Note: My god, sorry for this taking soooo long, but this year has been my busiest yet. I had my exams, then I had to try and get myself better and prepared for Sixth Form, and now I have lessons! So I'm very sorry about that. I love to do my writing and get it up on here as soon as possible, but I can't let it affect my grades. Oh, and I got a B in English! Booyah! Was hoping for an A but oh well, maybe in my A-Levels. Thank you for sticking with me so long, and I hope you've all had a great year so far. Its been a drag since there's been practically no Doctor Who, and Children of Earth was just plain scary! I'm having to tailor this story to the continuity as I go along, which has worked out for the best so far. Happy reading!

Nine

The Way Back

The Librarian, rather frustratingly, had taken up humming as the packed elevator slid slowly down into the planet's underworld. "Humph…" He suddenly grumbled, banging the control box like an impatient child. "…I recall this thing being a lot faster the last time I used it. Mind you," He gave a manic little titter. "That was over a hundred years ago!"

"A hundred years ago?" Jenny echoed, gazing around at the metal infrastructure uneasily, as if expecting it to fall to bits at any moment. "Are you sure its safe?"

"No." He replied bluntly, before bursting out in electrical laughter. "Oh really, I am only joking dear. It gets serviced every month. We would hardly want perfectly useful robots to be crushed and flattened now, would we?"

"Certainly not." The Doctor agreed. "Now, just out of curiosity, what is this deep dark chasm for? Security? To make the place look imposing?"

"No." The Librarian repeated, just as the elevator came to an abrupt halt with a sickening bump, the doors creaking open with a terrible squeal. "Its where we chuck the crushed and flattened-once perfectly useful robots, of course."

"What? Like some kind of bin?" Jarg suggested, rubbing his head through the strain of having to think so hard.

As they filed out onto the deck of a sturdy looking walkway that was littered with the broken bodies of robots, the Librarian took one of the thick brute's furry fists, shaking it with sarcastic congratulations. "My friend, that may be one of the most clever and profound things you have ever said."

"Uh!" He grunted, all of a sudden looking very pleased with himself. "Thank you Mr. Robot! Nobody's ever told me that before, even though I was the bestest counter in the whole bazaar. I could count to ten!" Out of the blue, he gave a loud sob that echoed around the walls of the canyon, his head in two of his hands as the other still shook the Librarian's. "I'm really gonna miss trading there…thanks to that stupid deceiving worm of a man!"

"Don't worry, I'm sure we'll find him one day." Jenny consoled, gently patting one of his shoulders. "I mean, by what you said, he sounds so…so horrible, a snivelling little coward who is really ugly."

Jarg shook his head, tears still rolling down his hairy cheeks. "Well, as humans go, he was kinda good looking." A sudden thought struck him. "Which is how he deceives you! He makes you think he's really nice with his perfect skin, and then he strikes with those good for nothing counterfeits! Wow, he really pulled the fur pelt over my eyes…"

"Which I suppose isn't that hard…" Jude muttered under his breath, getting a few scathing looks off the others who had heard it.

The only person not paying any attention to the distractions of chatter was the Doctor, who's head was hung over the edge of the working platform as sullen robots milled around him, throwing the broken constructs over the precipice and into the gloom. He simply ignored them, as if they were invisible, restless spirits roaming the dark walkways of the chasm like it was a graveyard. Donna had to admit, when the Doctor had said the word 'chasm', she had expected it to be a deep hole in the ground with a rickety bridge hanging over it. Now, she felt very stupid with that insignificant image that had planted itself in her mind. The real thing was beyond comprehension, and once again she found herself feeling very small as the infinite metal walls engulfed her, the relative silence of her surroundings screaming inside her head. Suddenly feeling insecure, she sidled up alongside the Doctor, who had now turned to looking upwards at the strip of glowing light in the distance. "Everything in this place is so…big." She said, practically whispering from the shock that this endless canyon had struck her with.

