AN: Evening all. Bit of info for this chapter and the ones that follow. In Hell bent it was established that the Doctor can remember his time with Clara just nothing about her, well in this I've made it so any time new pieces of Clara are learnt another piece slips away. What I did not understand in Hell bent is What the F happened to the Time Lords and Galifrey so in later chapters (mostly Clara's atm) expect them to be back like it's no surprise. I believe there will be only one more part to this story, I felt I had to split it up because of how big the word count was getting.

As it approached noon, the Doctor concluded he had scrounged up as much information as he could hope to from the humans congregating on the hostel steps. His TARDIS had provided more in the way of aid. The two officers, who believed him to be their superior, courtesy of the psychic paper, had turned out little from the residents all who claimed to be sleeping. At best, they redirected them to another resident who had not yet returned. The officers were closing their inquiry to the young woman they had been consulting, they insisted to her that the delayed resident contact them when she returned, else another missing persons report would have to be filed. Then the Doctor bounced forwards, pinching a pen from the officers and claiming the woman's hand with his own. He drew up her sleeve.

"Have her call this number too. She'll find it might be more suitable for her needs then the conventional helpline."

"What sort of number has 100 numbers in it?!" said the resident, her eyes wide as the phone number passed her inner elbow and went back to her wrist to form a second line.

"I'm a doctor," he conceded, releasing her wrist and returning the pen. The woman sleeved herself. He didn't doubt that she didn't take him seriously. "If this is in anyway worth my time, she's going to need one." And with that said he left, abandoning the three humans at the door and before long the officers too acting on their intent to depart.

It was a short walk to his ship, having parked it besides a railroad underpass, in the shadow of a great full leaved pear tree.

"Do you think their related then?" the question was asked to him when he was deep in thought.

"Of course they are. Why are you even asking that?" he responded, his voice unwantingly brittle, a consequence of the frustration these talks inevitably stirred in him. "Hundreds of teleportation signatures across the city, as many people missing. People don't just up a go on holiday without telling their loved ones every time a few aliens show up."

He had reached his TARDIS, his foot met with a fallen pear that squished beneath his feet. Typical, he thought aloud, as he did most his thoughts. With one hand he held the door and waited for her to pass underneath his arm. Once he believed she had he followed. Marching straight for the console and the above monitor, he brought to screen a map displaying the signatures across town. He pondered it thoughtfully feeling her doing likewise right besides him.

"Well I did that. More than once." she told him but their was no colour to her voice, no accent. Heck! He was only certain it sounded female because the shiloutte that plagued him was shaped with a skirt!

"Yes." he agreed to her declaration and for the briefest of moments his mind took him to where he took her, a foreign world; one of her firsts. And when he looked at her he saw her in complete clarity. There was a colour to her skin, a roundness to her face, a style to her hair and a piercing brightness to her eyes. For the briefest of moments he knew her again with a cutting sharpness. So certain he was that now he knew her she could never slip his mind again. But then that moment passed. He looked besides him, where he'd deceived himself for her to be, and saw the short pink figure his mind constructed. Her face was hazy getting hazier, her features blending away like the consequence of paint effect. He was the artist here. He knew he shouldn't be, that he could never get her right, the neural block forbade him that perfection, that clarity of mind. When the frustration creeped in he felt a twist of anger. Anger at himself for allowing her to become the object of his frustration, anger at himself for not being able to swipe her away from his thoughts as he did now. One sweep of his hand and the likeness he crafted besides himself caved in, collapsed into nothing.

"I don't even know who you are any more." he lamented, dispassionately setting his TARDIS to fly, intent on returning to work.

Just one more step, she told her self for the hundredth time, Just one more step. I can't keep falling in the street! Pressing onwards, it felt like an hour had passed but in truth it could not have been more than half that time. She had woken alone in the parking space where her conciousness had been stolen from her in the night. It was not pain that burdened each step, though her body was stinging all over it was more of a flaring irritation that made her want to itch or roll in something rough like sandpaper. Annoying but tolerable, which could not be said for her bodies other failings. Like the ground raising up to smack her every time her legs gave out after a few steps. She had learnt to predict her falls. First her vision would blacken, then the chill that plagued her since waking would assault her with abandon and then finally her legs would give way beneath her. She would wait where she fell inside darkness, riding the finale waves of cold until it seemed to vanish entirely. She could then stand, as if nothing had caused her to fall and for a few steps she walked with ease, then the chill returned and with it the certainty of imminent collapse.

