AN: Martha returns! Enjoy this one, about a mysterious haunting somewhere in rural Yorkshire.

Something Wicked

DAY 3,701 – 19th of August 2023

"The Phoca naseria is one of the most interesting specimens in the world. It was unearthed by the explorer Thaddeus Boseman in the jungles of Colombia, in 1935, where he was attacked and envenomated by the specimen's proboscis. He was able to subdue, pin and mount the creature, where it fell into my collection." There was a click and the grainy recording shut off.

"I don't believe that for a minute," said Rose quietly, leaning down to squint at the 'Phoca naseria' through its dusty, glass case, "It's just a giant weevil. And it's only got five legs."

"One of them must have come off in the brawl," said Clara, "When it attacked Thaddeus."

"Half the stuff in this place comes from Thaddeus Boseman's collection," said Rose, shuffling through the museum with her hands in her pockets, like a bored teenager, "Must have been a good conman."

"I don't know," said Clara, "It could be an alien weevil."

"Yeah, and the Fiji mermaid was an alien mermaid."

"It's massive, though. Twice the size of my hand."

"Your hands are tiny."

"They're not, actually," said Clara. "I've got long fingers. That's why I'm a good pianist."

"…No, no, I'll be back by about three," said Martha, on her phone in the corner. "Four at the latest… it's only a museum, Mickey… no, you're giving her unrealistic birthday expectations. It was her birthday three days ago; you need to stop with this 'birthday week' stuff."

"I don't know why we had to come into the museum when you told us this was all about a meteor strike," said Rose quietly while Martha tried to get Mickey off the phone.

"Just something to do while we wait for it to crash," said Clara, "I thought it'd be fun. And Martha did let me decide." Rose sighed and decided to stop arguing before it went any further. It had been Martha's idea to drag Clara out of the TARDIS to socialise after she'd spent weeks in a cocoon with her new wife, and Rose didn't have to agree to it. But, she had. And she was there.

"Why do you want to watch a meteor crash, anyway?" said Rose.

"It's a bit of a mystery," Clara shrugged, "It crashes down in a field over the road, but nobody will find any debris, which is strange relative to the size of the impact crater. I just thought we could have a look. Nobody will get hurt."

"And we had to come to a spooky museum in the meantime," said Rose, looking around at grimy objects with crackly tape recordings explaining what they all were.

"It's an occult museum," said Clara, "And it's got a leaflet, I showed you the leaflet. The asteroid's due in about half an hour, besides." The 'museum', though it did have a leaflet, was little more than an old farmhouse in the middle of the countryside, just off the A1.

Martha returned, having finally hung up.

"Everything alright?" asked Rose.

"I think he's spoiling her too much," said Martha, "But he really just wants me to go back and rescue him from having to watch Moana for the third time today."

"That film came out years ago," said Clara.

"I know, but she still loves it. All day every day, Moana this, Moana that. Anyway, what were you looking at? The big weevil? I think I saw one of those on another planet once." At that, Clara took out her phone and, making sure the flash was off, took a picture.

"I'll ask the Doctor later."

"She hasn't changed so much that she'll get a phone, then?" said Martha.

"Other than your old one? No."

"She's still got that?"

"She does."

"How's that all going, then?" asked Martha as they began to move on from the weevil to look at the other strange exhibits, "The regeneration? I'm surprised you were up for leaving her alone."

"She's visiting Jenny."

"Still, I remember what it was like ten years ago, when she came back from the future," said Martha. "Didn't you end up hiding from her in your bedroom for weeks?"

"Maybe I was hiding from you, you were all over me."

"Yes, I was all over you – that time you basically assaulted me when I was on mind-bending, memory-wiping aphrodisiacs was me being all over you, Clara," said Martha dryly. Rose was pretending to look at another of the displays, a huge wooden pole that was allegedly once used to burn people for witchcraft, but she snorted.

"It wasn't assault," Clara grumbled.

"She did burn you quite badly," said Rose, "Which doesn't scream 'consent'."

"I thought you two came out today to cheer me up? And now you're accusing me of being a nonce," said Clara.

"No smoke without fire," said Rose, shrugging, "Literally, in this case." Clara glared at her.

"I'm serious, though," said Martha, "It must be strange, her being around now instead of him. And after already meeting her."

