20 JANUARY 2019

SHEFFIELD

Yaz was not at all happy to get called back into work for an emergency meeting at five a.m., especially when the topic under discussion was cryptically vague. After catching an early-morning bus to the precinct, the Constable clocked in, closing the door to the meeting room behind her. Among those present were Stefansson, Inspector Allen, Phoebe, Sergeant Sunder, and two other officers Yaz didn't recognize.

"PC Khan," Allen greeted her. "Your eye doing any better?"

"It's healing," Yaz admitted. I'll feel a lot better when I stop taking painkillers on a daily basis.

"Regardless of how your eye is doing, we need you more than ever on the cases involving these Weeping Angels," Sunder said sternly. "There was another incident last night, this time at Sheffield Hallam A&E."

Sheffield Hallam A&E? "Isn't that where Nielsen and Wagner were transported to?" Yaz asked, unease obvious in her voice.

"Yes," Allen confirmed. "They're fine—in that they weren't involved in that particular incident. We've placed police details on them and on Nielsen's son as a precautionary measure."

"With all due respect, ma'am, I don't think that will help them all that much," Yaz warned.

"I agree with the Constable on this one," Stefansson piped up. From what Yaz could tell, the intern looked exhausted.

Yaz glanced up at the Sergeant. "What are the details?"

"One fatality, in the imaging unit," Stefansson informed her. "John Conahan, the coroner. He had a strange image in his eye right before he died, the same as with Max Gentry's corpse. In the exact same place, too." He frowned. "It looked like a stone angel. When I looked at it, it had its eyes covered."

"A Weeping Angel?" Yaz asked, frowning. "You're certain?"

"Unfortunately."

"We've also got two more missing persons," Sunder added, passing a couple of files Yaz's way. "Hiromi Tanaka, age twenty; and Maria Hendricks, age twenty-one; both Sheffield locals. Their last known location was where Nielsen's police vehicle crashed."

Yaz's uninjured eye narrowed. "When did they go missing?"

"According to dispatch, Tanaka made the call around 5:30 a.m. on the eighteenth of January," Sunder responded. "Looks like foul play."

"Her older brother called in the missing persons case last night, along with the coroner's death," Stefansson added.

Allen glanced at them. "I don't like any of this. This is the sixth reported incident in the past week that involves either missing persons or strange deaths—and in this case, both. It's the same: Weeping Angels, not a street gang like a lot of people previously thought they were, but now discovered to be creatures of stone that seek to prey on mankind."

"What did the Commissioner say when you told him earlier this morning?" Sunder asked.

Allen scoffed. "He said, and I quote, 'If they're not human, they're not our business.'"

"Like hell they're not!" Stefansson protested, slamming his fist on the table. "People have died, and several of our own officers have been seriously injured by those things, including PC Khan!"

"It's only a black eye, mate," Yaz corrected him.

"Which you should get looked at, Constable," Allen said sternly. "It's been a few days, and you're still using that blasted eye patch. That's not a good sign."

"I'll be fine."

Allen scoffed. "Fine, my arse. There's a chance it could be infected. Go to A&E and get it checked out. That's an order, Constable."

"I'll do it when I check out the crime scene for the coroner's death," Yaz compromised.

Sunder coughed loudly.

Yaz straightened. "With all due respect, sir, it's in the same area."

"Under no circumstances will you be going in alone," Phoebe said sternly. "Take Stefansson with you."

I am definitely bringing the Doctor in on this as well. "Yes, ma'am."

Allen folded her arms. "We'll need to keep this between us and whoever else we bring in on this case. The reason being, these creatures are a risk to every man, woman, and child in Sheffield and, because of that reason alone, I disagree with the Commissioner's decision."

"What if we get caught?" Sunder asked.

"Then we face disciplinary action or, worse, lose our jobs," Allen responded bluntly. "Meeting adjourned. Let's get this shit-show over with."

OBSIDIAN IX, 2257 CE

Even after another week of strategy meetings and a whole slew of tactical errors from their side, it was becoming more and more apparent that this war was not going to be won anytime soon.

Certainly not by the Obsidinites.

The front lines were becoming exponentially more dangerous as each day passed. Somehow, somewhere, the Daleks had gotten wind of their presence on Obsidian IX and had been sending reinforcements.

"It's the same message now," Jo Grant had mentioned an hour earlier. "'Locate the Doctor. Destroy everything in your path. The Doctor must be destroyed!'" She'd shaken her head. "It's horrible!"