Her last fall landed her closer to home than she believed she'd reached. Having lowered herself by the industrial sized waste bins on the road's edge the moment she felt her sight leaving her, she heard a door slam shut. It seemed so much louder that it ought to have been. A woman was leaving, it did not matter that she did not recognise who. It was the first face she had seen this morning that had not simply driven passed her. She prayed she would be ignored again.

"hmbppghhaa!" she called to the women, though when she lost her voice she couldn't recall. It had captured her attention though, and if the words failed her her outstretched hand would serve as her plea for help.

A spell of weakness overthrew her and her hand fell limp by her side, her head lolling towards the ground. Rendered sightless but not senseless, she felt strong hand grab her by the wrists and soon after her ankles and she was off the ground. They were speaking to each other, the voices overlapping one another until it was nothing but noise in her ears. Her stomach rolled when they starting carrying her. Their hurried strides leading her inside where the indoor warmth proved a welcome relief from her sickness. She could almost breath easily. Then she felt the cold assault her from behind, circling her waist and sloshing against her thighs then her knees. When she had sunk down fully into the bath the cold water was level with her shoulders. Before the water settled the odd wave splashed against her chin feeling as a knife against her skin. She was shivering violently but despite this the voices droned on feeling relieved though completely ignorant on how she felt herself slipping away.

"Have you made that call yet?" one voice said to another.

"He's on his way now," came the reply.

The smell of tea had woke her from her sleep. It was a deliberate attempt to wake her, she determined from the familiar face holding the cup mere inch's from her nose. She threw a sleepy smile in her direction. The face of Mercia Woodnorth was a welcome sight to wake to, and she was smiling back at her.

"Finally you're awake," Brianna's raven haired friend said.

"And you have tea," Brianna observed with sleepy glee. Rolling onto her side, she sought to free one hand from beneath her covers. Where did they all come from? She wondered in the moment she struggled. Whipping one hand into the comparably cool bedroom air she snatched the tea and drank in eagerly. Humming her approval as the first sip was inevitably superior to the ones that followed it. Mercy sat back against the opposing bunk beds with a cup of her own. With a ceramic tea pot off to one side she gave them both a second serving.

"How are you feeling this morning?" asked Mercia with lingering concern.

"Pretty good," Brianna responded easily, only after saying it did she remember how ill she had felt the night before. In truth she couldn't feel a trace of sickness left in her body, a bit of an itch, and she rolled her shoulders at that, but otherwise she had found it had to believe she had been ill at all. "Very good. These's sheets are too heavy though," she counted four thick duvets weighing her down.
"That was the doctor's idea. Your room-mates weren't happy about but they can have them back now I suppose." she rose and went about removing the weight from Brianna's bunk. When only two duvet's remained Brianna went about rising. Mercia noticed, "Good to see you well Bria," she placed two fingers on Brianna's forehead, playing swatting her back so she fell into the pillow with a bounce. Laughter followed, "But you're staying in bed and I'm going to make sure of it." Brianna protested, preaching her good health but Mercia was having none of it. For the remaining day Brianna was bed bound. Mercia played maid and she played along, not disliking the stream of tea and biscuits brought to her room whenever she asked. Other residents popped their head through the door wishing her well and speaking their concerns. For hours they watched programs shown of the holoscreen on a far way. One bad program followed another but it was a preferred pastime to the game of chess that had been set aside underneath her bunk. The whole day passed and she was sure to remember it as one of the most easy going days of her year so far, but as the hour turned six and another program came to a close, she rolled her toes under the duvet, appreciating the warmth and the softness of the fabric, it was this which made her thoughts turn sour. She was thinking of Nathan huddled down at the bus station, his hands stuffed into her coat pockets for a shrapnel of the warmth she was enjoying. Then she remembered Nathan wasn't at the bus station. Nor was he travelling home to his parent's. They'll be wondering where he is by now. He was where ever that van had taken him. Where ever she had been.

The whole day she had enjoyed herself, her illness having overshadowed the events that caused it but know she could think of nothing else. She flexed under the covers, the fabric trapping her irritatingly.

"Where's my hat?" Brianna asked.

"Your what?" Mercia inquired, the question having fallen on her at the tail end of a yawn. She would soon have to go home.

"My hat, the fluff one. I though I had it with me."

"Y-you didn't have one when I came in this morning. Perhaps one of the other..."

