Saturday 28 January 2017

No More!

Today has been a dark day for us all. Firstly, I woke to hear of the tragic passing of an acting legend, John Hurt. As I was scrolling through Twitter and reading the heartfelt tributes pouring in for the man, another story was breaking. A story vile enough to make me almost glad that Hurt hadn't had the opportunity to witness such... hurt. Call it an immigration policy, call it a Muslim Ban, it's irrelevant. It's a dangerous and xenophobic move on behalf of a dangerous and xenophobic US Administration. The details of the ban are available elsewhere, along with much discussion of just how harmful and depressing this policy is. That's not what this blog is about (I just write Doctor Who stories for fun), so I won't explain it here. Instead, I'll just recount a little story. A brief history of Davros. May it stand as a warning, to those who lack the courage to resist their own fears.

Once upon a time there was a planet engaged in an internal struggle. Wars raged across its surface as ideological groups fought for supremacy. Nobody could agree on how the war began, nor who fired the first shot. It was irrelevant anyways, for there was only allies, and their enemies. And these enemies must be fought, or else they wouldn't be enemies, would they?

On this planet, there was a great man. The best of men, renowned as a brilliant schemer, a visionary, the smartest. He had a bigly brain. This man had vision. Ambition. Determination. And the conviction to stare down reality and replace it with his own, improved vision.

He worked his way up from nothing. First he improved his own station, working to prove his name. He sat upon councils and boards, judging the worth of those who wished to work under him. He claimed to be intelligent and to respect the principles of scientific discourse, though his own research was biased or stolen from his associates and underlings. He held similar views on democracy itself. He saw it as a flawed system. Why invest power in the ignorant masses, when men with vision and genius could dictate the way forward. Instead, he saw democracy as a game, a system that could be bent in his favour. With power, he could enact change. Eventually, he turned his talents to politics. He could do so much for so many, if only he had total control. He could end the fighting. Crush his enemies under his military might. Make his homeland great again.

This man suffered ridicule in many ways. His appearance was ghastly, a source of derision for his naysayers. Yet he persevered in spite of his afflictions, though he retained a cruel and callous streak for all who laughed. Some would call him vain, or petty. But he knew different. He had to prove his supremacy to those who mocked him. Not realizing the irony of his pettiness.

Through sheer will, honeyed words and corruption he managed to ingratiate himself into the echelons of power. There he could embark on the scope of his vision. He would return his people to their glory days. He had the power, nay the right, nay the obligation to usher in his new order. With power came policy, with policy came his supporters, his followers and his soldiers.

His soldiers were unstoppable. Fueled by hate, armed with fury and propelled by the unflinching conviction of the unthinking bigot, they laid waste to their enemies. They showed no mercy or compassion. They gave no quarter, for their enemy was pure evil. Their enemy was the opposite of themselves. Their enemy was different, and unknowable, for his soldiers did not know reason.

For a time, the leader was happy without power. There were those who opposed him, who railed and rallied at his attempts to pervert the people he led. Threats came from within and outside, peaceful and aggressive, yet all were crushed under the might of his ferocious army.

Eventually, his own ambition would be his downfall. His attempts to incite hatred among his followers was too successful. His greatest enemies were no more, and his people turned their hate inward. They began to see their leader as flawed. He was weaker than they were. He was too clever, too autonomous. He too was different from them. He looked down on them from an ivory tower, too removed from their struggles. He was not one of them.

And so they tore him down. Destroyed him as they had their enemies before him. They spread out, a wave of anger, abstracted from its origin, left to roar into the void. The people lashed out, looking for a certainty and dignity they could never attain. They were too separated from each other. From other viewpoints. Without diversity, they stagnated, unable to innovate, to think beyond their blinkered vision.

This fortunately made them easy to outmanoeuvre. To outshine and outsmart. They made every other race unite against the enemy of militarized ignorance. Their chief rival had many faces and many lives and many names. The one constant being, this rival was a being of logic, of science, of healing. He promoted tolerance and understanding, compassion and acceptance, though he knew some battles must be fought with weapons, many could be won with words alone.