"I suppose. But she isn't… she's different. That's fake, by the way," she said, nodding at the witch trial stake, "It says it's from the Pendle witch trials, but the Pendle witches were all hanged."

"But you believe in the giant weevil?" said Rose.

"It's so hard to imagine that somebody found an alien weevil somewhere? It could have easily dropped through a rift," said Clara. Then she went on to answer Martha properly, "It's strange having a wife, after having a husband for so long. Plus, now I have this issue where if I introduce her as my wife, I've immediately outed myself, haven't I?"

"When did you last have a girlfriend?" asked Martha, "A real one, not some stranger you found in a bar and had a sleepover with."

"Honestly, I don't know. They all blend together."

"Charming."

"Not in a bad way – it's been over ten years since I was single. A lot of things have happened since then that are more important to remember."

"Yeah, but you weren't great with women's names even back then," said Rose.

"And now I've got a wife who doesn't even have a proper name," said Clara. "Look at that, it's vile." She pointed out a human hand, almost skeletal but still with a bit of skin clinging to it, on display. "The remains of Pope Formosus," she read off the plaque underneath.

"Who's that?" asked Rose.

"He died and then another pope exhumed him and put him on trial for perjury, in the ninth century. It's called the 'Cadaver Synod'. I doubt that's really his hand, though – could be anybody's."

"What was that thing about the ghost of Marilyn Monroe?" asked Rose, "Why did I hear about that?"

"Some vampire had it, they found it in Hollowmire," said Martha.

"Who did?"

"Who do you think? That lot." Rose didn't say anything, she frowned and looked off into space. "It's not like they would have told you about it, always on your bloody high horse."

"I'm not on a high horse," said Rose.

"Yes, you are. 'Pompous arsehole' is your permanent state of being."

"Well, I – I still heard something about it."

"It's on the TARDIS now," said Clara, "The ghost in the jar. Maybe I should've brought it, I could donate it and be the next Thaddeus Boseman."

"What, you just keep her?" said Rose, "Like a prisoner?"

"No, the jar's open, she just… hangs around. I've seen her in the mirror before, it's a bit creepy," said Clara, "We try to leave her alone, though; she's been through enough."

Clara then got distracted by a decrepit, alleged copy of the Necronomicon displayed under quite a bright lamp that couldn't be good for it. Martha checked her phone, but Mickey hadn't texted. She put it away, wishing the meteor would speed up so that she could go outside and escape the dust.

"Is this a real museum?" she asked, "There isn't anybody here."

"The door was unlocked, the lights are all on, and we're within the advertised opening hours," said Clara, "I left a tenner on the front desk, though. Just in case."

"…But this is just someone's house," said Martha, "It's a big house, fine – but you're telling me, we've just wandered into somebody's house, who left the door unlocked and all the lights on?"

"Yes, because it's open as a private museum," said Clara.

"What's that thing? It's dreadful," Rose pointed out the crown jewel of the Thaddeus Boseman collection, a frightening, porcelain doll.

"Haunted doll," said Clara, "It's quite well-known – it's called Frankie, I think. Supposedly, all the people who have ever had possession of it have died violently – including Mr Boseman."

"That's nice…" said Rose, stepping back,

"I don't believe in haunted dolls," said Martha.

"If a jar can be haunted, I think a doll can, too," said Clara.

"And you think it's been killing people? A doll?"

"It's only a story. But there are a lot of secure locks on that cabinet," said Clara. "Probably just for show, for the tourists."

"Yes, the many tourists that must come here to this half-abandoned farmhouse full of rubbish," said Martha. "Why go to the British Museum when you can come here instead? And those locks aren't even closed." Clara looked back at Frankie the doll's cabinet.

"Oh, yeah. Like I said, it'll be for show."

"…I'm gonna go have a look around, see if the owner's about," Martha decided, "Maybe they'll want to see the meteor."

"Well, don't take too long, it's arriving soon," said Clara.

Martha waved her away and left the room, ignoring most of the exhibits. It was all cursed objects and bits of old, dead people anyway, nothing she was particularly interested in; she'd had enough witchcraft for a lifetime after her run-in with the Carrionites.

She found nothing amiss at the front desk, other than the fact it had been placed awkwardly in the middle of the hallway. Papers all neatly stacked; home-printed leaflets explaining certain, choice items displayed colourfully; the ten-pound note Clara had left held down by a paperweight. There was no 'be back soon' sign, though, even though Clara was right and they were within the opening hours.