"I should find it." Brianna announced and left the bed and her room before Mercia had risen.

Mercia was tailing after her through the hallway, her sudden hand blocking a door frame brought Brianna to a stop.

"Bria you can't go anywhere you're still sick!" she insisted, her eyes wide with alarm.
"You've spent the whole day with me. I'm not sick, I need to find that hat. I need to." The hat was only part of what she needed right then but it was the first thing. First the hat. Then Nathan,the van and the hooded men. Mercia knew her to get upset over many small things, she trusted her to take her seriously.

"Okay, okay. We can find your hat." despite that trust Mercia still spoke as though she were talking to a babbling loon, "Tomorrow. After the police have come by. You're still ill Bria and look outside it's nearly night."

She couldn't fault that observation. One look out the window showed a sky that was orange turning purple. By the end of the hour it would be a deep blue with only street lights and stars to light her way. It is nearly dark, Brianna conceded, and the streets are full of hooded kidnappers. She watched her friend with no small amount of concern. But she also saw a glimmer of opportunity and it must have shown, Mercia was taken aback, her brows flexed suspiciously towards Bria.

"I guess you'll be needing an escort then."

Her argument against Brianna's proposal of escort was largely one sided, with Brianna coming out on top. She allowed her to walk her home and check out the area her hat had disappeared on the condition she order a taxi back to the hostel and call her before the night was over. On their stroll Mercy checked every nook and cranny where one might find a misplaced hat, behind bins, in bins, on street lamps or the odd statue. Brianna was watching the building tops, waiting for that one building to appear when they walk a corner.

"They'll be a lot of stars out tonight." Mercia chimed in, pulling Brianna from her daze. She must have thought she'd been staring at the sky, not the top floor of the high rise car park they were approaching.

"Stars?" she turned to Mercy, then to the sky. Above them the cloudless purple was spotted with bright specks. There's so many of them this evening. More than any city had right to see, stars in this quantity were usually seen in the countryside where there was less light pollution. "Oh yeah, there are quite a few." They were walking slower now.
"What do you think of when you look up at them Bria?"

"What do I think?!" she responded through chuckles, Mercia had taken their conversations to an odd place. Brianna composed herself, "I don't know, I've never really thought about it."

"No?" Mercia added a hum, having expected more to her answers given how deeply she had stared upwards. She found herself smiling stupidly up to the multitude of lights, recalling a time when she use to seek them out in a borrowed telescope. To her friend she confided, "Sometimes I like to look up there to make me feel small; unimportant." Brianna rushed to combat her declaration.

"You're not unimportant. There's nothing good about feeling that."

"No Bria, I don't mean in this self loathing way. Just look up there now an then. I become so small, but so does everything else, all my problems, all my worries. There only there because I choose them to be. The world become so much bigger and better and beautiful and I'm going to live my entire life not laying a single bad finger on it because I don't matter. I'm small. I'm happy." She trailed off, noticing how she had rambled on, noticing Brianna staring at her with a raised eyebrow. She blushed, "...And that's what I think off when I see stars." They laughed a while, Mercia's ridiculousness rubbing them both the right way.

"If you want to build a happy place in space I'm not judging."

"You are absolutely judging me."

"Are you feeling well?" she joked, placing her palm on Mercia's forehead as she had done to her several times in the morning. It was swatted away playfully and they continued into the carpark. The concrete pillars on the ground floor were wrapped in police tape like ribbons on maypole. The barrier they had form now snapped and the tape fluttered around the base of there pillars like the tail of a disappointing kite. Mercia took note of the black marks the vehicle had left and again gently pressed her for the night's details. As pressing as matters seemed, she could only think about the stars now that they were no longer in her view. They are pretty. And there are a lot of them... But she felt nothing grand when she looked at them.

"Which floor was it? Where will we find...your hat?" Mercia asked as they reached the third floor. 'Hat' was code, it was understood between them that finding clothing was secondary to finding Nathan. But she had held the hat in her hands before she passed out, spotted with blood, his blood. She worried what she might find. Nothing, she assured herself. The police would've said if they had.

"On the very top floor." she answered, soon she been seeing the stars again. And the forth floor, she added in thought, That's where the hooded men had been. From above and from below.