This is a story that is seen all too often and in all to many ways. We must always remember that we are the Doctor, and it is our duty to stand defiantly between the unjust and the oppressed. As even the War Doctor tells us, we must all say "No More" to the Daleks, to Davros, to any tinpot tyrant who seeks to use fear and hate as weapons. We must stand up for those too weary to stand themselves. We must be ready to lend a helping hand, or to shield the innocent. Today, on the date of John Hurt's death, we must take his words to heart more than ever. This was written with emotion, and without significant editing. It's something I wanted to say, on this day in particular, so speed is more important than editorial standards.

Tuesday 24 January 2017

TW Casefiles: Silver Linings (8)

Safe from the danger outside, at least for now, I turned to survey the room I'd locked myself into. It was mostly scientific equipment of various kinds, but I didn't stop to inspect them any closer, for standing in front of me was another figure in a full body suit. I adopted a wide legged fighting stance and held the sonic probe in front of me like a weapon. If it was anything like the creature outside it wouldn't care, but at least the pose made me feel a little more confident. Surprisingly, the figure seemed startled, which is difficult to convey when you're wearing a baggy suit and your head is covered. I eased up on my posture as the figure removed his helmet. Underneath the mask was a young, 30 something year old male, with a well trimmed ginger beard and the kind of hair that refuses to remain tidy. Something about him seemed unusual, but I couldn't place it.

"People! Person people. Person. You." He answered, excitedly. "I didn't think anyone else was alive."

"Calm down." I said, reassuringly. I'd slipped the probe back into my jacket and held my palms up, nonthreateningly. "Let's start from the beginning. What's your name?"

"D-d-Derek" he replied.

"Nice to meet you Derek. My name is Arven. Now, can you tell me what happened here?"

"I dunno much, really. It was a few days ago, but I've kind of lost track of time. I was in this lab, prepping a few samples for experimentation, when I heard this crash from the corridor. I looked out through the porthole and saw Paul on the ground with his cart knocked over. There's very little peripheral vision in these masks." He explained.

"I think I came across him, yeah. So what happened next?"

"Well, I activated the containment seals on the lab. It's protocol, you see. There are sensors that do it automatically, but we also have manual controls to lock down any room we're in if we suspect a containment breach. Some of the samples we have here are dangerous. 24 hour automatic lockdown."

"You can say that again. Your friend Paul tried to kill me on my way in. Wouldn't listen to reason. He's been infected with something."

"Nonsense. He's dead. I've seen him through the window. Hasn't moved since the accident." Derek said, flustered.

"Go check now then." I said, pointing to the door. As Derek moved to the porthole, I continued. "I've just examined him. Practically no pulse. No higher brain function. Basic motor function. Compulsion to bite."

"What? No! This cannot be... I mean, what you're describing is the ramblings of superstition and voodoo. We're not working on anything as outlandish as that here." Derek reached the porthole. "My word! Paul's alive. Oh wonderful, must have been passed out for some time. The man's just delirious and starving. What happened to his leg? Did you do this?" Derek pointed an accusatory finger at me.

"He was trying. To. Eat. Me." I responded. "If you open that door, he'll attack you too."

My words fell on deaf ears though. Derek was already swinging the door open to greet his injured colleague. He reached down to help Paul before recoiling with rapid pace.

"Bugger! Took a nip at my ankle!" He cried,  hopping on his remaining good leg. I armed myself with the probe once more, this time sliding a protective cap from the base before holding it in reverse. A reality of Torchwood is that we don't always have the skills or luck of the Doctor, so sometimes we need to even the odds. I jammed the exposed end of the probe into Paul's neck, discharging 50,000 volts into his system. Part screwdriver, part taser. Just because I'm Torchwood doesn't mean my weaponry has to lethal after all.

"Right. No idea how long that'll keep him down. So we need to be fast." I announced, while crouching down to inspect Derek's leg.

"What's the use?" He sighed.

