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What are monsters afraid of?
It's something that isn't considered often by people. Probably because they're monsters. Because they couldn't possibly have a conscience, or a soul with which to feel emotions like the rest of us.
But one monster knew exactly what it was afraid of. And what it dreaded more than anything.
The silence. Not the beings, but the concept. The idea. A world where there is just nothing. Empty like a shell, devoid of the emotions and experiences that make up life.
Life isn't perfect. Of course it isn't. If it was, then there would be nothing worth living for, because it would be complete. Boring.
Life definitely isn't perfect. But a world where the fires of life have gone extinct is by far a worse place. A world empty of laughter, happiness, hope. And love. Even sorrow, which may not be the most commonly enjoyed of emotions, but still makes us whole in a way that couldn't be accomplished any other way.
This is what the monster feared. This is what was to come. He had seen it. The silence, and the infinite dark.
Not even a monster would wish for such a world.
But then, what defines a monster? What we're afraid of, or what we perceive as evil. Opinions will always differ. But what really makes something a monster, is how it is seen. Whether it is hideously deformed. Or ugly. Or of a fierce-some size and build. These are the characteristics of a 'monster'.
But none of these things make a 'monster' a monster. What we see is only half the story. How we think will always be the other half.
Most 'monsters' aren't scary, if you talk to them. Some of them can give you the friendliest conversations you will ever have. But society dictates that we fear them. Because of who they are.
Because of WHAT they are.
Society still has a long way to go. Because there is only one real enemy out there. Only one phobia that has real potential to harm you. The silence of an empty world.
We are no different from the monsters. We share a common goal, and a firm belief. Life is precious. The light will guide us through its many wonders and miracles.
And the dark will shroud it forever.
The dark is coming. The great silence. The end of all things.
In the bowels of a great spaceship, where some of the universes greatest wonders and miracles took place, there sat a monster. A monster of cold steel. A heartless shell of a being. Or, at least, that's how society would see it.
It isn't hard to see why. Some monsters aren't all that they seem. Some are capable of love, and joy, and grief. Just the like the rest of us.
But some aren't.
Real monsters. Monsters so terrible that even other monsters put great distance between them.
That terrible realisation that you can never escape the stereotyping. It is an awful truth. A sensation of being locked in a prison of your own skin.
The monsters that people saw in him were horrific creatures. Merciless, brutal murderers. He had been one of them once. There was little point in denial; it solved nothing.
But he believed that if there was a chance in the big and bountiful universe that redemption could be found, then it was a hope worth clinging to.
Even monsters have their duty. To protect at any cost the life that they have been awarded.
There were real monsters coming, after all. Abominations that whisper in the dark, and lurk in the shadows.
The dark was coming. And there was one particular monster, sat patiently in the labyrinthian depths, intent on stopping it.
We are all monsters in a way. Just think. If society perceives monsters as a product of imperfection, then what does that make society?
We all stand as one. Monsters working as one towards a brighter future.
When the lights go out, we will be ready.
(-:TFOTS:-)
The lights flickered on and the darkened, oil-smelling room was illuminated in golden light. It certainly wasn't the brightest of rooms, but it was acceptable.
The Doctor walked into the center of the room. He was accompanied by Captain Jack, Vastra, Strax and K9. Some of his most trusted companions, each capable of holding their own in combat.
There was no'one in the universe that he'd rather be with. His greatest friends and comrades. He would always keep them close.
The party stood together and stared into the corner of the room, where a solitary blue light flickered softly.
The Doctor coughed into his hand and was about to start speaking when he was cut off by a croaky, metallic voice that seemed to emanate from the corner itself.
"Doctor. Are you here to remove my chains?"
Pulling a face and scratching his chin simultaneously didn't make for the most attractive of faces, but the Doctor managed to pull it off. As usual.
"Well, we're here to settle things one way or the other. I don't feel comfortable having a Dalek in my TARDIS, as you probably know."
He folded his arms to convey his challenging attitude.
"So prove to me that you're not a Dalek."
The blue eye was unblinking. "There is very little oppurtunity whilst I am in chains. 'Actions speak louder than words'. Is that not an acute human mantra, Doctor?"
The Doctor stared the Dalek down. He was certain that he could beat a Dalek in a battle of wits any day of the week.
