I own nothing in this story except the plot. All Discworld series characters and locations belong to Terry Pratchett, everything from the Doctor Who universe belongs to whoever it is that actually owns them...

Well this is my first ever attempt to write anything. Ever. So with that in mind I would love to receive any and all constructive criticism that I can get. It will help my writing and hopefully feed back into a better story for everyone.

This story is set after the events of "Snuff" and series 6 of Doctor Who, and as such there will be references to the events in both the Discworld series and Doctor Who. Stumble across spoilers at your own risk, however, a detailed knowledge of either series is not needed.

The twin cities of affluent Ankh and petulant Morpork could best be described by visitors to its streets as "unique". Usually that was conveyed in the same tone of voice as someone who is just too polite to say what they really mean. It's people too were very unique, but generally any talk of them was of a far less polite nature. The only thing that nobody could accuse it's many and varied residents of would be a lack of patriotism.* Being amongst the largest and most diverse cities on the Disc, it was also one of the most important. Ankh-Morpork had grown together from the two cities on either side of the river Ankh. The word river is used in this case very, very loosely, as the Ankh was probably the only river on the Disc where the land on either side moved faster than the river itself.

His Grace, the Duke of Ankh, Commander (and ex-Blackboard Monitor) Sir Samuel Vimes was currently in a most sticky and mind numbingly boring of situations. Things had not gone well from the start, when an unsuspecting noble had almost greeted him with the use of his full title, only to suddenly find himself eye-to-eye and back-to-wall with a very irate Vimes, who had hissed, "Just Commander" at the unfortunate offender.

"Well now, as I see it…". Came an old sounding voice, full of the natural authority that came from generations of nobility. It was the same voice that his wife, Sybil, used whenever she really wanted something done. However, this voice belonged to none other than Lord Rust. How that fool had managed to keep the majority of the nobles behind him after the shameful banishment and subsequent, as Lord Vetinari put it, "tragically unforeseeable" death of his son was a mystery that Vimes didn't care to untangle. "…The people just need to put some damn effort in and they will…"

It was Sybil's fault that he had to endure these endless balls and dinners, but she had insisted, and a happy Sybil meant a happy Samuel Vimes. Dragging his wandering mind back to matters at hand, he noticed that Rust had just finished talking and was now looking at him expectantly.

"Err… What was it you were saying again?" He asked, resulting in a wave of polite laughs rippling along the table of the kind that seemed to be designed to push his already frayed temper over the edge.

Luckily for him it was that precise moment that Captain Carrot strode in, causing the necks of everyone in the room to suffer whiplash. Walking straight up to Vimes he saluted and simply said: "We've found him".

Vimes was out the up and out the door so fast anyone who blinked could have sworn that he had just disappeared. Sybil just sat, a strange mix of irritation, affection and pride on her face, and announced, "do pass over the parsnips".
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vimes' feet pounded the cobbles as he raced through street and alley after his target. He felt his breath come short and fast and his pace slacken slightly.

"Bloody aging," he growled loudly, words stopping for breath halfway through as he ran. "Angua, head down that way and cut him off, we have him!"

The large wolfhound running alongside him seemed to nod, turned and sprinted down the adjacent street. Forcing himself to keep up the pace going around the corner he heard the terrified shout from the other end of the street as a man suddenly found himself staring up into the eyes, or perhaps more accurately the teeth of a large and very angry canine. "We've got you now," said Vimes to himself as he slowed down. The murderer wasn't going anywhere anyway, so he saw no problem with this course of action. Of course, this being the Discworld, it was a very bad assumption to make.

Suddenly all he could see was light.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

Twenty seconds earlier…

"Sir, we have a problem!" shouted Ponder Stibbons, head of Inadvisably Applied Magic of the Unseen University as he sprinted into a scene of unnatural carnage. "It's in the High Energy Magic Building!"

"What is it this time?" Came the booming yet slightly muffled voice of Archchancellor Ridcully, "Can't you see I'm in the middle of dinner?" This was, of course, the most important time of a Wizard's day. As such, the very fact that Stibbons had interrupted it brought a shiver of foreboding to Ridcully's mind. Or would have, if he hadn't at that precise moment spotted one of Glenda Sugarbeans famous pies.

"S-s-s-s-sir," spluttered Ponder, "It's a massive build-up of energy."

"Oh, is that all", he sighed, relief flooding through him. "I hardly think it cause to interu…" Suddenly a thought occurred to him, a truly terrible thought. "What kind of energy Stibbons?" He asked, eyes narrowing. Ponder almost visibly shrank under his gaze and could only squeak out one word.

"Quantum".

With an almost supernatural sense of timing it was then that the entire room was filled with a split second of unnatural light. It was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, bringing the dazed Wizards back to their senses.

