even be here. This craft can't be here. Not them, it's always them!"
"Who, Doctor?"
"It's not safe here. Back in the TARDIS. Now!"
"Doctor, what's going on?"
"This ship, I've seen its kind before. All too often. This is a Dalek command ship, somehow they've survived. This is impossible!"
The Doctor was becoming angry, and afraid. Here was a man who sacrificed everything, his people, his morals, his soul, yet his enemy still lingered.
"We have to leave now. The Daleks are more dangerous than you can imagine. Whatever they want with your mind, we can't let you fall into their clutches."
"But, Doctor.."
"No excuses! TARDIS, now! I'm not losing another friend to those monstrosities."
"Doctor, I was trying to say it's too late."

While the Doctor was lost in his rant, I became aware of a motorised hum approaching. Sure enough, moments later, a bronze metallic machine turned the corner onto our corridor. It stood slightly shorter than myself, it's bottom half was decorated with hemispherical bumps, while its single eyestalk focused on me, pupil glowing with a blue light. It's midsection consisted of a cylindrical grille, with two weapons pointing forwards; one appeared to be like a sink plunger, while the other resembled a whisk, though it's seen enough in my travels to know it was likely some sort of projectile weapon. In another situation, I might have found the design laughable, but this creature was dangerous. Like a caged animal at a zoo, it had a natural air of danger. It's firepower was obvious, and it oozed hate, so strongly that I could almost taste it. This Dalek hated anything different, I felt like it even hated itself, it's own existence abhorrent to itself. This was an abomination, a purely destructive force.
"ALERT. ALERT. INTRUDERS DETECTED IN SECTOR GAMMA. SOURCE OF TEMPORAL ENERGY CONFIRMED TO BE A TARDIS. THE DOCTOR HAS BEEN APPREHENDED."

The creature fixed it's gaze upon us and addressed us directly.
"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO FLEE OR YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED. THE HUMAN IS REQUIRED. YOU ARE NOW PRISONERS OF THE DALEKS, YOU WILL MOVE AHEAD OF ME, AND FOLLOW MY DIRECTIONS".

"Doesn't, seem like we have much choice then. Lay on, MacDalek, and damned be he who first cries, hold enough!"

"SILENCE, DOCTOR. MOVE. MOVE!"

Torchwood: Origins (5)

The captain reached for his quantum lance, and advanced towards me. I cast my gaze around the room, searching for a weapon, anything to defend myself with, but there was nothing within reach. I thought about rushing past the captain, but knew it would be futile. The corridor outside would be filled with crewmen any moment now. My only hope lay in the hands of The Doctor.

Whistling nonchalantly, the Time Lord stepped out from behind the machinery he had been working on, holding a small cylindrical device.
"Ah, captain! Just the man I wanted to see. How's your day been?" Once again, he had an air of charming affability, but his eyes told a different story. The captain had crossed a line, pushed him too far, and I could see the vengeful warrior that The Doctor tried never to become.

The captain slowed, halting his advance. He was wary of The Doctor now. He could sense it too.

"What, pray tell, have ye got lined up now, Tyrant? What are ye holding? Do ye really think ye can stop me?"

"Oh, I love it when they say that. Pride makes the inevitable fall all the more apt. I wouldn't be too hasty if I were you, good captain. I'm holding the fusion core to your trans-warp drive. If this isn't replaced very soon, your whole vessel will fall out of orbit."

"Ye wouldn't dare!"

"Wouldn't I? You said it yourself, I'm a hypocrite, a tyrant! I've got the blood of my entire race on my hands, their screams echoing in my mind! I carry the burdens of billions of innocent lives... So what's a couple of pirates compared to that? Hmm? Tell me again why I never would."

"Because you'll die too! Ye'd never sacrifice yourself." said The captain, doubt and trepidation creeping into his voice.

"Are you sure? I've lived so long, seen too much. Maybe my time is up. There are worse ways to go than stopping cruel villains like you."

"Doctor!" I implored. "Please, just listen to reason. These pirates aren't worth that kind of sacrifice! Don't make this your final stand because of some prior guilt. Sure, you may have done terrible things in the past. Awful events. But that's why we have a future! To learn from the lessons of our past. To improve on ourselves, to make things better. Maybe you're not still alive as a punishment, maybe you're alive because of your compassion. You're better than these folk. Don't sink down to their terms."

"The boy is right Doctor. Ye might he willing to sacrifice yourself, but you'll never sacrifice him." sneered the captain, content with his logic.

I continued to stare at The Doctor, silently urging him to reconsider. His eyes were wide, like a rabbit before headlights, as he grappled with his decision. His gaze hardened, and with a heaving motion, he slammed the fusion core to the floor, shattering it.

"I tried to give you a chance, don't forget that. I tried, I really did. Now, your orbit will decay and this vessel with impact on the planet below. However, if you and your men get to the escape pods quickly, you'll be able to make planet fall before impact. That's the planet Kestrel V, I believe. Nice, temperate planet, no sentient life. Like the pirate prison islands of old."

"YOU HAVE DOOMED US DOCTOR!"

"Nonsense, if you're smart, you'll all run off and leave. Now."

With that, the captain turned tail and ran, bowling past the crew just beginning to assemble at the doorway. Moments later, a general alarm rang out across the ship, and the entirety of the crew ran for the escape pods too.

"Doctor, I..." I began to ask.

"Not now. To the TARDIS, quickly."

We made our way back to the TARDIS, and The Doctor dematerialised the ship, taking us to safety.
"What will happen to the crew?" I asked.
"Oh, they'll be fine. They'll survive on the planet for a while, but I'll make sure they're rescued soon enough. I've contacted the Shadow Proclamation, and informed them of the whereabouts of a known fugitive on Kestrel V. They'll sort things out soon enough."

Silence hung in the air for a few long moments, before The Doctor continued.

"Thank you, by the way."
"Why? What did I do?"
"For interrupting me when facing the captain. When I travel alone for too long, I can lose perspective. This TARDIS can be a quiet, lonely place, and I spend too long listening to myself think. Dwelling on my failures, and regrets. A travelling companion reminds me of why I keep going, why I stay fighting. So, thank you."

"So, it takes a human to remind you of you humanity?"

"Hah, I suppose so."

"What did he mean, when he said you killed your own kind? What happened, if you don't mind my asking?"

The Doctor paused for a minute, obviously having some inner turmoil. Eventually he sighed.
"It's a story I don't like dwelling on. I was a different man back then. I had to become someone different. A warrior, ruthless and willing to do what was required. I couldn't call myself The Doctor in those days. It was a life I tried very hard to forget."

"There was a war. A war that waged across the universe, across all of time and space. The Last Great Time War, fought by my people, and a race called the Daleks. They fought everywhere, everywhen, constantly devising new, cruel forms of warfare. Time destructors, paradox engines, the Moment, the Genesis Ark, temporon mines... Not to mention the horrors which sprung up as the war progressed. The Nightmare Child, the Army of Meanwhiles and Neverweres, The Skaro Degredations and The Heart of the Infinite. It was hell, with untold numbers of innocent world's caught in the crossfire."