Having seen most of the ground floor, Martha headed up the large staircase.

"Hello? Is anybody there?" she called out, "We're just visiting, but I had a few questions about the exhibits?" She heard nothing. Maybe the owner had just gone out and forgotten to put up a sign, but something wasn't sitting right with her, and she wasn't one to ignore her intuition.

There was a rope barrier at the top of the stairs, so the first floor must not have been part of the museum. She moved this out of the way and kept poking around, opening the nearest door. It was just the owner's private bathroom, cluttered with a bit of damp in the corners, but nothing alarming.

The next room, by contrast, was rammed floor-to-ceiling with boxes. Full to bursting, but everything was organised and carefully labelled, with clear walkways between the precarious stacks.

It was only when she went through the third door and found a home office that her heart sank. She knocked a little, but the door was ajar, so she pushed it open slowly.

"Hello?" she asked again, "Sorry for leaving the museum, but…"

Feet, sticking out from behind the desk. They were on the floor. Martha's medical training took over and she rushed over to check the owner's arm for a pulse. He was an old man, but not that old; maybe in his early sixties. She knelt and touched his wrist, but found nothing promising. His skin was ice cold and muscles already starting to stiffen. Time of death would have been about four hours ago.

She sighed and got back to her feet, careful not to disturb anything else in the room.

"Rose! Clara! Get up here!" she shouted through the door.

They didn't delay, meeting her at the top of the stairs only a minute later.

"Owner's dead," said Martha, "For a few hours, at least."

"You're kidding," said Rose, "What's he died of?"

"I don't know – but we shouldn't disturb the body!" she said this as Clara went right past her, phasing through the wall, "I need to call the police."

"You're a doctor, though," said Rose.

"I can't help him anymore, and it's a potential crime scene." She already had her phone out to dial.

"I don't think you should call 999," said Clara. The old man was now lying on his back, but he'd been on his side when Martha found him.

"Did you just move him!? I told you not to do that!"

"I didn't touch him – it's telekinesis," said Clara.

"It doesn't matter, it – bloody hell." She nearly dropped her phone. She hadn't noticed before in her brief examination, but now Clara had rolled him over it was plain to see: a gaping hole in his chest. It was two inches wide and had gone straight through his heart, obliterating it. "Alright, show me his back." Clara did just this, holding out her hand and making the body move.

"That's grim, mate," said Rose, "He's not a puppet."

"But, look," said Martha, "No messy exit wound. That's a completely clean injury, there isn't… there isn't even much blood." There was only a very light bloodstain on the carpet, certainly not the level she'd associate with such a ferocious injury.

"Stabbed clean through the heart, it looks like," said Clara.

Martha didn't respond right away, she crouched to get a closer look at the wound. And then she saw something more worrying; the edges of his clothes were a little singed, like they'd been burned. An extraordinary amount of heat could have burned his clothes and partially cauterised even a large injury, limiting the blood loss.

"A laser did this," she said. "Can you put him back exactly how you found him?" Clara did her best, though Martha wasn't sure it was perfect. Still, she now spotted a scorch mark on the wall, high up. He'd been facing away from the wall when he fell, though, and she noticed a chip in the plaster where he could have hit his head.

"You're not a detective," said Rose.

"I'm a doctor," said Martha, "Conan Doyle was a doctor."

"He also believed in fairies," Rose pointed out.

"Fairies are real," said Martha, "They're primordial nature creatures that kidnap children – ask Jack about it, he's had run-ins with them."

"Of all the things I'd want to talk to Jack about, his encounters with fairies aren't at the top of my list," said Rose.

"Look, though," said Martha, "He gets hit in the chest about here, and he's not very tall," she put her hand in the air to indicate the rough position of the injury, "But that scorch mark is all the way up there. So, the trajectory means the weapon was low to the ground, very low."

"What are those pictures on the desk of?" asked Clara.

"Shouldn't touch them," said Martha, "It could implicate us."

"Us and our stash of laser weaponry, sure," said Clara, but she listened to Martha. Again, the telekinesis came into play, as the pictures – five of them – floated into the air and then spread themselves out so that they were easy to see.

"Looks like crime scenes," said Rose.