"It's barely a scratch. The foil suit took most of the brunt. It'll bruise bad enough but the cut isn't deep."

"Doesn't matter. You were right. He's a zombie. I've been bitten. It's over."

"I don't think I was actually. Tell me, what are you actually researching here?" I asked.

"Antibiotics. Specifically, how various diseases develop immunities to them. We were attempting to stay ahead of the curve as it were. It's a constant arms race between antibiotics and diseases with resistance to said drugs. This is our version of the Manhattan Project. Develop antibiotics such that bacteria cannot become immune. Amongst some other ongoing work on devising cures of course.  That's why security is so strict here. We don't want any of our disease samples getting out, as some strains we have here nigh immune to anything."

"Very well. One final question. Do you by any chance happen to have a metal plate in your skull?"

"What? How could you possibly? Yes. Car crash in my late teens. Stupid, boy racer stuff. Really opened my eyes and made me cop on. For all the good it's done. Here I am, death row anyway. Borrowed time, I suppose."

"Thanks. I've got some good news for you though. You see, something about you has struck me since I've barged in here, and I've just put my finger on it. You have a small scratch on your left temple."

"So?"

"Look at Paul. He's got some kind of tech implanted there on the same spot. As did the receptionist I passed on the way in. I thought at first it was some kind of monitoring device, internal security, but you don't have one. I think something latched onto Paul. It tried to latch onto you, but your head's too thick."

"Oi!"

"Point being, it's not a virus. It's not airborne, or transmitted through saliva. It's a creature. Taking control of people's bodies, making flesh puppets. Something machine. Something alien."

"Alien?!" Barked Derek incredulously.

"A few seconds ago you were convinced of the undead. Now is not the time for skepticism."

"So, I'm not going to die from this bite?"

"Exactly. This little robot parasite couldn't take control of you, unlike everyone else."

"Yeah... but... why? Why here? What purpose?"

"No idea. But I've seen a creature. It kidnapped a few students including my girlfriend. The trail led me here, and I'm going to get to the bottom of it."

"Then, could me in. If this thing has killed my colleagues, it deserves to be stopped."

TW Casefiles: Silver Linings (7)

The man before me rose stiffly to his feet, his limbs jerking slowly yet suddenly as if he were only just figuring out his own motor functions. His face remained blank and expressionless, as he stared, seemingly unseeing, beyond me. I took a step back from him carefully. He turned his head to face me directly, though his eyes were still focused on the horizon. Silently, he stepped towards me, mouth fixed in a neutral line. I tried calling out to him, hoping he might respond, but it was pointless. He seemed unable or unwilling to understand my  words. Aware of the noise I was making, but not its meaning. He took another forced step towards me, forcing me to take a further step backwards. I'd begun to regret ending up in the side passage with the man between me and the main corridor.

His progress was slow but consistent, as we slowly progressed along the corridor. I used the time to my advantage, trying to piece together was was happening, while also struggling not to panic. He didn't have a pulse. I was sure of it. His heart only started beating after I'd touched him, and even then it was far too irregular to be   viable. I'd heard of certain drugs that could slow the heartbeat, but those rendered the victim catatonic. Some kind of modified strain perhaps? A virus that would give every outward appearance of death? Of course, the blood couldn't be sufficiently oxygenated which would cause brain damage and likely a loss in higher brain function. That seemed plausible. Some experiment gone wrong, infecting half the facility? I wasn't even sure if the figure before me was hostile, but some feeling of dread made me wary of it all the same. There was a word stuck in my mind that I really didn't like. Zombie. Ridiculous, surely. It couldn't be the  reanimated corpse of a researcher, but then again was I only playing semantics by not using the word?

While I was backing away and fixated on the man, I didn't take heed of where I was advancing. With a jolt, I collided with something large and metallic. With a furtive glance behind me I realised I was out of hallway, and had arrived quite literally at the end of the line. It was a large steel door, similar to what you might find in an industrial freezer. A large concave hemisphere made of durable clear material was inset on the door at head-hight, allowing a view into a laboratory area. A similar card swiping device like the ones I'd encountered earlier was positioned on the wall near the handle. I turned back to my pursuer, who was much closer to me now. His arms were raised, fingers bent claw-like. His mouth was open and his teeth bared. Yet his expression was still neutral. He looked like a man expecting a dental checkup, not some feral creature.