"The Daleks were a genocidal race of mutated creatures, genetically engineered to be the most superior race of all creation. Their creator, Davros, removed weak emotions, like joy, compassion, empathy, leaving them with nothing but pride, anger and hate. The Daleks stopped at nothing to prove their superiority, attempting to subjugate or destroy all lesser races. My people chose to fight them, to slow their advance, but as the war dragged on, they became as bad as the Daleks. They stopped caring about the fallout, began devising weapons as horrific as anything the Daleks could dream up. and I helped, for years I participated in the bloodshed."

"In the end, there was a stalemate. Neither side could defeat the other, and both threatened the destruction of everything. I took the only choice I had. I detonated the Moment, the last Time Lord weapon, the Galaxy eater, on my own home planet. I wiped out my own people, and the entirety of the Dalek battlefleets swarming the skies above."

"But, did it work? I mean, you're still alive. Could others have survived?"

"One did. An old enemy and even older friend. Though he's since been lost. Otherwise I'm the last of the Time Lords."

"What of the Daleks?"

"They survived. They always do. They survive and I lose everything. Some scattered patrols or damaged vessels escaped the destruction. I've fought them a few times since."

"Was it worth it? In the end, was it worth it?"

"All that bloodshed, all those innocents. How could anything be worth that?"

"Even the universe itself? Removing the destructive influences of the two most powerful races in the universe? While it could never be condoned, perhaps it is understandable. I mean, there is peace now."

"But at what cost? Victory is not worth it, if we sacrifice who we are to achieve it."

"Maybe Doctor. But we can't change the past, can we? All we can do is try and shape the future."

"Anyway, enough of all this melancholy. We still need to find out what happened to you!"

"The captain mentioned that someone implanted data into my mind, and someone is trying to reclaim it. But who, and why?"

"Actually, while I was fiddling with the engines, I did look at the navigational logs. One set of coordinates seemed unusual. It's in deep space, away from any official or unofficial space lane, and it was always visited shortly after an Earth excursion."

"So, you think it could be the captain's mysterious benefactors?"

"Can't hurt to check. Allons-y!"

Torchwood: Origins (4)

So, there we were, being threatened by comically clichéd corsairs. Ten minutes with the Doctor and my life was in peril. I was beginning to understand the track record of his companions.

"Yarr, ye'll be telling me maties and I what yer business is here, buckos, or it'll be keelhauling!" There's no sound in space, but this captain could probably still be heard on the planet below. I've heard explosions quieter than this guy.

"Honestly, a keelhauling in zero gravity doesn't sound too bad, as long as the forcefield extends that far." I quipped.

"Actually, the keel is a thermal exchange, you'd be roasted alive." The Doctor clarified.

"Haha, indeed. You'd do well to heed yer elders, boy!"

As the crew descended into another bout of laughter, the captain's parrot began to squawk.
"Information available, captain."
"Out with it then, Polly!"
"Records indicate that that this man is the Time Lord known as The Doctor."

"Oh, I always preferred robot dogs to robot avians." sighed The Doctor.

"The Doctor? THE Doctor? the DOCTOR?!" bellowed the captain. "Yarr, laddies, we've got quite the prize here."

"Ah, good to see my reputation precedes me."
"Ye know, Doctor. The people of my homeworld have a name for you. Do you know what it is?"
"Lots of people have names for me. The Daleks call me 'The Oncoming Storm', the Sontarans call me 'Mortal Foe', the mechnomancers call me 'The Virus'. On Earth, some called me Merlin. Basically, I'm a very poor target for intimidation, and an incredibly dangerous person to cross."

"AHHHHAAAAHAHA! Such spirit! No, Doctor, we call you 'The Hypocrite'. 'The Genocide General'. 'The Betrayer'. You are the man who abhors violence, yet you have killed billions. You claim a moral high ground, but have slaughtered countless innocents. Just how much blood is on your hands? How many lives? How many have died in your name? You fought in the Time War, you destroyed your own people to achieve victory. YOU ARE A MAN OF CONTRADICTIONS, DOCTOR!"

"What I did, I did out of necessity. In the name of peace, and sanity. The whole universe stood on the brink! I took decisions, wrong, regrettable decisions to prevent the slaughter of trillions. I made impossible choices, so others would never have to face those horrors. That's my burden to bear. Remorse is the difference between you and I."

"Arr, ye talk a good game, Doctor. But your actions are mired in the blood of your enemies, just as mine are. What makes your morality better than mine? Baring your hypocrisy..."

The Doctor stood against the captain, with a hard, defiant look in his eyes.

"Speaking of actions..."

In an instant, The Doctor reached into his coat, and withdrew his sonic screwdriver. Aiming the device at the parrot perched on the captain's shoulder, it began to emit an oscillating warble and a blue glow. The parrot began to shriek and spark, while any of the crew with cybernetic implants doubled up in pain.

"Downside of linking your neural networks to the ship's main terminal, no protection against feedback! Ha!"

Using our brief window of opportunity, The Doctor beckoned me to follow him back along the deck of the ship. We both grasped ropes hanging near the ship's wheel, and swung along the length of the ship, landing less than gracefully at the rear of the vessel.

"Sorry, couldn't resist." said The Doctor, with a wink.
"What now? This hasn't gone as planned." I asked.
"That's why I never devise a plan until it's over, then I can do it retroactively."
"We still need to find out of the Shadow Sails visited me as a child!"
"I'm working on it. Quick, below decks. The crew are coming round from their disorientation."

With another flash of his Screwdriver, The Doctor unlocked and entered a hatch beneath us. Following his lead, we entered the bowels of the ship. Things seemed much more modern here. More technology, with chrome piping and blinking lights adorning most surfaces. All pretence of the nautical theme buried by functionality.

We crept deeper into the vessel, occasionally having to hide and take cover as angry armored pirates ran through the corridors. While our path appeared random, we did seem to be converging on our goal.
"Aha, through here" whispered The Doctor.
""Where are we? What is this room?"
"This is the trans-warp drive, also containing the main computer access."
"How do you know that?"
"Most spacecraft follow simple routine layout patterns. If you're been around as long as I have, they start to repeat. Now, you take the computer, I'll inspect the engines. Quick as you like!"

With that, he bounded off behind some machinery to do... Something. I approached the computer terminal, with some trepidation. How would I know how to operate it? Or to know what to search for? Thankfully, the one common tendency among any group of designers is one of simple and clear user interfaces. It didn't take me long to figure out the mechanics. I did mention I'm a computer nerd.

After a few minutes of searching, I found records of several visits to Earth. Most of them seemed to match my location, right down to an exact address. Whatever these pirates wanted from me, they had gone to great lengths to watch me. I was just thinking I'd like to ask the captain about it all when the doors to the chamber slid open. The captain store in, his beard and belly fat swaying hypnotically as he continued to rave.

"Aha! Here we are boys, the catch of the day! Converge on my location, laddies. And as for you, my boy..."

This last comment was directed at me. I stood there in fear of the man, unsure of his intentions, but my curiosity and indeed disgust at his interest in me outweighed my frightened thoughts.

"What's so special about me? Why scan me? Why follow me? What do you want?!" I yelled, running on shear adrenaline.

"It's not what I want boy, I font care about ye. But you're relevant to me benefactors."

"And who might they be?"

"Couldn't be saying, laddie. Discretion is a professional courtesy in me line of work."

"Fine. But why me in particular?"