"What in the blazes was that?" Ridcully roared.
~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Vimes' consciousness slowly dragged itself back to reality, he began to get a feeling of Difference. This was not the sort of mere difference like the one between a seamstress and a genuine Ankh-Morpork "seamstress." This was Difference with a capital D. A sort of super-difference if you will. Cranking open one heavy eyelid an attempt to scout his immediate surroundings had proven to be an incredibly bad idea as he immediately slammed it shut again from pain. However, he had managed to get a glimpse of where he was. Although he was still light-headed, and his sight somewhat blurred, he could tell that it was almost nightfall. The sun cast long shadows from the buildings around him as it started to descend below the Disc, giving the world a stretched and dreamlike look. Now his policeman's instinct kicked in and he stumbled to his feet.

It is a little known fact that every street in every city has its own unique feel,* and a lifetime of experience with both the best and, more commonly, worst that the twin cities of Ankh and Morpork had to offer had left Vimes with the uncanny ability to pick out exactly where he was in most of them just through the feeling of cobbles under his custom thin-soled boots. The feeling creeping up his body and registering in his brain was not one that any policeman wanted ever to feel. It was a feeling of non-recognition, which could only mean one thing…

He was lost. Being lost was a dangerous business. Being lost meant not knowing where you were. In some places on the Disc not knowing where you were meant that you would soon be dead, indeed, at least half of Ankh-Morpork probably fell under that description! Although recently Vimes had expanded the power of the watch and made clear exactly what would happen if you laid a finger on anyone under his command. The presence of Sgt. Detritus had probably helped in that regard. Nobody wanted to anger a troll, especially one with an affinity for excessively large weaponry.* But Vimes' feet now knew something important. They knew that he wasn't in Ankh-Morpork any more, and as they relayed that message to his head it occurred to his brain that people here might be a little less wary of tangling with a copper than would be preferable. This thought alone instantly cleared his head and put him on alert, scanning the surroundings with a trained glance in as many directions in as short a time as possible.

He had found himself somewhere that was plainly a city, although not like any city he had seen before. That was a kind of blessing at least, events never seemed to go well when he was away from one. That incident in Uberwald with the werewolves jumped out from his memory as being particularly unpleasant. More recently, his first time at the Ramkin country estate had almost killed him more times that he could count. Then again, thought Vimes, frowning as he did so, his time in the city had hardly been less dangerous. He was dragged away from his contemplation by the sight of two men running along the opposite side of the street. No, not running. Chasing! Something within Vimes stood to attention as he watched, spotting a third man almost instantly. There was something strange about him that caught Vimes' trained eye, despite only getting a brief glimpse at his face as he streaked past. It was an unusual face, both in appearance and expression, stretched and with a rather large chin, somehow boyish and yet aged, set with determination, but also sheer unadulterated joy. His long, floppy looking hair seemed to have a life of its own as he ran. The clothes too were strange, although the chasers were themselves hardly innocent on that account. A tweed overcoat flapped over a shirt, and just what was that ridiculous thing around his neck? Vimes generally disapproved of any item that went around a neck. They were far too easy to grab in a fight and besides, look at the damn thing! All this he saw in just a small moment, and already that ever present coppers sense that he had learned to trust was telling him that something wasn't right.

Curiosity peaked, Vimes took in the two other men. Samuel Vimes knew the look of a copper from a mile away, and the two chasers were clearly such, despite their outlandish and seemingly impractical blue uniform. He also knew the look of rookies.
"Bloody amateurs," he growled. The two unfortunate policemen were having no luck whatsoever in reaching their target. The strange man had too much of a lead. Far too fast as well. If anything it seemed that he wasn't really paying attention to the men pursuing him… Vimes scowled inwardly at that thought, he didn't like it when criminals played silly buggers, even when it was, as far as he knew, out of his jurisdiction.

A split second later he found himself chasing after the policemen, a decision seemingly made independently by his feet long before his head could have any say in the matter. It was a state of affairs that his head didn't appreciate one little bit thank you very much. Despite this, Vimes felt a ray of happiness penetrate the cloud of confusion and anger at the recent turn of events as he rounded a corner. This was what life was about at its most basic, the chase. A criminal and the pursuing copper. Besides, he had a few questions for two certain gentlemen.

*1) What you absolutely could accuse them of would be everything else under the sun

*2) Cobble Street was well known to Sam Vimes as being especially hairy. Whatever turn of events had lead to that strange situation did not bear thinking about.

*3) The Piecemaker crossbow/ballista/doomsday weapon was feared instinctually by people and elephants alike as an enemy even greater than mice. Every time it was fired the world shook, not because of the power of the device, but from the combined shiver that ran down the spine of all four World Elephants upon whose backs the world rested.