"Turn the cameras off," Chancellor Kan ordered his aides.
They nodded obediently, and huddled together, muttering their suspicions to each other.
Kan's popularity was plummeting. Soon, they might start looking for a new employer.
Kan could tell that his assistants would not be loyal if his own franchise turned against him. Still, it would be best if no-one knew the details of the difficult conversation he was about to have with his daughter.
The cameras nestled back into concave recesses in the wall like a flock of birds returning to roost, and powered down. As soon as the cameras were off, his aides left.
Lyrosa watched. She wondered if it had occurred to her father that his aides might trust him if he'd bothered to learn any of their names.
They were in the Chancellor's office, stood on top of the skin of an extinct animal nobody could remember the name of. It was just as luxurious as her apartment in here; it seemed more like an entertainment centre than a room where any work took place.
Her father stared at her for some time before he spoke.
"What were you thinking, offering sanctuary to those two aliens?"
"Saving two innocent lives," she returned, calmly.
She was far calmer than her father. His robes whipped around him in a tornado of rippling fabrics as he paced the room, venting his anger.
"I am the Chancellor of the largest broadcasting corporation on the planet. Do you understand what that means?"
Lyrosa turned away, her face an expressionless mask. Her father's 'lectures' nearly always reduced her to tears when she was a little girl. But now she was used to it. She supposed she had developed a tough outer shell, resilient in the face of the hatred and violence plaguing the media. The media that her father was a major part of.
"The political balance of our nation is delicate. You can't pull stunts like this. You put us all at risk."
"This isn't about my political status," Lyrosa snapped, "This is about doing what's right."
"I'm cancelling both of your shows," Kan growled. "And I'm revoking your rights to a privileged media account."
Lyrosa shrugged, astounded. "Am I supposed to feel threatened by that? You think I care about my popularity?"
"Yes!" her father yelled. "Thousands of people would kill to be in your place."
"Yes, I know. They do!" Lyrosa matched her father's raised tone, her shoulders tense as she stood up to him. "On endless broadcasts. It's disgusting. I'm ashamed to be your daughter."
Her father retorted with another lecture. He droned on about the politics and the history of Morovia, as well as his broadcasting franchise.
Lyrosa rolled her eyes, and stared vacantly over his shoulder, allowing the words to drift past without stinging her.
It took her a moment to see what she was looking at; her eyes focused on the screens in the wall behind her father. There was a peculiar-looking man, speaking animatedly to the cameras.
"Lyrosa!" her father barked. "Are you even listening to me?
Lyrosa pushed the silken sleeves of her robes aside, tapping the holographic display of her watch into life.
She flicked through the data: graphs and viewing figures. Her media profiles were active.
"Wait, someone's recording on my livestream," she muttered.
Lyrosa waved her watch's display away, and pushed past her protesting father to inspect the pictures on the screen in more detail.
Something was wrong – aside from an odd mop of hair that seemed to be creeping clumsily over the man's brow.
She hit the sound slider, and turned the volume up.
"…I know what you're all thinking about the games," the man was issuing a rousing speech, "The executions aren't exciting enough – if they ever happen at all."
This man was hijacking her channel. Drako, a political activist, rallying followers – her followers – to his cause.
The clothes. It was the man's clothes that didn't make sense – not only were they on backwards, Lyrosa recognised them as belonging to Charlie.
"You're all sheep. You're all being lied to by the broadcasting companies," Drako shouted. "It's time to rise up, and burn them all down!"
"Please stop!" Charlie was protesting. "Don't listen to him."
Lyrosa frowned. She couldn't tell where the voice was coming from. If he was in the room, why wasn't he trying to intervene? What had happened to him?
As she watched, the full horror of the situation hit her.
As Drako turned his head, to gesture sideways, she could see Charlie's profile. It was Charlie. The thing on his head looked disjointed from the rest of his body. This face was fused to the back of Charlie's head.
"What's happened to him?" Lyrosa muttered. "Oh my stars. There's a creature attached to his body."
"What is that?" her father asked, sweeping by her side to peer at the footage, his anger forgotten. "Have we got cameras on it?"
Lyrosa glared at him, astonished. "Father! That's my friend!"
"Lyrosa," her father reasoned, jabbing the screen, "This might just save our necks if we can be the first to get the rights to this."
Lyrosa grabbed the screen's controls. These were her cameras; she should have access to their movements – but she was locked out. Whatever Drako had done was blocking her from her own media channels.
Her father was already hammering on his data pad, lost in his intent to buy the rights to Drako's verbal rampage. He cursed as he frantically prodded buttons, probably negotiating deals with rival companies.
Lyrosa's follower count was going up, as more and more people tuned in to Drako's revolutionary rant.
The way he was talking was unsettling her. He wasn't simply craving attention, he was calling for action, rounding up citizens for war. Calling for murder, bloodshed. Calling for her and her father's heads.
Someone needed to stop him, before his suggestions were taken seriously. But who would listen?
"Where's the Doctor?" Lyrosa demanded, turning to her father.
"Who?"
"The man you sent for execution on a whim! Where is he?"
Kan sighed, quickly checking his data pad.
"Uh… the physicians have him," he dismissed her quickly, keen to get back to his business.
"What?" Lyrosa exclaimed. "Are they experimenting on him?"
"Probably. What does it matter?"
"Because I think that man might be able to help us – help Charlie."
Charlie was powerless as this demon began taking charge.
It had gone public, and people were responding. It was all so fast. He was confused and disoriented as to what was actually going on.
Drako was reaching out to the people of the planet, and they were reaching back. The viewers, hungry for new and sensational content were hooked by Drako and his words. He was something new. Should they love him? Should they hate him?