The climbed to the forth floor. Like before it was vacant of vehicles, unlike before it was also vacant for people. Mercia marched on to the fifth floor. She followed and on the fifth floor the pair were immediately buffeted by a strong breeze. They faced the north and a half moon was rising over the urban skyline, the two basked in a twinkle of lights both from both above and below. From where they stood there was still many metres of car park behind them. Litter was being uplifted in what felt like a weak and dying cyclone. By the time it passed Brianna and Mercia had found the darker splotch on the concrete floor. Approaching it, the patch was now brown instead of the rich red it had been the night before, having dried onto the concrete. Brianna crouched down, Mercia stood over her but alas their was no hat to be found. No black van or hooded men. No Nathan. Fury spurred within her. A hot fury that ached her jaw and made her eyes leak. Why didn't I act faster?! But I had opened the door. I should have ran faster.

"Bria..?" Mercia broached cautiously. How long have I been quiet?

"Did the police say anything? Whilst I was ill?" she inquired with a turn of her head. She spotted something far behind Mercia's shoulder.

"They asked questions. Didn't answer many." she replied then looked oddly at Bria. She followed her line of sight to a tall wooden box oddly placed at the carparks south end. It was deep blue in colour, almost black in the night darkness but the lights from within shone through two windows on either side, and the bulb on top gave hints as to it's day time appearance. "What is that?"

"A ...police box." Brianna discerned, squinting at the words printed above the windows. "They Have been investigating then." That almost made her chipper. She walked towards it, her heart pounding in anticipation of answers.

"Bria! Don't get too close!" Mercia called her back. "That could be a forensic tent, we'll get in trouble!"

"What tent is made of wood?" Brianna retorted, sauntering closer to the box. She had her hand so close to the handle when she quickly snapped it back with sudden wariness. There were lights on inside, she looked either side but could see no cable powering it. I suppose the windows could be solar panels. Or luna ones.

"Sturdy ones." replied Mercy. She was by her side now.

"But the police left ages ago why would they leave just this at a crime scene?" Brianna pondered this, after recalling the torn yellow tape on the ground floor.

"Well there clearly not done. All the more reason for us to more along. Come on Bria, a man was murdered here. " He's not dead, Brianna wanted to interject but said nothing. " You were almost gone too. Wait until tomorrow, the police will come. We'll ask, and we'll get answers. Until then, I don't feel safe out here. Not for me, not for you." Mercia's hand slipped into her own. "Take me home," she pleaded in the box's cold light. Mercy's hand in hers made all her arm muscles tense. For most, this was a gesture of friendship, simple supporting friendship. In Mercia's hand she held this and much more, she was not a friend so casually physical, they seldom hugged despite their closeness. But Brianna loved her like a sister, if she could begin to grasp what a sisterly relationship might be like, she assumed it was this. For some years she had watched over her when they shared the same care home. There were years between, but few enough so that went to the same schools. And what was said amongst the homeless, the jobless, the gangs and the grieving law enforcement was true enough. "Blackwood children tend to stick together. Even those who'd been adopted." She had first heard that from a copper when she was sixteen. She and her boyfriend of the time had been caught nicking sweets and alcohol from a corner shop. Mercia was to scared to be in on it. Too easily scared. Too needing of protection.

They were putting the blood and the blue box behind them. The police would come in the morning. Until then she would let Mercia feel happy and safe, and walked her to her parent's bungalow in the suburbs. They hugged at the door, having stayed for a cuppa and for the taxi to arrive. Mercia squeezed a little too tightly, always did when she took a chance and broke her habit.

"You'll call right?" she asked as they parted.

"As soon as I'm in my Pjs" Brianna assured her when she swung open the taxi door.

"Where to love?" the driver was in his 30s. Black hair, round face, round everything. She told him home, and for five minutes she watched the little arrow on the screen as it wove through the map. Mercia was far behind her now, and that realisation was as gratifying as payday. She slapped the drivers shoulder with a suddenness that startled him. After apologising, she insisted they change their course.