"Hm. The planet is bigger than the Earth, so some things are going to seem larger in comparison." He replied.

"This is like the Grand Canyon."

"Deeper. Much deeper. You can't hear the robots hit the bottom for a start."

Donna watched the lifeless bodies hurled into the darkness for a second, and momentarily felt sick. "Poor Jack. I know this sounds cruel but I'd rather not find him thank you very much. You don't know what state he's going to be in." She coughed, waving her hand in front of her face. "And what is that smell? It's like an old banger's just farted or something."

"Oh, I know!" The Librarian cried, squeezing in between both of them with such force he nearly knocked them for six. "But my sensory chips tell me that that's not just any old banger, as you so jokingly put it. That is the smell of the most diabolical machine ever invented…" He shivered. "…The Cruncher. Mind you, next to The Wordsmith, I don't think she's that bad, apart from the crushing and grinding of course."

"You told me about The Cruncher," Donna remembered. "And how you're parts would be given to her if you ended up like…well, like you are now…"

"Shh!" He placed his hand over her mouth worriedly, gazing around him like he was suddenly being watched. A few of the dustbin duty robots had looked up from their dismal chore of collecting the garbage, instantly curious at the hushed chatter. Thankfully, they moved on. As soon as they did so, the Librarian lowered his voice to a crackly whisper, his hand still pressed against Donna's lips. "They don't know about my change yet, and are still programmed in to The Wordsmith. If they found out, I'd end up down there in the pit too. These depressing duds working here are the next best thing to The Cruncher. They long for excitement, and will desperately try to find a reason to destroy anyone."

Donna swiped his hand away from her mouth. "What about us? Are we safe?"

"Perfectly. After all, you are The Wordsmith's greatest prize." Suddenly, the Librarian cried out in disbelief as a robot very similar to himself was heaved over the edge of the walkway's railings, half of it's face ripped off to reveal all the intricate workings inside. "Planetary Technician 4427?" The Librarian peered over the edge of the precipice, his hands pressed to his immobile mouth with concern as he watched the partly destroyed robot spiral further and further into the gloom. "Oh dear…" He said softly after a few moments thought. "…he was on my friends list."

"Yeah, I can see you're doing a great job at blending in." The Doctor muttered sarcastically under his breath, as the robot's electronic patterns for his eyes sank slowly and miserably with sadness. It was whilst glimpsing at the Librarian's gloomy state that a flash of silver light caught his eye, so bright and blinding that he could feel it pierce the surface of his eyeball and leave a fleeting burning sensation as the light suddenly went out. It had lasted several seconds, burning brilliantly through the smoky smog of the cavern despite being no more in size than a pinprick. Yet the glare had hurt…why?

Donna shook her head, evidently bothered by something. "What the hell was that?" She said, scanning the never-ending darkness to try and find the light once more. "It was like someone had just shoved a light bulb in my face."

"One of The Cruncher's headlights maybe?" The Librarian suggested, quickly recovering from his five-second-grief attack. "They are very strong after all, and there are rumours of robots catching glimpses of her, which personally I don't believe seeing as she's at least a mile and half down."

"No, I'm not so sure. It's that same silver glow…" The Doctor trailed off, his brow furrowed with complete focus and concentration as he stared into the abyss. "…I see it everywhere on this planet. On the surface under tonnes of mud and plant life, that transmitter, the walls…the place is plastered with it."

Donna pulled a confused face. "What?"

"And its perfect. Nothing in the world could make it look dirty or bad…like the dust doesn't even touch it…"

For several seconds, there was silence amongst the three of them as the Doctor contemplated these ideas to himself, his mind still shutting out the constant bickering and escalating arguments that were circulating among the others. Donna had learnt pretty quickly to wait for him to think through the situation and his crazy schemes, and for that 'frozen in time' look on his face to melt into an 'I've got a brilliant idea!' sort of face. But slowly, the horrible realisation hit her. It was never going to come. He seemed to gaze into the darkness, lost in his thoughts.

