Hope this longer chapter makes up for the last couple. Enjoy! Please review if you can, and I greatly appreciate any feedback. Thanks as always to my very generous and patient beta Prothrombintime.

Chapter 12

Jack's eyes shot open, and the world seemed to explode into existence around him. His consciousness wavered, expanding outwards and settling back into place within his skull. A tremor rippled through his body, and he looked around wildly as he took in the sight of the unfamiliar surroundings.

He was sitting at a wooden desk in a large office space. It was dimly lit, with dark timber panelled walls and tall narrow windows along one side. Scanning his eyes around the room, he noticed that his desk was one of about a dozen filling the space; all of them occupied by men of varying ages, their heads down and focused on their work. At the far end of the room, the noisy clatter of a typewriter suddenly drew his attention. A young red-headed woman was typing at her desk, her features slightly pinched in concentration. She glanced up, and meeting his eyes, she gave him a shy smile before looking down again. Next to her, a closed door lead into what appeared to be another office, presumably belonging to the manager.

He stared down at his desk. A large ledger was open in front of him, the pages filled with neat columns of figures in handwriting that was strongly reminiscent of his own. He trailed his fingers over the paper. Various other papers, mostly bundles of invoices and receipts, were scattered around him. A bankers style lamp with a heavy brass base and dark green shade sat on the corner of the desk, the same as all the other desks in the room, and cast a warm glow over the work area.

He choked down a hysterical laugh as he continued to stare around in disbelief at the foreign surroundings. Raising his hand up in front of his face, he wriggled his fingers, gazing upon an appendage that was almost identical to his own. The sensation of inhabiting another body that was so remarkably similar, and yet subtly different to his, was intensely disconcerting. His actual body was strapped to a chair, deep underground in rainy Cardiff, inert and unconscious, while his mind had been transported into this virtualised replica of 1940's London. Every sensation he was experiencing – every sight, every sound, every scent and touch to his skin, even the rhythmic movement of his lungs as they drew in oxygen that didn't actually exist – they were all the product of streams of binary data hurtling around a vast computer network. His entire consciousness, his very soul, was currently a part of that network, torn from his body and transformed into a digital representation of almost incomprehensible complexity.

Jack pressed his eyes closed as a surge of light-headedness washed over him, the sheer magnitude of the experience temporarily overwhelming him. It had been one thing to understand what they were doing at a conceptual level, but to experience it first-hand was beyond anything he could have imagined. He'd never expected it to be so undeniably real and authentic. As much as he'd believed in John, and in his unshakable vision for a realistic simulated world, Jack supposed that he'd always had some doubts about the level of realism they'd actually be able to achieve. Now that Jack was experiencing it for himself, he just wished that he'd had one last chance to tell John how deeply he'd admired him, and how proud he was to have been his friend and colleague.

"James?" a voice broke into his thoughts, and Jack opened his eyes to find a thin, grey-haired man staring down at him curiously. The man gestured towards the books on Jack's desk. "We need those ledgers finished by lunchtime."

It took Jack a moment to realise that the man was talking to him. He had to remind himself that his doppelganger in this world wasn't known as Jack Harkness, but as James Ellis. And James was an accountant. Jack was sure that John must have been highly amused about that particular irony.

"Oh, sorry," Jack muttered, looking down blankly at the books. "Yes… yes, of course, sir."

It was strange to hear his words uttered in an English accent instead of his usual distinctive American inflection. That would definitely take some getting used to, he thought distractedly. He looked up and felt a fresh wave of disorientation pass over him.

He got shakily to his feet. "Er, excuse me, please," he said and hurried towards a door that he hoped was the exit.

Finding himself in a wide, tiled corridor, he spotted a bathroom door at the far end. Hastily making his way down the corridor and through the door, he ended up in a spacious black and white tiled bathroom. He moved to the nearest basin, turned on the tap, and splashed some water on his face. The sensation of the cold water trickling over his fingers caused a shiver to ripple through his body. He was overawed by how completely indistinguishable this simulated world was from reality. Resting his hands heavily on the edges of the basin, he shivered again, and took several deep breaths to steady himself.