Not that he'd ever had to before. The only thing Daleks were good at usually is finding new ways to kill.
"Depends on the words you choose," the Doctor replied calmly. "I happen to believe a few words can change the world."
The Dalek took no time in calculating a response.
"Like 'Heil Hitler'? Or 'Fat Man and Little Boy'? Humanity is drenched in its own blood, Doctor. Words are fuel in an endless fire that will eventually consume them all."
The Doctor blinked. He really hadn't been expecting such a struggle. This Dalek was defiant, he'd give it that at least.
"They can change," he declared. "And they will."
Silence.
But it wasn't a question of whether the Dalek had more words for him. It clearly had no further intention to debate. And that was evident in its next words.
"What do you intend me to say? What knowledge will satiate you?"
The Doctor looked round at his companions. Captain Jack gave him a small nod. Vastra repeated the action. Strax beat his chest with his fist. But the Doctor still counted the movement as a similar confirmation.
Confident in his decision, the Doctor took a step closer to the White Dalek.
"Tell me about the cracks."
"Everything I know, you do also," the Dalek retorted. "They are the mystery that has perplexed the universe. Every species on every planet, in every galaxy. The only mystery anyone should concern themselves with at this present moment."
The Doctor raised his eyebrows and shrugged. "Well... I wouldn't say ONLY mystery."
The Dalek's eye flickered as it processed data at an untraceable speed.
"You refer to the female. Clara Oswald. She is not important in the scheme of things."
At that, the Doctor's brow furrowed in contempt.
"Well, now you've lost a lot of favour with me, Dalek."
The two ancient foes stared each other down, both trying to figure the other out.
"You have an attachment to her."
"What of it."
"I have no quarrel with emotions. The Daleks are wrong to sever them like cancerous tumours. But there are some beings that are beyond such trivia. Beings who are far too important to be conceited in such a way."
The Doctor scowled. "Well, they haven't met me."
He turned on his heels, giving the Dalek his back.
"Jack. Vastra. Strax. K9. We're done here."
K9's nodes whirred and whistled in acknowledgement. "Affirmative."
The Doctor began to stride away from the Dalek, who had decisively fallen silent once more.
Vastra, Strax and K9 began to follow him at a slow pace. Jack, however stayed behind. He had a question of his own for the Dalek. Something that had been throbbing at the back of his mind ever since the Dalek ship.
"The Doctor said that you looked into one of the cracks. Into time itself. What did you see?"
Several seconds passed without a sound.
Then - "Dark."
Somewhat satisfied with the answer, the Captain also took his leave, turning off the dim lights, and bringing the room into an identical state.
(-:TFOTS:-)
(Earth, 2013. Nottinghamshire, England)
"Mr. Mott! Come in! Please; make yourself at home!"
The tall man with greasy black hair smiled sunnily at Wilf, making wild, enthusiastic gestures with his arms.
Wilf nodded gratefully to the man, and accepted his invitation, stepping over the maple doorframe and into the building.
The first thing he noticed was the cold. It was like a tundra in there! Wilf would have put it down to a lack of central heating, but he could clearly see radiators positioned all over the hallway. A LOT of them.
Perhaps too many.
What was he saying? He was probably just getting old. Or older. The radiator population of a building was not indicative of suspicious happenings. He would need much more conclusive evidence.
After all, that was what he was here for. This nasty, soulless place. The Golden Oak. What a horrible name for a retirement home. 'Oak' - as in the trees that lived for hundreds of years. No'one comes to a home to be constantly reminded of their age.
Quibbles about the place name aside, there was much more about the creaky old place that put Wilf at unease. There was a strange ambience all over the place. And a barely audible metallic throbbing sound that could easily be mistaken for a washing machine.
Mistaken was the key word. It definitely was not a washing machine. Only those without sharp wits could make the incorrect assumption. Not a person like Wilf, a man who had been utterly reliant on his senses in the most unforgiving of environments.
He still remembered every detail of the war, try as he might to forget those terrible days. Some memories would simply never fade.
He would trade them for the return of Donna Noble's without a seconds hesitation. He knew exactly what they had meant to her. Travelling with the Doctor, it changed her. For the better.
He had seen that life for himself. A stupid old man, given the keys to time and space. And by god was it amazing. The most fun he'd ever had in his long, long life.
