XxX -Chapter II: Of Loneliness and Other Things that Hurt- XxX

"Hey!" The approaching figure waved at Graham. He was very loud.

/How can he see me?/ Graham wondered frantically. /He shouldn't be able to see me./

Graham averted his eyes from the foreigner (he /must/ have been a foreigner to wear /that/) and stood very still. Usually this made those who came the closest to noticing him go back to whatever was concerning them.

The foreigner stopped just before the curb. Graham shut his eyes and hoped he would go away.

"Just because you can't see me doesn't mean I'm not here," the foreigner stated, peering up from the height offset of the street. "What are you, five?"

"How can you see me?" Graham asked quietly, taking a few steps back.

The foreigner sighed, "Having glasses doesn't make me blind." He acted like this was a common misunderstanding.

All Graham had wanted was to relight his candle on the street light. The one on this corner was the easiest to reach, and he needed to finish his gadget by morning if he was going to get any breakfast money. Surely he was allowed to sneak out if it was for a very short time.

Now he didn't know what to do.

Assessing that he would get no further response from the frightened light-stealer, the foreigner moved on to something that had been bothering him. "Where /is/ everybody?" He looked up and down the street to emphasize his point.

When he looked back, the foreigner was alone again.

XxX

The hallways were crowded. The lights were harsh. There was a persistent buzzing in the doctor's head. He blinked his eyes rapidly.

Doctor.

A scene, mid-shot, was taking place around him. Some sort of school with narrow corridors and too many students. Public school, he thought by the lack of uniforms.

Doctor.

He was walking briskly, like he was going to be late. He hadn't made a conscious effort to walk, and he hadn't the slightly idea where he was going. He was just traveling.

Doctor.

Endlessly traveling.

Doctor Who?

What was that voice? Who was calling out to him? He meant to only turn his head, but his whole body pivoted. His arms swung out like a rag doll and nailed the girl behind him. She fell backwards, throwing her books up as she did.

He reached out a hand to help her up. He was about to apologize when he bent into the cool blade of a knife and was unable to speak.

He gasped and woke up.

"Doctor," he was greeted by the voice from his dream. It was calm and had a hidden texture he couldn't place.

The speaker was a young female dressed in all white. A lab coat? No, the doctor decided as his vision focused, a trench coat. A white trench coat.

He chuckled.

"Cottage cheese," he said.

The woman blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"Cottage cheese," the doctor repeated. "Your voice is cottage cheese."

There are a few other things that should be mentioned:

One, the doctor had a slit in his clothes, by his belly button, where a knife had previously been. There was a fair amount of dried blood, but no wound.

Two, aside from the trench coat, the woman was completely purple.

She wasn't /wearing/ purple, she /was/ purple.

"A very nice hue, I might add," the doctor complimented. "Plums. Plums and cottage cheese. You know, the last time I was in London there was a significant lack of crayon-colored humans. Not to be racist or anything. Hmm, you /are/ human, I do believe..."

"Correct," she said. "Josie Femberg, you may call me."

The doctor studied her closely.

Femberg cleared her throat. "On to business. Please hand over your screwdriver."

"Yeah... That's not going to happen," the doctor swung his legs off the table he had been laying on and got to his feet. "You see, while you might be human, humans aren't plums. Well, in this century they're not. What is this, 1860, I believe?"

"1862."

"Right. So the only reason for a human to be such a color before, say, the 2130s, is Reizoku: an enslavement technique with an unusual affect on skin pigment.

"Furthermore," the doctor continued animatedly to the blankly staring Femberg, "the most common users of this form of servitude are not the kind of people I would like to have a screwdriver of this level of sonic."

Josie Femberg never changed expression.

"Such a cleaver doctor," she observed, lifting a small remote from a pocket of her coat.

"However, you assume that we require your compliance." She clicked the remote. Metal blinds covered the windows and the door.

"We don't need your will," she tapped the doctor on the nose, "after all, we have you."

XxX -End of Chapter II: Of Loneliness and Other Things that Hurt- XxX