"There's nothing special about you. It's what's contained in your head that interests them. Apparently, someone beamed a hyper-compact encrypted data stream into your mind. Some kind of long lost secret that my employer needs. Why you, no idea. We've been scanning you along your timeline, searching for the ripe moment. Mental information buffers decompress organically. To extract the data, you need to be of the right frame of mind, so to speak."

"So, when will I be ripe? What will happen to me then?"

"Glad you asked, boy. You're close to optimal brain development at your current age. You coming to us just saves us the hassle. My employer is dying to finally meet you! COME TO ME CURRENTLY, YOU CUR, I CRAVE YOUR CRANIUM! I'LL GET A FORTUNE WHEN I DELIVER YOUR HEAD! YARR!!"

Torchwood: Origins (3)

We emerged from the TARDIS into what I could only describe as a disappointingly ordinary cabin. Wood panelling lined the walls, a four-poster bed stood against the back wall, with a desk beside it. Admittedly, there were a few anachronisms from the traditional pirate's den: the maps above the desk were digital displays, the desk contained a bank of controls and there was a deactivated service droid in a corner.

"So, first time in Space, how is it?" beamed the Doctor.
"I thought it would be a little less... pedestrian.."
"Pedestrian?!"
"I mean, there are bits of Sci-Fi gubbins on the walls, but it seems very Earth-like."
"Just wait until you get on deck!"

With that, the Doctor strode towards the cabin door, and exited. I followed, hurriedly. I gazed in awe at the spectacle before me. I was standing on a seemingly banal timber ship deck, with gigantic sails billowing above me. There was a slight blue shimmer between the deck and the sails, which I took to be a forcefield of some kind. Something to keep an atmosphere in anyway, as beyond the sails, lay an inky void, lightly dusted with flashes of light from impossibly distant stars. To the right of the vessel, a planet loomed, marbled with purple and yellows. An alien world.

I was so absorbed, that it took me a few moments to take in the crew skittering across the deck, and among parts of the rigging. Most appeared humanoid to some degree, with a few insectoid creatures and robotic drones flying around. The crew were dressed as stereotypical Earth pirates, again with certain key differences. Those with eyepatches work red, glowing cybernetic eyes, and peg legs were replaced by steampunk robotics. The crew were yet to notice our intrusion, due to some commotion on deck.

"While the Shadow Sails may have, appropriated, elements of Earthen history into their aesthetic, their technology is stunning. Molto Bene!" whispered the Doctor, in explanation. "Those sails are massive, propelled by the radiation pressure of nearby solar emissions. On-board photon engines can assist in generating additional pressure, while a trans-warp drive allows super-luminal travel between star systems. All controlled from this pirate ship, contained in an atmosphere bubble."

I had an urge to ask the Doctor about these technologies, physics and engineering were always my strong suits. I'd read a lot about theoretical solar sails, but here was an actual functioning vessel. But there were more pressing concerns.
"Doctor, I don't like the look of that gathering. What are the staring at? Something off the prow of the ship?"
"I don't know, but we should find out."

Gathered at the prow, the Captain of the vessel stood in front of his assembled crew, all fixated on the figure perched at the tip of the wooden protrusion. I could tell he was the captain because of the luxurious, red, knee-length jacket, magnificently bushy brown beard and ostentatious tricorner hat. A droid parrot perched on his shoulder, seemingly relaying data about the vessels progress to him.

The man on the prow was a thin, emaciated figure in a tattered shirt. Judging by the streaks of red, his shirt had sustained damage while he was wearing it, and recently. The assembled crew were laughing and jeering at the sight.
"Have ye any last words, before ye enters the the void of Davy Jones' Vacuum?" boomed the captain, with a voice that Brian Blessed would have called too hammy.
"Please sir! It were a mistake, I didn't mean no 'arm!" The man replied, babbling with frantic terror.
"No 'arm? NO 'ARM?! Ye damaged me first mate, fused his central processor! Ye broke me trust, me hard earned bond. Whether twas malice or incompetence, ye don't belong on me crew!"
The crowd bellowed in support of their captain, and they began to chant "WALK THE PLANK!"
"Please, no! Anything but that, I don't want to die in the void. Drop me off on an uninhabited planet. Shiver me timbers! Anything! Just please not the plank!" The man cried, giving up on bargaining for his life, now just bargaining for his death.
"Oh, 'tis a 'noble' death ye be wanting, which is more than ye deserve. But I'm a generous old captain, I'll give ye what ye desire."

He reached to his scabbard, and drew a blade. It looked like a thicker version of a fencing sword, tapering slightly to a point. Electricity arced at the hilt of the sword, and began to engulf the whole blade. With a dramatic and overly elaborate flick, the captain aimed the device at the wretch. A bolt of energy struck the figure, vaporising him instantly. The Doctor would later explain to me that this was a quantum lance, capable of oscillating atoms so rapidly that molecular bonds would disintegrate in nanoseconds.

The Doctor had just forced his way to the front of the crowd, as the captain fired.
"No! Why did you do that? You didn't have to do that!" exclaimed the Doctor.
"Ah, visitors. Might ye be wanting to have a taste of this lance too? Boys, why don't ye show these two gentlemen how hospitable we are?"
Four burly humanoid figures with porcine features grabbed, us, holding us firm.
"Is this how you treat all your guests?" I asked, mockingly. Where I found the courage, I don't know. Travelling with the Doctor does strange things to you. For my troubles, I got a punch to the head.
"Only the ones we like, laddie!"
"Then I hate to find out what happens to the less desirable visitors!" added the Doctor, drawing the ire of the captain from me.
"Pray that you don't find out."

Torchwood: Origins (2)

I entered into The Doctor's innocuous blue box, the object he referred to as his TARDIS. As I stepped through the twin doors, hinged inwards, the impossibility of the craft revealed itself. I found myself in a circular, cavernous room, massively beyond the boundary of the wooden box outside. The walls were part machine, part organic, with enormous coral like pillars arranged equidistantly around the central feature of the chamber. At the centre stood a large glass column, glossy gently with a pulsating turquoise light. At the base of this column stood a bank of controls and assorted switches, buttons and devices. The floor was a tangle of cables and wiring, contained beneath the metal mesh upon which I stood. There was a rhythmic hum eminating from the console, part soft chime, part heartbeat. The craft was a marvellous fusion of life and cybernetics, with a hint of steampunk, like something out of Jules Verne or H. G. Wells. To one side, there stood a perfectly normal earth hatstand. I think that was the most disconcerting image.

"It's internal dimensions are in excess of it's exterior bounds! Is this some kind of dimensional engineering? Is that how you travel in time, engineering wormholes to ferry you about?" I babbled, struck by countless science fiction and scientific questions. I told you I was a nerd.

"The TARDIS stands for Time And Relative Dimension In Space", the Doctor clarified. "Dimensionally Transcendental. One of the most advanced creations in the universe. This kind of thing was child's play to my people. You know, most people just say it's bigger on the inside. I like that part." The Doctor flashed me a brief glare of disappointment, before curling his mouth upwards into his characteristic grin.