Just as Donna was going to break him free from his own little world, she suddenly stopped, her eyes deadlocked to one spot ahead of her and her mouth open ready to say something, despite the fact no words would dare come out. Now, Donna knew exactly what it was that had caught his attention. Everybody had fallen dead silent – even the dustbin duty robots paused in the middle of their tireless efforts to dispose of things, all of a sudden mesmerized by the chasm wall far opposite them. It was as if it was shifting, rolling like the waves of the sea during a terrifying storm, the smog masking most of it like a thick blanket of ocean fog.

Jenny, Jarg, Jorena and Jude shuffled forwards, gazing warily over their companion's shoulders with a look between confusion and alarm. Jude was the only one to shake his head, utterly disbelieving and suddenly very afraid. "It can't be…" He muttered, breathless like he had been inexplicably winded by a blow to the chest.

As if to confirm his suspicions, a terrible, blood-curdling screech echoed across the cavern with all the torment of a banshee and the spite of some twisted, unnatural beast. Even with her hands over her ears, the long and high-pitched wail burst through Donna's ear drums and rattled its way into her head, a sudden and uncontrollable feeling of dizziness and panic surging throughout her entire body.

When the noise had ceased, she didn't recover. Her heart pounded so hard that she thought it would shatter her ribcage. Her hands and jaw trembled with unexplainable fear. And the worst thing of all, her ears rang with the disorientating sensation of deafness. Panicked and off balance, she stumbled backwards into a retreating Jude, who roughly pushed her aside and into the safe arms of the Doctor. He was shouting something, she knew it; not directed at just her but everyone. The first few words she couldn't quite make out through lip reading, but the next ones were crystal clear. Get back!

Everyone seemed to comply, either in the same state as her or absolutely terrified. It was only when she was being pulled along by the Doctor that she saw the towering figure of Jarg stop and firmly stand his ground. His mouth opened up wide in what must have been a tremendous roar, his sharp yet perfect white teeth bared as he thumped at his chest like an enraged gorilla. With all the panic and bewilderment she was feeling right now, one thought suddenly crossed her racing mind – he's mental. Donna couldn't tell whether that thought had stayed in her head or poured out of her mouth in the height of her confusion, but in reality she didn't care, because reality itself was suddenly throwing something a million times worse at her.

Immediately, as if the sight of these horrific creatures was a strange and instant cure for the paralysed state they had screamed upon her, she felt the veil of panic lift from her mind, her legs regain their strength and the constant whistling in her ears throw her back to the brutal sounds of fighting. Now all she felt was a deep, helpless fear that rooted itself in her heart and stomach. These grotesque alien insects literally hurled themselves over the platform's railings, crying bloody murder as they leaped at an infuriated Jarg. He swung his tree-trunk arms at them, smashing them back to where they came from or gripping them as tight as a vice in his fists until they gave a hair-raising crack.

Their thick orange blood spilled everywhere. Jarg cried out with pain as the insects scraped away at his skin with their frenzied biting and clawing, leaving great gashes of black blood to mix with their own. Oddly, and rather disturbingly, it reminded Donna of running mascara. But no matter what they tried to do to him, Jarg simply wouldn't stop.

"There's no going down now!" The Librarian yelled over the screeches and howls, quickly ducking as the broken body of an insect almost flew into him. "Those creatures will simply follow us down, and for all we know, we'll be trapped and very dead." He shook his head. "I'm sorry Doctor, you're friend is going to have to find his own way out. He's on his own."

"Where to then?" The Doctor asked, grim but not protesting.

"Over there. The powerhouses." He thrust a finger in the direction of a dirty, partly bashed in door that stood a couple of hundred yards away in the shadows. "If we want to get somewhere safe, that's the way to go."

Without another word or a hint of hesitation, Donna found herself being towed along by the Doctor once more, dodging abandoned carts full to the brim with robotic parts as she tried to keep up with his amazing athletic ability. He literally did never tire.

