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The chirping of the alarm shattered the morning stillness. Shaken from a dream he could not recall, the sleepy man reached out and silenced the incessant prompt before rolling out of bed. Shuffling to the window he threw back the curtains on a bright, shining morning. He squinted at it, allowing his sleep-addled eyes time to focus. Checking the clock he that the readout was blinking. They had lost power last night and he needed to get moving.

From there it was a quick shower. Afterward he shaved, careful to get his black moustache and goatee with its patch of grey just right. He paid equal attention to his hair, spiking it just the way his wife liked. From there he whizzed through his wardrobe settling on his classic blue suit and red t-shirt along with casual canvas sneakers. A glance his watch revealed that he had not been quick enough and he was running late.

Rushing down the steps he bypassed the kitchen, where his wife was cooking, shrugging into a parka. "Lost power again last night. I'm off. Sorry about breakfast."

"I saw. Don't worry, I left you a bag by the door," his wife replied.

He found a folded paper sack, tossing it up into the air and snatching it as it fell. "I'll call later."

"Don't forget we've got that thing tonight."

He winced, having forgotten but nodded anyway. "Yes, yes, I remember." He opened the front door.

"Drive safe, love you."

"Love you too," he said around a pastry he'd stuffed into his mouth.

Outside, he rushed down the steps of his home in the south of London and climbed into his blue MINI. His neighborhood was just waking up, joggers making their way down the sidewalks avoiding people walking their dogs. Children loaded for school were on their way to the nearby bus stop. He pulled away, driving quickly and hoping against hope that he could still beat the morning traffic.

As he drove, he noticed that all of the cars and streets were wet. It must have rained at some point in the night but there had been no forecast of rain. The news on the radio was discussing the surprise storm and the recent rolling blackouts that plaguing the city. Public works were baffled but were assuring they had the situation under control. Ever the skeptic, he frowned slightly, looking up at the benign-appearing clouds in the sky.

Twenty minutes later, and two minutes ahead of schedule due to some illegal driving, he arrived at a large brick building in the heart of the city. Stopping at an inconspicuous guard shack, he showed his credentials to an armed guard in black combat fatigues. The guard scanned his card and handed it back. "Good morning sir."

"Good morning Charles, how's the family?"

"Great, Shellie's due any day now," Charles said.

"Whatcha hoping for this time 'round?"

"Healthy," Charles said. "Once we've covered that everything will fall into place."

"Good man. Have a quiet shift."

"Hope so, although I think I may regret not bringing my rain gear today," Charles said gesturing at the sky with his chin. "Looks like a right nasty storm brewing there."

The man turned toward the sky seeing that the light fluffy clouds had become numerous and ominous. "Were we supposed to get rain today?"

"Not a drop," Charles said. "Forecast was for seasonal temperatures and clear skies. Thought I might take the kids to the park after work. I tell you I should've been a weather man. All the glitz and glamour and I only need to be right half the time."

He laughed, "Then what would we do?"

"Oh UNIT would get on just fine without me, sir," Charles said.

"Yeah well the place would fall apart without me, I'd best be going," he said. He pulled inside. Driving down a strangely-lit corridor, his car was scanned multiple times for various threats before he parked it in its usual place next to the elevator.

After taking the lift down several levels he made his way to his office, walking through a door small enough for him to have to duck slightly and entering a large domed space beyond. The wall was lined with shelves and tables containing various scientific objects and experiments in different states of completion. There was a catwalk ten feet off the floor accessed by a winding staircase leading to a large bookshelf bursting with texts. His primary workspace was in the center, a collection of six large computers arranged in a circle, each with its own project in progress. A high table was placed in the center, decorated with pictures of his family. Outside, the station hustled and bustled as the members of the scientific research and development aspect of UNIT went about their day. Inside was as quiet as a tomb.

He took off his parka, hanging it on a free-standing coat rack near the door before heading to his "desk"; his mind on the strange weather and power outages. Walking around his computers he did not see his current projects, but rather the new problem, sensing it was of more importance. Looking at the last two monitors he decided to focus on his current responsibilities but made a mental note to draft a computer model accounting for the meteorological aberrations and attempt to correlate them with the power problem.

He turned his attention to a drafting table in a corner of the room which held a hunk of charred metal. The torso of a Cyberman, it was a newer model than they had encountered before, sleeker and more streamlined. Command wanted it analyzed and a report drawn up immediately. They always wanted everything immediately.

Picking up his tools he set to work, taking samples and running diagnostics well into mid-morning. The information that came back was predictable and banal. It was nothing they had not seen before. It was the same software in a different case. Even the metallurgical analysis was unremarkable. Several times he found his mind wandering to strange and fantastic places, recalling events that handily trumped the minutiae he was enduring. Each time he would enjoy the internal flights of fancy, just for a bit, before refocusing.

It was three hours later and he, fully engrossed in his work, scowled through glasses with large black frames, when his door opened and a soldier entered the room. "Doctor Smith?" the soldier called. When he got no answer he cleared his throat. "Excuse me I'm looking for Doctor John Smith?" A few moments passed, "Sir, are you the doctor?"

Doctor John Smith; officially born in Liverpool and raised near Oxford but, actually, forged in a biological human-Time Lord Meta-crisis in another universe, spun around in his chair and smiled at the soldier. "Yes, I'm the Doctor."