Ten minutes past the hour. What a beautiful house, thought Colin. Number thirteen of Bannerman Road, as it were. He studied of it what the glowing streetlights would allow. Colin looked up at the night sky, which began to fill with clouds, and smiled.

Ah. He watched, as the living room light flickered out.

'Can't sleep at night, so what do I do?'

The bartender, a tall blue alien modelling a waistcoat, shrugged at Colin.

'Chauffeur the great and good to wherever they desire, that's what.'

The bartender produced a bottle, unimpressed, it seemed.

'Another shot?'

Colin looked. Could this pathetic excuse of a human liver stomach it? No doubt more than Wormwood's throat could handle that bullet. Almost a shame.

Colin smiled, and moved the glass forward. The bartender poured, wearing their best frown.

Colin raised the glass, and swigged.

'Wormwood's dead?' a voice sniped.

He turned.

'Cromley,' Colin said, deadpan, eyeing the short and scaly beast. 'How the hell are you?'

Cromley stared.

'She didn't put you at the top of her recruitment list, for you to test your alcohol tolerance level at the shabbiest bar in the galaxy.'

Colin motioned for another shot.

'I've earned this.'

Cromley's arms were folded.

'We'll just see what she says, shall we?'

Colin placed down the glass, glanced around, then at Cromley.

'Give us five more minutes.'

Cromley glared.

Colin smirked, patted Cromley's shoulder, then left.

'And...Wormwood's blood and guts...splattered on the walls, in their...rightful place?'

Colin smiled, as the tartan-suited Harrison leaned forward at her desk, folding her arms. The lines in her bony face told of many meetings like this one.

'Indubitably. Cromley thought you'd be pissed, though.'

Harrison leaned back.

'Not at all,' she said in her familiarly soft-as-cotton voice. 'You...actually did me...a favour.'

She slid a file across the desk to him.

'Consider this...your reward.'

Back to Earth, then. No hurry, though, Colin thought, as he cruised along, other vehicles passing him by. Yet another vicinity within the far reaches of the galaxy he'd grown accustomed to, through what he might've said were sleepless nights, except he wasn't familiar with such a concept.

In the mirror, he eyed the pale and bloodied Wormwood across the back seat, hands bound, exhaling a breath every now and then.

His best kept secret, it seemed.

Sarah Jane sat at her computer with a coffee and sighed gently. The first stress-free morning in quite some time, it seemed. Everyone, herself included, seemed to be £12 a week better off thanks to Prime Minister Langston. Wormwood had vanished, but knowing her, it wasn't that simple. Nothing about her was.

The doorbell rang.

'Rani?'

But Rani wasn't in her usual work uniform.

Sarah Jane looked at her.

'Did you see a car in the street last night?'

'Not any that aren't usually there. Why?'

'Dad wondered about it, too - the taxi.'

'Do you think it was watching you?'

Rani shrugged.

'He was going to call the police, but I told him it'd probably be gone by the morning.'

Sarah Jane looked at her, then motioned Rani to enter.

'Did you see who was in the car?'

Sarah Jane returned to the computer, and Rani sat on the attic sofa.

'A man, I think.'

'What stopped you calling the police?'

Rani sighed.

'Didn't want to jump the gun.'

'Christ, she stinks like rotting flesh.'

Colin smirked.

'Good thing I have acid, then.'

Wormwood's eyes darted between them, whilst they watched her breathe occasionally.

'Acid? You're sure?'

'Unless you'd prefer the rotting flesh smell?'

Cromley glanced at him.

'Will there be enough, you think?'

Colin looked at him.

'Of course. Now, pass me that bucket.'