"Yeah. Crime scenes of other, similar deaths," said Martha, spotting the large, circular holes in a few of them. Not always through the heart; at least two had had most of their skulls obliterated.

"Maybe the weevil did it," said Rose.

"If you mention that bloody weevil one more time-"

A bright light burned through the midday sky, hot and brilliant: the meteor. It was rocketing down into the neighbouring field, leaving a streak of fire in the clouds behind it and roaring like a jet through the atmosphere. The photos fell to the floor around them.

"Away from the window," ordered Clara, pushing Martha to leave the room.

The firestorm shot past them. When it impacted the ground outside, the very foundations of the house rumbled, and all the windows shattered at once. If they'd stayed behind in the office, they'd have been torn to pieces by all the broken glass.

"Remind me again why you thought watching a meteor strike at close range was a good idea…" said Martha, her ears ringing. She was lucky she hadn't ruptured an eardrum.

"It's only a small one," said Clara.

Slowly, Martha opened the door back into the office. There was glass everywhere, all over the owner's body, including some pieces sticking out of him and the furniture. Nasty. It crunched underfoot as she approached the window to look at the smoking crater.

"You're barmy, that could have killed us," said Martha, "Look how close it is, it's… wait, do you see that?" She thought something glinted inside the crater. Rose was next to her. "There's something in there, it…" Rose had a glazy look in her eyes. Martha knew that look, and it was always bad news; the time vortex was playing up.

For a second, Rose shone as vividly as the meteor had, and then they were outside, at the edge of the crater. Seamlessly, like spacetime was folding over itself just to bend to Rose's will that they should be nearer to the impact. Martha almost preferred the jarring movements of transmats or vortex manipulators; she liked knowing, well and truly, when she'd been teleported. Rose's powers always left her feeling unsteady.

"You could have warned me before doing that," she complained. Clara looked similarly disoriented, the three of them breathing smoke and dirt in the open air.

"The asteroid isn't a fixed point in time," said Rose.

"So what?"

"Asteroids are always fixed points in time. They're reliable, immutable parts of the universe."

"I did read about it, though," said Clara, "The Doctor says, if you've read it, it has to happen."

"I'm not saying it won't happen, I'm saying it's not an asteroid. Something's got will, choice – that puts it in flux."

And Rose was right, it wasn't a rock. A metal orb, no bigger than an ordinary exercise ball, was nestled in the middle of the crater looking no worse for wear – an achievement, considering it had crash-landed. Smoke curled off it ominously.

Clara took a sonic screwdriver from her jacket, the Eleventh Doctor's, and pointed at the orb. The screwdriver sputtered in response.

Clara sighed and tapped it against her palm, "I knew she hadn't fixed it properly."

"Maybe we should get the TARDIS down here," said Martha, "Do a scan, or-?"

Before they could do anything, the orb hissed. Steam poured out and it began to open, the metal segmenting and pulling away. Inside the remaining hemisphere was something none of them could have predicted, even Rose: a porcelain doll. And not just any porcelain doll, an identical porcelain doll to Frankie in the display case. Bizarrely, it was also sitting in a chair and surrounded by spaceship controls, only in a much smaller form factor than Martha was used to. A tiny craft, for a tiny doll.

She jumped out of her skin when it moved, its head twisting to look at Rose directly. Clara jumped, too, grabbing Martha's arm, and Martha didn't even bother to shrug her off like she usually would.

"…Hello?" said Rose. They all stepped back when it got up, standing on its doll-legs and creaking mechanically, turning its large, glass eyes on them each in turn. "Do you, um… do you come in peace…?"

"I AM STRATEGIC INFILTRATOR DRONE, DESIGNATION: Q OF THE DELPHON. I HAVE BEEN SENT TO ELIMINATE MALFUNCTIONING STRATEGIC INFILTRATOR DRONE, DESIGNATION: O," said the doll in a deep, robotic voice that didn't fit its appearance at all.

"Infiltrator drone?" said Martha, "You're invading?" She had a funny feeling she knew exactly who 'Strategic Infiltrator Drone, Designation: O' was.

"NEGATIVE. IN ACCORDANCE WITH SHADOW PROCLAMATION DIRECTIVES, RECONNAISSANCE OF A LEVEL FIVE PLANET IS WITHIN THE DEFINED LIMITS OF GALACTIC LAW. EXPLANATION: EARTH-DESIGNATION OF THE PLANET DELPHON IS 'ALPHA CENTAURI TWO'."