Shooting Daleks with paintball guns.
Conversing with cactus people.
He would never forget any of it. He wished he could say the same for Donna.
The Doctor. That brilliant, brilliant man. He'd taken the radiation dose for Wilf. Saved his worthless life, because he was selfless and held nothing in greater regard.
If he was dead and gone for Wilf's sake, then Wilf owed him to carry on his legacy. To fight for what he fought for.
And so his travels had led him to the Oak. That creepy, yet easily ignored building on the outskirts of Nottinghamshire.
The locals feared it. There was just something really unnerving about the brickwork that looked as old as the earth itself.
Not even to mention the stories. About the insect infestation. The boarded-up basement entrance. That the elders that entered the crooked building never come out again.
The county police had never bothered to investigate. They just didn't care. Didn't take any of it seriously. Probably laughed about it over their cups of tea and stacks of cream digestives.
But Wilf was no officer. He was an OAP, and proud of it. If his fellows were in some sort of peril, then he had a duty to come to their aid.
So here he was.
The greasy-haired man took Wilf's hand in a swift movement. His hand felt disturbingly cold, and his grip was very tight.
He shook Wilf's hand energetically, and with his other arm gently persuaded him to enter his office.
"We can have a lovely little chat in here. I'm very happy to answer any questions you might have. Please, after you."
"Thank you," Wilf said slowly, in shock from the fierce pressure on his hand.
He let himself be led inside the office, but not before he took another quick look behind him. It wasn't what he saw that was unnerving him. It was what he WASNT.
This was a Retirement Home.
Where were all the residents?
There were just empty hallways in every direction, decorated by cobwebbed paintings and ornaments that looked far too old- even for an elderly home.
The man welcomed Wilf into his office, a well-kept if cramped little cupboard-of-a room. Confident that Wilf was now inside and out of the way, he carefully replaced the door.
It swung shut, leaving Wilf alone with the man.
He wasn't at all claustrophobic, but all of a sudden the tightly closed walls felt even closer than before.
It was the sensation of being trapped. And it felt... disconcerting.
The man pointed to a red-cushioned seat with a plastic smile plastered across his features.
Wilf hesitantly sat down in the chair, and as his back made contact with the material of the chair he was presently surprised not to feel the sharp prick of spikes digging into his spine.
It would have been fitting. Because the entire office held the image of a medieval torture chamber. From the stone brickwork to the suit of armour sat on a podium in the corner.
Wilf squinted at the suit. There was... something about it... Something he couldn't put his finger on. He didn't remember much from his school education, but he was sure that no knight's armour had a face quite like this one. Cold and lifeless eye sockets, and strange handlebars spanning the ridge of its head.
The man noticed his looking, and spoke up, making Wilf jump.
"Do you like it? It's a private acquisition. From Wales! A genuine article Welsh Knight's!"
Wilf returned his attention to the man so as not to look suspicious. "Yes, it's quite... elegant, in its way."
The man gave Wilf another forced smile and took a seat opposite him across his desk.
"So then, Mr Mott," he began, flexing his fingers in an unusual manner on the table top. "What would you like to know about the Golden Oak?"
Wilf opened his mouth to speak, but the man cut him off quickly.
"Oh and I'm Mr. Swane! But you can call me Nick!"
Nodding to show his understanding, Wilf took out his notebook and black-ink pen.
He'd told Swane on the phone that he was a journalist with the Chronicle, so he had to keep up appearances.
"Well..." Wilf began. "Could you tell me about the work that you do here?"
Nick stopped his strange finger-flexing and clasped his hands together.
"Certainly," he confirmed. "Here at the Golden Oak we aim to provide a relaxing, stimulating and - most-importantly-of-all - relaxing experience for our elderly residents."
Wilf frowned involuntarily. Had Nick really just said 'Relaxing' twice?
Nick had continued talking, but Wilf barely noticed. He wasn't really making any notes on what he was droning on about.
No, he was waiting for him to slip up.
"... and that's the LAST thing we'd want to do. Respect is what our residents want, and that's what we strive to give them. An enjoyable way to spend their precious final moments. In fact, we never, ever mention death in this house. So that we may preserve the notion of immortality. You could even say that immortality, is what we provide here."