"Why, is it the job of your companions to ask you obvious questions so you can show off?"
"Well, if you put it like that, it doesn't sound great. I prefer to think of it as a mutual learning opportunity." replied the Doctor, adopting a amusing, grandiose tone.
"Honestly through, when you're as old as I am, things don't surprise you anymore. When I look at the universe, everything I observe feels old, because it seen so many variations and permutations. At my age, a star is just a ball of gas. But, with a companion, I can view the wonders of the universe through fresh eyes! When awesome wonder is reflected in your face, I can feel it too."
"You don't seem that old."
"Oh, looks can be deceiving. Suppose you could say I've had a few face-lifts in my time. I've over 900."
"What's your secret? Flax seeds? Gluten free?"
"Simple Time Lord biology. We're built to last."
the Doctor delivered that line with his usual peppy intonation, but he turned his gaze away from me as he finished. I caught only a brief glimpse of his eyes, and again I saw an old, lonely, tortured man staring back at me. This was a man running from his demons.

"Anyway, enough nattering like church hens! We're on a mission!" The Doctor announced, suddenly leaping to his feet, all traces of concern wiped from his mind.
"What's a church hen?"
"No idea. I'd like to telepathically connect to you. I need to find out if someone's been scrambling your memories. We need to find out who or how you got a hefty dose of Artron energy."
"Will it hurt?"
"No, completely painless. Physically at least. Emotionally, it might drag up a few repressed memories or bad thoughts."
"Nothing new there then." I joked.

The Doctor placed his hands on my temples, and started into my eyes. "Now, if there's any memories you want to hide from me, just imagine a door and lock it. Oh, you've had some cowboys in here!"
It was a curious sensation, having somebody else in my mind. It wasn't like hearing a voice in my head, it felt more like a headache. I could feel a throwing presence in my skull, but I couldn't interact with it. The connection must have been two-way though, because I could pick up flashes of something I had not experienced. I felt shame and guilt, loss and heartbreak. I saw a blond woman trapped behind an infinite wall, I saw an older, red haired woman who screaming in agony before fading away. I saw an orange planet, surrounded by death, I saw a red button, and I saw nothing, a void.

If the Doctor had noticed that I'd seen into his mind, he didn't show it.

"Right, well, good place to start. 8 years old, there's a partial memory of lights in the sky, and it feels sort of staticy. Strong chance of manipulation. I also got a flash of bearded man in an ostentatious hat. If I had to guess, it was one of the Shadow Sails gang."
"And who, pray tell, are they?"
"Intergalactic pirates. Real nasty people, who also dabble as mercenaries and guns for hire. Some of the more colourful parts of the galaxy swap stories of them kidnapping children of less developed planets for slave labour."
"Charming individuals then. And you think they abducted me?"
"I'm not sure. Maybe it was just a passive scan, maybe they're not involved. Either way, it's the best lead we have, and they could do with being taken down a few pegs."
"In which case, plot a course, Sulu."
"Oy! If I'm anyone, I'm Captain Kirk!"

Torchwood: Origins (1)

In my attempts to research the origins of Arven and his team, of Torchwood's Irish outpost, I have encountered many hurdles. Information on their operations is limited at best, gleamed only from my tireless dedication to journalism. I have already outlined one of their earliest known cases: That business with the Banshee. While we may all be familiar with the fallout from their more recent exploits, the origins of the team have been a mystery... Who are these people? Why are they defending us? Why do we need defending? How did they become experts of the extraterrestrial? How did they build an entire secret base in Cork City?

For the first time, I have found a lead! I have accessed a written log from Arven himself. While it doesn't answer questions about the team, it seems to begin to answer why he chose this career path. I present this log to you, unedited and unchanged.

My name is Arven, and I've never been very good at writing about myself. Or writing in general, really. Or anything in general. Except maths. I've always had a knack for maths. So here I am, a nerd doing science in college, with a plethora of geeky passions and paraphernalia. Side note: Passions and paraphernalia would be an excellent title for a steamy 50 Shades type novel.

Sorry, I've gotten sidetracked a little. Tends to happen, I've always had my head in the clouds; in the past or the future, rarely in the present. Always thinking of other places and other times, fictional and personal. Of who I was and who I might be, never quite at ease with either, and certainly never happy with who I am! Never living in the moment; always worrying about the moment, until it happens, then over analysing it after the fact. Always feeling like I didn't fit in, because I didn't know myself. Like a key that could fit in any lock but make none turn.

All that changed one fateful day, in July. Was that clichéd? Nevermind. I was always a fan of science fiction and fantasy, of other worlds and other times, always looking for escapism, beyond my own pitiful self, looking for more than this. Little did I know I'd actually find it, in my living room! I was moping around the house, fresh from a recent break-up, and still reeling in emotional freefall. Because I was somewhat preoccupied with emoting, I initially failed to notice the wheezing, groaning cry of space and time being forced apart by unimaginable power. I couldn't fail to notice the sudden breeze picking up indoors, letters and papers now fluttering across the room. It was impossible to miss the unsettling apparition of a large blue box in the corner. It stood a little over two metres tall, and had the words 'Police Public Call Box' in illuminated signage on top. Then, I wondered why I was bothering with such trivial details when this thing had emerged from the ether! Wasn't that the priority here?!

So caught up in my repose, I failed to acknowledge the tall man in the sharp, blue, pinstriped suit as he emerged from the box.
"Nikki, I've returned! Told you I'd be back to drop off your earthquake device. See? Sorry for running out on you, but the Rutans really are..."
The man paused in his soliloquy, suddenly realising he was not where he intended to be. Here was a man who operated so fast, it took his senses several seconds to board his train of thought. The man stared at me, inquisitively. I stared at him, blankly. Nothing so far in my life had prepared me for this situation.
"You're not Nicolai Tesla..." the man said, neither of us sure if it was a statement or a question. I managed to summon the wherewithal to shake my head.
"Oh, Nevermind then! Allons-y!" exclaimed the man, as he spun on his heels, and strode with purpose back into his box.

As the door swung shut behind him, I breathed a sigh of relief. He was gone, hopefully he'd take his box away too, and I could go back to not witnessing impossible materialisations. As if to spite me, the doors burst open again, and the man's face beamed out at me, with his spiked hair leading the charge.
"Hold on. I want to talk about your eyes." he announced, face morphing into a look of concern and confusion, like someone questioning if they got an earlier crossword answer wrong when a later answer doesn't fit.
"My eyes?" I asked, voice cracking slightly. I was having a bad day before the impossible crashed into my life, and I had no patience for this nonsense.
"Yeah, your eyes", the man insisted.
"But what about Nicolai Tesla?" I asked, somehow just going along with the broken logic of the scenario.
"Oh, old news, doesn't matter" replied the man, tossing the fragile device over his shoulder with the kind of practised casualness that meant it just happened to land in his box, atop a balled up jacket. At the time, my brain failed to realise that the box seemed far deeper than the bounds of my house could allow.

"Look at me, let me see your eyes." The man said, forcibly but not impolitely, spoken as if by a busy doctor who didn't have time to lose. It was only later I realised how apt that image was. He grasped my chin, using it to manipulate my face so he could inspect me at multiple angles. I let him, I really had no idea how to react any more. I wasn't even surprised when he took out a small buzzing pen like object with a blue light at the end and shone it into my pupils one at a time.

