Story disclaimer: I own none of the following. Many of the references in this story are owed to the writers and the rest of the team(s) involved in the creation and production of Torchwood and Doctor Who. Without them, this story would not be possible. My character Teya owns me. I am making no money from this or any of my other fics posted on this site.

Author's Note: I forget how many times I have tried to write this story. I managed to get to about Chapter Thirteen on the last attempt, and then I decided to make life a whole lot more complicated for Jack, Teya and myself. So this is about attempt ten... aaaaaaaaaand action!

Scene One – Torchwood Tower, London/ Torchwood Hub, Cardiff, 1999

Torchwood. Outside the government, beyond the police. Fighting for the future on behalf of the human race. The twenty-first century is when everything changes... And Torchwood is ready...

The creature takes great offense to the weapon brandished at him, lunging at Captain Jack Harkness with fangs and poison stacked legs bared. Jack leaps away, somehow turning it into a remarkably acrobatic roll up on to one knee. He pauses merely a second to aim his gun before firing off several shots. The beast rises up onto its six rear-most legs, screaming indignantly and waving its deadly appendages. It meets Jack's eyes for several seconds, an ugly snarl on its face. It falls backwards... dead. Jack stops long enough to catch his breath, wired from the battle and celebrating his victory even when cleaning up the mess. The adrenaline of going toe-to-toe with an alien with eighteen poison-stacked legs, even for the man that can't be killed, is better than anything Jack had ever felt... well, almost anything. And now Jack is looking forward to having a well-deserved New Year drink with his team-mates. As soon as the clean-up is done, Jack heads back to the Hub.

She traveled with him, a mere echo of a thought in the back of his mind, and she knew what awaited him there. She always knew, even before he did, though she was sat alone in the very centre of her stark, white cell, with the bright lights echoing in her head. Knees hugged tight to her chest by thin, wasted arms. She rocked back and forth, wishing him not to go back there, not to go back to the place he called home that was choked with Death... Tears ran silently down her face as she anticipated his pain, eyes rolled upward into her skull. Greasy black hair was ruffled where her right hand gripped it occasionally. Her face was pale, cheeks sunken from years of captivity. She made no sound, not even a whimper, as scared by the visions as by the scene that awaited Jack.

He enters the Hub, laughing about the millennium bug he has just destroyed as he hangs up his military style coat. The Hub's silence fills him and he turns to call for them all. Two prone bodies greet him with deathly silence, lying where they have fallen. Jack draws his gun, wondering if the attacker is still in the Hub. How did it get in? Or out? He stoops to check the pulse of one of his companions, to no avail. The next is just as lifeless, blood on her blue sweater revealing that she died of a stomach wound. Jack is distraught, scared, until he looks up. A grey-haired man sits calmly on a stool watching the New Year chime in on the television, face aged beyond his years as he turns to look at Torchwood's indestructible operative. A shiver runs through Jack as he realizes that the man's eyes are filled with terror.

It was approaching midnight, New Year's Eve. Chaos had gripped London, as it had the world, and while most were preparing themselves for the biggest party ever to happen, banks and businesses the world over were preparing for the chaos that might ensue with the calendar turning from 99 to 00. Many folks were foretelling doom and gloom and the destruction of the Earth. Torchwood itself had very few concerns, for they saw the destruction of the Earth as imminent most days of the year. The turning of the millennium was nothing new or special to them. However, rumours of an eighteen-legged, insectoid alien, already being deemed the "millennium bug" on the loose in Cardiff were as yet unfounded and all that Torchwood London had to occupy them with. All was quiet on the alien front in London at least.

"Jack," he acknowledges almost serenely, almost hiding the note of panic in his voice, "just in time." He looks back to the TV screen, a sad smile on his face.

"Alex, what happened? Who did this?" Jack gestures wildly at the bodies on the floor from his crouch, looking up at his commander with glazed eyes, still confused and fearful.

