TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (6)

By the time I'd come to my senses, or at least what I'd hoped were my own senses and not those of some alien hive mind, it was early evening. We had little more than 24 hours before the launch of Tech Specs, an event that had drawn international crowds into the city of Cork. Well-off gadget geeks and lovers of innovation were gathered to queue for the chance to get their hands on this latest piece of hardware. Nobody really knew what to expect from the technology which promised so much, but this mystery only added to the appeal. But even the most cynical of minds wouldn't have guessed the true purpose of the glasses: a delivery system for living plastic, and an instrument of mind control. Time was running out, and we knew whatever we decided to do, we'd have to act urgently.

"OK people, any ideas on how to proceed here?" I asked Dave and Ashley, as we paced around the Hub.

"If Devlin is working with the Nestene, then we need to confront him. No more traipsing around blindfolded." Dave said, forcefully.

"We have to delay the launch of the glasses first. No point blundering into a trap, getting captured or worse, all the while Devlin gains an army." Ash retorted.

"So we take him out before he has a chance to take control of everyone. End it before it begins!" exclaimed Dave.

I raised a hand to my temple as another pang of pain stung me. Dissension in the ranks would just add to my headache, so I stepped into the tiff.

"Settle down, both of you." I said, through gritted teeth. Suppressing my pain, I continued. "Whichever we prioritise, we still need a way into Devlin's base of operations. Which would be a tough enough ask in normal circumstances. Breaking into the very public headquarters of a tech giant on the day of a flagship product launch is nobody's idea of subtle."

"There must be something we can do though. Nothing's impossible. Not for us." Ash smiled a frankly infectious smile of dangerous optimism. Having someone like her by my side made me feel like anything could indeed happen.

"Actually, I do have a suggestion." Dave announced, turning towards the computer and opening a browser tab. "There's a gala event in the Metropole tomorrow morning, a sort of pre-launch party for journalists and 'figures of influence'. It'd get us close to Devlin, if nothing else."

"It's a start." I said, thoughtfully. "Good work Dave. We might even be able to confront him. Best way to take down villains like him is to give them enough rope. Use their own powers against them, if possible. At worst, we could just ask him politely to stop."

"If we could even find out exactly what he wants to use his brainwashed army for, it'd be something." Sue agreed. "Now, how do we get invited?"

I've always been a bit of a "given an inch" kind of guy, to be honest. Given a problem with multiple solutions, I'd struggle. But given the smallest start, any clue at all, and the way forward would just click. I had a talent for improvisation, at least, as long as I had a running start, so to speak.
"I already have an idea about that, actually." I said, taking over the keyboard. "It's an event for the press, so let's be press."

"It's still a fairly exclusive event. We can't pose for a major outlet as they'll all be there anyway, while 'Parish Tech News' won't get in the door." Dave warned.

"Parish Tech News?" asked Ash, smirking.

"Or whatever name Arven cones up with." Dave explained, sheepishly.

"Thankfully we don't have to rely on your naming conventions." I replied. "Dave's right. Most small outlets won't be invited, but a local, tech savvy man like Devlin? He's bound to have a soft spot when it comes to a request from his former Alma Mater's newspaper."

"That's your plan? Pretend to be from the UCC Express?" Ash asked, incredulously.

"Not at all. We ARE from the Express. Dave's going to have to write an article when we get back."

"Why me?" sighed Dave.

"It's your brainchild. Besides, even if he doesn't go for the local angle, Devlin won't underestimate the PR boost he'll get from young geeks and tech nerds."

After a bit of light forgery and mild fraud, we'd submitted our request to the office of Mr. Devlin. Surprisingly, we heard back within the hour. Even more surprising, he'd taken the bait. We had an in, and the game was on! All that was left now was waiting for the morning. We left the Hub together before going our separate ways for the night. Dave left first to head across town, while Ash and I lived in the same direction. We walked in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts, trying to piece together the events of the day. Eventually, I broke the silence, asking:

"Ash, can I be trusted?"

She stopped and turned to me, looking concerned. She feigned ignorance, but I could see the truth in her eyes.
"What do you mean?" She asked, almost innocently.

"You know what I mean. The living plastic in my skull. What if Devlin is watching everything through my eyes? What if he controls me during the gala? What if he makes me hurt you, or Dave? Maybe I should just stay behind. Sit this one out, so I don't put anyone in jeopardy?" The questions and doubts that I'd been mulling over all evening came tumbling out all at once. All my fears burst forth, a deluge of doubts, that Ash weathered resolutely. When I paused for a much needed breath, she hushed me, held my shoulders and spoke tenderly.

