AN: This is my first foray into Torchwood fan fiction. I know this is probably terrible, but I still want to share. Any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated.
8 July 2009
London
"This is wrong," a technician muttered to himself as he watched the screen in front of him; fear clearly etched on his face. His fingers flew over the keyboard in front of him, pulling up various CCTV feeds before transferring selected series of images to a portable data pad.
Leaving his monitoring station, he scurried through the dark concrete corridors towards the Director's office.
Michaela, the Director's PA sat at her desk outside his office and glanced up at the tech as he burst through the heavy oak door.
"We've got problems, Mick," he said without preamble. "I've got to see him."
Seeing the panic clearly etched on the man's face, she quickly pressed the door release button concealed beneath her desk and the frosted glass door leading to the Director's inner sanctum swung open.
"Dammit, Micka," the Director barked, "I told you I did not want to be interrupted."
"I apologise, Director," the tech muttered, "but there's a problem. Number twenty-eight is no longer operative."
The Director pinned the frightened tech with a glare. "What?" he whispered, his voice concealing the wrath the tech's words set ablaze within him. "Show me."
Hands shaking, the man handed the data pad over and watched as the Director transferred the information on it to his computer terminal. His eyes flickered over the images displayed on his monitor, only the slight tightening around his eyes giving away his increasing fury.
"I want to know how this happened," the Director finally said. "And I want to know now!" The final barked word made the tech jump on the spot before scuttling back out of the office to his station.
"Shit!" the Director muttered to his empty office. "This is not good." With a few simple keystrokes, he brought up a new set of CCTV live feeds; the images on his screen showing a cavernous room filled with man-sized glass tubes. Each tube, complete with monitoring station built into the base, held gently bubbling clear fluids giving the handful of lab-coated men and women clear views of the contents.
Zooming one particular camera in for a clearer view of the contents of one of the tubes, the Director caressed the screen, his fingers tracing the outline of Ianto Jones's face. "Don't worry, my son," he whispered. "Da will fix this." A single tear traced its way down his cheek as he continued staring at his son's face. "Again."
TBC.
What do you think? Continue?