ABOMINATION

TWENTYNINE

As Rhys emerged from the TARDIS he was enveloped by a sense of malice. He paused and heard The Doctor's voice in the distance. It sounded angry.

He walked towards it and as he did the impression of evil became perceptibly stronger, almost as if invisible rays of malevolence were boring into his head, fingering their way into the private cavities of his mind.

Maybe Gwen had been right after all… No surprise there.

It was not like him to respond so viscerally and irrationally to a feeling, a sense, but the evil had a quality of undeniable power. Rhys could feel himself starting to freak out – his respiration increased; there was a tightening in his chest and in his groin, and a prickling under his arms. Of their own volition his hands rhythmically squeezed and released the gun he was holding.

It occurred to him that maybe it was a setup. Somewhere in this bizarre place – it looked bizarre, smelled bizarre, felt bizarre – was a mechanism for inducing disquiet. It tickled the parts of his brain responsible for stimulating dread and the registering of hidden presences.

The idea left him less disturbed.

He moved on, ignoring his surroundings and following the sound of The Doctor's voice.

As he neared his destination he slowed then stopped. It sounded like the Time Lord was speaking to someone, but it was a strange kind of conversation: he could only hear the one voice. Rhys calmed his breathing and tried to make out the discourse's meaning but couldn't. Something else was bizarre – he could hear the word-like sounds but couldn't parse the language; couldn't make sense of it.

His anxiety was rekindling despite his best intentions. He proceeded forward cautiously, as quietly as possible, aiming his gun forward, its muzzle pointed down toward the floor, his index finger wrapped around the trigger.

And then Rhys saw him – The Doctor – standing with who could only be the red-haired woman behind him, her fingers clearly wrapped around his neck, fingertips digging into his cartoid arteries with what obviously was vicious intent. There was something about the Time Lord's posture that seemed unnatural to Rhys. It was not right. It was wrong. It was bad. It was terrible. He had to do something. Do something fast.

Rhys snapped.

"You!" he yelled. "Move away from The Doctor NOW!" He pointed his gun at her.

The Doctor tried to turn his head and look at whoever was screaming behind them. But he could not budge from the painful and now choking grasp that firmly held him. "Who's there?" he managed to say weakly, his voice suddenly a hoarse whisper.

"Get away from The Doctor!" was Rhys' only response. "I'm warning you!"

"Don't do anything!" the Time Lord croaked, but he did not sound convincing, he did not sound strong, he did not sound like himself.

"Time's up!" screamed Rhys as he pointed his gun slightly away from the woman's feet and began firing. The sound was incredibly loud, reverberating on itself, and the recoil shook his entire body. He bellowed as he sprayed the area with rounds, their impact fountaining the putrid goo covering the floor high into the air.

Coolly, and without releasing The Doctor, the woman turned her face towards her assailant and raised her free hand, palm outward, almost as if in surrender.

Almost.

The energy blast emanating from her upraised hand hit Rhys full-force, propelling his body with a loud crash into the wall behind him. With a second resonant thud Rhys dropped like a rag doll to the floor. His gun went skidding through the thick muck and disappeared beneath it.