At the same time, Jarg turned his head to quickly glance at his retreating friends. In the split second he had to look, the battered Yuluxian surprisingly saw many things. He saw the way to escape, he saw an awful lot of panicked running, but most of all he saw his best friend. Jenny wanted to run, he could see that as clear as day. But instead, when she was halfway there to safety, she slid to an uncertain halt, the lumbering figure of Jorena desperately tugging at her arm.

It obviously wasn't working, as the second time he looked back, Jenny was practically screaming at him. He couldn't for the life of him hear it. Compared to the ear-splitting shrieks and squeals of the ever-growing alien horde, her words were nothing more than a washed out whimper. Now, Jarg knew that he wasn't very clever. He knew that people had always muttered behind his back, poisoning his name with vile stories and lies that made his blood boil. But right now, in this frozen pocket of time, the look in her eyes said a thousand words more. A determined frown set on his blood streaked face, Jarg found strength he never knew he had, and using the combined power of four mighty fists, pounded the walkway he was standing on.

At first, there was nothing. The marauding insects still came as strong as ever, leaping on an exhausted Jarg until he was encased in a writhing mass of bodies. That was when Jenny felt the floor beneath her feet shudder – felt and heard the grinding groan echo in her ears as metal bent and broke before her. Now, it was only her, Jarg and the constant flow of insects on the failing platform. She watched, horrified, as one by one they scrabbled to join their fellow pack mates, salivating like starving wolves to assist in holding down a thrashing about Jarg. She could do nothing. For the first time in her short life, she felt truly helpless. Feet starting to slide, Jenny instinctively backed off, her legs drawing her away from her friend when in reality, she didn't want to go anywhere.

But she had to. She looked to her right – saw the gaping space of nothingness before her, the sheer endlessness of the dark calling to her like a siren's song. It was getting slowly bigger. The platform tipped, trying to throw her off balance as it juddered its way into the gloom, bowing like a servant to his master. Now, Jenny ran, more scared than she had ever been before. "Jarg!" She called again hopefully, surprised at the amount of fear trembling in her voice as she ran. "Just run!"

That was if he could, she thought. For all she knew, he could be lying dead beneath the barrage of bodies, being pecked away at by the alien creatures like a piece of road kill. This image in her mind upset her, and for a moment she felt her eyes burn with tears.

Just as she was in reach of the door, a crescendo of distressed squeals arose from behind her, followed by a pained yet victorious roar. As the Doctor heaved her through the misshapen doorway, she glanced back, both elated to see Jarg burst free from his insect prison, but also terrified at how far he had to go. By now, the platform was fit to fall, its metal supports twisted into all sorts of unimaginable shapes and its pitted surface starting to slide down into the chasm. But despite his numerous wounds Jarg picked himself up, and using his arms to aid his balance, made a beeline for the door.

The insects that tried to follow were either swept away into the chasm or gripping onto any available bit of metal, their claws feverishly scrabbling at the surface as they attempted to haul themselves closer to Jarg. Donna leaped up from the metal crate she had been recovering on to join the Doctor and Jenny, her head still spinning. She gave a shocked gasp, gob smacked at the state of the platform she had once been so casually standing on. Slowly, Donna shook her head, disbelieving at the sight of Jarg thundering his way towards them, his skin riddled in deep, gruesome gashes. "He's not gonna make it…" She mumbled, even more convinced when she saw what suddenly buzzed into view.

Two insects, so enormous and heavily armed that they made the Vespiform look like a cute little baby, flew above the collapsing platform, their wings nothing more than a hazy blur as they tried to catch up with a retreating Jarg.

"Uh oh." The Doctor said, his tone of voice not making Donna or Jenny feel any better at all. "They were just the foot soldiers…" He nodded in the direction of the newcomers, a worried frown forming across his face. "…and these guys are the cavalry."

