Author's Notes: Finished! Reviews would be nice (hint hint).
With a soundless gasp, Owen got up - or tried to, but for some reason his mind didn't seem to be attached to his body. He looked around, but he was surrounded by some kind of thick white mist, swirling around him in seemingly random patterns, blocking all his surroundings from view - if there was anything here except for him and the white mist. This certainly looked real - felt real - but there was a sort of dreamlike quality to everything, everything was hazy, but at the same time as clear as day. It was like when you were underwater, or when it was raining heavily, everything seemed blurry. Whenever he tried to focus on the mist, tried to squint past it, it seemed to shift, melding together into one huge mass in front of him, but before he could look another way, it moved back into it's original position. This was hopeless. He'd just have to wait...
After what seemed like hours, though could have been seconds (he'd lost track of time) the mist slowly dissipated, revealing... Grey. Grey walls, grey ceiling, grey... Ladder!? He was in the sewers!
Again he tried to get up, this time succeeding. He grinned, but his smile faded as he realised that he seemed to be a bit high up, almost touching the roof of the sewer, and he definitely didn't remember being that tall. He looked down and gasped when he didn't see himself. This was starting to get really freaky - and he'd seen a lot of freaky things working for Torchwood. He may have been dead, but the last time he'd looked, he'd definitely had a body. Wait... Dead! The meltdown... He should be dead. Proper dead. Not undead dead. There probably wasn't a medical term for someone who'd died twice. Maybe he should make one up... Dead dead? Deadead? Deaded?
Apparently dead people could still get headaches.
A loud splashing noise came from behind him and Owen turned, wondering what could be down here in the sewers with him. Oh. Of course. Weevils.
He grinned as the Weevils bowed down before him, slightly backing off as they looked upwards. Maybe being dead-dead (hmm...) wasn't that bad after all. Though, if he could have had the choice of who he could be ruler of, it wouldn't have been Weevils, that was for sure. Oh well, beggars can't be choosers.
With a smirk, Owen turned and floated off down the tunnel, followed by a horde of Weevils. Stuff Torchwood, he was King of the Weevils now. Maybe he could order them to go annoy Jack...
After all, he didn't need to save the world anymore.
