Rory strides down the corridor, whistling to himself. The Tardis groans and murmurs, and his whistling echoes around the empty hallways. The Doctor's in the hub; Amy's in the bedroom. He's on his way there. It's midnight.
As he walks through the silent hallways, he can hear a different sound. It sounds like someone breathing, and it comes and goes. It doesn't sound like any noise they Tardis has made before, but it can't be anything new. After all, he hasn't been here long. He stops whistling and shoves his hands into his pockets, a little unnerved.
Something shifts behind him, and he spins around, beginning to feel uneasy. There's a whispering noise coming from somewhere just behind him, but every time he turns his head it's gone, following his back. His heart is thumping now, and a bead of sweat runs down his forehead.
This is ridiculous. The Tardis makes one new noise and suddenly he thinks everything's out to get him. Snorting quietly to himself, he shakes his head and continues on through the darkening corridors, although the hairs are still sticking up on his arms.
As he turns the corner, something tightens suddenly around his neck, and his scream is cut short as he is dragged off into the shadows.
The last centurion, fights no more.
Amy taps the bed impatiently as she waits for Rory to return, humming a tune she's forgotten the words to. He's ten minutes late now, and she sighs as she realises that he's probably forgotten about her. He's probably in the hub with the Doctor, tampering with some piece of Tardis equipment.
Typical boys.
It's ten minutes past midnight, and she honestly can't be bothered to go and find them now, so she reaches across to turn out the light. As she stretches out her hand, a cold breeze blows onto her skin, making her shiver. The Tardis is always toasty and warm; why has it suddenly gotten so cold?
Pulling her dressing gown closer, she switches off the light, and as she does she hears a door creak. She switches the light back on immediately, feeling her heart skip a beat. The bathroom door has swung shut in the breeze. Shaking her head, she turns the light back off.
Her breath catches in her throat as she realises that there shouldn't be a breeze. As her eyes widen in the dark, her breathing gets quicker, and she pulls the blanket closer. There is silence, and she breathes a sigh of relief, almost laughing at her stupidity. What is she even scared of?
As she turns onto her side, a flash of silver runs across her throat in the darkness.
The girl who waited, ceases to wait.
The Doctor taps his lip thoughtfully with the sonic screwdriver as he examines a series of wires attached to the hub. He hasn't touched them for a while now, and they're beginning to get a little frayed at the edges. They're in desperate need of repair.
But not now. It's twenty minutes past midnight, and although he hates to admit it, he's getting tired. He's had a long day, and he really does need to start thinking about going to bed. Time flies when you're having fun, after all. Although that doesn't exactly apply to him, as he has all the time in the world. But it can still catch up with him.
With a concluding nod, he pats the controls endearingly and stands, stretching out his old bones. He yawns lazily, not bothering to conceal it. He's the only one around; he doesn't need to maintain etiquette. Scrunching up his nose with a tired sniff, he begins his way back to the library. He'd much rather sleep in amongst the books on one of the comfy chairs than in between the Tardis' new bed covers – he finds them far too stiff. It's like sleeping under a wooden board.
As he enters the ancient room, he can immediately sense that something's not right, out of place. He freezes completely as he analyzes the room, and anyone watching him would think he's turned to stone. He watches, listens, and his eyes narrow suspiciously as his silence is broken by a scuttling noise from the other side of the room, behind a bookshelf.
Entering stealth mode, he slips into the shadows, creeping along the side of one of the shelves. He barely disturbs the dust beneath his feet as he edges towards the source of the noise, and his breathing is reduced to less than a whisper in the musky air.
As he reaches the end of the shelf, the noise comes to a sudden halt, as if the thing has heard him. He jumps out, grabbing the sonic screwdriver and pointing it into the darkness.
But that's all that's there. Darkness. He frowns, slipping the sonic back into his pocket, and turns back to leave, shaking his head at his paranoia.
Suddenly something slams into the side of his head, and he falls to the floor, a pool of blood spreading around him.
The last of his kind, no longer alone.