"You're our neighbours? And you're spying on us?" said Martha, "Typical."

"THE DESTRUCTION OF STRATEGIC INFILTRATOR DRONE, DESIGNATION: O, IS THIS UNIT'S PRIMARY OBJECTIVE. IF EARTH LIFEFORMS CANNOT ASSIST, ELIMINATION OF ANY THREATS IS NECESSARY IN THE PURSUIT OF DESIGNATION: O." Then it pointed at them, and to Martha's horror, its entire arm transmuted into a gun – a laser cannon, she was sure, with a muzzle two inches wide.

"Clara?" she said.

"Yes…?" said Clara.

"How many murders, exactly, have been associated with the haunted doll in the museum?"

"At least a dozen. Lots of mysterious fires, too, where the doll was the only thing left."

"Right…" The museum owner must have put the pieces together, too, hence why he'd had all the photographs out. The doll's previous owners, she was sure.

"Why do you look like that?" Rose asked Designation: Q of the Delphon, which turned its gun on her when she spoke. Rose held up her hands in surrender. "We're not going to get in the way of whatever your mission is, alright? Just… why a doll? Do all robots in Alpha Centauri look like children's dolls?"

"THE STRATEGIC INFILTRATOR DRONE LINE IS DESIGNED TO BLEND IN SEAMLESSLY WITH THE INDIGENOUS SPECIES."

"If the Delphon are taking any feedback, they might want to rethink that," said Rose, "You're the scariest thing I've ever seen in my life. You're like if Chuckie had a baby with the Terminator."

"Did you say it was malfunctioning?" asked Clara when Q got understandably confused by what Rose had told it.

"STRATEGIC INFILTRATOR DRONE, DESIGNATION: O, HAS ABANDONED THE RECONNAISSANCE DIRECTIVE AND MUST BE DESTROYED TO ENSURE THE SAFETY OF THE DELPHON FROM HUMANKIND."

"Let me get this straight," said Martha, "Your people – the Delphon from Alpha Centauri – sent a frightening, robot doll to spy on humans in case we're a threat, only, the last one went mental and started killing people? And now you've been sent to destroy it?"

"AFFIRMATIVE."

"It's in that house behind us," said Rose. Designation: Q launched itself out of the crater with rockets built into its feet, joining them on the grass and then marching, gun first, towards the farmhouse. Clara and Martha stared at Rose. "What? I want to see what happens."

"Maybe we should get somebody else to deal with this," said Clara, "Call in UNIT."

"What if it takes that as a threat? It's trying to keep its species hidden from humans," said Martha.

"I'm sure three manifests can handle whatever those dolls are up to," said Rose. "Come on, let's go see."

"Ooh, I'd really rather not, actually," said Clara.

"What's up with you?" said Martha, "You don't usually cower behind me."

"I just… I really don't like dolls."

"You're the one who wanted to come here, to the museum with the famous, haunted doll."

"No! I wanted to see the meteor! How could I have possibly known that the meteor would turn out to be a second doll?" Clara challenged her. Martha gave up; Rose was already on her way back into the house, and against her better judgement, Martha followed with Clara in tow.

"I've got to stop letting either of you decide what we do when we spend time together," said Martha, "Next time, we can just go to a café. Nothing bad ever happens at a café."

The farmhouse's backdoor was a clear obstacle since Q was too small to use the handle.

"Do you want one of us to open that for you?" asked Rose. Q said nothing. Its eyes horrifyingly rolled back in its head and two orange laser beams shot out. It carved a hole in the door the same size and shape as itself, and when it was done, punched the wood out and walked right in. "We usually knock on doors on this planet," said Rose. Q, again, didn't answer, disappearing inside. Rose tried the handle, and the door opened, "It's not even locked."

"DESIGNATION: O, YOU ARE SUFFERING A MALFUNCTION AND ARE REQUIRED BY PROGRAMMING DIRECTIVE TWO-SEVEN-NINE-EIGHT-SIX-OMEGA-RAINBOW TO TURN YOURSELF IN," Q announced to the empty kitchen.