As he had said the final line, Nick appeared to sound slightly dark. But when Wilf looked up from his fake note-making, he was met with the familiar cheesy grin.
"Was that informative enough for you? Because if not I can say plenty more-"
"No, no, no," Wilf interrupted quickly. "That was excellent sir, thank you."
He almost breathed out a sigh of relief. Listening to this guy was like listening to a broken record.
"Please, call me Nick." Again, a ridiculous smile. It was pretty nauseating to be in the man's presence, but Wilf sauntered on like the old soldier he was.
"Okay, Nick. Could you tell me about the activities you offer here?"
Subconsciously, Wilf prayed for no exposition this time.
His prayers were not answered.
"Here at the Golden Oak, the only limit is their imagination! The mind-scape we offer exclusively here..."
Wilf stifled a yawn and fiddled tiredly with his pen. If Nick decided to look at his notes, he would just see a noughts and crosses grid. Wilf was THAT bored.
'Nick' whined ever onward, and the minutes ticked by like hours.
"... into what we hope is a mentally provocative state. Resident awareness is our priority. If they're not engaging, then they're not totally satisfied. And here at the Oak, satisfaction is our gooooooaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllllllll."
Wilf looked up in alarm, just in time to see Nick's head snap up in a terrifyingly unnatural fashion. His eyes were fixed and still. As Wilf watched, they rolled up into his head, then returned shortly after to coincide with the rest of his movements.
His face broke into a soulless smile. "And here at the Oak, satisfaction is our goal."
Wilf realised his mouth was open and shut it quickly. Nick pulled a face.
"Are you okay, Mr Mott?"
Wilf nodded fiercely until Nick's features straightened once more. He couldn't let anything give him away.
"I'm fine," he assured Nick. "Just having a bit of a senile moment."
He felt like an idiot for saying that. He could barely stomach his own patronising words.
But his answer seemed to satisfy Nick, who was once again smiling like a madman. "Perhaps one day the Oak will be for you too!"
Wilf very much doubted it. He'd rather drink cyanide than stay in a place like this.
"What else would you like to know?" Nick chimed, energetic as ever after his strange moment's passing.
Wilf looked expectantly down at his useless notes. He hadn't expected to get this far in a million years. He was completely out of ideas.
"Uh, well..." he started, uncertain. "What can you tell me about the friendly environment you try and create here?"
Wilf cursed. He should have said ANYTHING else! Now he'd gone and asked for it.
Nick began to rub his left hand furiously with his right, for no apparent reason. Wilf watched him carefully as he fired up for another grandeur speech.
But then he began to cough furiously, and seemingly without control. Cough came after cough, and he raised his hand and let loose inside his palm.
Wilf reached into his pocket. "Would you like a tissue?"
Nick shook his head between ravaging coughs. "I'm... absolutely dandy... thank you..."
Eventually he stopped, out of breath.
"Are you alright?" Wilf asked.
"Top of the world!" Nick cheered. "Just have an awful cold. Blast this freezing winter weather, eh?"
Wilf frowned. "It's summer."
Nick raised both his eyebrows in strange symmetry. Then looked behind him at the automatic calendar on his wall. The month displayed was 'June', and underneath it was a picture of a squirrel wearing shades.
He froze to the spot for a few seconds, then turned around slowly.
"So it is," he said calmly, every syllable stressed in his sentence. Then he smiled again.
Wilf was feeling incredibly uncomfortable in his chair by now. This situation was turning odd, very quickly.
Nick tipped his head forward slightly, returning to his original position.
Like the cogs of a machine, his movements were clockwork. Precise. Like a machine.
Wilf tried hard to concentrate, but even his strong will was slipping now.
Nick leaned across the table. "Now, what was it you wanted to know?"
Wilf was no longer certain himself. He'd made a mistake in coming here. And now he was terrified it would be his last.
He stood up abruptly, knocking his ankle against the chair leg hard, sending jolts of pain through it.
"Whatever's the matter?" Nick asked, face placid with forced concern.
"It's nothing... just... Thank you for your time, but I need to be going. I have to get my hair cut, and there's all the traffic back home. You know how it is! The young these days!"
Nick stood up as well, matching Wilf's height then greatly exceeding it. Like a mountain over a lodge, the sense of intimidation that came from height difference was strong. And there was no longer a smile on his face, but a dark look of morbid curiosity.