I'd faced more physically intimidating foes before, but nothing as terrifying as the sight before me. When an opponent is staring you down, gearing for a fight or readying to cause harm, you can see it in their face. The sneer of malice, the look of grim determination, the fire in their eyes, it all helps to galvanize them as a threat. An obstacle to overcome. But this foe had none of those signs. He was an unstoppable force. No reason, no cause, no goal, as blank and impersonal as a hurricane.  You can't fight a hurricane, merely endure it.

With a suddenness of movement that caught me off-guard, he lunged at me, grabbing my right wrist and clamping on tightly. His grip was immensely strong, his  gloved fingers digging into my flesh hard enough to draw blood. His head bobbed forward, attempting to bite me as far as I could discern, though I didn't feel like giving him the opportunity to confirm. With my free hand, I swung a fist into his solar plexus, with no effect. I didn't understand. That should have knocked the wind from his chest and had him hunched over in pain. There wasn't even a flicker of discomfort in his eyes. He was as serene as always, apart from his attempted murder. Changing tactics, I used my left hand to hold his shoulder, keeping him a distance from me while I worked on freeing my right. I could scarcely believe his strength. While I wasn't particularly fit, the man before me had a particularly scrawny build, yet the strength of a bull. Still, as strong as a man can be, there are certain structural weaknesses in the design of humanity. I gave my attacker a sharp sideways kick to the side of his knee. It doesn't matter how little pain he could feel when the lateral force would break the joint. He collapsed instantly, letting go of my arm as he fell. The damage didn't deter him though, and he was immediately crawling towards me eager to continue his assault. I'd bought myself a vital few seconds though. With a quick flash of my sonic probe, the door behind me buzzed open, allowing me to make a quick exit. Into a locked room. With the only way out guarded by a cannibalistic madman.

Sunday 22 January 2017

TW Casefiles: Silver Linings (6)

The lift defended agonizingly slowly, giving me far too much time to consider my current predicament. This was lunacy, pure and simple, what was I doing? What was I even hoping to find at the end of it, a coven of alien kidnappers who'd have me outnumbered and outgunned? Most likely a fully operational government facility operating normally followed by a swift incarceration if I was being honest. The elevator came to a gentle standstill and the doors hissed open. I stepped out carefully, examining my surroundings.

I emerged into a small changing room. On the left of the room stood a number of lockers, about 20 altogether, while the right hand side contained benches and shelves stocked with wrapped overalls. The far wall had an entryway covered by an opaque plastic curtain. Since no alarms had been triggered immediately, I continued forward through the curtain to find myself in a small boxy corridor. Ahead of me was a reinforced steel door, like something from a bank vault, with no visible means of opening it. On my right was a window opening into a small reception area or security desk. A young woman sat at a computer staring at me. Behind me, a similar door descended from the ceiling, trapping me in the passageway. The woman continued to stare at me, vacantly.

"Um... excuse me?" I said, nervously. "I appear to be lost."

She remained silent. I approached the glass, watching for the slightest movement from her as I drew closer. She was impassive. Slowly, I raised my hand, palm open wide. Still no reaction. So I slapped the window pane. Nothing happened for a moment, then her head tilted forward and she slumped into her chair. The vibration from my banging must have disturbed the precarious balance of her corpse, as she was clearly dead. Curiously, because her head had lolled to the side, I could now see her temple, which appeared to have some kind of implant fused to it. A single red LED blinked in the mass of metal affixed to her skull.

