He opened his eyes. The room was brightly lit, and stark, glaring white. He was upright, chained or bolted to the wall by his wrists, and his feet only just touched the floor, so that the muscles of his legs were uncomfortably strained. He couldn't tell whether they were chained or not, but he felt too weak to move them at all, even if he was inclined to make an escape attempt.

Although… he couldn't think for the life of him where he was, why he was here, or where he would go if he should manage to escape. He had to concentrate until he remembered his name, and once he had the sounds firmly in his mind – J… Joe, Jake? Jack, Jack something, Jack Harper? No, Jack Harkness – he couldn't assign any meaning to them. They didn't feel like his names. Come to mention it, these didn't feel like his arms, but that was probably more to do with the clamps tight around his wrists.

The only other thing in the room was a trolley, stainless steel, also chained to the wall. It held a small selection of instruments, the sight of which made a shock of fear jolt up his spine. Torture instruments. The details were still hazy, but he knew he had been on both sides of this divide too many times. He wanted out, now, and he didn't care what planet he was on, or what lay in wait beyond this room. He wanted out.

The narrow door swung open slowly. Every muscle in Jack's body tensed. He was exhausted, he ached, and he couldn't summon the strength to sneeze if his life depended on it. There was no way he could summon the willpower to resist the pain that awaited him, and there was definitely no way he could fight back. The other option in these situations was usually to tell the other side everything you knew, but somehow he didn't think they would be asking too many questions. If they did, would he even know the answers?

He didn't recognise the man who leaned in the doorway, but he sensed no hostility from him. Tall, slender, dressed in a sharp blue suit. Brown hair thoroughly dishevelled, eyes already smiling before his mouth broke into a grin. Jack hoped he knew this man, that his memory was just playing tricks on him still. Instinctively, he knew this was someone he could trust. This man didn't want to hurt him.

"Oh, Jack, whatever will I do with you?" said the stranger. "Can't take you anywhere, can I? This looked like it might be an easy one, and now here you are, all kidnapped and drugged and strung up like… whatever it is that gets strung up. I can never get that cliché straight."

Jack made an effort, and remembered how to form words. "Get me down."

The man ambled into the room, closing the door behind him. "I'm sorry?" he said.

"Get me down. Let's get out of here."

A distinctly predatory look crept across the man's face. He reached behind him and turned a key in the lock. That twinge of fear was back again. This wasn't right.

Was it?

"Oh, I don't know about that, Jack, m'boy. Let you down? I might never get another opportunity like this in my entire life. And that's saying something."

"W-what?"

"You're completely helpless, Jack. How does that feel? Me and you, we were never on the same side, but it was easy enough to fool you. Too easy, perhaps. Boring, if I'm honest."

Jack struggled to put a name to the face. The tone of his voice, his walk, the subtle movements of his hands… they became more and more familiar until the point where, coupled with his words he was speaking, they were physically painful.

But no name presented itself.

"So," said the man. "I'll be taking the one thing I kept you around for, then I'll be off. How's that sound?"

Jack tried to dig through the wall with his shoulder blades. The man stopped maybe a foot in front of him, studying Jack's face with dispassionate eyes. His gaze fell to Jack's throat, and now there was something distinctly evil in his expression.

"What… what're you going to do?"

Fingers touched Jack's bare chest. Cold, harsh, without a hint of affection, pressing too hard against his sternum. He would have bruises, if he ever got out of this.

"I have a couple of different plans. We'll see how this goes, shall we? Either way, you're definitely not going to enjoy this as much as you hoped."

"I thought I could trust you!"

"That's sort of the point."

The stranger shrugged off his suit jacket and loosened his tie so he could slip it off over his head without undoing the knot. That evil little smirk was back as he tightened the strip of cloth round Jack's bare neck. He wound the loose end tightly round his hand.

"Just in case you get any ideas."

"Don't," Jack croaked. "Please. Not like this."

