Disclaimers: I do not own Doctor Who but I'll take Christopher Eccleston any day. This story has been previously posted elsewhere and is slightly updated from the original. No smoking.
Ode to a Throwaway Line: a 9th Doctor Short Fic
"Think of it, plastic all over the world, every artificial thing waiting to come alive. The shop window dummies, the phones, the wires, the cables--"
"The breast implants..." - 9th Doctor and Rose from 'Rose'
Once upon a time in a strip bar in London, music was blaring through a speaker so battered that it was difficult to tell whether it was playing Mancini or Gloria Gaynor. The crowd wasn't listening, anyway, so don't call them an audience. They were spectators, there to look at Those, the Biggest Pair in London. New letters had to be added to the alphabet to describe the necessary bra size. Considering how much surgical effort had gone into their creation, favorite would be the pound sign.
The woman behind them had a name, but didn't need one. When people said, "Look at 'er," everyone knew where to look. The lads in the front row were performing the usual rhumba of pull lines and eyeball motions so perfectly synchronized that they should medal in an Olympic swim competition. Tonight was special. The blokes could swear...
(..and they did...)
...that They were getting bigger. Right before their very eyes. The pasties popped off; the owner of Them stopped and screamed, clutching Them.
Then the gun muzzles popped out.
Someone passing the bar heard a voice screaming, "Fembot! Fembot!" but there was a lot of screaming going on in London that night and a good deal running away to be done.
The End