A/N: First off, I'm an American (one addicted to the BBC, but an American just the same). So if I get the accents wrong in any way I ask that the lovely British readers forgive any mistakes and feel free to correct me. Also, it goes without saying that I don't own Primeval (though I just said it).

MEMORANDUM – FEBRUARY 12, 2010

DUE TO RECENT EVENTS THE CONSUMPTION OF CHOCOLATE BARS INSIDE OF THE PORTALS IS STRICTLY FORBIDDEN. USING RATIONS TO ENTICE YOUNG CREATURES FOR STUDY IS ALSO STRICTLY FORBIDDEN.

REGARDS,

MANAGEMENT

Fiona Marcus chuckled to herself as she wadded up the memo and chucked it in the trash next to her desk. What would the clowns calling themselves new management think of next, she wondered. She didn't have time to muse any further for the portal alarm went off. She grabbed her pack and ran down to the garage, getting into the first available SUV.

"What do we got, Parker?" she asked the young man at the wheel.

"Portal opened in Central Park," replied David Parker. Fiona tucked her short, dark red hair into a ponytail and sighed.

"Where?"

"Strawberry Fields."

"Damn," she said. "Anything coming out?" Parker shook his head.

"Nothing to be concerned about," he replied. "Couple of birds, maybe an ancient squirrel."

"Still not good," said Fiona. "NYPD holding back the tourists?"

"Yeah," said Parker. "They're saying it's a stunt set up by one of Lennon's crazy fans."

"Great," Fiona said. "Better they think that then the alternative."

"How's Nathan?" Parker asked. Fiona shrugged.

"Last I heard he was awake and asking for his Xbox." Parker laughed.

They rode the rest of the way in silence. When they reached the park they were met by a bunch of burly ex-Marines, all carrying guns. They looked to her for their orders.

"Remember," she said. "Keep the public out of the way. Davis, Parker and I will pop our heads in for a sec and see what we're dealing with. Once we get our bearings, snap a couple of pics, then we'll get out. Got that? Great. Let's go."

Fiona and Parker walked ahead toward the portal, ignoring the looks of the public being held back by the police.

"These people may be trouble," Parker whispered. Fiona shook her head.

"It's Central Park. Most of them are tourists. They probably assume this kind of shit happens in New York all the time." Parker laughed.

"True." They continued along until they reached Strawberry Fields. There was the portal, right over the "Imagine" plaque.

"Great, the tourists probably took pictures," Fiona said. The soldier walking up to her shook his head.

"Nope," he said. "Cops confiscated all cameras, phones, iPods, you name it."

"They did?" Fiona asked. "Fan-fucking-tastic. I take it this was on your order Davis?" The soldier nodded. "Thanks Jarhead." The soldier scowled.

"Thought I told you to quit calling me that," Davis said. Fiona laughed.

"Only a thousand or more times since I was eighteen. One would think after seven years you'd take a hint." Davis ignored her and directed his next question at Parker.

"Think we should go in, doc?" Parker nodded.

"Just let me get my pack together and-"

Parker's next word was cut off by the shouts and yelling from the crowd as a figure ran straight through the portal. Immediately all of the surrounding soldiers pointed their guns at it. Fiona looked as the figure raised its hands and in a hoarse voice said: "Don't shoot! For god's sake, don't shoot!"

"Stop!" Fiona said. "Guys, put the guns down. I mean it!" Not all of them complied. "Davis!"

"Marines, lower your weapons. NOW!" That got them.

Fiona stepped closer to the figure. She could tell now that it was a man. A modern man from the looks of it. His red plaid shirt was torn in places and there were holes in his boots. His hair was too dirty to tell what color it was, and his beard was too long to tell how old he was. He was very thin. He stepped closer, causing the soldiers to flinch a bit.

"Chill out guys," Fiona said. She held out her water bottle which the man accepted, taking a long pull. "Feel better?" she asked. He nodded.

"Much." He handed the bottle back to her. "When am I? Where am I?" he asked with what appeared to be a British accent.

"You're in 2011 and you're in New York," replied Fiona. "Now it's my turn to ask questions. For starters, who are you and what the hell are you doing here?" The man glanced at the people around him, then back at Fiona.

"Name's Danny Quinn."