It was pitch dark when she made the second ascent of the night. She reached the fifth floor without fear. She was fearless for the most part the other day when she let adrenaline and anger drive away her good senses. The police box was still there, it seemed bluer now the moon was higher. She rapped against the front door, four times just below the window each in quick succession to the one before it. She waited a moment, after no answer she knocked again, louder this time. There's got to be someone in here. Where's the power coming from? She didn't knock again. Determination left her quickly after that. Having paced the top floor for a few minutes she threw her legs over one of the carparks low walls, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet two and fro. From here she watched the stars. There were lots of them tonight and the sky was clear. Some were distant dots on the black, others seemed closer and their brightness was pulsating. In her eyes, some seemed to be moving. Brianna tried to recall hearing about a meteor shower over the passed week, but she didn't trouble herself with news and therefore had nothing to recall. She was not interesting in returning to her bed this evening. Brianna knew she would be thinking about how soft it is, how warm it was under the covers, how she would wake to tea and hot food in the morning and how she couldn't enjoy any of this whilst Nathan wasn't. A shot of guilt struck her, Why just Nathan? She remember the block sleeping under a bench the other evening. Why do I only feel bad for him? Curious, she shed her coat, baring her arms to the wind. It seemed to understand her request. Once her coat touched the ground the wind whipped at the flesh of her arms. It snaked under her shirt, not leaving a single nerve untouched by the cold. Her teeth were chattering. I wouldn't want to be out in this. She discerned, sparing a thought to those who didn't have a bed tonight like she did. Having resolved to move and return home, she was leaning backwards to pick up her coat when a sheet of paper, only litter picked up in the earlier breeze, slapped her around the face with alarming strength. She shrieked, grabbing it from where it blanketed her nose. There was a wetness on her jaw, and she found the paper had cut and a small trickle of blood was dripping onto her collar bone. She pressed her palm against the injuring willing it to stop, withdrawing only to weave that arm through the sleeve of her coat. On the turn, she noticed the space seemed a smidgen darker that it had when she first arrived. There was a light missing from the far end. There was a whole box missing from the far end. Brianna leaped towards the absent space. The box has gone! The whole Bloody box has gone! Her eyes were wide with astonishment and she was circling where it had been. Both hands went to the sides of her skull.

"Oh no. No No No No No." she murmured to herself. Freaked out, she fled for home. She knew now she would not sleep with guilt over warm blankets and tea. If she slept at all, she would dream of disappearing boxes and wake pondering the state of her mental health.

It was 8 am when she woke. 9 when the police arrived, and her shift at work started at 11. At 9: 15 the interrogation was well under way. She submitted herself to there question. They both spoke in such a clinical over the desk manner, it angered her. She asked questions of her own but was only answered with, 'we're looking into it.' 'not quite sure yet,' 'our best people...' Lies, lie. It's all lies. Brianna thought through clenched teeth. As they drone on she began thinking of last night, Stars pfft. Don't need stars to tell me how small we are. Just an incompetent police force.

The meeting wrapped up. When they left she collected their cups and washed them. She was drying her hands when her room mate approached. On her inner arm was a mess of ink not fully washed off but in her hands was a letter. Brianna knew what it was before opening it, she had guessed by the uneasy look on her room-mates face. She opened it nonetheless. huh for you eeeerrrrr termination. Blah blah blah. Two weeks notice. She read mentally, "Fuck!" she said audiably.

She was thinking on her eviction on her walk to work. Contrary to what she initially believed, she wasn't in that bad of a place. She had a job, she had friends. She had no doubt Mercia and her family would let her bunk down on the sofa for a while. Once that while had passed...Brianna began to day dream as she crossed the park. Mercia had a job too; a small part time job at a cafe. Separately they don't earn much but perhaps if they pooled their income they could afford a small flat. Brianna was smiling happily. Worse case scenario we only afford a bedsit. Then we'll get bunk beds. In a few months we'll have saved up enough for a holoscreen. We'll watch crap holo for hours and eat awful food.

She had left the hostel bitter and depressed, now she walked through the employees entrances with a smile on her face. It proved contagious. She passed the new receptionist in the hallway, the one she hadn't spoken too yet and she had approached her as if they were good friends. Word of her illness had gotten around, everyone seemed to be asking how she was. For the most part, embarrassed was the answer but she was grateful for their concern. She slipped on her overalls, tied her hair up and walked into the warehouse to her little corner where a drone would be waiting for her.

And somebody else...

"... Who are you?" she asked the youth huddled over her drone. He had rearranged her tools and workspace. A sudden slap of her shoulder caused her to jump.

"Mopey! I see you've met Bootstap." The wiry hand belonged to John Smith. The grey old caretaker was smiling madly between the two of them. Bootstrap approached her, cleaning his hands of oil on an rag. He was very clean cut, he must have been working for hours now but it could be assumed he'd only just started.

"Sorry about him. He nicknames everyone. Though I guess you already know that...Mopey." He had given her a hand to shake. It took her a moment to realise that.

