Hello! I was shocked when I saw how many people had viewedthe summary I had posted, which made me feel bad that it wouldn'tbe updated for a long time. So, I went digging through this piece, which was a writing class assignment. So, I hope you enjoy! ~Nix

I do not own Doctor Who. I only own Maria and Vince.

London, 2007

I'm having one of those days. You know, where Murphy decides that you're the person he wants to annoy to kingdom come. It was only quarter past eight, and I'm walking the half mile to work, in the rain no less, because my rust bucket masquerading as a car had finally kicked the bucket. And then, five or so blocks from my house, some creep in a stereotypical trench coat and broad brimmed hat had started following me. No, I am not crazy, or paranoid, I've been hearing the rubber soles of his shoes squeaking on the concrete for a little over fifteen minutes, now. Seeing an alley up ahead, I quickly turned into it. Time to ditch this creep. I thought to myself.

Aww, crap! Bloody brilliant! Figures that the one day I'm being followed by some bloke I wind up in a dead end. I spun on my heel and glared at the man, who'd followed me into the alley. A strong gust of wind blew off his hat, revealing the smooth, plastic head of a shop mannequin. What the bloody hell? The mannequin stepped towards me, creaking as it moved. Maybe it's somebody's idea of a joke. It kept walking stiffly towards her, raising it's hand in a manner that somehow looked threatening. If this is a joke, it's not bloody funny! It was only five or so feet away, when a loud buzz assaulted my ears. It was coming from behind the mannequin, which stiffened and fell face first on the ground.

Behind the broken mannequin was a tall man with unruly brown hair wearing a blue pinstripe suit and red converse, who had a silver wand-like tool that was lit up blue at the end, which appeared to be where the noise was emitting from. He lowered the device and shut it off. "Hello!" He exclaimed, swiftly moving over to me.

"Who are you? And what was that?" I asked, trying, and probably failing, at keeping the hysterical note out of my voice.

"I'm the Doctor."

"Just the Doctor?" I ask, a little incredulous. Who in their right mind names their kid 'Doctor'?

"Just the Doctor." He replies, running the silver stick thing over the mannequin, and then pulling the arm off.

"Okaaay… so what is that? Remote controlled puppet maybe?" I'm genuinely curious. 'Cause there's just no way that's a costume, not after he pulled the arm off!

Okay. Maybe I'm more than a little hysterical.

"Nah, not a puppet, 's an Auton." He replied absentmindedly.

"And… what's an Auton?" I shot back with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

"It's plastic, controlled by the Nestene Consciousness, which is," he added quickly as I opened my mouth to ask what the blazes that is, "an alien that sends a signal to control plastic."

…Well that doesn't sound good. "All plastic?!" I exclaimed, 'cause, crap. There's a bleedin' ton of plastic all over the place!

"Yep."

"Crap!" He raised an eyebrow. "Two words;" I deadpanned, "Plastic army."

"Yep."

"Is someone taking care of it?" I ask, desperate. "'Cause, if no-one's dealing with this, we are in really deep pudding."

"Well, then it's lucky that this was just a loner, nothing to worry about!" I breathe in slowly through my nose. Resist the urge to strangle, resist the urge to strangle. I glance at my watch and groan. "What?" He asks.

"I'm late for work." I explain shortly. "I've got to go."

"Wait!" He hollers after me. "What's you're name?"

"Maria Lockman!" I yell over my shoulder, jogging towards the police station.

London, 2008

I hate paperwork! Who the blazes thought that sitting at a desk signing your name over and over and over was something everyone should do!? Should be illegal that's what it is. Sometimes I wonder why I ever decided to work at a police station. I had just finished a missing person report when my jerk of a colleague Vince Boutwell roughly pushed someone into my office. The man had an annoyed look on his face, and looked oddly familiar… Focus Maria!

"What now, Vince?" I groan, I need more coffee.

"I found this guy," he gave the guy a shove to emphasize, "In the forensics room poking about!"

Ignoring Vince, I turn to the guy. "You have an ID?" I ask. Oh! That's where I recognized him from! He's the guy who stopped that mannequin thingy, au-something, I can't really remember.

"Yeah, yeah I do." He pulled a black leather wallet out of one of the pockets of his ankle-length trench coat, and handed it to me. When I opened the wallet to look at the ID and saw…

A blank piece of paper?

This guy saved my life, though. After the alley attack, I had gotten in contact with Mickey Smith, henceforth dubbed by me 'mister alien watchman'. He had explained some stuff to me, that quite honestly sounded ridiculous.

"Sorry about that, sir." I said to him, pretending that it had an ID that claimed he was a higher rank than I did. I turned to Vince and gave him my best you-messed-up-big-time-mister glare. "Vince, the next time you see someone looking through things and you don't recognize them, ask if they have an ID!"

"Yes ma'am. Sorry ma'am." He muttered, walking over towards his desk. I turned towards the Doctor.

"Dreadfully sorry about that, Dr. Rookton. We get more complaints about Mr. Boutwell than any other worker here." He threw a surprised look at me, and I just winked.

"Oh, it's quite alright, no harm done." He replies, looking a bit confused. I mouth the word plastic at him, and his mouth makes a small 'o' in realization. "Well! I be off now."

"Quite alright, sir. Quite alright." I smile as he stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks out the door. I turn back to my desk and glare at the huge pile of paperwork sitting on my desk.

Now, if only that would disappear…