I staggered backwards, still not at ease with the sight of death, despite the slaughter I witnessed, and the lives I'd taken, during the Vakarian crisis. That was different. It was a matter of survival then, a warzone. This was an innocent bystander, killed as part of some as of yet unexplained scheme. Killed by the same thing that had taken Susan, and the other students. I took a few deep breaths, and tried to focus. Maybe I was overreacting. After all, maybe she'd died because of a leaked pathogen, or maybe she was merely unconscious. But the thought of entering a contaminated laboratory didn't really help me feel assured.

Before I could really worry about anything else however, I had to escape from my current predicament. The glass pane was too thick to be smashed, and I didn't have a decent implement anyway. Besides, if there was a contamination, I didn't want to risk unleashing it from the facility. I'd have to go through the quarantine doorway. With some effort and a handy probe, I managed to remotely trigger the door release button on the desk through the window. In response, the lights in the room dimmed and turned red, as a klaxon blared. With a rushing sound, thick clouds of gas poured into the room though nozzles in the ceiling. I regretted not bringing a respirator of some kind, but it was too late to worry now. All I could do was hope it was a non-toxic anti-bacterial spray and not a lethal security measure. Thankfully it turned out to be the former as by the time the gas had dispersed and the door opened, I wasn't a twitching heap on the floor. Before it had time to close again, I continued out of the quarantine chamber into another corridor. The air pressure here was lower than in the chamber, so that any contaminated air would not escape the facility.

I was standing in a stark white  corridor that stretched on ahead of me. Several passages led perpendicular from the hallway at regular intervals, each labeled and signposted, while the end of the corridor led to a sealed stairwell. The blood trail was thinning out now, but I could still make out sporadic droplets, contrasted clearly against the cleanliness of the surroundings. More obvious were the scratched tiles following the same path as the blood. I could imagine the torso-figure, one arm dragging Susan while the other pulls itself forward, all the while scraping it's torn waist along the ground. I knew I must be getting closer to Susan.

About half way along the hall, a metal trolley was upturned across one of the side paths. A number of test tubes and agar plates were scattered over the floor, some visibly smashed. If any of them contained an airborne virus, it was too late for me to worry, otherwise I guessed I'd be fine so long as I didn't lick anything. Careful not to touch anything unnecessarily, I approached the accident. As I drew level, I noticed the body of someone previously hidden by the angle of the corridor. They were slumped against a wall a short ways into the side passage. The figure was dressed in a silver hazmat suit that covered them completely. Even the face visor was tinted so I couldn't see who was inside. It remained unresponsive to my voice, and some prodding with my foot.

"Are you dead?" I asked aloud, hoping the answer wouldn't be an affirmative. As expected there wasn't a reply, so I decided to check the person's vital signs. While I don't have any particular medical training, I can measure a pulse. I squatted down on my haunches and eased the mask from the prone figure before me. Underneath the mask, I could see it was a man wearing a respirator and the same cotton bodysuit as the ones I'd passed in the reception. He too had the same cybernetic implant on his face as the woman I'd seen. Possibly, it was a sort of monitoring device, or security tag for the researchers? That was the least disturbing explanation at least. All my other guesses were extraterrestrial in nature. I checked for a pulse but found none. The body was cold to the touch. Dead.

I began to piece together one possible interpretation of events. This poor guy crashed his cart, unleashed something dangerous and lethal, which spread far enough to kill at least him and the woman from earlier. I didn't like it though. How had he been infected through his suit, and how did Susan and her attacker factor into everything? While I was theorising, I'd kept my hand on the dead man's neck. Suddenly, I felt a pulse. Just a single solitary beat. I dismissed it as my imagination. Nervousness and a foolish obsession with George Romero. Then I felt it again. Sluggish, one beat every few seconds, slowly increasing in frequency. I backed away from the body, tensing with fear, as with stiff motion, it began to rise from the floor.

Saturday 21 January 2017

TW Casefiles: Silver Linings (5)

Within minutes I'd reached the medical campus. The area was devoid of life, word of mouth spreading the news of the local disappearances. Little did anyone else know a third victim had been taken, my darling Susan! I reached the spot I'd seen from the security camera feed, and set to work scouring the area for clues. Overhead, the horizontal bar of the streetlamp had several scratches on it's paintwork. The creature behind the attacks had swung between the posts and tree branches, and evidently possessed sharp claws or some form of metal gauntlets to leave such marks. Using the angle of the camera and my surroundings, I pinpointed the last known location of Sue and stood in the same spot, before casting my eyes around to find something. Anything.