"I'm Brianna,"

"And I'm Michael"

"Michael here's a engineer. He started whilst you were off sick. How are you feeling Mopey?" One of his hand went to her forehead and she avoided it with a step back.

"Err, fine thanks," she answered him dismissively before turning towards Bootstrap, "I wasn't told I'd a work partner."

"No...Nor was I." he said slowly, "Perhaps we should check with-"

Whatever he was about to say was cut off when Edward Finley joined their little corner group.

"Brianna, Sorry to interrupt. But I need a word." he began. I've lost my job haven't I. Brianna could sense the words before they were said. He continued, "You've met Michael. I'm afraid decisions were made up high and we can no longer afford to keep you in the position you were contracted for."

"So I'm-"

"Being relocated." he answered, surprising her. Michael had returned to his work, John seemed to be lingering by busying himself with a duster. "A vacancy arose In processing. We all thought it was better suited for your skills."

"Processing," she breathed the word. He eyes instinctively fluttered over to the door at the back of the room. Even the glance felt forbidden and wrong. Finley was rambling on about pay cuts or something. She caught the tail end of his words.

"We've arranged for you to shadow some colleagues for the remainder of your shift. Follow me." She was doing just that. Leaving behind her corner of comfort and inching closer to the unknown. They took a detour however, to a wall of locker on the side wall.

"They asked that you put this on." he handed her some black fabric. She whipped it loose from it's neat folding and saw that it was another set of overalls. Similar to the beige one she wore as an engineer. Similar except for...the hood. Similar to there's.

"Why does it have a hood?" she asked Finley.

"You know, I haven't thought to ask." he replied.

She carried it with her, intent on dressing afterwards. Her heart was racing, her mind was lost somewhere outside herself as they approached the door.

The door was closed quickly once she was inside, Finley had left her at the mercy of the other workers. There were less than a dozen of them in this large dimly lit space. They were all dressed alike with their hoods up. A woman approached her equally covered but she could see a flash of a pale face beneath the fabric and she spoke with a young lilting voice.

"I wasn't told we were expecting anyone knew." she declared with a head-turn to her other colleagues. They were all moving about the room with either a clipboard or a strange mechanical piece in hand. The pieces were bubble wrapped and boxed, then sent along the conveyor belt.

"They don't tell us anything anymore," another colleagues, male, chimed in before disappearing behind some shelves of stock. "We haven't prepared any initiation." another hooded one added, her voice hoarse and cracked.

"Initiation?" brianna questioned as her heart paused.

"Don't worry about it dear." she assured her, placing a hand on her shoulder, taking the black grabs from her hands she placed them on a side table. "Some react badly to the substance. We're brought here. And here we'll be safe. Here we are grateful."

"I'm Brianna,"

"Very soon that won't matter."

Her hand left her shoulder. For the next hour Brianna moved without thinking. Unease took over her every step, she could shake the feeling the others were watching her through their hoods. She felt trapped, but like a caged bird she still sang. Her work was simple enough. She had been given a pick sheet with lists of item ids. Random numbers and letters is what they were, and thought the ids matched with an item on the shelves it she still felt inclined to double, then triple check. She regularly looked at the door, the only exit in the room, and thought to make a run for it. But every time those thoughts occurred one of the hooded had silently decided their work required them to stand patiently by that door, and so she returned to work

The room had a strange, stuffy air too it. Covering all the walls were strange black curtains. Thick and heavy. In the beams of dim orange lights from above she saw thick clumps of dust floating leisurely and breathing them in made her cough violently. It only seemed to bother her. The rest moved like a well oiled machine.

She had barely finished assembling her forth order when the bell for lunch called and she turned to the door with glee.

"Where are you going Brianna?" asked the croaky voiced woman from beneath her hood. She had her hand on the door handle and all the workers were watching her with a sideways tilt to their hoods.

"Grabbing a bite to eat," they acted as if it were the strangest thing she could ever suggest. The kind woman moved closer, snaking an arm around her waist so's to move her away from the door.

"We were about to do the same. Oh poor Brianna, these past few days must have been so startling for you."

"Something like that. Can you let me go." she insisted and the women withdrew her hand. Free, but now they were surrounding her, a hooded one facing her on every turn. Wood was scraping along the floor and she turn to see a large long box being brought towards them.

"Why are you acting like this? You must have felt it by now. The Itch, the cold, the pull,the cravings?"

