The elevator was out of order, and he couldn't be any later as it was.

Truman Nedry sprinted up the stairs of his workplace, racing towards the meeting in progress on the 15th floor. Normally Truman was at least 15 minutes early for his job, taking the Underground from his London flat to the Canary Wharf Tube station right next to the building that housed Ganger Industries, his place of employment. However, a tunnel collapse prevented him from taking his usual route and instead enlisting the aid of his dust-covered bicycle. After waving a quick goodbye to his flatmate Windsor, he raced out the door, only to remember how terribly out of shape he was.

Gasping for air as he pushed his way into the office, he gave himself a once-over in the nearby mirror. His choppy black hair stood up everywhere, his dress shirt was drenched in sweat, his pants were caked at the bottom with sprinkles of mud, but the most important piece of his ensemble, his messenger bag, was thankfully present. He brushed down his hair, threw his bag on his desk and powerwalked to the conference room. Truman passed by the secretary Emily, who gave him a sour look as he briskly walked by.

"Sorry everyone! I'm here, we can start now," Truman said, hoping his terrible attempt at humor would get him off the hook.

It didn't.

"Sit down, imbecile!" shouted Stewart, Truman's annoying supervisor, who then promptly shoved him into an empty seat. As Truman gained his bearings, he noticed that his boss was leading the meetings.

He immediately became worried. Truman's boss never left his office; apparently he was far too busy to worry himself with the everyday proceedings of the office. The last time Truman could remember Ralph Ganger leading a meeting was to deliver massive layoffs to the company, layoffs Truman only avoided because he was an unpaid intern at the time and really didn't matter in the fiscal sense of things. However, he had worked his way up the ladder to his current job. This, sadly, made him more expendable.

"As I was saying before I was interrupted," continued Ganger, his eyes bearing deep into Truman. "All employees are required to undergo a physical provided by the company. We will hold them in conference room B and will proceed in alphabetical order. Anyone refusing to get a physical will be terminated. That is all." Upon finishing his grammatically perfect sentence, Ganger turned and left the room stiffly. The room filled with chatter as the employees left the room, leaving Truman alone with Stewart.

"Late again, Truman. Let's not make this a habit, huh?" Stewart slapped the back of Truman's head as he left the room, heading for conference room B. Fighting the urge to hit him back, Truman glumly walked back to his desk.

Only to find someone occupying it.

"Excuse me!" Truman roared, louder than he meant for it to be. The person at his desk turned, and Truman could see right off that this was no ordinary man. Yes, he looked rather ordinary, just an everyday office worker albeit with a somewhat strange fashion sense, but there was something about him Truman couldn't quite put his finger on.

"You're excused!" the stranger roared back cheerfully as he returned to his fiddling on Truman's computer. Truman almost let him off the hook, figuring he might just be a new IT worker putting updates on his computer, but then he remembered that someone had already done that three days ago.

"That's my desk! And my computer! What are you playing at?" The stranger turned again, a smile still plastered on his face. Truman had never seen such a cheerful man, especially one his age. Everyone he knew his age (especially Windsor) was inundated with a sense of being ripped off, and as such acted glumly. However, this man who couldn't be a day over 29 beamed brighter than sunlight after a hangover while performing who knows what on Truman's computer.

"Oh is it? Sorry, it's a lovely computer and all, works just the way I want it to. Well, almost," the stranger said, producing a pen-like device from the pocket of his jacket. He pointed it at the computer, and the tip lit up purple and made a strange sound. Truman could see his computer screen change from his screensaver of Egypt (he always wanted to go to Egypt) to strange circular patterns. "There! Now that it's connected, you can have your computer back!" The stranger hopped to his feet and cheerfully waved goodbye to Truman, who promptly chased after him.

"Did what to my computer? Connected it to what?" Truman asked as he followed the stranger around the cubicles of the office. As he rounded a corner he accidentally knocked into Stewart.

Truman froze, knowing a scolding would come, but Stewart kept walking, his gaze fixed on some point in front of him. Brushing it off, he turned the corner, only to find the stranger vanished. Defeated, he returned to his cubicle and found his screen functioning normally and displaying the pyramids of Giza.

He sighed, ready to finally start work after such a trying morning. Time passed by slowly for Truman, who had mountains of work to do but no motivation to get it done. Everyone around him at some point had gotten up to receive their physical, which Truman would have also done had he not been to the doctors two weeks prior to confirm he was not the father of a former flame's child. While there he had gotten his physical. As he was filling out an order form towards the end of the day, Emily stood at his doorway.

"Have you received your physical today?" she said stiffly, looking at Truman with the same searing look Ganger gave him.

"Um, no. I'm not up yet, I think they're on the H's?" replied Truman jokingly, who returned to his work. Noticing Emily was still standing over him, he fished in his desk for a grouping of papers. "I really don't need a physical; I had one two weeks ago and checked out fine. Here's the forms." Suddenly Emily grabbed him, her hand immediately cutting off circulation in his arm and causing the papers to drop from his hand. He couldn't remember the secretary ever being this strong, and he had been slapped by her before.