Jack looked up and let out a gasp of surprise as he caught his reflection in the mirror. His face was the same, although his skin was paler, with an almost sallow tinge. His eyes were the same piercing deep shade of blue. However, his hair was severely slicked back, making his face look more rounded, and it was adorned with long, thick sideburns and a small, neatly groomed moustache. Looking down at his period attire, he grimaced at the dark grey, high-waisted, and rather unflattering trousers, with lighter grey suspenders accompanying a white shirt and a sombre grey patterned tie. He thought he looked somewhat reminiscent of an undertaker.

The bathroom door opened, and Jack watched in the mirror as the grey-haired man entered.

"James? Are you all right?" he asked quietly as he stood by the door, looking at Jack with a worried expression. "Why don't you take an early lunch? Get some fresh air. You're not looking well."

Jack nodded and smiled at the man who then quickly exited the room. Turning back to his reflection, he couldn't help but grin. "Well, James, I think you look pretty damn good. Although if I were you, I'd lose the moustache."

He returned to the office and spotted a row of pegs along the wall beside the doorway. He grabbed what he hoped was his jacket and an unattractive bowler hat that was hanging with it, and then quickly exited the room again.

A couple of minutes later, Jack had made his way to the ground floor of the building and out through the heavy front doors. He stood frozen, looking in amazement at the bustling streetscape before him. Glancing up at a nearby street sign, he noted that he was standing in Oxford Street. He continued to gape at his surroundings with disbelief as he reminded himself that he was effectively standing in London, circa 1945. He found himself imagining how completely enthralled John would have been here. His friend had always been an enthusiastic history buff, and it had been at his insistence that their first simulated world was a historical recreation.

He looked down at the antique watch on his wrist, and remembering that he had a limited amount of time, he set off down the street in search of a taxi. He knew where he needed to go first.

The journey was uneventful, but Jack spent the entire time staring out of the window, captivated by everything around him, and trying to take in as much of the simulated world as he could. He noted the architecture, the people and clothing, the cars, and anything else he spotted along the way. His one regret was that John wasn't with him. He would have loved to share the experience with his friend. But even if John had still been alive, it wouldn't have been possible. The system was only powerful enough to allow one user to interact at a time. John's eventual goal had been to allow for multiple users to exist concurrently within the simulation, but based on his predictions, it was at least several years away from being achievable.

Jack paid and thanked the driver, and climbed out of the taxi. He dodged around a harried looking woman with a bunch of unruly children in tow, and feeling both excited and apprehensive, he approached the entrance of the modest brick building. Taking a deep breath, he took off his hat, and pushed the door open. A bell above the door jingled loudly to announce his arrival, and he tentatively stepped over the threshold.

The vast, sprawling interior of the bookshop belied the compact exterior of the building. Jack briefly wondered if a glitch in the system was causing the space to be bigger on the inside. It was entirely possible, and the system was far from perfect, but it was equally as likely that the illusion of a larger interior was simply a trick of the eye.

As Jack gazed around at the enormous array of books lining the walls and filling the space, he paused to wonder how many of the books were genuine and how many were simply props. The system had to cut corners, but the units would never see the imperfections. They were programmed with safeguards to ignore any anomalies that would suggest their world wasn't authentic. It was a concern the team had discussed at length. If any of the units discovered their world wasn't real, it could lead to widespread panic and chaos. And if that happened, the simulation would have to be wiped clean and repopulated.

Jack slowly moved through the interior of the shop. He was startled when a heartbreakingly familiar face popped up from beneath a huge stack of books. Suddenly, Jack found himself staring into the face of John Smith. He was sure that his heart stopped in that moment as he stared open-mouthed at the other man.

John's clothes were different, and his hair was neatly styled, so unlike the manic style that Jack had been used to. It took all of Jack's self-restraint not to rush forward and pull the man into a desperate, bone-crushing embrace. Except that it wasn't John, he had to remind himself. It was merely a program unit bearing John's likeness.

The man stood up and smiled broadly at him. "Hello! Looking for anything in particular?"

"Um, thanks, but no, not really," Jack replied hesitantly, feeling completely at a loss. He allowed his gaze to wander as he desperately searched for something to say. "Do you own this place?" he finally asked conversationally.

