The Stormcage Guard of mechanical men led the two young humans through an automatic door. When it hissed shut behind them, Amy wondered if it would ever open for them again. But maybe that was better. If there was no way back, the only thing to do was keep moving forward, and put as brave a face on it as possible.

And Amy was putting a very brave face on, because Stormcage had been designed to intimidate. The hall they stood in was very narrow. Amy and Rory could not walk abreast; she walked behind him, clutching sonic screwdriver so tightly that her knuckles burned. But it was not a small space. The ceilings were quite high—so high that their steps echoed and Amy could not see where the light was coming from. There was only one door, at the far end, and as they walked she realized it was painfully distant. You had to really want to get out to that courtyard. Or really want to get in.

She could see no way that a prisoner might make a break for it. The Tower of London could take lessons from Stormcage. How she and Rory were going to find River Song and get back to the TARDIS, Amy didn't know.

The further they walked into the prison, the heavier the air seemed. Amy felt a leaden weight in her chest. Even with no windows she could hear the pounding of the rain and the thump and shake of thunder. When Rory reached back and took her hand, Amy didn't resist.

They arrived finally, weary and out of breath, at a huge metal door.

The guard in front of them paused for a moment, and Amy guessed it was communicating silently with the door or the prison. No way to move without a guide, Amy realized. No hope of escape without a confederate. And machines couldn't be bribed or corrupted. The violent storm was almost incidental. If you were in Stormcage, you were in till they let you out.

Good thing we've got the guards on our side, then, thought Amy.

The great door swung open. The forward guard stepped in, then stood aside.

Rory was the first to see it. He staggered backwards till he ran into Amy. She pushed him back out, then stood beside him.

And nearly fell into a bottomless pit.

They stood on a narrow walkway with a thin safety rail at waist height. The stop was so short, and the drop beyond so deep, that Amy was completely disoriented. Like Rory, she staggered backwards—and ran into the door, which had shut behind them.

For a moment, all she felt was awe. All around them, as far as the eye could see: cages! Cages of metal and stone, arranged in an ellipse, with the scaffold at the outside edge, and nothing at all at the center. Her jaw set, Amy crept to the edge, gripped the railing with one hand and looked up. The cages went all the way up to the sky, if it was the sky. A watery yellow glow came from the very top, and the lines of cells faded into it. There were cages below as well. She could not see the floor; it disappeared into blackness.

Where were they? My God, where the bloody hell were they? A planet? A meteor? A space station? The Doctor had never said, and now Amy wished very much that she'd asked more questions.

A thick, evil odor sank into her nose.

She realized it had been there all along, just beyond her awareness, but now it couldn't be avoided. It was awful. The stink of iron and excrement and fear and death. Her eyes watered, and she threw her elbow over her nose and mouth, breathing through her sleeve. It was more than a stench. It was a feeling. Amy felt intimately violated, just standing there.

Something terrible had happened here. If she was a real prison inspector, she would have shut the place down, right then. Shut it, set everyone free, and burned it to the ground.

Rory put and arm over her shoulder and drew her close. "Do you know what it is?" he whispered.

"This isn't right," Amy whispered back. River would never have willingly gone back to a place like this. The Doctor would never have allowed it to happen. The prison had changed since Amy had last heard of it. "It shouldn't be like this."

YOU WILL FOLLOW, said the mechanical guard.

"We should keep going," said Rory. "Try not to look."

They followed the guard. Amy kept her attention to the left and tried to ignore the gaping chasm to her right. But it was difficult. Especially because the prison cells told a story that was no more comforting than the stink, and the pit.

There were things in the cells. Unmade beds, desks with chairs askew, photographs and drawings. But no people. No people and no sign of people. Not even a sign of a struggle or a riot. Every single cell was unoccupied. River had been in one of those cells.

"Where are the prisoners?" said Amy. She tapped the guard on the shoulder. "Hey, I'm talking to you. Where are all the prisoners? Did something happen to them?" Would it happen to us? she wondered silently.

YOU WILL FOLLOW, said the helmet.

At regular intervals, there was a door just like the one they'd come through. At first, Amy tried to keep count, but soon she was unsure, and then was completely lost. Except for the different objects inside the cells, each part prison looked the same as the others. Same view, every which way you looked; same arrangement of cells, same anonymous doors. Like being locked in a hall of mirrors. You could wander in here for a lifetime and never find your way out.

And all around them the relentless drip and gurgle of the storm.

The guard stopped at one of the steel doors. Moments later it slid open to admit them.

Another long corridor, this one winding and labyrinthine, as confusing as the walkway. But finally they arrived at a special door, made of wood. Amy shifted her grip on the sonic screwdriver concealed in her coat pocket. Wood was the powerful little tool's one weakness. Amy would not have known what to do with the screwdriver anyway, but a wooden door still bothered her. Even if they'd been with the Doctor, he might not be able to get them out of this one.

The guard knocked twice on the door. It stood aside and switched the gun to its shoulder, standing at attention.

YOU WILL ENTER, said the helmet. YOU WILL ENTER.

The knob was just in front of Rory's hand. He looked at Amy, who nodded.

Rory turned the knob and pushed the door open.

Warm golden light spilled into the hallway.

"Hello," said a soft, whimsical voice. "Welcome to containment. We've been expecting you."