Wilf felt very ill by now. Every one of his tired senses was screaming at him to run. If only he could with these old legs.
Nick looked Wilf up, then down, like a nodding Churchill dog. There was something very mechanical about all of his movements, but now he was making no effort to conceal it.
"What gave it away?" he said softly, yet menacingly. "Was it the winter thing?"
Wilf shook his head. "I don't know what you mean. Now I really should be going-"
"No!" Nick shouted loudly, making Wilf jump. "You're not going anywhere, I'm afraid."
There was no point in denial any longer. Wilf was in real danger, and he knew it. He turned quickly to the door, but found it to be locked tightly by a bolt on the other side.
That had not been drawn before.
While he was rattling to no avail against the door, Nick had come out from behind his desk and was standing right behind Wilf, a cold brood fixed on his features.
"Usually no'one will notice," he began. "There's never been so many mistakes before today. I guess I must be getting... OLD."
Wilf turned to face Nick, and clenched his fists.
"You let me out of here now, or I'll pummel you! I may be an old man, but I'm strong as a bull, me!"
Nick just laughed at the ridiculous geezer that stood before him.
"That's why we take them, you know. The old. So little physical strength, and yet, so much knowledge! A limitless archive of war! You all make perfect soldiers for our army."
Wilf backed up a few steps as he spoke, only to feel his back make contact with the wall.
He was determined not to let his fear show.
"We? Who's we?"
Nick smiled and tilted his head to the side quizzically.
"Oh! Haven't I introduced you to my little friends? They're a bit clumsy sometimes, but they get the job done right."
"I sincerely doubt you have any friends outside of your garden gnomes!" Wilf barked.
Nick clapped his hands apprehensively. "Such spirit! Yes, you'll make a fine upgrade specimen! Goodbye, Mr Mott."
Then, to Wilf's horror, he reached his left hand into his own agape mouth, and sent it straight down his throat, without so much as flinching.
Wilf turned and began to hammer on the door again. It proved useless, but there was very little alternative.
When he reluctantly looked over his shoulder, Nick had extracted his arm from his throat, and his sodden fist was clenched around something.
Then, suddenly and without any premonition, he flung the contents of his fist straight into Wilf's horror-stricken face.
And now they were furrowing their way up Wilf's sleeves, their scabbling metallic feet brushing against his skin to create a thoroughly disturbing sensation.
Little robot insects. Cybermites.
The last thing Wilf saw was the toothy grin of the spectacled squirrel on that idiotic wall calendar.
And then there was only black.
(:-TFOTS)
Breakfast in the TARDIS that morning was a much less organised affair than usual. Dirty pots were strewn around everywhere, and there was a smell of charcoal in the air that indicated burnt food.
This was what happened when the Doctor tried to cook.
"Bah!" he thought to himself as he served up a cremated sausage onto each of his patron's plates. "Who needs human cooking? Gallifreyan or nothing!"
He tugged off his apron from his waist, and grinaced as he saw the state of its front. Splattered with egg yolk and ketchup, no less.
Clara would not be pleased at the state of her favourite apron. He didn't want to be anywhere near the vicinity when she saw it, so he folded it up and hid it carefully inside the lower freezer drawer. She probably wouldn't look there.
Satisfied with his espionage, he looked over his dishes. He allowed a brief smile to pass his lips. They didn't look INEDIBLE, at least.
He placed the dishes carefully onto trays, then wobbled slowly through to the dining quarters, the trays balanced precariously on his arms.
He managed to reach the dining table before he tripped on his own shoelace and dropped one of the plates to the floor, spilling its ravaged contents.
"Oops," he murmured feebly, setting the other plates down on the table so as not to repeat the charade.
Strax looked down at the spoiled food on the floor. He wore a face that demonstrated both dismay and confusion simultaneously. It was an odd look, even FOR a Sontaran.
"Sir, you appear to have decimated my rations!"
The Doctor chewed his lip thoughtfully. "Yeah. Sorry."
He looked round to see if the others were happy with his efforts.
It was clear they were not.
Craig was curling his lip in disgust. "Doctor, is this yoghurt on my bacon?"
The Doctor shrugged quickly. "Maybe-"
"And what are these things?" Vastra demanded, picking at a small onion with her fork in disbelief.
