Mostly Lost (Partially Found)

Chapter 1: Who

Sirens blared. The TARDIS jerked and shuddered, the lights flickering alarmingly. Rose Tyler strained to hold the lever down as The Doctor had instructed. "Doctor, it's fighting me!" she wailed over the noise as it threatened to slip from her sweaty grasp. "I can't hold on!"

"Yes, you can, Rose!" he shouted back, clinging to the central console to stay upright even as he slapped at the controls. "You have to!" One of coral-like support columns behind him crumbled, and he ducked to avoid being hit. Sparks flew. "If you let go of that lever, there's no telling where we'll—"

But it was no use. A violent jolt sent Rose tumbling to the floor, her head slamming into the deck plating, stars bursting behind her eyes. The lever sprang upward, and with a resounding crash and a squeal of distressed metal, the TARDIS ground to a halt.

The lights no longer flickered, but now turned red. The alarms went silent, giving way to a low hiss and the deep toll of a large bell that seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. It was not loud, but its insistence, its urgency, gave it a demanding presence mere volume could never achieve. It made her blood run cold. This disquieting quiet was somehow even more terrifying than the chaos of moments before.

The Doctor, too, had been knocked off his feet by the impact, but he sprang back up immediately, tapping buttons and flipping switches back and forth, trying to coax some kind of response out of the ship. But as Rose, dizzy and a little nauseated, slowly pulled herself into a sitting position, she couldn't tell if it was doing anything or not. "Sorry," she mumbled lamely. "Where are we, anyway?"

"I don't know," The Doctor replied tersely, never taking his eyes off the readouts on the screen in front of him.

The tone of his voice sent a chill shivering up Rose's spine. In a hesitant near-whisper, she asked, "When are we?"

The Doctor took a step back from the console and raked his hands through his hair. He sucked a hissing breath through his teeth, turned wide, almost panicked eyes to Rose, and repeated, "I don't know."

That admission sent adrenaline coursing through her veins, and Rose pushed herself to her feet. "What do you mean, you don't know?" she demanded. "How can you not know?"

"I mean all the instruments are scrambled." The Doctor flicked a few more switches, uselessly, then threw his hands up in frustration. "I can't get a fix on our location in space or time. We're losing power, and if I can't stop the bleeding, the TARDIS will die. And then, wherever we are, whenever we are, we'll be trapped here. Forever."

Rose swallowed hard. "What can we do?" she asked timidly.

"Whatever's draining power, it's out there." The Doctor gestured toward the doors, his expression grim as he snatched up his long brown coat and shrugged it on. "We need to find it, and stop it. Quickly."

Despite the circumstances, Rose couldn't help but smile. Traveling with The Doctor, there was always adventure, always danger. No matter where they went, no matter when, the universe always had new challenges. There was always a problem to solve, a crisis to survive, a catastrophe to prevent—and never, ever, was there boredom. She wouldn't have it any other way. "Well, then, what are we waiting for?"

The Doctor stared at her for a moment, then he smiled, too. "That's the spirit. Allons-y!"

And now, traffic.

John Peters—you know, the farmer?—has reported a motor vehicle accident in one of his imaginary cornfields. Or at least, that's how he describes the sound it made when a large, blue, wooden box, with windows and a light on the top, suddenly appeared out of thin air. At first, he assumed this was due to the recent shattering and shuffling of realities we've experienced, and he just waited for the box to go away, as manifestations of alternate timelines usually do.

But it didn't go away. It stayed there, solid and real. It hissed like a frightened snake, or like Station Management does whenever they make eye contact with Khoshekh. John also reports hearing… a bell. A single, huge bell, ringing out slowly and mournfully, as if at a funeral, or a birthday party.

And then, listeners—and then the box opened. A dim, red light poured out like blood upon the earth, and two strange figures emerged, just as solid and real and present as the box. John describes them. One is a tall man, thin, with brown hair. He's wearing glasses, a blue pinstriped suit, and a long brown overcoat. His eyes are older, far older, than his face. And the other is a young woman, a girl really, short, blonde, in jeans and a purple T-shirt. She has been places, and seen things.

John greeted them in the friendly Night Vale tradition: by pointing at them and shouting, "Interlopers!" They looked taken aback, as interlopers often do until they get used to the intricacies of our culture. But they soon proved to be nice enough, and took our weird little town's weirdnesses more or less in stride.