"Me." The word acknowledges so much and yet nothing at all.

"What?" Jack gives a breathy laugh as if he can deny it, make it all into a joke; that the others will stand up and laugh it all off as some big, elegant (if a little twisted) New Year prank. He knows it isn't. "Why?"

"We got it wrong, Jack." Alex opens his hand to reveal a tiny, silver fob watch. He stares at it fearfully. "We thought we could control the stuff we found, and what's it brought us? So much death..."

Terry Castleford paced down the block with apparent nonchalance, trying to ignore the obvious discomfort of his 'guests'. His taser, far more powerful than anything the police force carried and enough to take down the more-than-average alien, was at his belt, and his hand not far from it. The lighting was what passed for dimmed in the maximum security prison, though still bright enough to see the occupant of each cell clearly. The Weevils were pacing forward and back in their stark white cells, expressions always snarling at their jailer, rumbling their displeasure all the while. The guard, for a little amusement, stopped outside the cell of the Chameleon, who was a reflection of the guard as he stepped in front of the cell. On a good day, the Chameleon would match every movement, every pulled face and every sound. Today was not a good day. The Chameleon simply watched the guard's antics, one tanned hand pressed against the glass door of his cell, index and middle fingers curled through two of the nine air holes. Face ominous and turned upwards towards the celebrations going on above, which was exactly where Terry wanted to be.

"What happened to them?" Jack isn't sure he wants to know. He knows that Alex's mind has been deeply affected by the alien device. But no matter what it did, or was doing, Jack knows that there is no going back from here.

"It's good you're here. You always did have great timing. This place, it's yours. Torchwood three. My gift to you Jack, for a century of service as field operative. Give this place a purpose, before it's too late. Please."

"Alex, listen," Jack almost chokes on the tears that he refuses to shed, "it's gonna be okay..."

At the far end of the block, on the opposite side of the run to the Chameleon, the Blowfish grunted. When it got no response, it shouted in bitten off words and guttural grunts that were all it was capable of in terms of speech thanks to too many run-ins with the taser. Terry left the Chameleon, drawing his taser and heading down to the Blowfish's cell. A wave of the taser was enough to quiet the alien fish, though he did gesture across from him. Terry sighed, glancing behind him and half expecting the Blowfish to try to make him jump by leaping at the glass. Instead, Terry saw what had disturbed the Blowfish.

"No, it's not. It's really not. I looked inside. It showed me what's coming. They were mercy killings; it was the kindest thing I could do. So none of us see the storm. I'm sorry I can't do the same for you." Big Ben begins to strike midnight on the television set, the pop of London's fireworks causing Alex to pause for an instant. Jack opens his mouth to speak, but Alex sits up straighter, as if preparing himself for something. "Twenty-first century Jack, every thing's going to change... and we're not ready..."

She was sat in the very centre of her stark, white cell, bright lights echoing in her head. Knees hugged tight to her chest by thin, wasted arms. She rocked back and forth, with tears running silently down her face from eyes that were rolled upward into her skull. Greasy black hair was ruffled where her right hand gripped it occasionally. Her face was pale, cheeks sunken from years of captivity. Terry knew that prisoner 5167 had these bouts once in a while, but no one was sure what brought them on. Numerous tests and interviews had been carried out, but her file stated simply that Prisoner 5167 was prone to bouts of insanity. Terry stood before her cell, wondering what the poor creature's mind was tormenting her with. His frown deepened as she let out a tiny mewl of distress...

"ALEX!"

She took a sudden, great, gasping breath. Her eyes rolled forward and clicked with Terry's. She felt him shiver involuntarily under the intensity of her gaze, though she was not seeing him at all. Her mind was frozen with the image of the blood spattering Jack's face, the disbelief in his eyes that he and his team could be so suddenly destroyed by one of their own. She felt the first tremour of shock shiver through Jack's body, the single gunshot still ringing in their ears…

(Roll credits...)