....I'm really not sure what the hell this is about.
I have a lack of ownership of Torchwood.
Interesting language.
456 chuckled to itself as it read through its files on the human race. They were truely most interesting; such a childish species. Only just spliting the atom, no interstellar travel...it had crushed races under its heel (a curious statement it had found earlier and liked the sound of) a thousand times more advanced than even the most developed of the nations here. Still, their `children` were useful, even if they did die like cattle (another phrase from the humans it liked.)
Finding a children's song which sounded right for the situation, it sung under its breath (if nothing else, humans were good with language) as it continued wandering through information: by now it had accessed a curious item known as the worldwide web.
Baa baa black sheep, have you any wool?
It found a quaint website known as `wikipedia`. Most interesting. So this was the limit of human cooperation that the man now crying over that worthless dead body spoke of? Pointless infighting over topics of no importance with people who never met, and would not even notice each other in the street. Noticing the edit button, it changed some pages before moving on.
The only information on the page for Britain was now 335000.
Under `Children` there was the word `Units`.
Yes sir yes sir three bags full.
It paused slightly over a document detailing a man known as `The Doctor`, before deciding, based on the validity of the rest of the information around it, it was just a human jabbering nonsense. Why would a Time Lord be interested in this backwater planet?
One for the master and one for the Dame.
Its outside processors told it no life now existed inside the building other than itself. It prepared itself for communication: the worthless man would soon be arriving to try to beg, to plead with it to spare them. It cast a cursory eye, or equivilent there of, over the data once more, in case there was something of interest it had missed.
A short line in the cutural section of the data it had been gifted caught its attention.
It was a nice line, but it doubted it would work in this situation.
After all, neither of these people were sons of royality, none of them would taste like sugar when eaten, and the only being resembling an angel in the area was responsible for them needing to be carried to their rests.
Heh. An angel of death. It liked the sound of that.
And one for the little boy who lived down the lane.