"Yes. Yes, I do." The man walked around from the other side of the desk and looked at Jack curiously. "I've always loved books," he continued. "I'm somewhat of a history enthusiast. But I love fiction too. A well-written story can take you anywhere in the world, beyond it even, and to any point in time… anywhere in time and space, really."

Jack smiled at the man's infectious enthusiasm that was so much like John's. "That's very true," Jack agreed.

"Have you been here before?" the man asked. He tilted his head and stepped forward as he looked at Jack intently. "You look familiar."

Jack held out his hand. "My name's Jack Harkness." They shook hands firmly. "But no, I don't think I've been here before. I'm just… well, I'm just kind of passing through."

The man gave a little shrug and then nodded. "I'm Charles Wilson. Hmm… you must have one of those familiar looking faces."

"That must be it," Jack quickly agreed, plastering on a smile.

He turned away and pretended to examine the nearest bookshelf as he struggled to keep his emotions in check. It was harder than he'd expected to see this facsimile of John, alive and well. The likeness was too flawless, and Jack found it profoundly unnerving.

After gazing distractedly at several random books, he made a show of looking at his watch. "I'm sorry, but I have an appointment to get to. I'll come back again when I have more time."

The man smiled at him warmly. "By all means, please do. It was a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Harkness."

Jack managed a smile in return as he moved towards the door and tugged on his hat. "Please, it's Jack. A pleasure to meet you too."

Jack looked back at the other man once more and then slipped out through the door, yanking it firmly closed behind him. He took several deep breaths as he hurried away from the bookshop. Turning the corner, he slumped against the wall as he fought to push down the fresh surge of grief that was threatening to break to the surface. Suddenly, he didn't want to be in this world any longer. His initial elation and sense of wonderment was rapidly turning into something far more unpleasant and unsettling.

Eventually Jack managed to compose himself again. He made his way along the street to look for another taxi, mindful that his time was running out.

Twenty minutes later, Jack alighted from his taxi as it pulled to a stop at 150 Piccadilly. He stood on the pavement and stared up in amazement at the imposing grandeur of The Ritz. John had been particularly excited about recreating the famous hotel in their virtual world, and it was the one location he could have anticipated that Jack would visit. Jack was certain that John's message had to somewhere inside the hotel.

Forcing aside his trepidation, Jack resolutely walked through the entrance and into the opulent, marble-floored foyer. He attempted to maintain an air of confidence as he scanned the large space and looked for familiar faces. The hotel was busy with people coming and going, and staff diligently attending to their needs, but he didn't recognise any of them. He took a moment to silently curse John for not giving him more specific information. Although he could understand that John had wanted to be cautious, he'd left Jack searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack. But as he continued to glance around, he spotted a sign at the far end of the room, next to a set of wide double doors, and he was suddenly struck by inspiration.

The Ritz ballroom was nothing short of breathtaking. Jack barely managed to stifle a gasp as he stood at the entrance to the huge, majestic space. An intricately decorated ceiling soared far above him, dominated by an enormous crystal chandelier. A stage and bandstand stretched across the far end of the room, with a long bar on the left. Numerous tables were spread around the perimeter, each one covered in a crisp white tablecloth, while the centre of the room was dedicated to a large, polished dance floor. As Jack stood transfixed, he instinctively knew that he was in the right place. He was sure that John would have loved this, and he had no doubt that his friend would have spent a lot of his time here during his after-hours sessions in the simulation.

A group of girls were practising an energetic dance routine at the far end of the floor while being instructed by a boisterous, stout, dark haired man. Jack's eyes settled on an attractive blonde woman, attired in a neat black and white maid's uniform. She was changing tablecloths with practiced precision on a group of tables just off to his right. He immediately recognised her as Rose Tyler, a former girlfriend of John's, and the woman who had left his friend broken-hearted.

Jack cautiously approached the young woman as he tried to decide what to say. He didn't even know her name in this world. "Ah, excuse me?"

The woman looked up with wide brown eyes. "Yes, sir?" she asked politely, but a frown creased her forehead. "You shouldn't be here, sir. The ballroom isn't open again until tonight."

"I'm sorry. I'll only be a minute," Jack replied. "I'm Jack… Jack Harkness. I'm a friend of John Smith. I just wondered if you know him?"