No matter how many times Jack ran the idea through his head, he still couldn't see how a robot the size of three elephants would get out of this hell-hole without breaking apart on the first attempt. Like a child being pushed through the main gates on his first day of school, he had been shepherded by The Cruncher across the littered expanse of endless darkness, blindly stumbling over broken body parts even with the enlightening glow of her spotlights and careful guidance. Even so, the dilapidated robot had shown no signs of being lost. In fact, she seemed to know exactly where she was going through what Jack had likened to a horrific, junkyard maze – the terrible, twisted faces of abandoned constructs gazing lifelessly at him, the mechanism that operated their jaws cracked and hanging wide open, screaming, like the dry, hollow remains of an ancient and forgotten skull.

He shivered, the sweat he had gained from being in such a hot and dirty environment turning so suddenly cold. The haphazard heaps of crushed metal, all piled up in the masses, seemed to grow thick like a silent and dead jungle, the horrid, burnt smell of sulphur and oil lingering in the air. Like the canopies of tall, rainforest trees, the jagged arrangement of junk eventually began to arch out above them both to form a rather precarious shelter, compressed tightly together in a ramshackle pattern. The deep impressions of scrapes and dents littered the surface, evidence that The Cruncher's many claws and contraptions had had a significant part in its making. But why? This and many other questions were the things that were cluttering his crowded mind as he cautiously stepped his way through the ever-growing robot graveyard.

Jack had to rub his aching eyes, which were not only sore from the strain of having to look ahead into the dark, but also because he was sure he was hallucinating. He swore that just for a second, darting through the illumination of The Cruncher's headlights, were shadows. A stupid thing to be getting jumpy about, he knew, but his overwhelming feeling of exhaustion said otherwise. "Where are we?" He asked abruptly, heart automatically starting to pound as it pumped fresh adrenaline around his body – all in preparation for something that might not even be there. Nevertheless, Jack felt his hand instinctively reach into the inside of his jacket to clasp the reassuring warmth of his gun, only deciding against drawing it when he remembered The Cruncher's frightened reaction.

He gazed back at her nervously. Everything about her was suddenly so quiet, like they had just entered a church. Her usually noisy and sick sounding engines had died down to a fearful murmur, and her tracks trundled soundlessly over the littered expanse as if she were a ghost. From the state of her right now, Jack didn't have any doubts. She began to tremble ever so slightly again, and in her shakiest voice that rattled the floor, gave a simple reply. "K-K-K-TRANSPORT."

"Hm…sounds hopeful." He admitted, pushing away overhanging strips of metal like they were branches in an overgrown forest. As they got further and further into the gigantic wreckage, a hazy blue glow seemed to emanate from somewhere ahead, waving and glistening through the humid air like a desert mirage, and mostly concealed by a mountain of scrap.

An idea suddenly dawned on Jack – the stacked up junk heap, The Cruncher's terrified demeanour – this 'transport' as it was called was supposed to be hidden from sight, buried under tonnes of rubble so she could possibly forget of its existence. Now, as they drew ever closer to what must have been the device, she had no choice but to face it and accept the fact it was there.

"Frightened?" He asked, sounding half sincere and half preoccupied as he kicked odds and sods of robot pieces into the dark, all the while vigilantly scanning the bleak world around him.

No reply.

The only noises that seemed to greet his ears was the clinks of metal on metal as the objects he had kicked rattled their way across the floor, and the peculiar sound of muffled scratching, like rats scurrying through walls. Not for the first time, Jack had to look twice when he thought he saw something lurking in the gloom. But as always, it turned out to be nothing – a trick of the light or a strangely shaped lump of metal. By now, Jack and The Cruncher had skirted the mountain of rubbish and come face to face with the source of the light, which turned out to be a glowing platform, wide in diameter and plated with the glorious silver panels that sparkled brilliantly – with or without light to aid it.

