Disclaimer: I own nothing that anyone recognises.

A/N: Yes, this is a rewrite of this fic. It may or may not get any further than the original, but...whatever. We live in hope, and yes, I may well be referring to myself in the plural there. Ah well.

Chapter One

The streets of London were deserted. Not a single person was out of their home. Well, at least for the most part; it might be more true to say that not a single sane person had left the comfortable confines of their home. Gracie shivered, getting spooked, and wishing the weak sun was brighter. Old litter and torn down posters blew down the street in the cold wind.

It looks like a scene from an old horror movie, Gracie thought, clutching her black coat tighter around her against the chill. One where the innocent victim is about to disappear...

Spinning around, she checked the street behind her. No one was there. Stop scaring yourself, she scolded, wishing it was that easy.

But it wasn't just the emptiness of the street that was disturbing. It was the silence. The complete absence of any ordinary, everyday sounds. No cars, trucks or buses. No one was shouting or shrieking or singing; there were no children crying, or laughing, or playing. No phones ringing. No radios, or televisions. Just the wind, and Gracie's boots echoing down the street.

It was this complete, utter quiet that got to her sometimes. But then, the noise, when there was noise, generally wasn't much of an improvement. Unnamed voices screaming, shouting, shrieking, crying, wailing, fingers reaching out, clawing, tearing, reaching, trying to escape, trying, failing, screaming...She shivered again, and walked faster, peering cautiously down each side alley she came to, passing in her bid to get somewhere safer than the open streets. Peeping down them, just in case. In case someone was waiting for her. In case They were waiting. Watching. Following her.

She spun around again, checking. Knowing she looked suspicious as she did so, but then doing it anyway. Reassuring herself, not able to help herself, making herself feel just that little bit better. She had long ago reasoned that suspicious looked better than dead, but being inconspicuous was far better than either of those conditions. But Gracie was stuck solid in paranoia these days, in twitchy, nerve-wracking anxiety, and so she looked suspicious, and saw everyone else – even an empty street, apparently – as suspicious, too.

But no one wanted to be seen these days. No one knew what happened when They took you away. But it certainly wasn't for a cup of tea and a biscuit. People could guess what happened, all too easily, with a little help from unfortunately overactive imaginations. Because not one person ever came back. And no one wanted to be taken. Everyone was scared out of their minds. No one knew what They wanted, or why They should decide to take over now?

No one knew where to run to, where to go, who to trust, what to do. How to survive. People had figured out, by now, roughly how to avoid Them. Blend in, keep your head down, and most importantly, do as you were told. And even then, even when you did everything They said...

Everything had changed. No one could quite take it in, at first. No one could quite understand what had happened to their nice, neat, normal world. Maybe no one had wanted to understand. Had wanted to believe they could just close their eyes, and then it would all go away, whisked away in the wind like a bad dream.

But whatever the reason, the nightmare hadn't gone away. It had happened so fast. So, so fast. Overnight. That might have been why it hadn't felt real at first, why no one except the crackpots and conspiracy theorists (justified at last) had really believed that anything had changed until people started dying. People had been dying for almost a whole year now, more or less, give or take, as far as anyone could figure it. A whole year since They had taken over. And in that year, the city had run down. And like clockwork, it needed someone to wind it up again. But no one had.

There were rumours, though. Stories, told in secret, in the dark. In the dark, where They couldn't hear. Stories of an underground resistance. Someone on the people's side. Working against Them, doing what they could to save lives. Trying to save all of them, to save their future.

Rumours, that's all they were. Remarkably persistent rumours, cropping up again and again however many times they died down, but still only rumours, whispers, stories, never repeated in the light where the listener could see who was telling them. But they were rumours that Gracie listened to, and rumours that she knew to be true. Because she worked for them. For the Resistance. Only as a secretary, or whatever the equivalent of that was these days, only taking down notes, recording information, but still the fact, the knowledge, remained. She worked for them. She knew they were real. And so she had hope.

There were other rumours too, though. These were stories of hope, but coming through and from fear. Coming from Them, twisted and warped by Their touch. The official story from Them was of a man, an alien. It was the story of someone who was a danger to everyone, who was a danger to anyone who came in contact with him. Whom it was Their duty to catch, before disaster occurred and brought ruin to the world. They said he called himself 'The Doctor', and travelled in what looked like a '50s Public Police Call Box (but the people shouldn't be deceived by its appearance, because it contained greater threat than any they had encountered previously). If anyone saw him or his blue police box, or even heard any mention of him, or knew him previously, they must tell Them. And if They found anyone had been keeping information from Them, whether the information was current or ancient...well, it wouldn't go well for anyone, and They had become long practised at the use of both subtle and blatant threats.

But people still wondered. People thought well, if this Doctor, whoever he is or isn't, is against Them, and so are we, that would mean he's on our side, wouldn't it? Doesn't it? Shouldn't it? Refrains of the enemy of my enemy is my friend drifted through London's collective consciousness.

Gracie didn't really know about any of that, but she did know something which hinted to her that the Doctor might, might be good for everyone. She knew the Resistance were subtly asking for news of the Doctor to be brought to them instead, far more quietly than They were. So he might be on our side, if the Resistance want him brought to their own base.

And that's where I'm going now, she thought, calling herself back to the present. And I don't want to be followed. They don't know where the base is...yet. And I don't want Them finding out any time soon, and I don't want Them finding out from me. I don't want Them to figure out where it is because I'm too careless. I can't wander anymore, not even in my own mind.

Gracie checked the street behind her once more, and then sped up to reach the corner, confident she was alone but not wanting to linger a moment longer than was absolutely needed. As she walked around the corner, trying to ignore the bricks stained dark with soot, a strange groaning noise shattered the silence. Gracie froze, not daring to move. Scared, terrified, petrified. Abnormally loud in the quiet, the noise came and went. Sounding like engines revving up then stopping, then revving up again. Revving, stopping, revving, stopping. It was too loud, much too loud for Gracie's nerves, and far too loud not to have been noticed by other people. And then the noise stopped completely.

Slowly unfreezing, Gracie cautiously crept back down the street which she had come from, towards the location of the noise. Next to the alley from which the sounds had come, she paused, gathering courage. She rounded the corner, praying to any god she could think of as she went. Please don't let it be Them. Please, please don't let it be Them.

TBC...