"Arven. Don't worry. You're the one who introduced me to this life, to all of this. Even compromised, there's still nobody I'd rather have beside me when facing down extraterrestrial evildoers. And I promise you, if Devlin tries anything with you, I'll force him to relinquish control. I guarantee it."

I looked into her warm, determined eyes, and couldn't help but feel buoyed by her optimism, though even that sight was tinged by sadness. I didn't deserve to be friends with someone so stubbornly decent, much less share a relationship with her. She seemed so convinced of our heroism, I vowed there and then I would never let her down.
"Thanks Ash. I needed that. It's just, when something's gets into your mind, you start doubting yourself. You know?"

"Sweetie, I don't need alien brainwashing to know what that's like."  For a moment, her eyes drifted to the side, tinged with grief, before Ash returned to her usual self. "Now cone on, let's get home. Bit day tomorrow." Hand in hand, we continued onwards into the night.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (5)

The pain was almost unbearable, forcing me to my knees as my legs gave way under the strain. My fingers, bent into claws by muscle spasms, tore ineffectually at the sides of my head as I tried in desperation to remove the source of my agony. I felt it spread inwards, starting as a sharp piercing, burrowing sensation, before spreading out, tendril like, both across and deeper into my head. The pain travelled like spilled ink, pouring into the recesses of my brain, filling the gaps within my skull, dominating my every thought until my very consciousness was sidelined and I no longer thought. I was simply pain, nothing else. The last thing I remembered before passing out was Ash, reaching out towards the Tech Specs, trying to remove them from my face. The pain didn't stop as she pulled the glasses from away from me, then I was overwhelmed by my torment.

The next thing I remembered was softness. Touch was the first sense to return, and I felt myself suspended as if I were lying on a cotton cloud. Slowly, experimentally, I opened my eyes, half expecting to see a vision of pearly gates and angelic hosts. As my bleary eyes adjusted to to the light, my surroundings slowly swam into focus. I was lying on a bed, in what seemed like the medical examination room of the Hub. Across the room, two blurry figures were hunched over a computer screen in apparent concentration. I let out a feeble groan as I tried to sit upright. As I flumped unsuccessfully backwards, the two figures turned around sharply and rushed to my side.

"Ash. . . What.... Dave?" I uttered, semi coherently.

"Don't move." Ash replied, laced with concern. "We don't know what exactly happened yet, so you have to be careful."

"I'm just glad you're awake. You've been comatose for a good seven hours lad." Dave added.

"Don't worry about me." I said, with an unconvincing air of defiance. "I've felt worse after a night on the lash." I tried to sit up again but my determination was betrayed by my stiff and unresponsive limbs. Instead I flashed a smug grin, as if lying there was what I had intended all along. "Yep, a good fry and a black coffee. That's what I need."

"This is why you never win at poker." Ash murmured to herself, before explaining further. "We've taken a few scans of your head, along with a biopsy or two, and... well... there's no easy way of putting this..."

"Your head is filled with plastic." Dave added, bluntly. "Seems those specs injected you with a dose of malleable, fluid plastic. It's weird stuff, acts almost like it's alive."

"It's formed a latticework around your brain, but we don't know why, or what it means for you."

"And, there's no chance of removing it, I suppose?" I asked, hopefully.

"Well, yes and no." Dave replied. "We can't destroy the plastic without risking your brain... but the plastic is bio-degradable. Should dissolve in about three days."

"Assuming it hasn't killed you by then." Ash added, sternly. I could tell she blamed me for recklessly trying on the glasses, and herself for not stopping me. I thought of saying something, of explaining myself, but it wasn't the time. So I kept quiet, for now. Instead, I posed a question.

"So, have you run a check in the archives for living plastic?"

"Of course. We're not helpless without you." Ash responded. "Best and only concrete match is a race called the Autons. Living plastic soldiers, controlled via hive mind by a creature called a Nestene Consciousness. They've tried to invade Earth a few times, usually by taking control of plastic objects, devices and shop mannequins."

"There's no real evidence of them injecting people with plastic before, but it's not unreasonable to assume it's an attempt at mind control of some form." Dave added.

I thought about my situation for a moment before replying. Was it possible that the Nestene could control me via this lattice? If not, then what else was its purpose. And if it could, then would I be compelled to aid in its conquest? How could my friends trust me in the battle to come? How could I trust my own thoughts? Would I even know if my thoughts were not my own?

Unaware of my internal grief, Ash continued with her uncovered information.
"Last reported Auton incursion was only a few years ago. UNIT defeated a potential invasion threatening the UK. Something centred around a new tech start-up supplying 3D printers to offices around the UK, which began to mass produce plastic warriors."

