Disclaimer: I own nothing except my OC's, which is Sam Piper. I take the name Piper from Billie Piper, because I have zero creativity what so ever.
Yey! Anyway, I know this sort of story is not that interesting, but I love writing it. I also need a feedback about the story. So please review at the end of the story. Now! Onwards to the story.
Chapter 2
A Deadly Santa Attack
Sam sprinted away from the kitchen, dodging the kitchen table and made his way to the living room. He looked the door away and make sure the man was safe, as he running through the front door and looked the door. Looking around, he might need a weapon but he remembers that the master bedroom was locked and that's where his uncle kept all his hunting gun. Then again, he can't use a gun, it was too heavy and he's not exactly sure how to aim right and it would be a bad idea if he would use it.
A moment later, the tuba player fired a blast at the house, shocking the house and he could have spotted the glass cracked followed by the door, he sighed in relieved that nothing happened towards the house. It might be some kind of a miracle that the front door was still intact even, but he knows that he needs some weapon to fight the weird Santa robot band; he walked towards the family room and saw they were getting closer.
Finally, out of options, Sam saw the pile of umbrella's, walking stick, and spotted a sturdy metal baseball bat. Grabbing the bat, he hung onto for self-defence. He waited for his pursuers outside, ready to make a stand. The boy waited, for a good solid ten minutes. He was met with a complete silence, cautious, he didn't let his down guard. Just as he was getting a bit fed up, the doorbell rang.
"Great! At least the bad guy has some manner." Sam muttered sarcastically. The ball rang again. Followed by knocking that quickly escalated to pounding on the door.
The boy flinched as his front door cracked, he wanted to scream and cry, but the inside of his mouth lacked any moisture. He breathed in and out but air wouldn't enter his lungs, starved for air, his heart raced at tremendous speeds as he gripped the baseball bat in his hand tighter that made his knuckle white. The door burst its hinges, revealing the silhouettes of three Santa robots in the opening. There's no way he could beat them all, but he need them not to captured the man and harm him in anyway; this was the bad guy and there must be a reason why they wanted the man and whatever those reason is, it's probably always not good. Sam glanced to his back, he need to distract the Santa robots from the living room long enough probably for the police get here or probably some robotic destroyer team here.
"Hey! Weird killer Santa robot," Sam called them. "If you want to know where he is, you'll have to get to me first." He backed away, heading for the kitchen. "Well, come on then. Come and get me!" He taunted.
The robots followed him, and when they shuffled into the kitchen to after him, Sam swung his bat in full force, flinging the front Santa sideways head first into the sink. Sam turned the faucet on full strength, hoping the Santa's were indeed mechanical. He noted the jerking of the robot as the water hit its circuits with a small amount of satisfaction while keeping his attention on the other two bots still advancing on him.
"One down," he informed them. The robots remained silent, but stopped suddenly as they turned their attention back to the hallway before making their way out there. Confused, Sam followed them at a distance, and saw them backed away and stood there in the front yard, and immediately disappeared in pillars of light.
"Remote control robot," a voice stated behind him. Sam spun around in surprise when he caught the sight of the man standing in the doorway, a weird blue pen held out threateningly. He paused and looked the boy as if just noticing he was there. "You're not hurt, are you?" he asked, as his eyes scanned him.
"No." Sam shook his head quickly and took another breath, urging his heart rate to slow. "Just shaken up." He frowned a little, his mind replaying everything that had happened. "You said remote control robot, but who's controlling it."
"Well you're interesting," the man observed. He looked at the front yard as he replied. "Pilot fish."
"What?" Sam asked.
"They're pilot fish," the man said darkly before he suddenly gasped, clutching his chest as he fell back in pain.
"Are you alright?" Sam asked in alarm.
"Does it look like I'm alright?" the man groaned, his voice strained. "Woke up too soon, still regenerating. I'm bursting with energy." He coughed, and a puff of golden energy escaped past his lips. "You see? The pilot fish could smell it a million miles away," he explained. "So they eliminate the defence, that's you and they carry me off. They could run their batteries on me for a couple of- Ow!" He cried in pain, grasping his chest as he stumbled forward, leaning against the boy for support as he squeezed his eyes shut.
"Wha-"
"My head!" the man groaned. "I'm having a neuron explosion. I need-" He gasped out, looking at him properly at the first time as the looked of his eyes changed to worried and fear. "I need you to get out of here, go to that blue box and don't-" He groaned out between gasp of pain. "If there's a pilot fish, then- How did I get here?" He asked suddenly. "And who are you?"
"Uh, I'm Sam and you crashed? With your talking blue telephone box," Sam replied. The man looked at him confused. "The box gave out a message to help you when you stumbled out from the box, hurt. I didn't want to help you at first, but then you're alone in the cold."
The man looked at him again, as if he did something wrong. He opened his mouth and he suddenly yelled in pain. "Argh!" He stumbled and fell down, grasping Sam's arm to prevent himself from falling face first. "Brain collapsing." He slides down the wall. "The pilot fish!" He gasped out again, pulling the boy in front of him and looking at them very seriously, through his pain-laced eyes. "The pilot fish," he groaned in pain, "That's something…something…" He continued to gasp in pain as he struggled to get his words out. "Something is coming."
0o0
Confuse, scared, and sick. All those feelings were mixed in one with Sam as he sat on the floor of the living room alone with the door to the backyard closed with the curtained and locked. He had dragged the weird mysterious man back to the couch and he noticed how now the man got worse with now his high fever that made him delirious and keep on whispering something and mumbling nonsense. There's one time he said something about Gallifrey, and Dalek, but it always followed with pained expression as his jaw clenched in anger. Then it followed with a particular word he can only understand and it wasn't even a word, it was a name, called Rose. But every time he whispered that name, there's a slight sobbed and followed with the word sorry.