Cautiously, but not too cautiously, Jack reached his hand into the shimmering light, making it ripple like a cool glass of water. Instead, it felt hot and heavy, like his hand was squirming its way through a wall of sticky toffee. He turned his head to right, watching The Cruncher doing the same with one of her most delicate claws, swirling the flexible limb around and around as if testing it. Jack felt the apprehension pouring out of her, and for an insane, almost unreal moment, he thought he was standing alongside a human being – a new one, childlike and inexperienced with the world around it. Her rusted and ruined body deceived her for what she really was – a scared, confused kid in a weary old woman's clothes. Boy, he thought sadly, did that take him back a few years…

"So then!" He beamed, trying to sound as cheerful and confident as possible as he stepped onto the platform. Although, it was hard seeing as it felt like he was walking through a Mars bar. "Are we ready to leave this outer space dungeon behind? Because I do know what it feels like to be locked up inside one." He shook his head, all of a sudden very serious. "Its nasty…"

The Cruncher backed off a little, her claw retreating from the toffee filled beam of light. She wasn't shaking, which must have been a good thing, but instead, she sat there like a marooned ship – silent and stuck. Her eyes dashed from side to side nervously, looking at the platform and then at the tunnel of trash behind her, torn between the two.

Slowly, as if she was a boat slipping back into the sea to freedom, her tracks trundled forwards gently, rising up over the smooth edge of the silver platform and into the centre.

Jack shot her a supportive smile. "That's what I like to see! Some inner demons getting bashed!" The grin soon disappeared. For several seconds, nothing happened.

He looked around himself, trying to find some way of working what was either a fancy teleport or a simple lift. "Um…" He looked at The Cruncher expectantly, giving her one of those 'I don't know what the heck I'm supposed to be doing' stares.

Rolling her headlamps in what must have been a roll of the eyes, she extended her largest claw – that happened to look like it had been torn off the arm of a desecrated JCB – and banged one of the spiral patterns in front of her with it. Out of the blue – and quite literally in this case – a narrow silver tube erupted out of the platform's floor, as smooth as could be, and flickered into life in the form of a holographic screen. To Jack, the writing on it was unreadable. The language was an odd mixture of squiggles and shapes, all piled together to form one symbol for what must have been one word. It seemed familiar – almost tip of his tongue familiar – but he was tired and confused, so the recollection suddenly faded to the back of his mind. The Cruncher tapped the symbol with a small hook, moving onto a screen that was separated into two colours. One symbol rested on the green, whilst another slightly different symbol rested on the red. It was only a guess, but Jack got the impression that it quite possibly meant 'yes' and 'no'.

The Cruncher hesitated for a moment, her hook hovering over the control panel indecisively. With a final, determined rev of her engines, she pressed the green button, and instantaneously, the platform gave a lazy shudder as it was woken from its eternal slumber. After all, when was the last time it had done something like this? As they were lifted up off the ground, past the heaps of assorted junk and into the gaping darkness of the chasm, Jack should have felt relieved. He should have felt free, like he was going to at last walk somewhere that wasn't pitch black, didn't make him stumble over discarded pieces of robot, and didn't smell like the inside of a petrol tanker. But instead, in the short space of a second, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck prick up, felt a humid puff of acrid breath, and the sudden shocking grasp of a hundred needle-like teeth.

In a matter of seconds he was on the ground, viciously elbowing whatever it was that had attacked him, even though he had a pretty good idea what. The Cruncher swung at his assailant with a devastatingly blunt mace, knocking the creature off the platform and into more of its friends. Jack fumbled for his gun, hands shaking and his head spinning. Blindly, he fired shots anywhere, everywhere, the pained shrieks of the creatures wailing on and on as the bullets met their mark. They were everywhere. He could see their claws scrabbling at the edges of the platform, slicing deep gouges in the silver.

Jack didn't even have time to reload. He felt razor sharp talons dig deep into his skin, and before he knew it, saw the snapping, venomous jaws of the Sharndrix close in.