Who are they? Where did they come from? How do two so seemingly normal people just appear in the middle of an imaginary cornfield with no apparent mode of transportation? Surely they couldn't have walked across the harsh, unforgiving desert. Even in an environment so conducive to long, unprotected and unprovisioned hikes, Night Vale is notoriously difficult to find. And yet, when John looked back out over his field, he could see… nothing. More on this as it develops.

This has been: traffic.

Rose glanced back over her shoulder as they left the farm behind, only able to hope they were going the right way. All the strange creatures and deadly disasters she'd encountered since running away with The Doctor, and it was this John Peters, who'd seemed at first so totally normal, that gave her the creeps. "He's mad," she muttered when they were out of earshot. "Absolutely bonkers!"

"It's not just him," The Doctor agreed. "This place, this whole town… there's something wrong with it. Something terribly wrong."

Despite the oppressive desert heat, Rose shivered. "Is the TARDIS going to be okay? Just standing out there in that field? I mean, it's never been a problem before, but… I'm worried. It sort of sticks out here. More so than usual."

"Perception filter. Everyone can see it, but no one will notice it's there." He waggled his eyebrows, a mock-serious expression on his face. "Hidden in the imaginary corn."

Rose couldn't help but giggle. "Maybe we should make some imaginary crop circles so we can find it again." Her smile faded. "D'you think this Cecil person will be any help?"

"Much as I hate to keep saying this… I don't know." The Doctor shrugged, squinting up at the sun as if he'd noticed something wrong with it, too. "But I think someone called 'the Voice of Night Vale' might be a good place to start."

"What does that even mean, 'the Voice of Night Vale'?" Rose demanded.

"Hard to say. Could be anything, really. Some sort of government spokesperson? Official town greeter? Who knows?" He grinned brightly. "Maybe there's a visitors' center. One with a little shop."

Rose laughed, shaking her head. "You and your little shops, Doctor!"

"If you want to know what's going on in a place, Rose, always go to a little shop," he replied. "If anyone knows what's going on, it's the shopkeepers. People talk to them. They always know all the good gossip," he added with a wink.

"Well, whoever this Cecil is, we've got to find him, first," said Rose. "It'd be nice to have better directions than 'follow the blinking red light.'"

"I think that's all we need." The Doctor stopped and pointed up toward the building they'd arrived at: a red light flashed at the top of the transmission tower on the roof, and the large block letters above the dark green stone doors read NIGHT VALE COMMUNITY RADIO. "Rose Tyler, I give you: the Voice of Night Vale."

Thank you, Deb. It's always… good to have you on the show.

While we heard that message from our sponsors, Carlos texted me. He said he's learned something interesting about our visitors, and he wants to share it with all of you! Aw, I love it when he makes a discovery! He gets so excited, and he can't stop talking, and his voice goes up and his eyes get bright and he's just so—

Ahem. Let's give him a call, shall we?

…Huh. Straight to voicemail. That's weird.

Maybe he's still at the lab. He always forgets to charge his phone while he's working. I'll try the land line.

Okay, it's ringing… ringing… oh, hi, Nilanjana! How are you? Good, glad to hear it. Hey, is Carlos there?

He went home?

When?

I did? Oh… uh, right. I did. Just… checking to see if… you were paying attention. Thanks, Nilanjana. Bye!

Well, it seems like we've missed him. Um… no big deal, right? We'll have him on the show tomorrow. And I'll see him tonight, as soon as I get off work. Everything will be fine. Everything. Is. Fine.

(Carlos—call me. Please.)

Uh, breaking news, listeners. Our visitors from beyond the desert are right here in the studio! I sent Intern Marcie to let them in and show them how to make proper obeisance to Station Management, and now they're just outside the control room, smiling and waving. They do seem a little shell-shocked, though. They must really be enjoying their stay here in Night Vale. Hello, mysterious interlopers!

I have to wonder what they're doing here. Who are they? What do they want from us? We get so few outsiders in Night Vale. They look so unassuming… frankly, listeners, it's making me a little nervous.

I'm sure it's nothing to panic about. I mean, it's not like they're a tiny army bent on our destruction. Or motionless, expressionless strangers. Or librarians—that would be really scary, am I right? They just look like… people. Lost, maybe a little frightened, which is totally understandable. So if you see them around town, make sure to give them a warm Night Vale welcome!

It looks like they want to talk to someone. Me? Oh, I… okay, s-sure.

While I do that, let's have a look at the weather.