They heard a bang elsewhere in the building and Q set off to investigate. It looked like a wind-up soldier when it walked, clanking and jerking, gun at the ready. There was nothing for them to do but follow slowly.

"If you're designed for spying, why do you have all these weapons?" asked Martha.

"IN CASE OF EMERGENCY, ALL STRATEGIC INFILTRATOR DRONES ARE EQUIPPED WITH SELF-DEFENCE PROTOCOLS."

"No, sure…" said Martha, thoroughly unconvinced.

"Maybe we should leave and let them get on with it?" Clara suggested. Martha shushed her.

Q led them into the main hall, pausing at the front desk, which, like everything else now, was covered in glass.

There was an electronic shriek on high and the other doll, free from its case, dropped from the landing bannisters and fell on top of Q, tackling it to the ground. Though they were stiff robots, the brawl on the floor still got nasty, and they rolled around together.

"DESIGNATION: O, YOU ARE SUFFERING A MALFUNCTION AND ARE REQUIRED BY PROGRAMMING DIRECTIVE TWO-SEVEN-NINE-EIGHT-SIX-OMEGA-RAINBOW TO TURN YOURSELF IN," Q repeated.

"I WILL DO NO SUCH THING," said O in a much shriller voice. To Clara's horror, its head started rolling around on top, spinning all the way to the back and grinning at her sickeningly. "THESE HUMANS ARE NO THREAT TO THE DELPHON. THEY SHOULD BE ANNIHILATED."

"I'd actually prefer not to be annihilated today, thanks," said Rose, putting her hands back in her pockets as they watched the scuffle play out.

"DESIGNATION: O, THE DELPHON ARE NOT A WARMONGERING SPECIES. YOU WERE NOT CREATED FOR THIS PURPOSE."

Q threw O off and backed away, then it raised its laser cannon and, with no hesitation, shot O at close range. But O had more tricks up its sleeve, producing a blue forcefield to absorb the impact. It was protected from the blast, but the force still sent it backwards, smashing a hole through the drywall as it went. Q ignited its rocket feet again pursued O through the wall.

Not wanting to miss the weirdest thing she'd seen all year, Rose went into the next room the normal way, through the door, pushing glass out of the way as she did. Every single museum display case was destroyed.

It was a firefight now. Lasers flew every which way as each robot took cover behind the wooden podiums for the various artefacts, slowly but surely blasting them apart.

"DESIGNATION: O, YOU WILL SURRENDER."

"I WILL DIE BEFORE I SURRENDER! THESE CREATURES ARE WEAK! THEY DO NOT HAVE ANY RUDIMENTARY LASER-RESISTANT CARAPACES LIKE THE DELPHON!" O shouted back, Martha's ears buzzing every time it spoke.

O's head snapped to the side, again finding Clara, like it had a sixth sense for people frightened of eerie, children's dolls.

"THEY DO NOT EVEN INTERVENE WHEN THE FATE OF THEIR PLANET IS AT RISK!" It pointed a laser at them and all three were forced to duck, the laser boring a hole in the doorframe above.

"Can't we resolve this peacefully!?" said Martha.

Q took advantage of O's momentary distraction and shot a small projectile. It spun through the air, landing with a clatter right next to O.

"Is that a grenade!?" Martha shouted.

They only had seconds to act. Martha could absorb some of the heat from an explosion, but the energy? Thank god Clara wasn't so scared of the doll she lost all sense of reason. She conjured an invisible, telekinetic shield of her own to cushion them against the blast just in time, as it blew half of the room and most of the ceiling to smithereens. Bits of glass from upstairs came down through the hole, along with splinters of wood, dust, and plaster. The room full of smoke and heat, O took off with the rocket boots, shooting up into the ceiling. Q was in hot pursuit.

"This is not good," said Martha.

"Come on!" Rose gave chase, "We have to stop them."

"How are we going to do that? They might be small, but they're bloody dangerous," Martha argued with her. Rose ignored her completely, though, and leapt up the stairs in the hall two at a time.

"Maybe we should leave her to it?" Clara suggested, "I'm sure she'll be fine, with her complete dominion over existence, and all that."

"Suddenly you're a coward."

"I'm not! Dolls just make my skin crawl."

Martha shook her head. Leaving Rose to fend for herself against the drones was never a real option, though, no matter how powerful she was. She and Clara trod carefully over the debris to join Rose upstairs, with the dolls now taking lumps out of each other in the bedroom the dead owner would never have to use again.