Never before had Jude come into personal contact with a Sharndrix – the closest encounter being the other side of a computer screen. But even then, he still remembered the shiver that had run down his spine and the cold sweat that had formed on his brow when he saw them, their spiked mandibles clicking and clacking at the screen as if they could already smell his flesh. This time was different. This time, there was no great divide between him and their claws, and this time, he could quite easily die.

So he ran, terror consuming every part of him as he made his way up several flights of metal steps and left the others behind, his ears still ringing and his legs burning and weak from where he had forced himself to run. He just didn't care, completely numb from the pain. He pushed himself onwards, careering past containers and complex systems that vaguely resembled large engines. Beforehand, before this entire nightmare had dreamt itself into existence, Jude would have taken interest. Had he not been running for his life from something he wished he'd never see again, he would have sat there for hours wondering how it worked, why it worked, and how it could help him.

Jude skidded to a halt at a junction in the corridor, his eyes wildly gazing around him, petrified, like a little boy of five. Now look what he had to stoop to…running like a filthy coward…again. A spark of guilt ignited in his mind, memories flooding back like they never had before, so he stomped them out. It was the past, he kept telling himself, something that could never hurt him now. After all, everybody died. But every time he rehearsed this in his head, every time he tried so desperately to convince himself this was true, it simply came back to haunt him more than ever, to the point that his every dream was scarred and laden with its weight.

His only distraction had been the pleasures he had in his life – his ship, his home, the thrill of adventure…all of that felt so distant now, like a previous life he never remembered. Trying to focus on the few positives he had had – and would get back – Jude calmed himself down and took the corridor on the right, which unlike the other one was subtly illuminated with delicate looking wall sconces and panelled with such a magnificent silver that simply glancing at it made him feel better. For the first time since he was so rudely dragged here, he felt safer in this place, as if the soft lighting and the brilliant glow of the silver was some sort of relaxing sedative.

As he strolled further and further onwards, his hand sub-consciously reached out to touch the wall. He expected to feel nothing but a smooth metal beneath his fingertips, but instead was greeted with something smoother and softer than water itself, cold and refreshing against his warm, dirty hands. It seemed to pulse like a heartbeat, not fast and panicked but slow and sedated like his own. Jude was so absorbed in letting his hand play across its surface that he barely noticed a series of loud gunshots come from somewhere in the corridor. He must have stood there for almost five minutes, completely brainwashed, before the harsh and assertive voice of a very pissed off man broke him from his idle daydream.

His face could have fallen to the floor. He felt his heart lurch in his chest, sending waves of dread shooting across his body that left an aching pit of nausea in his stomach. Consciously, he touched his left wrist to feel the old, wrinkled leather like he had done so many times before. Once, it had been a monument to the guilt that crowded his mind, but slowly, as the years passed and that horrific day just got more and more distant, it became reassuring to have it with him – a 'get out of jail free' card. Now, he felt it turn cold and crinkle beneath his disbelieving grip, just like it had when he first took it.

The familiar voice got ever closer, his heavy boots resonating along the corridor's arched passages until it sounded like they were pounding inside Jude's head. Beads of sweat dripping down his face, he made a frenzied attempt to run back to where he came from, panic once again overriding every decision he made. It was a mistake. The thud of his feet on the floor was worse than he could ever imagine, and straight away he felt his follower hesitate – could see his cold eyes narrow and that oh-so familiar frown form across his features.

As if on cue, he heard the man call out to him, but it was lost in Jude's panic. He just kept running, his legs practically buckling beneath him with tiredness and fear. Before he knew it he was stumbling back through the junction and into an arrangement of containers, collapsing and inevitably smashing into them with tremendous force. They were obviously empty, as the surprisingly light metal crates fell around him like skittles, burying him up to his neck. Jude pushed them aside, all too ready to bolt again, but he needn't have bothered.

Standing before him in the mouth of the corridor, face painted a ghostly white with shock and his clothes ripped and peppered with large spots of blood, was the one man who had been at every dark turn in his nightmares…