"And guess the name of said company?" Dave continued, giddily. "DevlinTech."

"What, the same as our local Tech Specs guy?" I asked incredulously. "That's not a coincidence. Not possible."

"Exactly. Best guess, some part of the Nestene survived, and is trying again, here instead. Posing as an Irish tech genius." Ash added.

"And the specs, this plastic? It's to turn humanity into soldiers loyal to the Nestene." I finished, finally getting what my teammates had worked out while I'd be asleep. The Tech Specs were to launch in Cork in just 36 hours. We had a daunting task ahead, and little idea if how to proceed. And I was likely a saboteur controlled remotely by our enemy. So, business as usual, I suppose.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (4)

The air filtered throughout the autopsy examination room was chilly, and laced with the stale tang of recirculated air. Before me on the gurney lay the body of the murdered Weevil, looking almost peaceful cloaked in the veil of death. I pulled on a pair of rubber gloves with an echoing snap, the sound uncomfortably loud against the hushed silence that tends to follow corpses in repose. We were all new to the game back then and still retained a certain subconscious attitude towards death. Murder, autopsy, eventually all this would become second nature to us, we would grow to see corpses as part of the job. Like fleshy vessels of information, rather than ex living creatures. Frankly this sounds more callous than I intended. Merely, we had not yet grown accustomed to witnessing death, we had yet to lose our innocence, I suppose.

"I'm sorry about this." I whispered to the corpse, as I picked up one of the alien scanners Torchwood has repurposed into a medical tool. I ran it over the gunshot wound on the Weevil's chest, as the screen began to pulse and bleep. Interpreting the display, I realized that the bullet was still inside the wound. With a grimace and  a sigh, I picked up a surgical pliers and probed the chest hole gingerly, half trying to look away as I dug deeper into the mangled flesh. I tried to imagine myself playing a game of some kind, trying to distract from the disgusting nature of my actions. I was always a dab hand at Operation as a child. My attempts were foiled by my brain, which at this point was practically screaming:
"Oh Jesus! Your hand is in an alien. Literally inside. Was that a lung? Does it have lungs? Of course it does, it can breathe, and anyway, YOU ARE TOUCHING THE LUNG! You're poking around in a wound and there's bits of bone everywhere. You know, this has the consistency of raw mince..."

I raised the back of my gloved wrist to my mouth as I fought to control a gag reflex, which was mostly successful. Swallowing my failure (mostly figurative, partially literal) I returned to probing the gunshot wound. Eventually, I located a small metal object and managed to free it from its meat prison.

"Here's where it gets interesting." I mused aloud to myself. The bullet was a cube, not a pointed cylinder like you'd expect. Which was odd. Bullets are so shaped to help them pierce flesh, while allowing the rifling of a gun barrel to impart a spin for added stability on the trajectory. How does a cube make sense, I wondered? It's not aerodynamic, not efficient, and harder to aim. Yet, the severity of the wound suggested it had traveled faster than the typical speed of a bullet from such a rifle.

I continued examining the Weevil, but found nothing else of interest on the body. People have done all sorts of things with Weevils in the past. Torchwood records mention fight clubs, drug testing, freak-shows, even sex trafficking. (That last one was supposedly defanged. But it was added to the database by Jack. I still don't know if that makes it more likely to be a wind up or the truth). However, the body showed no signs of recent trauma, nor any form of tag or tracer. It seemed a perfectly ordinary specimen, who happened to forage in the wrong place at the wrong time. If anything about a Weevil can be said to be ordinary, of course.

Once I had finished in the autopsy room, and cleaned myself up, I returned to the central section of the Hub where Ash was busy running several searches on the computer bank. She looked up from her dual monitors as I entered, and prepared to make some wry comment. Before she could however, she must have seen something in my eyes, and instead a soft, warm expression blossomed on her face.

"How are you coping?" She asked, gently.

"About as well as I can, given what I've been doing. It's still hard to come to terms with some aspects of the job." I sighed, as I embraced her. After a tender moment, Ash pushed herself away to arms length lightly.

"You mean like squelching around in an alien's innards?"

"Hey, at least I didn't vomit. Mostly." I said with quickly deflating bravado.

"Well, next time you can do the tedious computer stuff, and I'll get my hands dirty." Ash replied.

"No, it's fine, really. I'll get used to it."

"Don't lie to me, Arven. Not again. We're here to support each other, so if you need to talk, I'm here. Always."

She gave me a quick kiss, before continuing.

"So what did you find out from the Weevil?"

"Not much. Except, she was killed by a bizarre cube shaped bullet."

I handed the (cleaned) bullet to her, and waited for her to examine it.