What was he sorry for? Was this Rose his friend, or maybe his wife? Or maybe he come from Gallifrey, there's this big war and they got separated? Can the bad guy take his wife away from him? But why was he sorry? Did he felt guilty about it? Was the Dalek probably the thing that the man said something's coming? Thousands of questions roaming in his small developing brain, as he looked at the unconscious alien-man in his couch.
Still feeling a bit loopy from the inhaler he took after he take care of the man, he now sat down on the floor alone in the dark and feeling afraid. In a minute, the adrenaline and drugs effect wore off from his body as he started shaking in fear, he can feel tears ran down through his cheek as he tried to wipe it away furiously, and proceed to hugged himself with his knees against his chest, hugging it for comfort. Of course he was scared, he's only eleventh years old and he got into this big kind of trouble, he wasn't should be in this sort of situation at the first place. If he didn't help the man, he won't get into this big mess. But if he leaves him alone, the man would be alone in the snow and he would felt more guilt about that, he can't just leave him alone, he was hurt.
Sam sighed, he tried to turned on the television for probably watching would take his mind of the trouble but it didn't, so he leaves the telly to turned on some news program.
"Scientist in charge of Britain's mission to Mars have re-established contact with the Guinevere One space probe. They're expecting the first transmission from the planet's surface in the next few minutes," a reporter announced.
"Yes, we are. We're-we're back on schedule," a man identified as Doctor Llewellyn stuttered out. "We've received signal from Guinevere One. The Mars landing would seem to be an unqualified success."
"But is it true that you completely lost contact earlier tonight?" a man called out.
"Yes, we had a bit of a scare," Llewellyn admitted. "Guinevere seemed to fall of the scope but it-it was just a blip. Only disappeared for a few seconds. She is fine now, absolutely fine. We're getting the first pictures transmitted live any minute now. I'd better get back to it. Thanks." Llewellyn then left the stage, ignoring all other questions.
"Pilot fish," he thought out loud. The man mentioned something about pilot fish before, and all he can remember from school that pilot fish is just a small fish that harmless, little things that used to swim alongside other big fish. "Like sharks, big sharks," Sam murmured, a realization dawn at him as he looked at the news once more of a picture that should be Mars from the British satellite Guinevere One.
Sam stared at the fuzzy image curiously just as the newsreader on the TV said, "This image is being transmitted via mission control, coming live from the depths of space on Christmas Morning."
The screen cleared, and Sam gasped in horror as he backed away, taken aback. It was a red-eyed alien with a head like a goat's skull. It growled and gurgled at the screen, he felt a sudden chill run up his spine.
"That's not just rocks," Sam muttered as the image disappeared to go back to the newsreader.
"The face of an alien life form was transmitted live tonight on BBC1."
Sam paced through the living room, confused about what he should do. There's a huge alien above the earth and they're threatening them with some sort of language they don't understand and he has a huge feeling that this something to do with the man that is now currently unconscious in his living room.
He warned him that something was coming, something to do with the pilot fish and that lead to the alien rock ship above them. Sam moved back to the floor and turned back his attention to the newsreader in front of him. Probably there's a new information he could use to hide the man or a help-line he could call, although there's only a small chance that even exist.
"Despite claims of an alien hoax, it's been reported that NATO forces are on red alert." the reporter announced. "Speaking strictly of the record, government sources are calling this our longest night."
0o0
At UNIT Base, the new elected Prime Minister, Harriet Jones walked over Major Blake as he sat in a chair. "I don't suppose we've had a code 9?" she asked hopefully drawing his attention, "No sign of the Doctor?"
"Nothing yet, ma'am," the Major replied, before giving her a curious look, "You've met him, haven't you?"
Harried nodded.
"More like the stuff of legend," he murmured under his breath.
"He is at that," Harriet agreed with a small smile, "Failing him-" she met his gaze unwaveringly. "What about Torchwood?"
"I-" the Major hedged rather surprised.
"I know I'm not supposed to know about it, I realize that. Not even the United Nations knows," Harriet responded to his surprise, hoping to quite his doubts. "But if ever there was a need for Torchwood, it's now."
"I can't take responsibility."
"I can," Harriet rebutted, "See to it. Get them ready."
Major Blake gazed at her for a moment longer, finding if there was any doubt coming from the woman, before he nodded and rose from his chair, walking away to do as he'd been commanded by the Prime Minister.
"Prime Minister," Alex the secretary, came towards her at a quick clip.
Harriet turned to him. "Has it worked?"
Alex nodded, "Just about," he replied as he set his laptop down on a desk to show her, Llewellyn and Jacobs coming to them, watching the alien threat.
"People," Alex began to translate, "That could be cattle," he told them. "You belong to us. To the Sycorax, they seem to be called Sycorax, not Martians," he explained, before going bac to translating once more. "We own you. We now possess your land, your minerals, your precious stones. You will surrender or they will die. Sycorax strong. Sycorax mighty. Sycorax rock, as in the modern sense, they rock," he concluded.
"They will die?" Llewellyn muttered, "Not you will die, they will die? Who's they?"
Alex shook his head. "I don't know, but it is the right personal pronoun. It's they," he told them confidently.
"Send them a reply," Harriet commanded, "Tell them, this is a day of peace on planet Earth."
Alex nodded as he hastily took notes. "Tell them, we extend that peace to the Sycorax, and then tell them, this planet it armed and we do not surrender."
Sally Jacobs nodded as Alex finished noting down what Harriet had said, "Come on," she murmured and the three left Harriet alone.
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