A/N: Hey all! DoctorGeet here! This is the first part of Eyes Of Silver, the first of many five-part (approx.) stories in the Indie's Diary series. This series follows the young alien Indeska Rayon and the 12th Doctor's adventures through time and space. I hope you enjoy them! Doctor Who isn't mine, it's the almighty Moffat's.

Thanks for reading! xxxxxx

Dear Diary,

I don't know why I'm writing in you. I don't even know why I'm talking about you as if you're a living bloody thing. Perhaps they gave you to me to help me stay sane. Don't want their little lab rat going off the rail now, don't they?

But there's another thing: Being trapped in here, do they seriously think I'm going to write about anything interesting? What do they want from me? To confess my life story, why I came to this godforsaken planet? What?

But oh well. I better write something of some substance. My name, full name, translated into English to the best of my abilities, is Indeska Rayon. I am 218. I am a natural blonde with the tips of my hair dyed blue, a symbol to my planet.

My planet Kalyso. The same planet that was destroyed 10 years ago. My home.

My current residence is Earth, in my little concrete prison. Day by day, I am woken up and allowed half an hour for breakfast and wash. After that it's interrogations, blood samples, x-rays, autopsies. Then I'm back here.

My name is Indeska Rayon. I am 218, and the last survivor of an alien race.

This is my life.

"Name?"

The girl on the opposite end of the desk looked up with sullen eyes.

"We've been doing this for a year. Do I really need to tell you my name?" The official asking the question sighed and hitched his glasses further up his nose.

"Procedure. Name?"

"Ugh, Indeska Rayon." The girl groaned, and plonked her head on the little desk with a metallic thud.

"Age?" The man asked.

"218."

"Species?"

"Kalysoan." The man took no notice of the slight wobble in the alien's voice and carried on.

"State your reason for boarding on this planet."

"Because I had to.

" The man frowned.

"You say the same thing every time we interrogate you."

"So do you." Said the blonde, with a half-hearted smirk.

"What is your real reason, Miss Rayon?"

"Because. I. Had. To." She spoke through set teeth. The man sighed, set his pen down and crossed his arms.

"She's not going to talk any more. Take her to the med room." Indeska sagged in her chair.

"What is it today?" She asked grimly.

"Standard blood tests." The man replied. "Then a live autopsy."

"Oh, what the bloody hell do you think you're going to find?" She yelled in a hoarse voice. The man exhaled and fixed her with a glare.

"Information. We're going to get it one way or another, Miss Rayon. By any means necessary."

The alien was marched down the hallways, sandwiched between two stocky guards in the trademark red berets. She looked up and caught a glimpse of herself in the metallic, reflective walls: greasy, lank, straight blonde hair with a bright blue dip dye at the ends: the colour of home. Her eyes, once full of vigour and mischief, were now dull and sunken into her face, the almost electric blue they once were dulled to a paler hue. Her skin had a pale, waxy complexion that contrasted against the red jumpsuit she was forced to wear.

Indeska thought she looked pathetic.

After that, she was thrown into the med room: A sterile white room set with the instruments of her torture. The blood tests were okay, the alien had suffered worse than a few pinpricks in her arm, but the live autopsies she always dreaded. They did of course knock her out for the operation, but when she woke up she would feel sick and sore and empty.

They had done it so many times. But still the autopsies came.

Today though, they had brought in a new surgeon. He was young and rather eccentric, and seemed set on knocking everything over and prodding things. But when he loomed over her to start the operation, Indeska saw something interesting in his eyes. Of course by this point she was already drugged and was on her way to unconsciousness so she could have been mistaken, but Indeska swore there was something in them, something old and wise and oddly familiar, something that didn't fit the youthful face surrounding it.

"...Eyes..." She mumbled, and the surgeon smiled fondly behind his surgical mask.

"That's right, Indie. Eyes." Was the last thing she heard before she drifted into the land of dream.

Fire. That's what consumed the girl's mind as she ran though the blazing ruins of a once proud and great city.

Except the roar of the flames was drowned out by the girl's maniacal laughter.

Fire. It was like the dance of destruction. The dance that never ended. That no-one could stop. And from what she could see from the tainted silver of her eyes, the girl thought it was beautiful.

But then there was always that nagging feeling at the back of her mind. What was it called, common sense? Nothing but a waste of time. It annoyed her. It wouldn't shut up.

A building in the distance exploded and the girl laughed again. How strange she must have looked, how out of place to the refugees sobbing and screaming as their world crumbled. But it was all their fault. They deserved this after what they had done to her.

Oh and there was that bloody voice again! Wait, no. It wasn't her conscience acting up this time. Someone was behind her, chasing after her, screeching a name she hadn't been called in such a long time with a balance of fear and worry and love.

"INDIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

Indeska awoke with a start. There was that dream again. The fire, the silver, the wasteland, then that voice. What the hell did it all mean?

But just then, a piercing siren informed her that there were much more concerning matters in the present to analyse.

First order of business: She was moving. She wasn't on her feet, but she was moving. Looking around her surroundings to find the cause of this, her eyes fell upon two weak but surely masculine arms around her, carrying her bridal style. She followed these arms up to look into the face of her courier and found that it was the kind surgeon. She quickly analysed his face: floppy brown hair framed a youthful face of a man in his early twenties. He, unsettlingly, had a grin on his face and a look of adventure in his blue, blue eyes-

His eyes. So it wasn't just the drugs contorting her vision. They really were as amazing as when she last saw them.

Those eyes now trained on her, and the grin grew wider.
"Oh you're awake! 'Bout time, eh?" Was all he said before he was interrupted by shouts and gunshots behind him.

"Um." Was all the response Indeska could muster as the boy let out a hearty, childish laugh and the pair crashed through a pair of bright blue doors.

A/N: *...jazz hands* Like it? Reviews are love! Be sure to leave one! :D xxx