This is my first piece of fanfic EVER, so I'm not sure how I did. Enjoy!
The warehouse stunk like the rotting serpentine tunnels of the Silurian caves to the Eleventh Doctor, who sat strapped to an old desk chair. The wood was sturdy enough to handle his physical attempts at becoming free and the ties were well made, despite the Time Lord's extensive knowledge of intergalactic neon rope knots as well as those of the typical American Ranger Scout handbook, 275th edition. He shook his head and closed his eyes, his browless forehead crinkling with frustration. "First the Pandorica...and now...a variation on the fireman's chair knot? But that's been around for decades now!" He wiggled his hands a bit more but to no avail. "Doesn't it mean it's not a good one."
There was very little he could see beyond the aura of a single light dangling from the ceiling. He did manage to spy a wall with a different looking electrical outlet affixed. "America! Right, now we're getting somewhere!" He began sniffing at the air. His fashionable wingtip shoes pressed at the ground to try and gain him some kind of height advantage on the scent. "This warehouse isn't that old...2010 or so. I get tied down twice in the same year." In the back of his mind, a Captain Jack Harkness joke faded in and out. He briefly smiled and spoke out loud, "But the last time, there were Daleks, Silurians, Cybermen, Sontarans, Sycorax...what is there now?"
The darkness around him kept its peace.
"Okay, not one for a conversation. Maybe setting us up will help: we are in a warehouse in America..." A pause for another sniff. "...Western coast is likely, given the lack of relative humidity but tinge of ocean-rusted air pollution. Given how dark it is through the corner windows, I'd say it's nearly midnight. A little past bedtime? That's okay. Nothing wrong with a bit of telly to lull you back. Or a good book. Are you a fan of-?"
"Shut up," the darkness spoke.
"Okay, now we have Californian, near middle age, male, and very tired. How long have you been working?"
"That's not important right now."
"My name is The Doctor. I can help you with whatever you need right now, but you have to trust me and let me go."
A small sound emerged from the darkness. A small black plastic square slid across the floor to just under The Doctor's feet. "And this is your prescription pad? Why are you carrying a blank piece of paper?"
The Doctor smiled a bit, chuckling through his teeth, "Psychic paper doesn't work on you? You must be brilliant. I don't want anything but to help the human race and help time progress naturally."
The darkness scoffed and the sound of a squeal let The Doctor know another chair had been pushed out of the way. Steps echoed, coming closer and closer with every syllable spoken.
"You make it sound like you're from space, but what I need right now are answers. You mysteriously showed up outside of the headquarters in an antique telephone box. We bring you down with enough sodium pentathol and tranquilizers to knock out three men. You carry this strange device that we've sent to the labs for analysis. You speak absolute nonsense and expect me to trust you?" There was an increasingly angry tone to his lower gravelly voice.
A silhouette was barely visible through the warehouse's shadow. A classically handsome man stood, dressed in typical 21st century casual style. Upon further inspection, his hair stood on the threshold of either being unintentionally styled or perfectly messy. Finally, he began reading a badge that hung off the edge of his jeans pocket.
C.T.U.
"10 hours and 56 minutes ago, cars made by Archangel Motors began imploding at random throughout the greater Los Angeles area. There are incendiary bombs planted all over that are linked to a single trigger explosion. Tell me what you know," the agent demanded as he got within inches of The Doctor's face, which had grown to become wide-eyed at the mention of the situation.
"Did you say Archangel? You need to untie me now, we're all in great danger!"
The agent grabbed the Time Lord's bow-tied collar and lifted him off the ground with great immediacy. "WHERE IS THE BOMB?"
10:58...10:59...11:00.