In the bushes closest to me, and adjacent to the Rathbone Building, there were a number of broken twigs and small spots of flattened shrubbery, as if a struggle had taken place. Had Susan fought off her attacker? I walked over to have a closer look, and my heart sank. Close up, the pattern of damage indicated several "paths" had been traipsed across the bushes, as if several large somethings had been dragged through it. The mud was soft at the base of the plants, due to a recent rain shower. Imprinted in the surface were several hand prints. Too large for a human yet remarkably similar to a human hand. I knew the attacker didn't have legs, and wore large metal gloves. Was it some vaguely humanoid alien, or some kind of damaged robot?

Digging deeper into the undergrowth, where the shrubs met the wall of the building, I found her phone. The screen was cracked, but still legible. On it I saw the missed call from when I'd tried to get in touch, the little light blinking a taunt at me. Surrounding the phone were a number of glass shards, and disturbingly dark splotches staining the ground. I dabbed at the marks, taking a small amount on the tip of my finger. Working it between my thumb and forefinger, I found it to be sticky, coloured a dark reddish brown. Partially coagulated blood, most definitely Susan's. The bastardy who had done this was definitely going to pay. The source of the broken glass was in fact a low window, about a foot high at the very base of the exterior of the building. I peered into the dark interior, and realised I was looking through the skylight window of a basement lab. 

At this point, I should describe the purpose of the Rathbone building, and it's layout. Overground, it was a standard college facility, with lecture halls, offices, administration and several labs for undergrads. The basement level contained a number of labs for post-doctoral research, and it was into one such lab Susan had been dragged. That was only half of the building however. As part of a European Union research grant into infectious diseases that pose a threat on a global level, a highly secure underground bunker was built below the Rathbone building. This EU facility was one of the most secure locations on the continent, due to the live samples of diseases and viruses it was to contain. Completely sealed from the outside world barring a single lift shaft, to prevent any chance of infection, with a series of negative pressure airlocks in between. Scientists in the facility were strictly vetted, and lived and worked in the bunker for months at a time, going through a rigorous quarantine protocol before being released to the world above. Ebola, SARS, MRSA and many more, stored together in a single facility... what could possibly go wrong?

But I'm getting ahead of myself. Back to the blood. It was only a smattering of smeared drops, so at least her wounds weren't deep. Looking through the window again, the drops trailed throughout the lab, showing the path Sue had been dragged along. I knew I didn't have time to deal with the building security, so I chose to enter via the same window as Sue. Crouching down, I kicked at the glass remaining to clear a safe path, then squeezed my fleshy frame through the aperture. 

The blood continued out of the lab, and into the corridor. I hurriedly followed it, hoping not to be seen by any of the staff. The place was deserted though, my footsteps echoing through the dense silence that hung in the air. Before long the trail had led me to the steel door of an elevator. Warning labels and biohazard stickers adorned the lift, and instead of a call button, the wall beside it had a keypad and a card slot. Upon closer inspection, the card slot was surrounded by light scorch marks, as if something electrical had discharged nearby it. Probably from some hacking tool used by the creature I was chasing. Two could play at that game though. I slipped a small cylindrical device from my jacket pocket; a small sonic probe developed from reclaimed Torchwood tech with only a fraction of the utility of the Doctor's screwdriver, but very good at opening doors nonetheless. 

I paused for a moment, thinking of the consequences. If I entered this lift, I'd be effectively breaking into a secure government facility and committing crimes on an international scale. On the other hand, some legless alien had stolen my girlfriend. The choice was simple really; I stepped into the lift, sonicked the controls, and began thinking of plausible excuses to try in case I was mistaken. "Sorry I single handed defeated your security measures and trespassed. I was looking for the toilet."