"Hmm." She pondered. "This makes sense. You see, I've been researching the modifications on the man's rifle. It's hard to be sure from only the visuals, but I think it was a rail-gun."

"A-ha!" I exclaimed. A rail-gun would explain the shape of the bullet, after all. Angled projectiles would better tear the flesh of a target, and rail-guns can fire any shape of ammunition depending on design. It's a device which uses intense magnetic fields to rapidly impart kinetic energy upon an object. The projectile is accelerated rapidly along rails by electromagnetic energy, creating a gun that doesn't use any kind of explosive charge. I knew that certain militaries were trialing such weapons for use on naval carriers, but I'd never heard of a handheld version. Except for the ones in our databases of course.

"If it is, then it's alien tech. That's not good." I said, concerned.

"At least only one of them was armed. Suggests they're operating on limited resources." Ash added.

"But why a Weevil? We know they were ordered to kill the alien, so they weren't there to steal the Tech Specs."

"Maybe, they're employed by DevlinTech? Keep the stock safe from intruders? I did think that the Tech Specs seemed a little too good to be true. What if they're powered by salvaged alien technology?"

I considered Ash's point for a while. It was certainly plausible. I reached into my pocket and withdrew a pair of the glasses I'd borrowed from the warehouse.

"Well, we could always find out." I said, smirking. Ash looked like she wasn't sure whether to slap me or kiss me. Instead she remained silent. I felt like she was silently willing me not to do something. But now I was curious.

"Let's see if they live up to the hype." I smiled, as I placed them on my face.

"Oh no." Ash said to herself. I gave a cry of pain, as a sharp ringing echoed inside my head, and I felt as if something was drilling into my brain via my ears.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (3)

I reached the nearest doors of the warehouse slightly ahead of Ashley, and wrenched it open while both its rusty hinges and my rusty muscles creaked in protest. The shriek of swinging steel was hardly subtle, though stealth was hardly an option now that someone was shooting. Together, Ash and I rushed into the building, each of us sweeping our respective corners with a glance before turning our attentions to the centre of the room. Or rather, the barrier separating us from the centre of the room. The warehouse floor was a maze of packing crates and pallets, stacked haphazardly in crude rows, reaching up about twenty feet and spanning the length of the building. We had entered facing the foremost row, which blocked our view further in and provided altogether too many potential ambush sites.

With a few silent gestures, Ash and I split up, taking opposing sides of the rows and progressed deeper into the warehouse, checking each row as we passed. We had only cleared the first two rows before we heard the voices, speaking in Cork accents so dense that words could hardly escape its gravitational field. The kind of voice that seems mostly to comprise of disjointed syllables masked in a lilting brogue. What follows is the closest interpretation of what I could discern.

"It's definitely dead Jim."
"Course he is. I'm a dead eye when it comes to marksmanship."
"Pure fluke, twas. Only dead eye you're accustomed to is the black one you got when you fell onto the corner of your barstool."
"Still a better dead eye than the look your wife gives ya when you're late home."
"Shut up, will ya?"
"It's only a joke lad. Lighten up ta Jaysus."
"No, shut up! I think I heard something."
"Rats probably."
"I don't know many rats that can open steel doors. Save your brother, that is."
"Oi!"
"Anyway, we'd best be off before someone finds us."
"But what about this thing? Can't leave it here to be seen now, can we."
"We don't got a choice. Boss man paid us to kill it,it's dead. That's all that's important. It'll all be written off as a drunk hobo, probably."

I could sense the moment already slipping away. If we had any hopes of interrogating those two, we had to act before they made their escape. With a yell, I tore down towards them. Ashley, momentarily stunned by my reckless reaction froze before continuing after me. Ahead, I could see the two men now, though they were obscured by the weak and halfhearted lights overhead. One appeared short and fat, while the other was tall and thin. This was only in relation to each other however, neither was far removed from the average male in absolute terms. The slightly taller man was the one holding the gun, which appeared to be similar to a standard, old fashioned bolt action rifle, if you ignored the flashing lights and strange metal adorning its surface. Already, the pair was beginning to turn and run for the exit nearest them. I increased my pace, frowning. Not to sound ungrateful, but I wondered why neither of the men were shooting at us. Was it because the rifle really only held a single shot? And even if that was the case, surely the little man would be carrying a weapon of their own? I decided that my questions would be best answered if and when the two were in custody.