"You will go now!" She led him out of his office, and Truman looked around to see if anyone was noticing him being manhandled by the diminutive receptionist. Oddly everyone in their vicinity had the same vacant looks in their eyes, and no one seemed to notice them. Something was wrong, and Truman became very keen not to get his physical.

He struggled against Emily, whose grip only tightened as they neared the conference room. Truman noticed a strange mist coming from under the closed door, and drew back in horror.

BANG! A loud noise sounded behind them, and Truman felt Emily's hand vanish from his arm as she turned to investigate. Seeing his opportunity, Truman bolted, running quickly towards the exit passed all his vacant coworkers. Those who he passed tried to reach out and grab him, each one getting closer and closer as Truman drew closer and closer to the exit. As he turned a corner he hit something hard and fell to the ground.

Above him stood the stranger, who looked down at him with suspicion.

"Say something to me," he said gravely, anger flashing in his eyes unexpectedly. However, Truman noticed the stranger's glare wasn't the same as the others, so he complied.

"I'm not sure what to say," he admitted, but apparently this was good enough for the stranger, who lifted him up with surprising strength to his feet.

"Run!" yelled the stranger and Truman complied, leading the way out the door to the exit as the stranger followed him. Soon they were out of the office, and the stranger took the lead. He rounded several corners with a deftness Truman had trouble replicating, and he soon found himself slowing down tremendously. The approaching footsteps behind him gave him a second wind, and he chased after his savior, who had come to a stop in front of something terribly out of place in an office building.

In front of Truman and the stranger stood a rather new looking old fashioned police box, which apparently belonged to the stranger who was unlocking it with a key he produced from his pocket.

"Get in!" the stranger ordered, and Truman was all too happy to obey. He collapsed in a heap inside, his energy absolutely spent. The stranger came in next, stepping over the prone Truman and closing the door behind him as banging echoed through the box. Truman, who was beached on the ground, turned on to his back and looked at his surroundings.

If his breath wasn't already gone from fatigue it would have been taken away by what was inside the police box. He found himself in a large room; too large to fit into the ordinary police box Truman remembered entering. In the center of the room was a console filled with more buttons, knobs, levers, twisters, pullers and gears than he had ever seen before. In the very middle of the console was a giant piston-like device that reminded Truman vaguely of an oil well. The stranger was currently dashing around the console, putting the largest Bop-It Truman had ever seen to work as the piston moved up and down, causing a groan-like grinding sound. Truman rose to his feet and immediately felt sick, partly from his run and partly from this absolutely impossible room.

"Not in the best shape, are we?" the stranger yelled across the room, his eyes shooting across the console.

"Oi! I didn't think my coworkers would turn zombie horde!" responded Truman, who was in what could best be described as a standing fetal position. "What is this place? It's bigger on the inside!"

"I never get tired of hearing that!" the stranger said, a grin plastered on his face. "It's called a TARDIS, Time And Relative Dimension In Space. It's like a time machine I guess you could say, but since the Earth has moved a million different places over a million different years, we can go to, say, 15th century England instead of, say, 15th century empty space." He obviously likes to talk, thought Truman.

"Oh, like the DeLorean!" Truman exclaimed, immediately becoming excited about reliving his favorite movie from the 80's.

"Oh, sod the DeLorean, this is better!" the stranger said, looking cross. "I don't leave a bloody flame trail that could start a forest fire." He left the console and approached Truman, giving him a once over before producing the device Truman recognized from before.

"Hey, that's what you used to mess up my computer! What's your game here? Did you do this to my coworkers?" Truman asked as the stranger ran the device up and down Truman's body.

"No, something else is at work, look." The stranger threw a travel pass holder at Truman, who opened it up. The paper inside displayed a constantly changing landscape of wavy lines and furious zigzags. "The psychic paper started displaying this. People's minds in your office are going haywire and crying for help, and I need to find out why. Have you a flat we could go to?"

Truman looked at the man oddly as he ran back to the console. "How are we supposed to get there? We're surrounded by zombies!"

"First off, I don't think they're zombies, more like psychologically distressed humans out for our heads. Second, listen." Truman listened.

"I don't hear anything."

"Exactly." The stranger walked towards the door, and Truman ran to intercept him.

"No, don't!" Truman was too late, the door was wide open. However, none of his coworkers poured into the room like he had pictured. Instead, Truman looked out the door and discovered they weren't in his office anymore, but rather in the middle of Piccadilly Square.

"See? No problemo! Hmm, I actually quite like that word, problemo. Think I'll use it more often. Much better than correctomundo by a long shot. Now, where is this flat of yours… Sorry I didn't catch your name."

"Truman, Truman Nedry. And who are you?" The man smiled, and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I'm the Doctor, and we are going to get to the bottom of this!"