"I've been cold." she recalled vocally. And an itch. She added, and scratched the irritating patch on her neck.
"This is what it's been leading to. You're one of us now. You breve us in every breath. Forget humanity, anything human in you will be dead when were finished. Only we remain. We always remain." This she told her, and they all moved closer, closing this circle. She was rendered speechless, panic sank her heart down to her stomach. Speechless, but she could still scream.

"HHHEEEELLppphmph!" A hand clasped over her mouth reducing her cries to weak muffling. A stench assaulted her nose. His body smelt of bogs and marshlands, or a trashbin after heavy rain was perhaps more accurate as she knew little of nature. His skin was cracked and grey and hoarse. Within seconds of struggle, he broke the skin of her lips and she was bleeding. His spare hand went to circle her flailing arms in an attempt to control her. Held close to his body like this, there was little she could do.

"She's too stubborn this one. We need to speed the process." the one who held her spoke.

The others agreed, and dispersed into the rooms shadows. They ducked into the hidden corners, behind the high curtains and in many of the long boxes she had not examined. The woman with the soft voice stayed near her, her only contribution to the groups engagements had been to pull up a chair and work her into it with restraints. The others began to return, ferrying gas cannisters and attaching a transparent mask to it. Another carried a tray of tools, knives, tongs a weird circular pointy thing. She was still screaming protests into her captors cupped hand, the rough surface scratching her like sandpaper.

"Look at me." she addressed Brianna, "Make her look at me," she addressed her captor when she did not listen. Her head was yanked up harshly. "See the face of things to come."

One after another they lifted their hoods. The hand behind release her, Brianna forgot to breathe at the sight of them, her brows furrowed her mouth made an 'o' shape. They looked the stuff of nightmares. The first woman, her chin was sweet and pink, on either side of her smile were dark red lochs tumbling down in curls to her black clad shoulders. But that was where the humanity ended. And she was the most human of them all. From her cheeks upwards her skin was black and cracked. Her eyes were gone, or so they seemed. There was a light in those oval slits but she looked lifeless. Where she thought they'd be a red mane was instead a wiry mess of thinning hair. Her nose was not a nose. Too wide and pointed and leathery looking. The tip of the nose looked like a tear drop pecking the flesh of her lower lip. She's got half a beak! Brianna's mind screamed. The other's had a lower beak to match the upper. They were bald and leathery and staring down at her with a hungry clapping of their beaks.

The beaks snapped at one another, perhaps they were talking. One or two were shrieking. Everyone's on their break. No one will hear me. She gulped down her fear, which became a little harder when the woman reached over the the tray held by the last hooded man and retrieve a rusted knife. The edge was pressed against her face where the paper cut had since healed. She opened it with the blade till blood ran warm against her jaw line. She yelped at the sharpness and the blade was withdrawn.

"We break the skin to let the spores in." the woman said and in unison her beaky captors each ran a long finger along their favourite facial scar. Some were huge fissures in the face, others were small pricks in the skin, a series of dots. With shaking breath she looked over to the tray, to what awaited her. She was not the only one to do so.

"Are you going to kill me? Why are you doing this?" she pleaded with the woman. Her eyes were dead and uncaring.

"We are just speeding the inevitable. We gain nothing from your death, and much to gain from your life. You will be one of us."

"Well I kinda don't wanna be!" her voice was nothing more than gasps and grunts as she fought against her restraints. Another cut was made below her eye, the pressure made her scream through her teeth. The other creatures were shaking their wretched head and clucking disapprovingly.

"We are just speeding the inevitable." she told her once again.

Her cheek stinged. She looked around her for help but saw she had no friends in this room. She had worked here for a month and walking passed this room had only given her bad feels. How many people have sat in this seat? How many people have I walked passed. She looked at her captors and had her answer. Eight. Eight people I have walked passed. One on her right look shorter than the others, about his height. Perhaps it was her confusion talking but she had to asked,

"Nathan?" the creature tilted his head in confusion. Not Nathan then, "Toby? Ranjit?" She didn't know their names. So many people left and she didn't know their names.

"Names lose all meaning when the spores become you.." the woman informed.
"I had a friend. I lost him the first time I saw you guys. Is he one of you?!" the knife was close to her again. The blood on the edge glimmered in the orange light. "He would never do this to me."

"You will understand when you are one of us." A quick shallow slash passed her forehead.

"No! No you tell me now! If you're going to turn me into a sadistic cunt you tell me when I can still care!" she halted at this, long enough for her to blink away the blood that had dripped into her eyes.