On the floor near the spot where I had first spotted the men, I could now see was slumped a Weevil. Obviously dead, the poor creature had been shot through the heart. Sure, I've had to put down a fair few Weevils in my time, usually as a last resort, but something about this seemed wrong. It was too clinical and precise. The work of a professional hunter, not a desperate survivor. It hadn't been killed because it posed a threat, merely because it was different, alien. I looked into its eyes, (her eyes, I decided), and saw the barest flicker of life. Something the two men wouldn't have understood or cared about.  She was dying, nothing could save her now, but she was determined to cling on to life as long as she could manage. I saw that glint in her eye, the glare of hatred and revenge. She wouldn't rest until the pair who had done this had paid.

"Hush, hush now." I said, crouching down before the Weevil. I laid a hand on her shoulder gently. Feebly, she tried to pull away before giving up due to the pain of her chest wound. Ash ran past in pursuit of the men, barely paying me any attention.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what they've done." I pleaded with the Weevil. "But mark my words. I'm going to make them pay."

I couldn't tell if she was smart enough to hear me, to comprehend me, not to mention if she was lucid enough. Although, I could have sworn her lip curled in a vindictive grin, or maybe it was just a grimace of pain. I continued to hold her as the last of her life ebbed away and she collapsed with a final shuddering gasp. I sat alone in silence then, the sudden deafening silence that's left, void-like, when a living being imperceptibly nothing but a mass of decaying meat. Life is such a fickle thing, something we can't truly grasp until someone is ripped from us. We are all of us constantly rotting and degrading, life is merely the chemical process that balances entropy and keeps us muddling on, and yet it is so much more, as felt by the intense absence left in the wake of a death. In my time with Torchwood, I've seen so much death, of friends, enemies, and the innocents in between. But it's always the same. Every death leaves a mark, invisible yet indelible upon you. And I know that nobody should have to face it alone.

Ashley's voice buzzed in my ear, via my Bluetooth headset.

"Damn. Bastards had a vehicle stashed away just outside. I lost them and there's no way we'll catch them tonight." She sighed, breathing heavily.

"Did you get the reg?" I asked, as I stood up from the deceased Weevil.

"Missing a digit, but enough to establish a trace, assuming they aren't fakes or anything. At least it's a start though."

"And, if that doesn't shake out, I think I've found a lead of my own. Bring the car around, I want this Weevil collected for autopsy. Maybe we can find out what kind of weapon our new friends favoured."

"Got it. Best be quick though, in case either of them tries to call the Guards down on us."

"Got it. But that's not my lead. No, I'm more interested in these crates. They're all Devlin Tech branded. The entire shipment is full of Tech Specs. Something is fishy here."

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (2)

"Should we pick up Dave on the way?" Ash asked from behind the wheel of the SUV.

"Next left. Nah. Best not." I replied from the passenger side, without looking up from the navigational screen. "He wanted an early night, and a Weevil is no match for two of us. Right ahead." I returned to the screen, which was in fact a tablet computer. It synced up with both the vehicle and the Hub mainframe, and was capable of providing: sensory data, real time updates, basic sample analysis, access databases and more. We called it the Omni-Tab.

"Right, we should be nearing the location of the sighting. Let's head out onto the dock." I said, consulting the GPS tracker.

"Hmm. Road barrier in the way. It's almost as if they don't want people sneaking around at night. Fancy that." Ashley said, wryly.

"We are not people. Do we even look like people?" I replied, smiling.

"On a good day, maybe. Right, wanna buzz us through?"

"Not a problem." I said as I withdrew my sonic screwdriver from my jacket pocket. I pointed the device at the barriers and with a faint hum they began to raise, allowing our vehicle to enter. Ash drove as far as she could towards the warehouse farthest along the docks while I scanned our surroundings for signs of the Weevil. Only one vessel was moored on our side of the port, a massive slab of steel, shipping new imported cars. Between the warehouses were large drums of rope and cables, mooring posts and parked loading vehicles. The area was poorly lit, with the only significant light sources being the pale half moon and the SUV's own headlights. Shadows stretched long and wide, merging with the inky darkness surrounding us. Too many dark corners and large objects made for all too many hiding spots. Finding a Weevil in all this would be tedious at best, fatal at worst.

Not much is actually known about the Weevils, we don't even know where they come from. Torchwood operatives have suggested many theories over the years, but none have ever been confirmed, despite their presence throughout Torchwood's history. Some think they we share a common ancestor and that they are our evolutionary cousins. Others suggest that they are a species rift refugees fleeing the destruction of their own world, mangled into beastly husks by the time winds of the Vortex. More poetic minds imply they are the dark mirror of ourselves, an embodiment of our base impulses, or what we may eventually become. Personally, it doesn't matter where they originate, or why, I'm concerned with how to deal with them.