At this point, the sheer lunacy of my situation hit me, like a really big stick with the word 'weird' written in crayon on the side. I recoiled from the incongruity of a non Euclidean cube appearing in my house, and let out a squawking growl that perfectly encapsulated my mood. It's hard to describe in words, but imagine the sound made by an anxious whale happening across a mouse struggling to remove a splinter from its paw.

Sensing my discomfort and disorientation, the man stood backwards, and drew a sharp breath through his teeth.
"Ok, I'd better start from the beginning. Hello, I'm The Doctor! I'm a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey, in the constellation of Kasterbrous and you've had one hell of a mental buffer!"
"Are you calling me mental?"
"No, well no more than any of the rest of us anyway. It's your eyes, they're glowing. A sort of orange colour."
suffice to say, I didn't believe him.
"Of course they're not. I'm looking at a mirror right no..."
At that, I turned to stare at my reflection in the mirror hanging over the mantle, and stopped speaking aloud, lips still flopping aimlessly like a dying fish. My eyes were burning with a deep orange glow, like portals to some hellscape, little tendrils of energy emerging from my sockets like hungry worms, wisping away into the ether.

"It's the effect of Artron energy, you're brimming with it" The Doctor explained, resting a calming hand on my shoulder. "And it's been with you for a number of years, if I'm estimating properly."
"But, that can't be right. Surely I would have noticed this before you pointed it out."
"Well, humans can be particularly blind of the obvious" he joked, then added "I think it's been lying dormant in your system, and has been awoken by the presence of the TARDIS. That's my ship by the way. It's emanates Artron energy, byproduct of the time travel."
I let that particular comment slide.
"Why would someone fill me up with Artron energy? It's hardly a common practical joke!"
"Dunno. Could be as a trap for me, or a result of temporal incursion in your timestream"

I looked into The Doctor's eyes, and I realised something. He was not the thirty year old man he appeared. His eyes spoke of an incredible age, those eyes had seen so many experiences, so much joy, so much pain. He was wrestling with a decision.

"I don't know what's been done to you, but whatever it is, it's not good. I haven't traveled with anyone for a while now, not since Donna.. The people who travel with me tend to get hurt, or die, or... I thought it wasn't worth it. I travel alone now. Nobody to lose that way."

His eyes watered, imperceptibly, as he spoke of tragedy and loss. Here was a man who should not be alone, I realised. A man who needs companions.

"However, I need to figure out who did this to you. So, I ask you: Will you travel with me until we can figure this out?"
"Where would we go?"
"Oh, here and there. All of time and space at our disposal, anywhere, anywhen. Your choice."

How could I refuse an offer like that? To see more than this. To experience the dreams and fantasies I had spent my life craving. My horizons stood infinitely broad in front of me. I had to say yes.

J&L: Curse of the Pharaoh (10)

Turner's Textiles Warehouse.
"That's it Henry! Keep walking backwards, I'll guide you. Drift a little to your left, old chap."
"Cheers Litefoot. This periodic blinking is working wonders, the Weeping Angel is following along nicely."
"I wonder what Ellie has planned outside?"
"Some marvellous machination masterminded by the medical maestro, The Doctor, I'll wager."
"At least this predicament hasn't softened your spirits, Jago!"
"It's sell under control, Professor. We have the measure of this beast."
The lights flickered momentarily. Making use of the flash of darkness, the Angel had advanced several feet in a heartbeat.
"Corks!"
"Don't speak to soon, Jago! The lighting in this factory is on the blink."
"Professor, you could have chosen your words more carefully!"
"Unintentional, I swear."
"The lighting here is on its last legs, I'm surprised it even works at all anymore. Bally electrics, give me a gas lamp any day."
"Well, we'd better increase our tempo before we loose all light!"
The gents hurried towards the northern exit of the building. As the light flickering grew ever more frequent, Jago stopped blinking. The Angel was making ground well enough without his encouragement.
"Henry, I think the creature is draining the power from the lights! Can you feel a sort of tingling in the air? Like some sort of static charge?"
"By jingo, you're right! George, reach into my left jacket pocket, there should be a box of matches."
"Aha, good idea Henry! I'll try and keep light on it as we retreat. We're almost there!"
"Oh, lummy. I hope Ellie's plan works!"
Litefoot struck a match, it's glow pitifully weak, but just enough to illuminate the creature. With a cautious haste, the pair advanced on there goal.

"Blast!"

Suddenly the corridor was cast into a full darkness. Behind Jago, at their destination, moonlight light up the doorway but could not penetrate deep into the corridor. Jago stared forward, hoping to spot the Angel advancing from the gloom. He held his mirror aloft, like it was a impenetrable shield.

With a hiss, light returned to the scene. The Angel was now mere feet from the gentlemen.
"Sorry Henry, the last match burnt down to my thumb, and it's difficult to strike a match in the dark."
"Nevermind Litefoot, let's just hurry up and leave!"

Exterior of Turner's Textiles Warehouse.
"Ah, you two made it then."
"Indeed Ellie, despite the best efforts of the creature."
"Why are there three constables here? You hardly intend on sticking this sadistic stone statue in a cell?"
"And is that a horse and cart with them?"
"Time to enact Professor Dark's plan. I've convinced these peelers to meet us here with a wagon full of freshly mixed concrete. Between us, we're going to pick up the creature and heave it into the wagon. The concrete will set, sealing the creature inside, and tomorrow we'll dump it into the Thames, never to be disturbed again."
"Capital plan, Ellie!"
"So, we have to touch that terror?"
"Yeah Jago, between the six of us, we should be able to keep an eye on it. Don't worry."
"Well, if you're sure. I mean, how difficult can it be?"

"There it is now! Right in the doorway. At least it can't affect the moonlight."
"Ok boys, grab ahold of it and 'eave!"
""Ugh"
"Oof"
"Up she goes."
"It's teetering on the edge of the wagon!"
*SCHOOMPH*
"Aha, in it goes! Take that you blighter!"
"No more than you deserve, sending me back in time!"

"It's over. Another case closed by the cunning and courage of Jago and Litefoot!. And Ellie!"

J&L: Curse of the Pharaoh (9)

Turner's Textiles Warehouse.
"Confound and curse you, you cruel and cretinous cherub! You malevolent monstrosity of masonry! I hope you choke on all the energy Ellie gave you, that'd be just like her, going down fighting. Oh, why is it always the best who are taken?"
"Steady on, old boy. I'm upset too, but there will be time for mourning later. We still have a pressing concern staring us in the face!"
"Oh, of course... Got a bit carried away... I do have one idea, it'll buy us time to think, at least. I have this here, in my jacket pocket."
"A handheld powdering mirror? A little florid for your tastes, isn't it Jago?"
"Because it's not mine. I swiped it from the dressing room of Cleopatra. Thought she'd be glad to be of service against her tormentor."
"Ah, so if we hold this mirror in front of the Angel's gaze, it'll trap itself! Inspired, Henry!"
"There's still the problem of what to do next..."
"We'll think of something. We always do."