"It is the business of the masters on high. You and your friend and many others before you were currency in a transaction. We, including you, are the consequence of that transaction gone wrong. It is not our business, but we are a part of it, a small part, a vital part. We have heard nothing of your friend. He is likely dead. Or wishing he was."

"He's not dead." said Brianna.
"Toby?" her dead eyes seemed to be thinking, a difficult task, "or Ranjit? What was the name?"

"Nathan." she replied after a breath. She did not answer but her glowing eyes passed behind Brianna, to the box that lay long, still and unopened on the floor. Some of the creatures made wet clacking sounds with their beaks, it was lunch hour for them to. Brianna's eyes followed hers. "Nathan?" her voice squeaked in question to the box.

"We must hurry the inevitable." the woman called and she was made to face the group once more. She set the knife aside this time and her hand flicked out to the one holding the tray. "Brother. The next instrument. Pass it to me."

Brianna watched with dread as the wiry hand brushed over each instrument. The limp fingers lingered over the hook collection and the scalpel. A thumb and two fingers picked up the probe and she screwed her eyes shut. Her heart jumped. A second glance, That's no probe. She was careful not to look too pleased, she wasn't sure if she had reason to be yet. The woman noticed his slowness. "Brother make hurry! That is not a tool. That is a torch. Something sharp. Now!" The tray fell to the floor with a clatter and the probe was the only tool he held. He unhooded himself. Mr Smith?!

"You really shouldn't have left a spare uniform by the door."

The creatures were clucking and squawking hysterically. Their confusions was matched only by her own. What the hell are you doing here?! She questioned but was given little time to do so. Mr Smith flicked a switch on the torch and it screeched in a painfully high pitch. The creatures reeled at the sound, covering their stumpy ears with their long fingers. She had no such luxury, restrained by the wrist as she was. Her ears were ringing even after it stopped. He came close to her and her ropes were untied. Sore and red though they were, him grabbing her by the wrist was the most welcome thing she had felt in the past hour.

"Move fast." he commanded, a mere inch between their forehead.

Pulling her from her chair she struggled to keep up, her legs flailing underneath her clumsily. The creature were composing themselves, a few already making the chase after them.

"What is that thing?! How does it make that noise?! You said it was a torch!" she showered the man with questions, her breath running short, her heart pounding hard. Somehow, despite it all, she was smiling. She was scared, but this running felt like winning.

"It's a caretaker's torch! Also know as a screwdriver and very clever. Now if you want to stay alive talk less and run faster."

John ran like there were no obstacles in his way whilst Brianna had to swerve and bend around the cabinets, pulled out chairs and fallen stock. At the doorway he released her hand but they still ran together. The gang of cloaked creature came to a shuddering halt at the door, their long fingers clawing at the outside air, their clacking beaks cursing some unseen barrier.

"Won't they follow us?" Brianna gave a pointed nod to the doorway. John jumped over a conveyor belt. She suddenly realised it was there and slid under. He was laughing. Why is he laughing?!

"Ha ha, those things? No. Lunch time is over," as if on cue the bell rang, workers were pouring in. The door closed. "And they know they're far too hideous to show themselves in public."

He jumped over the second conveyor belt, again, she slid under. They were on the other side of the warehouse now, where her little corner had been. With her tools and her worktops. John was allowing himself a breather and she assumed she could too. She went to her workspace, Bootstrap hadn't arrived yet so she rummaged through his tools. Having found what she was looking for, she returned to caretaker.
"This is my screwdriver." she showed him the thing. The metal was old and the handle was plain wood. She pocketed it without another words. It was hers and she didn't count on coming back later for it. "What do we do now?" she asked him, he seemed much more fluent in these matters that she. She was still shaking and panting. She went to wipe sweat from her brow but her sleeve came back red, she had forgotten she was bleeding. On the hand, John looked like he could run another 20 miles, but his face seemed torn, as if deciding something. It was a moment before he spoke.

"Do you want to go home?" It was an odd question, he kept looking up to her injuries. She wiped again, but the blood kept coming back fresh. She felt feint.

"Home?" she looked at him queerly. I don't even have one! "I want to find whoever killed my friend. I want them to hurt." She was blacking out fast. Having fallen to her knees he followed to keep her steady. Him. "And I want you to explain. Cause your not a caretaker are you? Are you? Are?" she slept.