Whatever their origin, there are some facts on record. Weevils are humanoid, hunched figures with dark leathery skin and pronounced bared teeth like some kind of shaved chimp. They stand slightly shorter than the human average, with only a little patch of wispy hair covering their bald heads. Between their pointed teeth and viciously sharp claws, Weevils are lethal in a fight. Curiously, most Weevils encountered are actually found wearing Torchwood branded overalls. Perhaps this is due to Weevils who escape Torchwood incarceration, but the numbers still don't match up. Unless the Weevils have some form of manufacturing, this is yet another mystery of their kind. Weevils have no known language or hierarchy, sometimes living in harmonious groups, other times fighting violently, maybe for territory, food, or mating rights. They do however have a form of mewling, wailing song that appears to be a form of communication, akin to the grunts of our ancestors. Their level of intelligence is a matter of debate, with most estimates putting them at about the same level as canines. Weevils display a certain sensitivity to temporal effects, as well as an affinity for psychic empathy. Weevils are very sensitive to the emotions of their surroundings and of others, both Weevil and human, which can act over incredible distances.

Despite all the uncertainty, the only thing that is irrefutable is the danger they pose to civilians. Many Weevils stick to abandoned areas and underground tunnels such as sewers in small communities, but those who venture into populated areas are almost guaranteed to attack any human in sight. Rumours of crocodiles rising out of toilets abundant in Florida and other urban legends of savage beasts in the night can often be traced back to a high Weevil population in the area. As such, Torchwood acts as a form of pest control, securing rogue Weevils, incarcerating them and eventually releasing them in the country, or back into secluded areas. Assuming they can actually be taken alive of course.

Ashley stepped out of the SUV, and began to shine her torch around the area.
"Right. Only an entire dockland to search. Funsies."

"So much for an early night. Again. Told you this job wasn't all fun and games." I replied, extracting myself from the car to join in the search.

"Oh yeah, you woo me in with talk of space, and time, and broad horizons. You didn't mention the romantic moonlit jaunts through a shipping port, chasing a savage creature, with brutal death lurking behind every shadow." Ash said sarcastically, picking her way over a pile of tangled ropes.

"Feel free to quit anytime."

"And leave you with all the glory? Not a chance. Besides if you were solo you'd have been killed by now." Ashley said with a laugh.

"No way!" I said, feigning indignation.

"Yes way. You'd have been dead at least three times by my count."

"Two, surely. That time with the pelican doesn't count. It was your idea."

"I didn't count that one. It's still three." Ash smugly finished. After a short silence as we continued searching, she asked. "Black or red?"

"Now? The wedding is a month away." I moaned.

"Yeah, but you don't want to be buying a shirt last minute. Anyway, we have time to kill."

"Very true. I was thinking black shirt and a red tie, it'll look better for when my jacket is off over the meal." I mused, as I peered around a pallet of paving slabs.

"Plus, red makes you look like a tomato."

"It does not!"

"It so does! Especially when you get annoyed and your face blushes. See, like that."

"I..." I muttered, trying to find the words.

"Only messing. I love my tomato just the way he is." Ash said warmly, flashing me a warm smile. Suddenly, a deafening crack rang out across the open expanse of the port. Gunfire! With barely a glace at each other, Ash and I took off in the direction of the disturbance. Things had just escalated.

TW Casefiles: Brand Loyalty (1)

Atop the Gilded Spire, the last of the Pentari took their place in the circle. Finally, the pledged protectors of the Promised City had resumed their position of perpetual guardianship, though even now it may be too late. Overhead, the unnatural vessels of the Concordant were already flying in from over the ocean, seeped in darkness and malice. Strange technological aberrations held aloft by no visible means, like ships that sailed on the very air! Dragonfire burst forth from their prows, incinerating entire buildings of the city below with a single breath, while the warrior mages cast bolts of sickly blue energy at the townsfolk fleeing for their lives. Sildar, leader of the Pentari, spoke gravely, "We are too late. The old rituals will not be enough to save the city. Only the unbound rite may save us now."

"You can't be serious." spoke another of the circle. "The circle will be broken. We have watched over this land for nigh on a millennium!"

"Then it is perhaps time for some new blood. I trust you will find an adequate replacement. We do not have the time to argue." Sildar held his arms over his chest, intonating a complex spell, as the embossed dragon symbol of his chest plate began to writhe. Suddenly the shape flung its wings wide as Sildar's head was thrust backwards. The dragon seemed to grow, reaching past the confines of the armor, and stretching onto his very skin. With a blinding glow and a howl of pain, Sildar himself began to morph, until he was replaced by a gigantic golden dragon.  And then, even the dragon disappeared, consumed by the blazing light, which continued to expand, emanating outwards in a sphere of intense magical energy, until it formed a protective dome over the entire city. The fleet of Concordant airships were unable to penetrate such a shield, while the ones within the city bounds touched by the sphere were damaged beyond their ability to fly and began to crash down across the city.