"Unfortunately, Miss Grant, that's the reality of the situation," Benton sympathized. "There's not a lot we can do but survive."

Grant's expression had been fierce. "You're forgetting one other strategy. We can leave."

"No, we can't," Benton retorted. "Neither the Brigadier nor the Doctor would clear that strategy. The Obsidinites need us right now."

"We're putting them in danger just by being here, Sergeant!" Grant bit back. "You lot have been out on the front lines; I've been in tactical, analyzing the Daleks' attack patterns. Within a day, they changed. Just by us being here, we've destroyed any chance these people have for a victory they spent twenty years fighting and dying for. How many more will die before it becomes clear that the blood of the Obsidinites will be on our hands as well?"

Benton had spent the next while or so brooding about it. Ms Grant had a valid point; however, he felt his own opinion still stood. There was no way they could pull out now; it would be a strategic disaster and would spell certain victory for the Daleks.

"Benton."

Benton stopped in his tracks, confused. "Who's there?"

"Turn around."

The Sergeant placed a hand on his gun. "Not on your life. I'm not taking orders from anyone except the Brigadier." Especially not from the disembodied voice of a strange woman.

"Suit yourself, mate." The lights suddenly went out. Benton unholstered his weapon, spooked as he turned around.

"Benton?! Dear God, man, put your gun down!"

The Doctor. Benton relaxed, though he couldn't see anything. "Doctor? I can't see anything."

"Neither can I."

Benton snorted. "Well, I'm glad I'm not the only one who's experiencing this."

"Do you know what's going on?" the Doctor asked.

"With all due respect, sir, you've asked exactly the wrong person." Benton turned on his torch, the light shining on ghostly, psychotic-looking stone angels.

"Please tell me I'm hallucinating," Benton whispered.

The Doctor gulped. His eyes were wide with what looked to be—was that terror? What could be so dangerous it could scare the scientific advisor like that?

"You're not," the Doctor said hoarsely.

Benton blinked. Almost immediately, the ghost statues changed position and were now closer. "What are they?" the Sergeant asked, fully aware of the fear in his voice.

"If I had to guess, I'd say those are the things the Brigadier warned me about after you all got back," the Doctor responded.

Benton's eyes widened.

"Weeping Angels," the Doctor continued, fear definitely present in his voice. "One of the deadliest creatures in the universe. If they so much as touch you, you're done for."

"How fast are they?"

"Judging by the fact that they moved when we blinked, I'd say very." The Doctor put a hand on his shoulder. "Run!"

You don't need to tell me twice. Benton turned tail, relying entirely on his torch for sight.

"This might sound crazy, Doctor," Lethbridge-Stewart had said once they returned. "There was this woman in the caves, who appeared in what she said was a psychic projection."

"Fascinating," the Time Lord responded, stroking his chin. "Who was she? What did she look like?"

"Young, blonde, and humanoid." The Brigadier snorted. "I have no idea who she was, but she kind of reminded me of you a bit."

"Never mind that," Benton interjected, getting antsy. "What about her, Brigadier? You'd mentioned her briefly on the way back, but you never really talked about her."

"Right," the Brigadier confirmed. "She gave me a message for you, Doctor."

The Time Lord raised a bushy eyebrow. "A message? What kind of message?"

"Not the good kind. She said that we are all in terrible danger, and that we needed to protect you with our lives."

The Doctor's brow furrowed. "From what?"

"She didn't say, but it was pretty bad from the sound of it. Something's coming."

That something was now on their heels.

They reached the end of the hallway, panting. The ghost statues were only halfway across the hallway. The Doctor pulled out his sonic screwdriver, glancing down briefly to look at the results. "They're only psychic projections," he responded, amazed.

"Even so, that doesn't mean they won't kill you," the disembodied woman's voice retorted. "The image of an Angel is an Angel."

"Are you the woman the Brigadier was telling us about?" the Doctor asked. "Why don't you show yourself, then?"

"Like the Angels, I am only here in the form of a psychic projection," the woman responded. "Look to your left."

Benton and the Doctor turned. A strange mirror suddenly appeared, stalling the Angels. In front of said mirror was a hooded figure in a light-coloured trenchcoat.

"How are you doing that?" the Doctor asked, amazed.

"The mind has a creative potential unto its own when defending against its demons," the woman explained cryptically. "These mirrors, for instance, are acting as mental shields against the Angels."

"I don't understand," Benton muttered. "Who the hell are you?"

The Angels vanished. The torchlight only exposed part of the woman's face, which contorted into a mirthless smile. "Spoilers."