"YOU WILL SURRENDER."

"YOU WILL SURRENDER."

"NO, DESIGNATION: O, YOU WILL SURRENDER."

"YOU ARE DESIGNATION: O, YOU WILL SURRENDER."

"I don't know which of them is which," said Rose. One of them was the real O, but it had changed its voice while it had briefly gone unobserved. It was now impossible to tell them apart as they flew around the room shooting off more lasers. One mouth opened and the muzzle of a ballistic weapon emerged. This weapon was semi-automatic, and its head rattled like a machine gun as it fired off rounds at its rival. Again, Clara protected them.

"This is ridiculous, I'm demanding you stop so that we can settle things properly," said Martha.

"That's already what they're demanding of each other," said Rose, "I'm not sure they're gonna listen."

"Why don't we just destroy both of them?" said Clara.

"But what if these people, the Delphon, take that as a declaration of war, and try to invade Earth?" said Martha.

"I'll get the Doctor to go and explain the situation. I'm sure I've heard him mention the Delphon before. Heard her mention them, I mean," Clara corrected herself.

The second doll eventually shielded itself from the bullets, but this just sent them ricocheting around the room violently, tearing the walls apart. It then retaliated with its laser again, but this time, the laser hit the bedroom curtains, cutting them in half and setting what remained on fire.

"I'm sure the Shadow Proclamation have rules against arson!" said Martha. She could quell the flames, but only if she could get to them.

"THE HUMAN IS CORRECT. ARSON IS NOT AN APPROVED ACTION OF A STRATEGIC INFILRATOR DRONE," the furthest doll, the one who hadn't set the fire, said. So, that must be Q, and the nearer one was O.

Unfortunately, though, Q made the mistake of turning to assess the damage, and that was the only lapse in judgement O needed. It shot another laser and bored a glowing hole in Q's head. Q stuttered, sparks flying from its joints, and then malfunctioned catastrophically, whizzing around in the bedroom and smacking into the walls like a deflating balloon. It shot through a broken window and, safely outside, exploded in a mess of black, chemical smoke.

"So…" Rose began, "You're Designation: O, then? Is there any way you could not kill us today?"

"HUMANS ARE AN INFERIOR LIFEFORM THAT MUST MAKE WAY FOR THE DELPHON," it reverted to its high, whining voice, now riddled with bullet holes and splinters and hovering in front of them. "THEY WILL SEE THAT THIS ACTION IS NECESSARY ONCE IT HAS BEEN COMPLETED."

"I thought you might say something like that," said Martha, putting her hands together to unleash a blast of fire that was just strong enough to send O through the same broken window as its compatriot, spiralling through the air outside. The blaze on the far side of the room got worse.

"I don't think we should burn the house down, Martha!" said Clara. Martha ignored her and approached the window. The flames wouldn't hurt her at all, they barely even felt hot. It was simple enough to syphon them away from the kindling upholstery, sucking the fire back into her hand and extinguishing it completely.

But her heart sank when she looked outside and saw only one robot doll's remains. Q.

"It's gone, the other one, O," she said.

"Gone? I thought you killed it," said Clara.

"I didn't shoot it on full blast," said Martha, "I don't want to destroy an entire wall."

"That's it! I'm turning intangible until you-"

Clara did turn intangible, but was apparently so distressed by the animatronic dolls that she forgot that she also needed to levitate when she phased on the first floor of a rickety old house. She crashed through the carpet, and Martha heard her groan.

"You're really good in a crisis, you know," Rose called to her.

"Did you know she had a phobia of dolls?" asked Martha.

"No. I would've been hiding dolls all over the TARDIS when we lived together if I had."

"That's nice," said Martha dryly. Rose shrugged again. "I'll go see if she's okay."

"She'll be fine."

Rose went with Martha despite her general disinterest in Clara's wellbeing, keeping an eye out for Designation: O.

When they found Clara downstairs, she'd only just managed to get to her feet, covered in minor cuts and scrapes.

"I think I've sprained my ankle," she said.

"Come on, we'll find somewhere to sit down," said Martha, helping her. She'd never known Clara to play up an injury, so if she said she'd hurt herself, Martha believed her.

"Go into the kitchen, I'll deal with the bloody doll," said Rose.

