Hola! Hi. Okay, so this is the real full first chapter. It contains the beginning of the original first chapter. So, yeah. Shoutout time!

Meloyelow123: Thank ya, thank ya very much. *Elvis voice*

catlover210: Thank ye kindly. Yeah, I really don't write long things. I'm bad about that.

MelodyCurious: Your name is Annalise then? Or is there some other name I mentioned? :P Glad you like it. Oooh, save me some of that popcorn.

Chapter 1

No one, not a single person, was ever going to see me shed a single tear. I smiled and laughed, but never cried.

Unless I was alone.

And that night, I just so happened to be alone. At the park. I remember only a little; that it was shadowy and extremely frigid.

And I was sobbing. Shoulders rising and falling and shaking as I produced frightened tears. I wept silently, not even trying to stop. The weeks of doctor's visits and endless pill bottles and shots finally caught up with me.

And it hurt. So, so bad.

It was there, as I cried, head in hands, that I heard footsteps. They were going fast, very fast. I peaked through my hands and saw a man. Possibly mid-thirties, impossible to pin down. Light blonde hair covered his head and hung down a bit into his eyes. He sported a bit of stubble and looked an awful lot like that one English prime minister who went mad.

And he was running. He stopped short when he caught sight of me.

"Run," he said, as he picked up again. "Fast."

I don't know why, but I did as told. I raced after the man.

He looked back and groaned a bit. "Don't follow me!" he was undeniably British.

"You told me to run, so I ran!" I snapped, choking up a bit. I'd pass out soon for sure.

"You're all so stupid!" he continued sprinting. I heard a sound behind me: mechanical voices shouting the word "Exterminate!"

The man picked up his speed, and so I did, too. We bounded onto the bridge that wraps around the swampy part of the park.

"Where does this lead?" he asked.

"Playground," I answered, feeling very winded. "I can't run much longer."

He didn't reply. Just kept running to a steady beat.

One-two-three-four.

"EXTERMINATE!" came the voice, sounding closer than before.

Despite my struggle and throbbing head, thrill got the best of me. Exhilaration pumped through my system faster than blood. My adrenaline levels must have doubled.

And so had my curiosity. "Who are they?" I tried my best to come up alongside the man.

"Daleks."

"They're what?"

"Very bad. Keep running."

My breathing grew heavier. "What's your name?"

He didn't reply. "Keep running."

"I'm. . .Annalise. . ." I panted. "What's a Dalek?" l

"Keep running."

I tried to move my feet forward, but found myself stumbling. "Mister, I have a condition!" I managed a half-snarl, half-choking sound.

He kept running.

I suddenly rammed into the railing on the bridge. Black spots splotched my vision.

"Oh, lovely!" he grunted, slowing down a tiny bit.

I grasped the railing and started gasping. The mechanical voice continued to approach.

The man peered in the sound's direction and then to me. "Get up."

I could hardly hear him, my heart was pounding so loud.

So he scooped me up and ran.

I must have blacked out while we were running, because I awoke in an alley with the man and a terrible pain in my head. I've never had a hangover, but I'm sure that's how it feels.

The man had his thin frame pressed up against the side of what I identified as the local bookstore, Book Nook (can you say 'uncreative'?).

"Where are those thingies?" I asked. "Did you kill them?"

"You should stop passing out. You're dead weight," he said, blatantly ignoring my inquiry. I scowled. He continued.

"I disposed of them. I'm not going to explain how because you're too stupid to understand."

My face scrunched into an offended expression, which he paid no mind too. I stood up with shaky legs and slowly staggered to him. "You never told me your name."

"The Master."

Okay, sure, whatever you say, I thought.

"Why are we waiting here?"

He looked over at me. "We? No. You're going to walk home now."

"Okay, fine."

I commenced to walk down the road. The yellow stripes running down the blacktop's middle were fading. This observation was made possible by the small portion of operating street lights planted around the sidewalk, which ran about thirty feet. Litter was in no way sparse, and covered many parts of the road.

"Gosh, I hate this town," I muttered as I looked back at "the Master". My mind immediately started singing 'Master of the House', and I imagined him gulping down a mug of beer, foam dribbling from the sides.

"You have a month to live," he said suddenly, stopping me dead in my tracks. "That is, if you're lucky."

I gawked intelligently for a bit before saying "How would you. . .how did you. . .I mean. . .oi!" My arms flailed about like a drunken pelican of sorts.

He then proceeded to pull out some sort of gadget thing. "Laser screwdriver. All the functions of a sonic, but with a little more 'umph'."

I turned around and cautiously tiptoed forward. I have no idea why the heck I was tiptoeing, but I'm sure I looked very ungraceful and stupid. "What's a sonic?"

"Screwdriver." I crossed my arms and stopped walking. By this time, the gap between us had shrunk to half its size.

"You have a screwdriver that's sonic? What on earth would-"

"Laser."

"Does it shoot lasers?"

He furrowed his brow. "Do you always ask so many questions?"

"Yes."

"It's irritating."

"I know."

He cracked a small grin. I took this opportunity to observe him. Yes, he definitely resembled that British prime minister. Saxon. Of course, the grizzly stubble growing on his chin and the raggedy black jacket he donned didn't quite support this likeness. Upon closer inspection, I noticed his eyes. Old eyes that might have witnessed the world being formed and civilizations die. Death, they'd seen so much death. I could just tell. Those brown orbs that reminded me of a guilty puppy's eyes for some reason had looked on while people had died.

So many times.

"You ought to go home and die in peace," the Master said, snatching me out of my thoughts.

"That's a little insensitive."

He eyed me. "I'm insensitive."

I sighed. "I'm going home. Thanks, Mr. Master."

"Don't overexert yourself."

"I've already done that."

He laughed abruptly. An almost menacing sound, bitter and old, like his eyes. "Annalise."

"Yes?" I cocked my head to the right.

"Why aren't you afraid to die?"

I think I practically bit a hole into my lower lip as I pondered this. After deciding what to say, I answered with a short, "Because I've not got a whole lot of reasons to keep living."