"Did you ever think you'd get to choose how this plays out? You crash headlong into my life, invade my ship, follow me around the universe like a puppy who doesn't understand that a kick in the head means no, and you think I'm going to let you have any say in this?" The man laughed. "Captain, you are brave, and you are gorgeous, but you are incredibly thick."

"Who are you? I know you, who are you?"

"Oh, I wouldn't put too much stock in names. Let's just say I'm the bloke who's going to be intimately examining your anatomy. And believe me, it's going to hurt you a lot more than it's going to hurt me."

Jack tried to turn his head away as the man leaned in, but a sharp tug on the tie reminded him of his place, so he screwed his eyes shut instead. Small, sharp teeth sunk into his lower lip. He could taste blood oozing across his tongue, mingling with the tears that ran silently down his face, following the curve of his cheek to his lips. The salt stung in the fresh wound, but not as much as the four razor-cuts of nails just beneath his ribs. As the pain became more intense, the memories began to flood back. An artificial world of metal populated by the dead, Jack Harkness the only man alive, watching his life fade away before his eyes. All those years of agony before he found his way home. The shielded look in the eyes of a man – this man, but not him at all – whenever he looked upon Jack, never quite letting his guard down. And he was right. They had never been on the same side. Jack had always harboured a little resentment – jealousy over Rose, hatred for abandoning him, frustration every time he failed to get through the defences and connect with this man – and now it came to the fore, filling his mind, overwhelming him with revulsion.

He kicked out; foot came in contact with kneecap. The man stumbled back, but the tie was still wound around his wrist. The fabric went taught, Jack gagged, and the world went fuzzy.

"Feisty!" The man laughed. Then he shoved Jack hard against the wall. "You're making this very easy, you know."

Jack's eyes rolled back, and his limbs went limp, before the man loosened the tie. He took a great lungful of air, choked, then gasped in agony. He hadn't had cause to realise until now, but it dawned on him that he was completely naked, and something very unpleasant was happening just below his field of vision.

"Fuuuck…"

"Oh, do have some patience, Jack. I'm just getting started."

He had never felt hatred like this before; but he had never been betrayed like this either. And he had never wanted to die this badly, never resented the hiccup in the universe that had resulted in his immortality quite like this. He wanted this to end. He wanted this man to kill him, now, so that he would never have to walk out into the world bearing the scars of this physical torment.

Oh god, he wanted to die.

"I'm sorry," he whined. "Whatever I did to deserve this, I'm sorry."

The pain eased off, the pressure against his body lessened, and he opened his eyes. That lean face was studying him again, eyebrow raised, a streak of red-brown blood from his lip to his cheek. Jack's breathing was ragged, his heart rate phenomenally fast, and to his own amazement he realised he was hard against the strange man's thigh. Even like this, his body couldn't help but follow where the Time Lord led.

"You're what?"

"I'm sorry," Jack sobbed.

The man nodded once, backed away, wiped at the smear on his face. "That," he said, "is all we needed to hear."

"Wh… what?"

"Bye then!"

Jack watched him pick up his jacket, unlock the door, and leave, pausing for a little wave. He wasn't sure how long he remained in the cell, weeping loudly now, crying for the man he hated to come back. But before long, the pain went away, and everything went black.


"There was a war," said the Doctor. "Millennia ago. Before my time."

"That's saying something," said Martha, grabbing his sleeve to stop him striding ahead of her.

He grinned. "Oh yes. This was before life in the traditional sense got going. Before anything got going, really. Back when there wasn't much in the universe other than a few odd hydrogen and helium atoms kicking about."

"Then who was the war between?"

"Hold on, I'm trying to put this into language you can understand."

"Oh, thanks."

The Doctor shook his head. "I don't mean that rudely. Adjectives and nouns don't exactly do justice to the state of the universe just after the big bang. Gimmie a mo."

Martha shrugged. She had seen the map, and they definitely had all night for the Doctor to come up with the right words to tell his story. Martha had a membership with the gym back home, and she tried not to overindulge on chocolate, but she wouldn't have put exercise and keeping fit on her list of interests. She certainly hadn't expected life with the Doctor to include all these long urban hikes, with no time to stop for a sandwich.