"Sildar has bought us some time, but that barrier will not protect us for long. A new member of the Pentari must be found if we are to repel these invaders."

"There will be time for questions later! One if those sky ships is going to impact with the tower!"

With a thunderous impact, the vessel pierced the side of the tower, lodged half in and half out. The remaining Pentari, and the small group of adventurers accompanying them struggled to maintain their footing as tremors shook the building. A number of warrior mages had survived the crash and were emerging from the wreck.

"Roll for Initiative!"

"Actually, do you mind if we call it there?" Dave asked, as he stood up from the table. "I've an early lecture tomorrow morning."

"No bother." I replied, adding "The warrior mages will wait patiently until next week. OK boys and girls, D&D same bat time, same bat channel next week."

Conversation rippled around the table as the game finished. While I tidied away the dice and other materials, Dave began to gather his things and Tony and Sarah helped themselves to the last of 'our' sweets. As both author and narrator, I feel the need to address a few points at this juncture. It has been about two months since I introduced Susan to the world of Torchwood. Since then, we have also invited Dave to join us in defending Cork, which he accepted with his customary indifference. Moat people would be skeptical at best or hostile at worst if you told them you fought alien incursions, but Dave just shrugged and tagged along. None of us think Tony or Sarah are ready for the truth however, and we wouldn't really want them in the Hub anyway. Tony is a bad enough team player in a board game, never mind life or death situations.

Dave, Susan and I have had several successful cases since forming, including one about a banshee which I have recounted elsewhere. Also, Susan has taken to being called by here middle name, claiming 'Ashley' is a much better name for a secret agent. I told her that because we're secret, names aren't really important, which she rightly countered by pointing out 'Arven' is my D&D / college nickname, so I was one to talk.

Most of the chatter was centred about the new tech startup in Cork city. A local business, which was poised to compete with the biggest names of the industry, whose flagship product was set to launch in just a few days time. Our collective inner geek was salivating at the prospect of the device.

"Anyone getting a set on launch day?" I heard Ash ask as I put away the last of the gaming materials.

"Day one Tech Specs for me. I backed the Kickstarter." Dave responded.

"I missed out on the early bird offers, so I held off. Think I'll wait for the revised version in six months time, when they've patched out the kinks." I added.

"What are we talking about?" Tony asked.

I resisted the urge to facepalm. How he didn't know about the locally designed next big thing in gadgetry was beyond me. It had dominated news both locally and internationally for months now.

"Tech Specs, supposed to be the next iPad, and poised to succeed where Google Glass failed." I replied, instead.

"Oh, that thing." He muttered, losing interest. Tech Specs claimed to be the first workable wearable technology. A pair of glasses, with the capabilities of a smartphone, all tucked into a neat and tidy frame. These could record video, let you replay things in real time with zoom functionality, browse the web. See something you like while out and about? Tech Specs will scan it and find it for you on sale online. All controlled by harnessing latent brainwave activity. Point and think glasses. The potentials were mind bogglingly exciting.

"Tony! Can I get a lift home from you?" Dave asked, politely.

"*sigh* I suppose you're on my way back anyway. But you'll have to make it worth my while." Tony replied, testily.

"If it's an imposition, I'll walk." said Dave.

"Oh no. I'll bring you. I'm just having my fun." Tony said, his words oozing with condescension. "But Sarah gets the front seat."

I shot a quick glance at Dave, rolling my eyes theatrically behind Tony. Dave struggled to stifle a laugh, and instead left the room, towards Tony's car. Everyone else followed, leaving me alone with Ashley.

"So Ash, do you want a spin home too, or do you wanna stay here?"

"Is that a question I really have to answer?" She said, coyly.

I made a show of patting my pockets. "Right, where did I leave my keys so?"

The two of us laughed for a moment before sharing in a kiss, which was interrupted by a text message. I pulled away from Ash and checked my phone, wondering what Tony had left behind him this time. But it wasn't a message from him, it was an alert from the Hub computer, which monitored social media feeds, news sites & a barrage of scanners and sensors for potential spots of extra-terrestrial incidents. A Weevil had been spotted along the harbour.

"Duty calls?" Susan asked.

"Duty calls."

J&L: Jagowl & Litepaw (12)

Jago: "I'm sorry George. He slipped out of my grasp. I couldn't keep him from falling in."

Litefoot: "I'm just glad he didn't drag you down with him."

