Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue. This Torwood fanfic goes AU at some point in the middle of Season 1, I'm not quite sure when at this stage but definitely after Cyberwoman so spoilers to at least that point.

Things Change

Crys Rodgers was decidedly bored, Mr Mark Hallem had hired her to protect him but so far the only danger she had observed was the bottle of cheap whiskey he had knocked back a third of in the past hour. It wasn't that he couldn't afford decent whisky; her services did not come cheap after all, Mr Hallem clearly had money to throw around. Where and how he had obtained that money was not Crys's business and she didn't want to know anyway. He claimed to like the cheap stuff; the smell of it simply made her gag. Anyway, this wasn't her favourite place, the race track on the outskirts of Cardiff. Well, it was a racetrack now, until a couple of weeks ago it had been a run-down series of warehouses. It hadn't changed a great deal since then, but apparently it was the perfect place to hold the 'Deathwish' motorbike race. In Crys's opinion it was far too dark, excessive shadows held danger.

"Hi Crys," Hammy called, she glanced round; just long enough to wave and then returned to her contemplation. He was really called Mohammed (no surname) and he was Mr. Hallem's engineer and mechanical fixer. He was also the only one who treated her like a person rather than a piece of furniture. Not that she was sure that this was a compliment as he also conducted detailed, if one-sided, conversations with the engines he worked on.

Mr. Hallem got up from his chair and walked towards the door. He was a large man, powerful in his younger days but now running to fat. He had also started dyeing his, sadly thinning, hair and bleaching his teeth. The overall effect was a little comic but he still gave off an aura of power. For the money he was paying her Crys could quite easily restrain her tendency to grin at his appearance. She sprang to his side as he walked towards the door, she ran an automatic check of the weapons attached to her person; this was what she got her money for after all. They walked to the main race area. Hammy trailed along behind them. This wasn't the sort of race that had pit-stops after all. There was a lot of dust in the air and the roaring of engines as people ran their test laps. Crys kept looking round as she followed a step to the left and a little behind her boss. She wanted to be in front but he wouldn't have that.

They walked towards their places at the side of the track as the race was soon to start. Mr Hallen spared a few words for his rider. Then all the non riders cleared off the track. The sound of revving grew louder as the riders lined up.

There was a pistol crack and they were off. Crys had to restraint her usual reaction to gunfire, now was neither the time nor the place. She wasn't watching the racers, she was watching everything else. Then another gunshot rang out followed by a crash and the screaming of torn metal. Crys focussed back on the track. Two of the riders and their bikes were down. There was no sign of where the shot had come from, but there were signs of panic all around the track.

Crys's mind switched to fight mode as she continued to look around and try to determine where the shot had come from. Her answer came in the form of a dark haired man who ran from the shadows and vaulted over the railing coat swirling behind him and gun in hand. She drew her gun with her right hand; she touched the hilt of the knife strapped to her forearm as she did so, it was her emergency weapon and touching to reassure herself of it's presence before a fight was a ritual she had gotten in to. She made no other move though.

Crys watched as the man walked to the centre of the track, his gun cracked again and again as he pumped a couple of shots into one of the fallen riders. Crys couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. To her horror the fallen rider got to his feet and started grappling with the man with the gun.

Part of Crys's mind was yelling at her that this wasn't possible. That rider had taken at least two bullets to the head, people did not get up and start scrapping after that. It wasn't right. The front of the rider's helmet had been pretty much destroyed under the impact of the two close range gun shots. The face underneath did not seem to be damaged. He looked unhealthily pale, but the helmet seemed to have protected him from the bullet damage.

The dark haired man was casually tossed aside where he collided with the railing, slumped to the ground and lay still. The pale skinned rider stalked slowly across the track. Crys tore her eyes from the two figures in the dust and refocused on the figure approaching her. For some reason neither Hammy nor Mr Hallem had run for it, she never could figure out how untrained people were going to react in moments of stress. They both seemed frozen in place; she was just grateful that they weren't running around screaming. Crys positioned herself in front of Mr Hallem and waited. The eyes f the approaching rider gradually resolved; it had to be a trick of the light, people didn't have solid green eyes. They just didn't.

Crys levelled her gun at the figure as he approached, it was a warning now. She had shot people before but it wasn't something she wanted to do too regularly. The figure was still yards distant when something slammed into Crys and threw her to the side. Her shoulder burned and she felt as if she had stuck her fingers in a electric socket. Her muscles twitched and refused to obey her. She was force to watch is rising horror as the pale rider stalked towards Mr Hallem; there was a flash he crumpled. He must have been shot.

Crys gradually pulled herself to her feet. Her legs were trembling but she wasn't going to give up. It simply wasn't in her nature. Her gun was still in her hand and she fired. She saw holes appearing in the rider's chest and felt the kick of the pistol against her hand; but those were the only signs that the gun was working. It had no affect on the slowly advancing figure. Maybe, somehow someone had switched her ammo? Crys knew the chances of that were virtually nil; but she still thought it.

She dropped the gun, this was bad. She knew that but she wasn't going to quit. She was too far in to quit now; she had nowhere to quit to. This was what she did. It was all she knew.

Crys lashed out with her knife. It connected with the rider's throat. Her hand went numb but she held on to the weapon and yanked sideways. The numbness gradually spread up her arm as the blade cut. She started to shake and then the knife came free and she slumped forwards. The world went dark.