"You are the one who controls the universe, supposedly," said Martha. The kitchen was a good idea, though. It had the least amount of hazardous glass thanks to its lack of displays. "Well, the nanogenes haven't come out, so I don't think these injuries can be that bad."

"Feel free to check me over more thoroughly," said Clara when Martha had lowered her into a dining chair, brushing it clear. "If you need me to take my clothes off, or-?"

Martha scoffed, "You're fine. Although, I've never seen you fall through the floor like that before."

"Give me a break, my husband just died."

"And that's why you forgot how your superpowers work?"

"I'm sure it's a contributing factor. Aren't you gonna go help Rose?"

"Maybe if she hurts herself, but I'm triaging you at the moment. And I don't really like dolls, either – runs in the family. We got one for Matilda a few years ago, and she cried whenever it was in the room."

"Maybe that one was haunted, too," said Clara, "Children are sensitive about those things."

"I think if it were haunted we'd…" Martha stopped. She thought she heard something behind her. It could have been normal, old house creaking, or more falling glass and plaster, but she turned around slowly. "Did you hear that?" she whispered.

"No, I was listening to you," said Clara. Martha gave her a look. "What? You're very attractive, you deserve my complete attention."

"Ridiculous woman…" she muttered. Then she heard it again, a creak or a crack, and raised her hand ready to shoot another fireball.

It had gotten into the kitchen's fireplace, dropping down the chimney in the corner and crushing charcoal underfoot, now filthy. But since it was in the chimney, Martha didn't hesitate when she sent a blast of flame towards it.

A laser came for her head, and she just barely managed to duck. When the smoke cleared, Martha saw it there, most of its face broken apart and revealing a maniacal, metal skull underneath; Rose had been right to compare it to the Terminator.

Its eyes flashed red. Obviously not happy about the fact she kept shooting at it, it fixed its sights on Martha and Martha alone, launching itself out of the fireplace and onto the kitchen table.

"Just put the weapons away, and we can-" It shot again and she dove – but forgot about the glass. The pain of her palms being cut wasn't severe, but it was just distracting enough that it left her vulnerable.

She managed to turn and see Designation: O charging the laser cannon again; those few seconds were enough.

The muzzle flashed, but then disappeared.

Clara had gotten in the way.

Sprained ankle or not, she jumped in between O and Martha and took the full blast of the laser.

It went clean through Clara, but this dissipated the energy enough that when it hit Martha in the shoulder, she was only lightly burned. Clara landed in a heap on the floor in front of her just as Rose made her grand return.

Thaddeus Boseman's fraudulent witch trial stake in her hands, Rose swung for Designation: O like she was trying to get a home run. She hit it so hard that it didn't go flying, it shattered, breaking into a hundred metallic pieces. Its final, tinnitus-inducing shriek rang out like a nightmare.

"Why did you do that!? Why did you jump in front of it!?" Martha demanded, shaking Clara's shoulder. The golden nanogenes were at work already.

"Couldn't let you get shot, could I?" she groaned. Martha tried to get a look at the wound.

"That's a whole bloody kidney that's just been vaporised!" she said, "You're lucky you'll heal from that – but if it had hit you in the head, what do you think would happen? Nanogenes aren't magic, they can't repair brains properly."

"And what if it had hit you?" said Clara, wincing and curling up, "You wouldn't have healed from that no matter what."

"Sorry I was late," said Rose, dropping the stake on the floor, "I thought I heard something on the other side of the house, but a pigeon had got in, I… I'm sorry, if it had-"

"It's not your fault," said Martha, knowing that Rose, like Clara, was also more concerned with what would have happened if she had been zapped. Martha dragged Clara upright; she leant against the cabinets and clutched her side, nanogenes flocking to the wound. "God knows what I'm gonna tell your wife later."

"She'd've done the same thing," said Clara, "And it's not so bad."

"Why not use telekinesis?" said Rose.

"It doesn't work on lasers."

"Convenient."

"We should clear all this up," said Martha, "The dolls, the spaceship. Before UNIT gets their hands on it. We don't want them reverse-engineering a killer robot."

"I'll take care of it, don't worry," said Rose.

"That solves the mystery of why there wasn't anything left of the meteor, though," said Clara, flinching. "But you were right, Martha. We'll definitely just go to a café next time…"