"There's matter," said the Doctor finally. "Then there's energy."

Martha nodded. "GCSE physics, that."

"Right. But how's your A-level physics?"

"Hm… I was always more of a biology girl."

"Thing is, there's very little actual difference between energy and matter. They're interchangeable in some cases, and in others, they're pretty much just the same thing.

"Ooh, like light being a wave and a particle!"

The Doctor gave her a strange sideways hug as they walked. "Exactly, that's what I was building up to. Now those shadow creatures I told you about, they're old. Really, really old. I mean phenomenally old. They're what you might call the universe's first attempt at life. Like Michelangelo's first little David, made out of plasticine when he was four years old, all skinny legs and a huge round head. The universe needs life – life is a fundamental part of it. But way back then, there wasn't much matter to construct living beings out of, so sentience was formed from energy. Pure quantum potential energy, from the very fabric of the universe, given minds and free will."

"With you so far."

"Thing is, energy is far more difficult to manipulate than matter. You can't do much with it. It's all well and good if you want to light up your Christmas tree, but it's a bit rubbish when it comes to pretty much anything else. So our first energy creatures evolved. They gained the ability to switch between states, and they became corporeal, and they settled on a planet."

"Which one?"

"Didn't have a name. Not really. It perished long before the first languages were invented, as you and me would understand them. But these creatures were only different to us physically. Psychologically, they had all the same characteristics of every single other race in the universe. They had the capacity for great feats of love, and terrible evil. And they had a war."

"About what?"

"Who knows? What do people usually go to war over?"

Martha hesitated only slightly. "Jack said you were a soldier once."

"Jack says a lot of tosh."

He was silent for a while, staring far into the distance, beyond the city, beyond the Earth. Martha couldn't interrupt his thoughts, even if she wanted to. He understood what he was talking about – he comprehended the incomprehensible – and she didn't resent the fact that he had to scale it down for her.

Well, she didn't resent it much, anyway.

"This is something my people didn't like to stick their noses into," he said eventually. "We didn't consider it any of our business, and perhaps we never really understood it. Their war didn't harm us, or those we knew. It only harmed them, the energy creatures." He rubbed his chin. "That made it okay, I suppose."

"That's a bit… harsh."

"Yeah. Except now it's most definitely my business. They've learned some new tricks, that's for sure, and who knows what they're going to do to Jack before they…"

Martha nodded. If they couldn't kill him, she was sure the United Divine Order would think up some other, even more interesting things to try on him.

"So these energy aliens… They're the ones playing god."

"Yup. One side of the fraction, anyway."

"Why? Do they want to destroy the Earth or something?"

"Doubt it. Their home planet's gone, they're probably just after another. Getting the host race to accept them with open arms, that's a bit clever. They probably reckon they've won the war, but there are freedom fighters still at large. They're mortally wounded, and they can't hold on much longer, but they want to see the enemy fall."

"And you're going to end their war."

"No. If they hadn't asked me to, I might have done it anyway, out of spite. But now I know… That changes things just a bit. I just want to get Jack back, then we'll work out what happens next."

Martha nodded, and walked beside him in silence for a while. His hands were wedged in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his brow knitted with worry.

She took a breath. "He loves you, you know. Jack, I mean."

"Really."

"You should do something about it."

"Really."

"I thought, maybe… after Rose, after all you've said about her, you wouldn't want to. But I've seen how you look at him, and you should. You know. Do something about it. With Jack."

He bit his lip, and his frown deepened, but he shot her a look she had never seen before; just for a moment, he looked completely helpless. She felt a rush of compassion and grabbed hold of his hand.

"We'll find him. And then I'm going to give you two a lot of alone time. Could do with a break from all the barely concealed flirting, anyway."

"Oi!"

Martha laughed. "Are you denying it?"

Finally, the Doctor smiled. "Could you resist those fifty-first century charms?" He stopped suddenly and looked around. "Um, have you got the map?"