Lambert: "Help me! For God's sake, get me out of here!"

Jago: "After all you've done? Not on your Nelly. Why should we help you?"

Lambert: "I can cure you. There's an antidote, in my lab, already synthesized. That blue liquid there. Now get me out."

*Tiger snarls*

Litefoot: "I'm not sure we can trust you, Lambert. How can we be sure that this elixir will revert us to our old selves?"

Jago: "I don't think we have much choice Professor. He's got nothing to lose now, neither do we."

Lambert: "Exactly! See? Trust in the wisdom of an owl."

Litefoot: "Then let me try the cure first. If it works, and doesn't kill me, then we'll help you out."

Lambert: "Anything! Anything if it helps you make up your mind. Just hurry and help me!"

Jago: "I have one small alteration to the plan George. Let me test the potion."

Litefoot: "But Henry..."

Jago: "I'm sorry George, but it makes sense. I was infected before you, so I've got less time left before this change is permanent. Besides, in case it fails, in case it's a poisonous trap, in case I die... You stand the only chance at crafting a cure for Quick and Ellie."

Litefoot: "I can't ask you to do this, old chap."

Jago: "I'm not asking, I'm insisting. Now let me through before I come to my senses and change my mind."

Litefoot: "Good luck, Henry."

Jago: "Bottom's up, eh?"

*Jago gulps deeply, then begins to groan and convulse*

Litefoot: "Henry!"

Lambert: "Leave him. He'll be alright, in time."

Litefoot: "You bounder! He's far from alright!"

Lambert: "Look closer! His feathers should already be beginning to recede. The reversal of the process is more immediate than the original. He'll sleep for a while, but he'll wake up back to normal."

Litefoot: "He's right Jago. If you can hear me, it's working! You're looking like your old self again. Sleep well, my friend."

Lambert: "These tigers are getting close. Help me now Litefoot!"

Litefoot: "Help you? You've tortured my friends. You've carried out sick and depraved experiments unethically. You've murdered who knows how many innocent people, as victims of your scheme, not to mention those killed by your failed creations. Why should I save you when you have so little respect for the sanctity of life?"

Lambert: "Because you are an honourable gentleman. You're a doctor, a man of medicine. The Hypocratic Oath compels you to help save those in distress."

Litefoot: "You would really sink so low? To question MY honour? Why, the Oath is merely an ethical and moral guideline of my profession, not a summons. And furthermore, a product of human creation. No, I think a man like yourself deserves to play by the rules of the animal kingdom instead."

Lambert: "You can't leave me here!"

Litefoot: "I'm sorry, but you've clearly chosen to live by a different creed. If you disagree, try asking those test subjects you're trapped with to parley, not me."

Lambert: "No! You can't! Noooo!!!! My leg! Aghhhhh...."

*squelching of tearing flesh and crunching of bones*

Litefoot: "Survival of the fittest."

***

Jago: "What? Where? Who?"

Litefoot: "Calm down, Henry. Take it easy. You've been asleep for a few hours now."

Jago: "Professor! A sight for sore eyes if I ever I saw one. And speaking of sights, you've looking healthier than ever. Not a hair out of place."

Litefoot: "Take this mirror, Henry. I'm sure you'll want to check on your own condition."

Jago: "Haha! Firmly and fully feather free! Finally! But, where are we? What happened to Lambert? Last I remember, I was drinking that foul curative."

Litefoot: "Lambert... didn't make it out in time unfortunately."

Jago: "As bad as it may sound, he's no great loss to the world."

Litefoot: "Indeed. After he had passed, I dragged you out of his circus and bundled you back to my home via a passing carriage. I made sure Ellie and Quick got enough of the elixir for themselves and the other semi animalistic victims, then took a dose myself."

Jago: "Many thanks, George. What would I do without you?"

Litefoot: "Probably you'd have quite the extensive tab at the Red Tavern. But there's no need to thank me for helping a friend in need."

Jago: "What about the other unfortunates? The ones who turned fully into animals?"

Litefoot: "Rounded up by the Zoo authorities, and housed as comfortably as possible. There was no way to revert them, and their human minds were long since lost to animal urges."

Jago: "A sick scheme, but it's behind us now. Unless that Julian is planning something."

Litefoot: "Undoubtedly, but I don't believe he'll use Lambert's virus. That was Sidney's personal project. Julian, or whoever he is, just used Lambert as a means of introducing himself."

Jago: "An introduction far eclipsing anything I could ever hope to perform on the stage. He certainly made himself known. If this was just his 'hello', how can we hope to confront his actual schemes?"

Litefoot: "The same way we ever tackle a problem, Henry. Together."