"Frobisher? Frobisher, old chap, can you hear me?"

Sergeant Pilot Arthur Frobisher's eyelashes fluttered briefly before he opened his eyes tentatively. He cast a nervous glance around, trying to acclimatise himself to his surroundings. He looked up at a man he had never seen before, wearing a pinstripe suit and a concerned expression on his face.

"Wh … where am I?" he asked in a hoarse whisper, gingerly struggling into a sitting position. He winced as he felt a dull throb of pain in his side and decided that lying down really was the best option at the moment. Maybe he'd try sitting up later.

"You're in the Annexe level of the tunnels underneath Dover castle," the man said gently, smoothing down Frobisher's bedcovers and perching on the end of his bed. "You gave everyone a bit of a scare back then. They didn't think you'd pull through."

"What 'appened?"

"You tell me."

Frobisher frowned up at the grimy ceiling. He'd been flying over the Channel, shooting down the Germans and then … then he was shot down. Shot down by … no, it couldn't have been. Couldn't have been the Germans, he'd shot them down himself. He was the only one left in the air. He was the only thing there except –

"The monster."

"Monster?"

"There was … I dunno … it all 'appened so quick, like …" Frobisher muttered, still exhausted. "One minute I was shootin' down the Germans, next minute I'm crashin' in the Channel …" A thought suddenly occurred to Frobisher as he looked over at the man.

"Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor."

"What, like the ward doctor?"

"Something like that," he muttered, sighing. The Doctor focussed his attention back on Frobisher as he motioned for him to continue.

"It was huge … like a big bird … only not … it didn't 'ave feathers, just skin, and no beak … and huge long legs … and …" Frobisher gulped and frowned at the Doctor. "You think I'm crackers, don't ya?"

"Nothing of the sort," the Doctor assured him. "You've had a shock, clearly, but that doesn't mean you'd make something like this up." He shuffled closer to Frobisher and lowered his voice. "So this … bird. How big would you say it was?"

"Massive," whispered Frobisher. "Huge. Like an albatross. 'Cept it didn't 'ave no beak. It didn't even 'ave a mouth. Not one I could see, anyways. It was just a head with eyes. No nose, no ears, no nuffink … just eyes." Frobisher closed his eyes for a moment, as if struggling to remember. "'S funny … but it didn't 'ave scary eyes. Y'know, like what monsters normally 'ave."

"Normally?" the Doctor said, confused. "You've seen other monsters?"

"Everyone 'as," Frobisher said. The Doctor grew worried. "Everyone in this place'll 'ave seen a monster, Doctor. When you was a kid, there was always a monster in your cupboard or under your bed."

The Doctor let out a breath he'd been unconsciously holding and gave a slight smile.

"The monsters with glowing red eyes," the Doctor said sympathetically. "The monsters you knew would eat you as soon as you got out of bed to tell mummy."

Frobisher nodded weakly. "But this monster weren't like that," he insisted, staring intently at the Doctor. "Its eyes … they were friendly, like. The sort of eyes you'd want to see when you're 'avin' a bad dream. It was like the monster was tryin' to tell me that I was gonna be OK …"

"Well, it was right, wasn't it?" the Doctor said cheerfully. "You're fine, and you're going to be fine. Now, get some rest." He stood up as Frobisher laid his head back down on the pillow and closed his eyes. As he walked out in search of Rose, he became engrossed in his thoughts.

If Frobisher's describing what I think he is … I'd have to check the TARDIS database first, cross-reference the last sightings et cetera … I s'pose, if he's had that big a shock, he might just be delusional … but it's too much of a coincidence for him to have described that …

Data for HAMR unit 2864

PROCESSING DATA
PROCESSING DATA
PROCESSING DATA
PROCESSING DATA
PROCESSING DATA
PROCESSING DATA
PROCESSING DATA

Subject acquired.
Confirm status …
DNA extracted. Confirming molecular structure …
Molecular structure successfully replicated. Preparing to commence physical reconstruction …
Physical reconstruction completed.

Margaret hurried along the corridor a short way before stopping to catch her breath. She checked her watch again and noted that she still had five minutes of her tea-break left. Thinking for a moment, she walked off in the direction of the ladies' toilets, figuring she could always make up an excuse for being late back if she bumped into anyone else.

She smiled to herself, Rose had been nice enough, if a little oddly dressed. She supposed it was some new fashion here in Dover. Rose had sounded awfully common – perhaps that was just how people here dressed. Having been sent here from the outskirts of London (and having prided herself on being given a relatively good education) Margaret often unconsciously saw herself as slightly superior to most of the girls here, who were 'local yokels' in her eyes. Rose, however, hadn't seemed particularly common. Indeed, she'd appeared quite intelligent, especially for someone so young. Perhaps the locals weren't all bad.

Lost in thought, Margaret barely noticed a man walking past her with curiously glazed eyes. He walked along the corridor, stopped, then slowly turned his head back to look at Margaret.

Potential new subject spotted.
Possibility of use for other HAMR units?

SEARCHING
SEARCHING
SEARCHING
SEARCHING
SEARCHING
SEARCHING

Match successful.
HAMR unit 3061 to acquire subject.
Confirming subject …

"'Scuse me, miss!" he shouted, a little too loudly. Margaret turned to look. He walked towards her slowly, looking a little confused. "I'm lookin' for a doctor. Can't remember his name. Don't s'pose you know where the doctor's offices are?"

"Sorry, no!" Margaret said apologetically. "I work in the receiver station, I barely go to the Annexe level unless I get ill!"

The man was staring rather disconcertingly at her, studying her face. Margaret blushed self-consciously.

"I can see if I can get a message down there for you, get someone to come and pick you up," she offered, slightly flustered. "What's your name?" He blinked slowly. Margaret suppressed the urge to roll her eyes and sneer at him. Perhaps the local yokels really were as common as she'd first thought. If they couldn't remember their own names, what use would they be in a war?

Subject confirmed.
HAMR unit 3061 to acquire subject.
HAMR unit 2864 to assist.

"What's your name?" she repeated, somewhat patronisingly.

Information about subject of HAMR unit 2864 required.

SEARCHING
SEARCHING
SEARCHING
SEARCHING

Information acquired.

"Frobisher," he replied finally. "Arthur Frobisher."