Somewhere, Somewhen.
"Ugh, where am I? What 'appened?"
"Don't move, try to relax and stay perfectly calm. Temporal transference can play havoc on those unused to it."
"Where am I, I was in a... warehouse?"
"You're in a back alley, somewhere in London's East End. Your somewhen, on the other hand... That's more disturbing. There's no delicate way to put this, it's 1835."
"So I ain't even been born yet... Who are you, 'ow did you know I'd be 'ere?"
"I'm Professor Dark. Or, just The Doctor. Whatever you prefer. And I located you with my new and improved Timey-Wimey Detector. I upgraded the ding to a bong, but it still fries eggs at 10 paces. That's down from 20 though, so definite improvement."
"What? Ugh, my 'ead is pounding like the peelers trying to break up a lock in at the Red Tavern."
"The nausea will fade soon. There's more bad news though. I need to ask you a favour, though you won't like it."

Turner's Textiles Warehouse, 1893.
"Still waiting on that plan, Professor."
"I admit, I'm drawing a blank on this one, old chap..."
"Guess our proverbial bacon is soon to be roasted!"
"Nonsense, Mr. J. Never on my watch!"
"Ellie!"
"Ellie!"
"What on Earth? How did you survive?"
"I bet The Doctor had some involvement. Some cunning chronological contraption to escort you back home?"
"No actually. I just got 'ere the same way all those other lost souls did. I waited."
"Oh my dear, how dreadful!"
"You're looking well for a girl older than myself."
"Don't forget Jago, I am technically a vampire. I don't age in the conventional sense."
"Blimey!"
"Now, there's a plan underway, lead that thing to the Northern entrance. I'll run ahead and make sure things are set up."

London's East End, 1835.
"So, you need me to live here, in the past, until 1893, and I can rejoin the gents?"
"Yes, and I'm sorry Ellie. I'm truly sorry. If there was any other way to get you home, I would. But there's no possibility of time travel in 1893. Still haven't found the source of those emissions. And your, unique, talents lend themselves to this ask."
"But, where am I gonna live? I can't stay in London... I might meet myself."
"Very astute! I'm impressed, my companions are never this savvy. I own a property in Scotland. You can live there until you're needed back south."
"Thanks, I think. But what about the creature, Henry and the Professor are still in danger!"
"I'll leave that up to you. You have 60+ years to dwell on it... Here's a document, outlining several stratagems which could contain the Weeping Angel. Choose whichever you're most comfortable with, and arrange to implement it on the night you vanished. And remember. Do not be seen by yourself or the two gents. Don't mess with established events."
"Ok, got it."
"Brilliant! Oh, and take this. The boys will need it soon, and it's readings might help with my understanding of this phenomenon."
"Looks like a brass bicycle 'andle."
"It's part recon drone, part passive sensor, and part quantum fluxes stabiliser. And, it can pick up any radio station via Bluetooth. I really don't know when to stop."
"But what does it do?"
"Doesn't matter. They'll find out soon enough. Sorry I can't be more helpful, my hands are tied by the progression of established events."

J&L: Curse of the Pharaoh (8)

Turner's Textiles Warehouse.
"Well, at least we're out of that  fiendish fog."
"Yes, but the angel is nipping at our 'eels. I can barely make it out, there, just outside the doors!"
"Well then, perhaps we should take our places in that alcove there. Time to implement our spectral illusion."
"One of us needs to stay here, to release the chains and trap the cove. They can take cover behind these crates."
"Perhaps two of us should volunteer, an extra pair of eyes can't hurt."
"Well Litefoot, I volunteer!"
"Ellie, I.."
"Volunteer too? Course ya do, Prof. Then it's decided. Mr. J can be the bait."
"If you're sure, Ellie. I was about to bravely offer my services, but you two piped me too it."
"We'd best not tarry. Good luck, Henry."
"You too, George. Ellie."
"Places gents!"

Jago hurried to take his place in the concealed alcove. Here, he did not have a clear line of sight on the Angel, though it was able to see him, thanks to the optical illusion created by the apparatus. With periodic blinding, he was able to discretely lure the creature towards the glass pane. Meanwhile, Ellie and George took occasional furtive glances around the crate which was their cover, readying to release the binding chains from overhead.

As the Angel drew near the glass, reaching out a stony arm, fingers clawed and a face of tormented rage, Litefoot released the rope binding the chains to the rafters. With a thundering, jangling crash, the metal links fell about the angel, smashing the glass pane in their inexorable rush to meet the ground. "Aha!", cried Henry, in jubilant triumph. "We have it now!"
"Don't be too hasty, old chap. Those chains are not tight enough, and we must still affix the ends to guarantee it won't break free."
"It took 3 of Quick's men to lug that lot in here. Moving the chains again wasn't part of this plan!"
"Well, we'll just have to make do with ourselves in this case."
"Allow me, gents. Don't forget, I'm still stronger than I look."
With that, Ellie raced towards the statue, intent on repositioning the chain about the creature. In her haste, she failed fully navigate the tangled maze of glass and metal under her feet. Her foot caught on a raised loop of chain, and she fell to her hands. All eyes were suddenly on her: Ellie admired her wounded arms, while George and Jago looked at Ellie. So did the angel, feeling the weight of the investigators gaze shift away from it.

With a simultaneous motion, the trio turned to stare at the angel, in a moment of sickening recollection. Once again frozen in stoney silence, the Weeping Angel loomed over Ellie, arm reaching out, near her ankle. Surrounding her ankle it it's unbreakable grip, she realised. With a bare gap between its hand and her flesh. She was trapped. From a bond couldn't escape.
"Ellie? Are you alright?"
"Yeah, Mr. J. I'll live. But.. I've got some bad news. It's got a grip on me leg. Tight like. I'm stuck."
"There's got to be something we can do. Professor! Please... Any suggestions?"
"We could try and chisel it's wrist, freeing you."
"No Litefoot. No time. I'm already a goner.. Worry about yourselves and stopping this creature!"
"Nonsense, there must be some way. Jago, fetch a chisel!"
"Leave it. I'm done for... Professor Dark said there would be a victim tonight. Guess it's my lucky day."
"But Ellie..."
"Hush now, Professor. Don't mourn me, just dry your eyes and I'll be gone before you've finished."

With that, both gentlemen blinked, partly out of respect for Ellie's wishes, partly out of a reaction to their eyes moistening...

With a dull popping flump, Ellie winked out of this time and space, while Jago & Litefoot stood helpless, facing an unbound foe, having lost their dearest friend.

J&L: Curse of the Pharaoh (7)

Shoreditch Police Station.

"...and the culprit of these ghastly murders is some kind of stone angel, who sends the poor unfortunates back through time?"
"According to Professor Dark, at any rate. I think an apology is due, Quick. Turns out the blighter was ageing those poor women. In a manner of speaking."
"Much obliged, Professor, but it was a bit of a shot in the dark, on my part."
"Even so, I shouldn't have ridiculed you."
"Don't worry about it Litefoot. So, how do you two hope the catch this cove? Anything the Royal Constabulary can do to insist this investigation?"
"A tempting offer Quick, but this creature is incredibly dangerous. I think it best to limit the number of potential victims. Between Henry and myself, we can have 360 degree vision."
"Suit yourselves."
"Actually, there is one thing you could help us with. Henry had a cunning idea for a trap, and we might need help transporting some equipment."