"No changing the subject."

"Seriously… map. Now, come on!"

Martha dug around in her bag and pulled out the now crumpled paper. "We were definitely going the right way…"

"Only if we assumed the Temple was on the site of the old cathedral. That seems to suggest otherwise." He nodded off to the right, where a tall, thin tower was rising above the city. "The question is, what's marked there on the map?"

"Um… Here it is. Used to be a shopping mall."

The Doctor snorted with laughter. "How appropriate! A temple to commercialism. Marginally less insane than a temple to science. If they decide they don't like this new religion, maybe they can take it back, get a refund."

"As long as they kept the receipt."

"And return within twenty-eight days of purchase."

Martha grinned. "In its original packaging, of course. I wonder if they've got a KFC still. I'm starved."

"Kentucky Fried Catholics?"

"Oh, that's wrong!"


Sam Fletcher had never hurt a single other human being in his life. He had never intentionally hurt a creature, either, except when he put flea powder on the cat, or swatted a wasp. Even then, he felt uncomfortable and had to pray to put his mind at rest.

Watching the American writhe on the cold slab of the restraint table wrenched Sam's heart. He had done this. Him. His fault. He had taken this man from his friends, had watched the Enforces manhandle him, unconscious, all the way back to the Temple, had signed the forms for the physicians to sedate him further and strap him to the slab. He had nodded silently when the Arch Lector suggested a few experiments, and he hadn't stopped the girl, the seer, from insisting on another mind-merge while the man was out cold.

It was physically impossible to tear his gaze away while the girl walked through his mind, manipulating, twisting, awakening memories and suppressing others. He had never seen a sleeping man cry and wail and moan like that before. But he could feel Jack Harkness's agony as if it was his own.

As always, he said nothing. He stood in the operating room, near the head of the table, beside the Arch Lector (clinically interested) and the chief surgeon (enthusiastic) and the psychiatrist (was she amused?), and watched a thirteen year old girl reduce a grown man to a sobbing, trembling wreak.

And he said nothing. After all, what was there to say?

When the girl withdrew, Sam almost sobbed himself. Finally, Jack Harkness lay still upon the slab, his body suddenly seeming very small and frail, his face streaked with tears.

"Did it work?" said Dr Scott, the Temple's only on-staff psychiatrist. "Do you think you changed him at all?"

The girl inclined her head, all innocence once again. "I think so, ma'am. I think it is possible to alter deviant behaviour, and to change people's beliefs, from inside their head. The Seeing does not have to be a passive process."

"Good. We will need to look into this further. Tests must be done."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Cleric, what do you think of this development?"

There was no chance of Sam looking her in the eye. "I must… think about it," he said softly. "It has always been custom for those weak of faith to find their own path through the desert to the Light. This is… an interesting achievement."

"You disapprove."

Sam opened his mouth. Say something. Just say it. You outrank everyone here but the Arch Lector, and he has faith in you.

"I have yet to form an opinion. Please, allow me to think on this."

Coward.

He looked at Jack's face, the muscles now relaxed so he appeared to be in a natural sleep. Soft, dark locks of hair clung to the man's face and neck. His lips were flushed, bearing tooth-marks. Strong-jawed, handsome, young. A fine man. And this is what Sam had done to him.

From somewhere – he didn't know where – Sam found an ounce of courage. "Please leave," he said. "All of you. I need to pray over this man."

The Arch Lector nodded, and ushered the medical staff out. The seer was less keen to leave, but Dr Scott took her hand as though she was just a normal child, and led her from the room. Sam closed the door behind them.

He placed his palms on the edge of the slab. Lowered his head, screwed his eyes shut against the salt sting. There were surgical instruments within reach, but did not think physical pain was appropriate. He would suffer his punishment in his own mind, whether he wanted to or not.

He did this. He broke this man. The pain of that knowledge was inescapable.

"I'm sorry," he moaned. "Whatever I did to deserve this, I'm sorry…"

To be continued…