"Well..." There were no words that the Doctor could muster to defend himself. He was simply clueless as to what the problem even WAS.
"Oh, and Doctor," Jack piped up with a condescending smile. "Just a little tip for next time: You put the butter on the toast, not the egg."
"Noted, captain."
Craig put his cutlery down firmly, declaring his intolerance to eat the 'food'.
"We NEED Clara back. Like, now!"
The others nodded in agreement. The Doctor sighed.
"Clara is not our slave! She is a fully independent woman, capable of doing as she pleases, whenever she pleases."
Jack laughed. "You've really been babying her these past few days, Doctor."
"I have not!" the Time Lord yelled. "Bringing her the occasional cup of tea and book is not considered by many to be 'babying'."
"If you don't mind my saying, Doctor," Jenny began. "Four cups a day is not considered to be the norm."
The Doctor looked down sheepishly. What they were saying was true, certainly. He had been babying Clara. But how was he to help it? She looked so fragile, tucked up in her covers. Like she needed his protection.
How he could he bring himself to leave her side?
But his friends did have a fair point. A man like him should not be living the still life. Not even for Clara.
There were adventures to be had.
Even more so, because the Paternoster Trio were now a part of that adventure, as was Captain Jack.
Not long after her visit to the hospital room, Vastra had approached the Doctor, having made a firm decision amongst her crew.
"We're coming with you, Doctor."
The Time Lord had thrown her a baffled look. "After all this with Clara?"
Vastra nodded. "ESPECIALLY after Clara. Those 'Silence' have a real bone to pick with you. And if they have a problem with you, then they have a problem with us too! We want to help."
The Doctor smiled warmly at his Silurian accomplice. "Then you're all very welcome. I have special geo-thermally heated accommodations downstairs... Somewhere... I forget exactly..."
Vastra bowed courteously. "I will find them with ease. Thank you, Doctor."
Captain Jack too had taken the time to speak to the Doctor, this time whilst the Time Lord was hard at work in engineering, only his legs sticking out from a cramped air vent.
"Doctor?" he had asked, amused at seeing his friend's flailing legs.
There was a metallic bang. The Doctor had hit his head on the top of the vent in surprise.
There was a short pause. "Yes?" came a muffled, and somewhat pained voice in response.
"I just wanted to tell you. I am coming with you."
"What? But you said-"
"I know," Jack said softly. "But how can I abandon my friend and cater to my own needs whilst his are still great? Until this 'Silence' business is done, I'm staying by your side."
A pause. The Doctor was overwhelmed with emotion for his Time Agent friend.
"Just like old times," he said eventually, and with great compassion.
Jack laughed. "Yeah. Except now you're chin is bigger."
Then he ran away, ever the cheeky clown he always was.
"Have you been talking to Clara? Did SHE put you up to this?" he called after him, noticeably irritated. But he was long gone already.
As he reminisced, the Doctor let the faintest of tears glisten in his eyes.
He wasn't spent yet. His silence was yet to fall. And how could it ever, with laughter and joy replacing it at every turn in his life at the moment?
There was still so much to do! So much to see! So many laughs to share with his close friends.
No. He wasn't done yet. Not even close.
Trenzalore could wait...
Another thousand years!
"Well then," he shouted energetically, shocking everyone at the table. "Who's up for some adventures?"
Unsurprisingly, there were no complaints. Except Strax, still whining over his splattered breakfast.
"What do we want to see, then?"
Craig raised his hand uncertainly, then let it drop again out of indecision.
"Craig?" the Doctor inquired. "Did you have a suggestion?"
Craig looked embarassed. "Well, it's just I've always kind of wanted to see Robin Hood. I like the Russell Crowe film..."
"It's nothing like that," the Doctor assured him. Then he smiled nonetheless. "But Robin Hood it is!"
With that, he ran from the dining room, laughing like the mad man in a box that he was.
He reached the control room, and began pulling on levers and switches with all the uncontrolled enthusiasm of a twelve-year-old.
"Come on then old girl," he called, tenderly stroking his dear time machine. "Let's give them it all!"
And with a rumble and a splutter, the TARDIS acknowledged its intention to do just that.
(:-TFOTS-:)
The thumping. It was all he could hear. The persistent clash of metal on stone tile.
What did it mean? God, the fog was thickening in his head.