"I've seen what many of you have been asking," Drako spoke, picking up a data pad with Charlie's hand, and skim-reading the comments which flashed across the screen at lightning speed. "What am I? I am a being with two faces. Am I unique in this universe? Am I an alien?"
Drako smirked. "I'll reveal the answer shortly. First, I want to ask all of you a question."
He pointed at the camera. It was an awkward gesture; Charlie's arm didn't articulate well enough to reach that far behind his back.
"In the face of adversity, what would you do? What are you prepared to sacrifice to get what you want?"
He paused for a moment, glancing at all the responses pinging back in real time.
"You want blood? I can give you blood. My species have waged wars for millennia. Long, great, bloody wars. I have survived for centuries. I have endured glorious conflicts."
His voice rose, the violent tones reverberating through Charlie's skull. His heart was pumping furiously, and he wasn't sure if it was because of his fear, or Drako's triumphant fury.
"I'll tell you what we can do," Drako roared, "We can raise an army that will reign forever more. Rise up my friends, my followers! Rise up and forge our world!"
"Hmm," Nera mused, her attention diverted by the holo-screens, "Drako appears to be trending. The gullibility of the general population never ceases to astound me."
"Then why don't you do something?" the Doctor implored. He tugged uselessly at the restraints. His hearts were beating out their rhythm of four knocks a little faster – which was more embarrassing now he could actually see them.
"I have locked them in the Chancellor's apartment complex. I'll send for them once I've finished here."
"Why wait? Am I really more exciting than a two-faced parasitic organism?"
Nera studied him for a moment. "Yes. I might even speculate that you've had significantly more than two faces."
"Oh," the Doctor sighed. "This again. Look, I don't want you to share the secrets of my biology. Haven't you heard of 'consent'?"
Nera glared at him pointedly, returning her attention to the Doctor's internal organs.
She wasn't back at work for long before Lyrosa burst into the operating theatre, a fierce look etched into her soft features.
"Lady Lyrosa?" Nera uttered in surprise. "What are you doing in here?"
"I'm here for the Doctor."
"I'm afraid I cannot release him until I have concluded my tests."
"You will release him," Lyrosa demanded.
The Doctor noticed her fists clench in a subtle gesture of aggression.
"I will not," Nera shrugged her off. Despite the respect Nera seemed to have for Lyrosa, she was a slave to no-one. In the mediplex, the physician's word was final. "You should leave. This is a sterile environment."
Lyrosa, visibly frustrated, did not take 'no' for an answer.
"I'll tell you what I'll do if you refuse to do as I ask," she spoke levelly, "I have a lot of followers. I can spread the word about your incompetence."
"I am one of the finest physicians on the planet!" Nera scoffed.
"People will share the posts about you, regardless of the truth. The defamation will ruin you. You'll be stripped of your medical titles."
Nera's sneer slowly melted away when she realised she was not being dealt an empty threat.
"That's blackmail!"
"Fix him up, and let him go," Lyrosa ordered. She had not raised her voice at all.
"Very well."
Nera quickly patched the Doctor up; he watched her close the cuts as if she were doing up a zipper.
There were no scars as evidence that he had been sliced open in the first place. This really was the best medical complex in the galaxy.
"Thank you. Much obliged," the Doctor muttered, a little sarcastically as he massaged his wrists, freed from their constraints.
The Doctor grabbed his spoon and sonic screwdriver, slipping them both into his pocket before launching himself at rather high-tech piece of medical equipment, stood at the other end of the room. He wasted no time in tearing a plastic panel off the side, and rummaging through its insides.
"What are you doing?" Nera cried.
"I need to save Charlie!" the Doctor roared. "That creature's draining the life out of him. He'll die if I don't step in now."
He turned back to her, his finger outstretched accusingly.
"Don't even think about getting in my way."
Nera raised her hands in surrender, unwilling to stop the Doctor stampeding around the operating theatre with the force and determination of a cyclone.
She was left dumbfounded as the Doctor whirled around her, scooping up pieces of equipment, or tossing them aside.
"You know what this creature is, then?" Lyrosa asked, following in his wake.
"Yes. And I don't like it one bit."
"Have you got a plan?"
"Of course," the Doctor replied with a wry smile. "That's why I'm gathering up all this equipment."
The Doctor passed a bundle of medical instruments, data pads and scanning devices to Lyrosa, and pulled out the sonic screwdriver. He toyed with it for a moment, mulling over a decision.
Finally, he whirled round, and aimed the device at Nera's system of data pads. Warning signs flashed up on all the screens, illuminating the walls with angry colours.
"No!" Nera gasped, her eyes wide.
All Nera's research on the Doctor's anatomy was gone.
"I can't let you keep all that information," the Doctor growled.
"How can you do this?" Nera spat. "That could have helped me save lives!"
The Doctor ignored her, picking up the last few pieces of technology to arm him in the final showdown with Drako.
"You call yourself a doctor..." Nera snarled.
Lyrosa waited anxiously at the door as the Doctor stopped, finally riled enough to respond to Nera's protests.
He glared at her, his features fierce, threatening. Yet his words were soft when he spoke: "I've not deleted everything. I've left some of the data you collected. Nothing world changing. Nothing that will change the course of history. But enough to save lives."
With that, the Doctor stormed out of the Mediplex, tearing apart the equipment in his arms as he walked, Lyrosa helping him out whenever he asked.
Nera was left studying her data pads, astonished. Yes, the Doctor had erased most of the data she had gathered on him, but true to his word, he had left her a few scraps of information - enough to work with.
Ever the professional, she dived straight back into her research.