By day, she was Rose Tyler, daughter of wealthy businessman Pete Tyler and heiress to his nationally successful company, Vitex. A brilliant, athletic blonde with hazel eyes and a cheeky, tongue-touched grin, Rose was the tabloids' favorite target; her picture was often plastered on the front cover of every magazine in the rack, garish lettering blaring out the newest speculations on her life. The fact that she was twenty-four and still without a love interest baffled the tabs, and they made up for it by filling their covers with pictures of Rose and childhood friend Mickey, wondering about 'hidden love?'.
By night, however, she was a completely different person. Wearing close-fitting garments of a stretchy, black material, Rose took up the mantle of the Bad Wolf, one of the superheroes prowling the streets of London. While most of the so-called 'superheroes' relied on their physical abilities, Rose had a secret skill, one that would land her smack dab in the middle of Torchwood were it known: telepathy. Torchwood was the reason most 'real' superheroes kept it under wraps; anyone with so-called "augmented abilities" was captured, experimented on, and would never see the light of day again.
There was nothing that would set this Friday night apart from the rest. Rose had received an invitation to attend a party put on by the high-born French politician, Reinette, but had politely declined. She knew the only reason Reinette had invited her was because it guaranteed media attention. With a sigh, Rose dressed in her "skulking outfit" as her mother had once called it—Jackie had no idea what it was really for, thankfully—pulled her hair back into a ponytail, and fitted her gold wolf mask to her face. The mask was a finishing touch thought up by her fellow superhero and drinking buddy, Jack Harkness. Many superheroes wore masks depicting something alluding to their chosen name, and Jack had decided Rose needed to follow this trend.
Speaking of Jack, Rose found herself grinning as she snuck out the window of her flat and wove her way through London. They were to meet at one of the underground bars superheroes frequented for the first time in nearly a year. Jack had been in America, dealing with… well, Rose didn't know what. Something dangerous was all Jack had told her.
Rose pushed open the door to The Black Mask bar and sighed happily. The bartender shouted a greeting, and Rose pushed her way over to him. He wore a plain, black mask—the mask for which the bar was named—but it could not conceal the grin on his face.
"Bad Wolf! Been far too long since you've set foot inside this divine establishment," he commented in a rough voice. "You take your usual?"
"Yep," Rose told him, popping the 'p' enthusiastically. "God, I've missed this place."
"The Face back then?" the bartender (he called himself Barkeep) asked, a knowing smile on his face.
"God, 'Keep, don' be like that. He's my drinkin' buddy, you know that. An' 'm willin' to bet he's 'lready at the usual table," Rose asserted firmly.
"Right as usual, Wolf girl," Barkeep said, laughing. He handed her a drink. "Get on over there, say hi to him. He's had a rough go of it lately, so I heard."
Rose thanked Barkeep and headed to the back corner of The Black Mask, where, half hidden in shadow, was a single table. All three chairs at it (although only two were ever used) were facing the door, as well as the entire room; the perfect place for two people with dangerous secret abilities to hide out. No one could sneak up on them.
Rose carefully set her drink down on the table before turning to face the figure slumped in the chair. "Jack?" she asked softly, being careful to ensure there were no eavesdroppers.
"Rosie!" Jack answered with obvious enthusiasm. His voice, however, was raw and exhausted, and Rose frowned.
"Jack, what's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong, Rosie! How'd you survive a year without me?" Jack asked, trying to deflect the question. Rose sighed and rolled her eyes, taking a long drink.
"Ja-ack," she said warningly. "Stop tryin' to bullshit me. I know you better than that."
"Fine," he said with a sigh. "America was… hard. I had to go back to Boe."
"To Boe?" Rose asked, sure she'd misheard him. Jack hadn't been in Boe since he'd signed up for the Army; the first kid from the tiny town to do so, he'd been called the Face of Boe. After he died the first time, Jack had moved to London, hacked his way to a new identity, and taken up residence among the other superheroes of the UK.
"Yeah," Jack said tiredly. "Or rather, where Boe used to be."
"Used to be…" Rose murmured softly. "How can a town disappear? Even one as small as Boe…"
"It didn't disappear. It burned."
"Oh." Rose stared at Jack for a long moment, then added, "do you know why?"
"Not a clue," the American stated. "But, I met a guy from around here." Pausing, Jack grinned rakishly. "Too bad he wasn't interested. He did have some interesting information, though. Specifically, a sister who works for Torchwood."
"Really?" Rose exclaimed. "'E's got insider status at Torchwood?"
"Yes indeed," Jack answered, grinning at the stunned expression on her face. "The Oncoming Storm himself. I took the liberty of setting us up a meeting. I think you'll like him."
The wink Jack threw at her from behind his mask made Rose roll her eyes, but she couldn't hide her grin. The Oncoming Storm was a legend in the superhero world. It was said that he always wore jeans and a black leather jacket with a plain black mask that only covered half his face. It was also always mentioned that no one had ever seen him directly, just heard stories. Stories that the Oncoming Storm had stopped a gang war single-handedly, had by himself wiped out the entirety of both of the biggest gangs in London: Skaro and Gallifrey.
"So the Oncoming Storm is real? I dunno, I jus' thought that he was a legend. 'Snot a hard mistake to make; no one's ever really seen 'im," Rose mentioned as they walked down the road towards wherever they were supposed to meet the hero.
"He is. Well, he could possibly be a fantasy of mine come to life, but he acted rather real," Jack said with a lewd grin. "He's like us."
"'E's got somethin' different? An… ability?" Rose asked, making sure.
"Yeah. He's telepathic, just like you, Rosie. Also, he says he's got something called 'time senses'. Something to do with feeling the passage of time and seeing people's most likely future timelines? I don't know, but it sounds rather badass."
"Another telepath," Rose breathed. She felt a grin stretch across her face as they approached the park. "I don' believe it. I've never met another telepath before Jack. I think you're havin' me on."
"Rose Tyler, I would never!" Jack exclaimed, affronted, a gleam of mischief in his eyes. "But really. He is one, I promise you."
Rose sighed, but saw the sincerity on his face. Well, he at least believes what he's saying, she thought, feeling a small, traitorous bubble of hope beginning to rise in her chest. She squashed it.
Jack grinned suddenly at something up ahead; a dark figure lurking beneath a tree. Rose stepped up to it to see a handsome, older-looking man with sharp blue eyes and short brown hair, wearing a thin black half-mask, a black leather jacket, jeans, and boots. He stuck out a hand.
"John Noble, known 'round here as the Oncoming Storm. You must be the Bad Wolf. Jack's told me a lot about you," he said in a Northern accent. Rose grinned a tongue-touched smile.
"Rose Tyler," she told him. At that moment, however, lights blasted them.
"Shit," Jack cursed, drawing a gun from the holster at his hip. "Looks like Torchwood. I'll draw 'em off. Get Rose out of here."
"Nice to meet you, Rose Tyler," John said, a manic grin lighting up his face, making him look years younger. He took her hand; Rose dimly noted that they fit perfectly. She was too busy being lost in his eyes to care about Torchwood or anything else that was happening, until John began to move, pulling her along with him. "Run for your life!"