It could mean anything. Could it be love? Could it be fear? Could it be hope?
It was unlikely.
It sounded more like a physical presence than any conjuration of metaphors.
Just the same rhythmic thumping; second after second.
And it was getting louder.
He forced his eyelids to open, despite the searing pain caused by doing so. As his heavy eyes prised open, the vision of a cracked stone tile came into view.
Not the prettiest of sights, of course. And yet, there were was a pristine clearness that he had never before seen in what he saw now. Like he was seeing life in HD. The dirty stone tiles were more beautiful now than they ever had any right to be.
What was he seeing? Where was he? How did he end up here?
The density of his head was high, but the pressure was ever so slowly easing off. Now he felt as though he could at least move it.
So he did. Creakily at first, but a confident movement. He readjusted himself with much difficulty, until he could see past the stone tiling.
It was clear now that he was in a room of sorts. There was blurry furniture all around the confined space.
He began to feel his other senses returning to him. His sense of touch was the first. He felt only numbness for a few seconds, then his sluggish hand movements led to him feeling a cold, wooden surface. A desk of some kind, perhaps.
His hearing was not impaired, and as such the clanking that rang deep inside his ears only grew louder as it closed in on him.
He looked round and saw a blurred man standing in the corner of the room, watching with an intense glare.
Turning away from the figure in the corner, he tried to stand up, but found his legs to betray him, collapsing under the strain.
He felt as though he should understand. What the sound was. What this place was.
Who HE was.
But the fog that swept throughout his neural passages prevented any such recollection.
That was, until he saw them. Out of the corner of his eye.
Grey at first sight, but as they neared he realised that they were actually a much more metallic silver shade. They looked somewhat like humans, and yet at the same time as far from a human as anything could possibly get.
It was odd. THEY were odd.
But he knew what they were. Seeing them in all of their prestige made him remember; and not just what they were either.
Now he remembered who he was too.
He rose slowly to his feet, still unconfident in his movements, but getting slightly better with each waking second. Co-ordination was something they really needed to work on.
Now standing up (if with some indignity), he turned to watch as the three silver silhouettes marched right up to where he stood, their great metal boots pounding hard on the concrete.
They stopped just short of him. And so - finally - did the drumming.
They stood rigid, as still as the corpses that they were made of, and of which they had begun to resemble. Awaiting orders. Like soldiers. But that was OK, because that's all they really were: soldiers.
But the very best and most dangerous soldiers imaginable.
One of them placed its bulky metal arm across its silver-plated chest, and began to recite.
"The First Cybermen Legion of the Second Silver Devastation is awaiting your command, controller."
Wilf watched as his comrade Cybermen addressed the blurry man, who was now staring at his soldiers like a dictator, arms at his sides, and hands bunched. Was it appropriate to call him Wilf any more? Probably not. He was advanced far beyond Wilf's mental, physical and emotional capacities. For the most part, he appeared to be a much more superior man than he ever could have been before. Wilf 2.0.
They were inside him now. And he was their puppet. A walking command console. A non-upgraded, yet still undyingly loyal Cyberman.
"Today we rise my brothers," the man spoke loudly and firmly.
Wilf allowed the slightest of smiles to cross his face as he listened to his commander. Not from human emotion. No, he was far beyond that now. Instead, now he channeled a scary and unbreakable confidence. And he was confident in his triumph.
"We are few, but a strong enough force to be reckoned with. Humanity will fall, ready for their ascension into our ranks. And then, we will take the war back to the stars!"
The three Cybermen and Wilf saluted the blurry man, who Wilf could now recall had referred to himself as Nick. Nick nodded slowly in response to his troops, as a confident smirk rose to his lips, and the fate of the human race was sealed...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Next Chapter: Ground Zero (Wednesday, 19th June. You heard me! The time of 2x a week updates is upon us! Plus the celebration of my final exam!)
So then. Just the one, last exam. By the time I've finished writing my 1 45min History paper, I'll be lucky if I ever use my hand again!
Incidentally, I'm curious to know if any of you got the reference in 'Nick Swane'. If you did and can name it, then I'll have a lot of respect for you, and we can definitely be friends :)
Good luck to anyone else taking the accursed exams!
Live long and prosper, fanfictionites!
ASouffleToServeTwo