Turner's Textiles Warehouse.
"Hold it steady, Quick!"
"I'm doing my best, sir!"
"George, now you angle that mirror a tad more. No, the other way!"
"Sorry Henry!"
"Excellent, now just fix it in place, and...voila!"
"So, what exactly is this contraption, Mr. Jago? Just looks like a bunch of panels and glass to me."
"Trivial theatrical trickery, my dear Quick. Allow me to demonstrate. I'll just pop into this alcove here.."
"And thanks to the optical properties of light, if you stand right here, Inspector.."
"Then I can see Jago bang in front of me! Even though he's still hiding in the alcove!"
"Indeed, a common enough trick, in my profession. Commonly called Pepper's Ghost, on account of it being used to simulate supernatural sightings of spurious spectres."
"We plan to use it to lure the creature towards the glass, not us, and when it's in place, drop those chains there onto it, pinning it in place. Until we can think of a way to safely dispose of it."
"And you're sure you don't require any further assistance?"
"Thank you Quick, but we'll be fine."
"In which case, farewell gentlemen and good luck!"

"So, Litefoot, what time do we have?""
"It's just gone eleven, Henry. Not long to wait now."
"You see, I've been thinking..."
"Are you sure that's wise?"
"What?"
"Nothing, continue please, old boy."
"Well, I've just be thinking about what the Doctor said. About the victim recorded here from future historical records."
"Indeed. That's why I insisted Quick and his men keep away tonight. Let me guess, you fear one of us will be cursed by the angel's embrace?"
"Not really, Professor. I'm sure the Doctor would have mentioned if it had been one of us. No, I'm concerned that there might be some other soul nearby who could be in the wrong place at the wrong time."
"Egads you're right! What do you propose?"
"Well, I'm sure there's time for a quick perusalatory perambulation about the perimeter of the premises."
"It's the least we can do, I suppose."

Exterior of Turner's Textiles.
"Blast this accursed fog!"
"I can't see a ruddy thing in this pea-souper! I can barely even make out you."
"Then, Jago, I suggest we don't stray from each other."
"Oh, it's no use. Even if there were another soul out here, we'd never find them unless we tripped ov....Ahhhhghhh!!"
"Henry!"
"Oh my word, what was that?"
"'ow are ya, gents?"
"Ellie!"
"What are you doing here? This is no place for a lady."
"Huh, cheek of you, Mr. J! I'm always left out of your adventures, only to save you at the last moment. Thought you could do with an extra pair of 'ands"
"Well, we're certainly glad of the company, but how did you know to come here exactly?"
"Well, Professor Dark also sent a letter, addressed to me personally. 'E said you pair'd need my 'elp."
"George?"
"What is it now, Henry?"
"I don't want to alarm anyone, but I think I just saw the silhouette of an angelic abomination."
"Where?"
"Just through there."
"I can't see nuffing."
"Nor me, but then again, I can't see anything in this mist."
"I think we'd better get back inside, sharpish!"
"True, we're sitting ducks out here. It could be anywhere, and the first we'd know is when we run into the bally thing."
All three began to hurry back towards the warehouse. Their eyes, darting around in every direction, every shadow and blurred shape glimpsed through the dense fog was another pang of fear in their hearts. Grey faces seemed to loom in the corners of their vision, with no way to ascertain if they were real or fictitious. Chased, either by the Weeping Angel, their protected fears, or both, none of them could decide which.

J&L: Curse of the Pharaoh (6)

Manager's Office, New Regency Theatre.

"Ok, the phonograph cylinder is in place, Professor."
"Then let's find out what Professor Dark was so intent on telling us."
A crackling hum emanated from the device as Henry activated the device. A fast passed, excitable voice emerged from the static.

"Hello there! I take it I have the privilege of speaking with the inestimable George Litefoot and Henry Jago?"
"Indeed you do, Doctor! It is I, Hen.."
"He can't actually here you. It is only a recording. He voice seems different though, younger. Perhaps he's acquired another face?"
"Good deduction, Litefoot, I have indeed. Several since we last spoke. I had a few unfortunate accidents, but I'm still around. At least I didn't trip over a brick, at least."
"Doctor, you can hear us!"
"No I can't. This phonograph is primitive technology, the best I could knock together at short notice."
"But, you're answering our questions! How can we have this confounded communication?"
"Quite frankly, Henry, because I'm a little bit brilliant. My present is your past, and your future is my present. I don't possess prodigious powers of predestination, from my perspective, you've already asked your questions. I have a transcript. George was kind enough to include this conversation in his collected memoirs."
"So you're saying that you knew what we'd say, because Litefoot will write it down someday?"
"Correct, 10 points to Griffindor!"
"Nope, still not getting it."
"Nevermind, Jago. Why the theatricality Doctor, why not just visit in your time machine?"
"Well, the trouble is, your time and space is awash with temporal energy. Something very powerful is stirring in the Vortex, and even the TARDIS can't break through it. The best I could manage was to land in 1835 and plan this."
"Oh dear! How do we fight it?"
"You don't. At least, not yet. There is a more pressing concern for you two gents. We can solve that disturbance later."
"Corks! So what's so urgent? Is it this gruesome gargoyle on the prowl?"
"Correct. Molto Bene! It's called a Weeping Angel. One touch and it zaps you into the past, then feeds on your potential timeline. Meanwhile you live to death in the past."
"That explains the corpses Inspector Quick discovered. I think I owe the man an apology, he was far closer to the truth than I thought."
"But Doctor, this infernal figure is made of rock. How can it move?"
"It's called a quantum lock. The perfect defence mechanism. When gazed upon by a living creature, it turns to stone. But when you turn away, when you close your eyes, if you even blink, then BOOM! It's free to move, and it's fast, faster than you could believe!"
"But surely stone is not impervious. A team of labourers with chisels should make quick work of the blighter."
"No. The rocky outer shell is.. Well, it'd complicated. You could grind it into dust, but the angel would reform as soon as you blinked. The stone is like a footprint in snow, or a hole in the wall. It exists only as the absence of something else. Like how darkness is the absence of light."
"Sounds like a rum creature, and no mistake! How are we supposed to stop such a creature?"
"I have a plan. But there's not much time left in the recording. Head to the old Turner's Textiles warehouse tonight. The angel will be there at midnight to claim a victim, according to historical records. Be sure to..
"
the crackling stopped. The phonograph had ended.

"Is that it?!"
"I'm afraid so, Henry. Looks like we're on our own this time."

J&L: Curse of the Pharaoh (5)

Shoreditch Police Station.
"This is a most tragic travesty of justice! A terrible transgression against my good name! Henry Gordon Jago is synonymous with  saintly scruples, the very ideal of immaculate, incorruptible innocence and impeccable inculpability! "
"I've already apologised, Mr. Jago, both in a personal capacity and on behalf of Her Magisty's Constabulary. I've had a word with young Jenkins, he's new to the force, and a little too eager to please. He got a bit carried away, is all, and wasn't aware of your special relationship with our investigations."
"Damn cheek of him! Dashed impertinent. He'll be lucky if I never see him again. It's not just about me, you know... If the paying public find out I've been spending time behind bars, I'll never be able to pack the stalls again! I demand a full pardon, I expect exoneration quick, Er, Quick!"
"Calm down, please, Jago. You were never actually formally charged with anything. You're free to leave at your leisure."
"Can't say fairer than that, I suppose."
"Although I would like to ask a few questions about the disappearance of Ms. Jane Golightly. That was why you were in the alley, wasn't it? Tell me everything, from the beginning."

