"Amy!"
"I'm fine, I don't think she got me. Doctor?"
"All good, everything intact, no blood."
"No—Amy…"
The lights flickered on. A scream tore through the air as Amy rushed to her husband, whose knees gave way beneath him before she could catch him. On either side of his face, deep slits spilled hot blood down his cheeks…
##
Several hours earlier
##
"'I can't see…'"
"What?"
The Doctor held up the psychic paper for Amy and Rory to see:
Help me. I can't see. I can't feel. Please, help me.
"Well…that's not a bit cryptic at all," Rory muttered, rolling his eyes. "Can't people just say what they mean?"
"When you're scared, Rory, scared and blind, do you think about what you say?"
"I'm just saying, a little context would be nice."
"Oh, shut up, the pair of you," Amy snapped, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, you're like a couple of kids." Rory and the Doctor exchanged sheepish looks as Amy went on. "Where's this message coming from, anyway?"
"Hm…no exact location, some place on Brighton Avenue." He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. "It's always Earth, though, isn't it?"
"So, we off or what?" Rory leaned against the console; it seemed that over time, after many adventures in the TARDIS and many terrifying, wonderful, terrible, miraculous sights, his excitement for adventure had become healthier—not yet to the Doctor and Amy's wanderlust, but still, a deep of anticipation glowed around him as the ship began to slip through time.