She looked at him blankly. "Um, you might know him as Charles Wilson?" Jack tried. "Tall and thin, dark brown hair, tends to grin a lot."

A look of recognition spread over her features, and Jack thought he detected a hint of a blush creeping over her pale cheeks. "Mr. Wilson? Yes, he's a lovely gentleman. He's been coming here almost every night for the last couple of weeks." She paused and looked at Jack worriedly. "Is he all right? He hasn't been here the last few days."

"He's fine," Jack assured her. "He's… uh, he's just away on a business trip at the moment." He smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, I don't know your name."

"I'm Emma Johnson," she replied shyly as she looked back up at Jack.

"A pleasure, Miss Johnson." Jack gave her what he hoped was his most charming smile. "Did Charles mention my name? Did he give you a message to pass on to me?"

Emma looked thoughtful but then quickly shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, sir." She looked over his shoulder and then reached back towards the table she was working on. "I really have to get back to work."

"Is there anyone else I can ask?" Jack pressed, starting to feel desperate. "It's very important."

"You could try Eugene over at the bar," she suggested, glancing over towards the area on the other side of the room. "He knows all the regulars. I've seen Mr. Wilson talking to him."

"Okay, thanks," Jack replied and gave her another smile. "I'll let you get back to work."

Leaving Emma to get on with her tables, Jack walked across the room and over to the bar. A man of average height with neatly combed brown hair had his back to him as he stacked a tray of clean glasses. "Excuse me. I'm looking for Eugene," Jack said to announce his presence.

The man turned around, and Jack found himself staring into the face of Owen Harper. "I'm Eugene," the man said and looked at Jack curiously. "Are you all right?"

Jack gaped in stunned silence for a second or so, but managed to quickly recover. "Sorry. Yes… yes, I'm fine. Emma sent me over here to see you."

Eugene frowned as he put down the glass he was holding. "What can I do for you?"

"Do you know a gentleman by the name of Charles Wilson?" Jack asked him, proceeding to add the description he'd given to Emma moments ago.

"Sure. He's been a regular lately. Likes banana daiquiri's." His eyes darted over to where Emma was still working. "Amongst other things."

Jack decided not to respond to the suggestive comment. Whatever John had been up in the simulation, beyond drinking and dancing, he wasn't sure that he wanted to know. "Do you remember the last time he was here?"

Eugene narrowed his eyes and looked at Jack suspiciously. "What's this about?"

"My name is Jack Harkness. He's a very good friend of mine," Jack said, hoping his sincerity would help to alleviate the other man's apparent mistrust. "I haven't seen him for a few days… I just want to make sure he's okay."

Eugene continued to look doubtful. "It's been a few days," he replied a moment later with a shrug. "I think it was Sunday night when I last saw him."

"And you spoke to him that night?" Jack asked.

Eugene nodded. "Yes. He always likes to sit at the bar for a while and chat. Nice enough fellow. He's always interested in everything around him."

Jack almost smiled as he imagined John sitting at the bar and chatting away animatedly while he took in all the sights and sounds of the room. "Did he mention my name? Did he leave anything for me? A note or a message?"

"A message?" Eugene repeated with a frown, scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. "No, sorry. Nothing like that. He just talked for a while, and then he left."

Jack felt his heart sink. He'd been sure that this man, Owen's double, would be the person with whom John had left the message. "Did you notice if he was talking to anyone else?" he asked, feeling desperate.

Eugene was obviously getting impatient. "I couldn't say," he replied tersely. "I'm a busy man. We get a lot of people through here."

Jack nodded resignedly. "Okay. Well, thanks anyway."

He turned and looked back out across the room, and wondered what to do next. Suddenly, his vision began to waver, and an intense wave of vertigo slammed into him. Blinding pain rippled through his skull, and he crumbled to the floor as his body began to convulse violently.

A started exclamation sounded distantly in his ears, and then Eugene's face was peering down at him with a mixture of astonishment and panic.

Jack managed to bring his trembling arm up and into his blurred field of vision. He looked at his watch and realised that his time was up. He screamed out as the pain in his skull intensified. Darkness consumed him and his body went still.