The Red Tavern.
"Arrested?! My word, Henry, you do have the most remarkably unfortunate incidences in my absence!"
"Oh, the indignity of it all, George! I was having flashbacks of our time on the run."
"Don't remind me! Still, you're back in the Red Tavern, safe and sound."
"Which is more than can be said for poor Jane..."
"Does Inspector Quick have any leads?"
"Not a sausage. The alley had only a single entrance, which I was blocking. It was too clear and bright     for the cove to have hidden himself either. The only other thing of note was the statue."
"Ah yes, this mysterious angel. I suppose we could inspect it for clues. Have the police impounded it?"
"That's the queer thing, Professor. Bally thing has vanished!"
"How does a statue vanish? It certainly didn't fly away!"
"No idea, but by the time the cretinous constable had me in cast irons, it was nowhere to be found."
"Sounds like a case for us then. We can study this alleyway in the morning."
"Anything to get to the bottom of this rum affair. For Jane... I don't suppose you could do me a favour, George?"
"Anything, Henry."
"It's just, she had a very unique scar on her shoulder, like a cross. Apparently the barbaric fellow she was seeing at the time took a blade to her."
"Oh dear!"
"Horrible cove, he was. But if you could keep an eye out, in case anyone bearing a similar mark crosses your mortuary slab. Bit of a long shot, I know. I just feel so helpless. I should have accompanied her home."
"Jago, it's not your fault, you can't blame yourself. All we can do is try and get to the bottom of it."
"Thank you, Professor. I appreciate it."
"No trouble, old chap. It hardly seems worth mentioning, but a body bearing a scar of that description did cross my path today. But she could not have been your missing singer. This woman was seventy if she was a day old!"
"Dashed odd coincidence then."
"Curiously, it's not the first corpse I've seen today with an uncanny resemblance to a missing lady though. The first was an elderly woman with similarities to Mary Molone."
"Then it's certainly no coincidence at all. Some malevolent machinations are afoot!"
"Quick seems to think that these young women are being aged somehow!"
"Possible, I suppose. Wouldn't explain why Jane vanished from the alley though."
"I think it's a much more mundane explanation. Perhaps this is the work of a deranged Jack the Ripper type, mutilating elderly corpses to resemble missing girls?"
"I'd hardly call such a despicable scheme mundane, but maybe. Let's pick up this investigation in the morning, in any case. I think I need a rest after today."
"Agreeded."

"Would you two gents care for another round?"
"No thanks you, my dear. It's been a long day, I think I'll get an early night."
"Blimey! Is everything alright Mr. J? You don't seem like yourself. Oh, before you go, a package arrived 'ere for you two today."
"Really? From whom?"
"No idea, Professor. But the chap who dropped it 'ere said it was a 'message from the darkness'. I don't suppose it could be from, you know.."
"Professor Dark?"
"The Doctor!"
"Don't just stand there man, open it!"
"Oh."
"What is it?"
"A phonograph cylinder!"
"In which case, Jago, I'll meet you at the theatre tomorrow morning. We can play it on your phonograph device then."

J&L: Curse of the Pharaoh (4)

Second House, New Regency Theatre.

"Will you marry me, he asked, Oh will you marry me?
Of course, of course, I will my dear,
My Darling Duckie Do!
My Darling Duckie Do!"
The crowd howled with mirth. Upon the stage, Henry Jago drank in the applause for several moments, before slowly silencing the crowd.
"I'm afraid that that brings us to the end of another evening's exemplary entertainment!"
The crowd jeered, playfully.
"The erstwhile Edmund is exhausted, and Cleopatra's Canaries are conked out!" Thank you all for your pleasurable patronage, and remember: If you liked tonight's performance, tell your friends, and if you didn't?"
"TELL YOUR EMEMIES!" the crowd roared in response.

Exterior of the New Regency, a short time later.
The theatrical audience had long since dispersed by the time Jago exited onto the street. Buttoning his overcoat against the evening's chill, he noted that it was a rare clear night in London, with barely a trace of the nigh ubiquitously prevalent fog.
"Looks like a pleasant night, Henry!"
Jago spun around rapidly, looking for the source of intrusion to his repose.
"Corks! You, ah, you startled me, Ms. Cleopatra. You have the silent footfalls of a bally ballerina."
"Most kind, Henry. But please, call me Jane when I'm off the stage." She flashed him a quick smile, the kind that proved she was suited to a life treading the boards.
"Would you care to allow me to chaperone you home, Jane? A young woman like yourself must surely fear the sinister schemes of the sadistic scum, plaguing our streets. Especially with that business with Mary. It would be no trouble at all, ma'am."
"Thank you for your most generous offer, Henry. But I fear my home is in the opposite direction to your path, and I couldn't ask you to go out of your way like that. Besides, it's a clear night, I'll see any ruffian approaching. And, I have this revolver, a gift from my father."
"Blimey! What has the world become, if women feel the need to wield weaponry,just to be safe on the streets! If you're sure then, Jane... I'll see you for tomorrow's matinee."
"Goodnight, Henry!"
"Goodnight!"

Jago continued on his path, alone, intending to have a quick stop off at the Red Tavern before retiring for the night. As he walked the deserted streets, his mind began to wander once more. Firstly, to Mary, then Jane. He thought of Edmund's overreaction to a trick photograph, and of the more recent phenomena he and Litefoot had yet to resolve: several mysterious disappearances in the last week, strange glowing reported across the city, a charlatan he had met near Hyde Park trying to sell a newspaper from 1937 of all things! He was just thinking if there might be some connection between these occurrences, but the strange family in medieval dress who had just wandered into his path were distracting him. Jago was about to confront them about the raucous they were causing, when a loud sharp crack echoed around him. He had spent enough time, both as an amateur detective and a stage manager, to know the sound of a gunshot.
"Jane!" he bellowed, racing back in the direction he came from.

He passed the theatre and continued West along the path Jane had taken. He came to a stop at a street corner, panting, his face an even deeper crimson than usual. While debating which direction to head in, Jane cried out, a frantic, pained, terrified scream.
"Unhand her, you ruffian! Scurrilous swine!" Jago roared, heading around the corner onto the lane he was sure the cried had emulated from. As he rounded the corner, he hesitated slightly. What if the rum cove had a weapon. A gun? Lummy! It was too late to reconsider.

Jago surveyed the scene. He saw no victim, no assailant, and no other exit from the lane. Not even a drainpipe or doorway with which to escape.
"A dead end."
The only thing of note in the laneway was a large stone statue of an angel, it's face the very ideal of angelic beauty.
"Suspicious stone statue! What secrets have you seen with your stony sight? What's this?" he asked, bending down to the angel's feet. "A revolver? It looks like Jane's! She was here! Any idea where she went?" he asked the statue idly. If he hadn't been so fixated on the missing girl, he may have noticed the sudden snarl that had formed on the angel's face. In the near distance, a policeman's whistle rang out shrill and loud. Jago turned to look towards the top of the alley, turning his back on the statue.

A young constable appeared at the mouth of the alley moments later, puzzled by the sight before him. He saw a stone angel, wearing a furious expression, it's clawlike arms stretched out, inches away from a blustering figure, holding a gun.
"Drop the weapon, sir. You're under arrest!"
"Corks!"