Dateline: BNN

Assault of the Plastic Men

Originating from High Street British stores, mannequins launched an all-out assault that brought London to her knees.

An astonishing early counter-attack by the United Nations Intelligence Unit, led against any expectations by retired General Sir Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart, drove the strange creatures that had seized the countryside, back toward their apparent origin-point...

a fair-ground on the Thames, where a final decision still awaits.

"I so wish I had my scientific consultants from back in the day," remarked Sir Lethbridge-Stewart wistfully.

President Bush, from Camp David, urged limited nuclear strikes.

"I believe that current nuclear and biological technology could bring an end to the alien menace, while limiting any long-standing damage to human life," said Mr. Bush. "The United States stands ready to provide assistance to the United Kindom, and to Humanity."

A reporter came onto the screen.

"The Prime Minister thanked the President for his support, but stated that there was no need for international aid at this time."

"This evening, Sir Lethbridge-Stewart made an extremely bizarre, but heartfelt plea to the world."

:An aged Alestair Lethbridge-Stewart talks quietly with several reporters, then turns to a camera, bringing his face extremely close:

"Doctor! Wherever you are in time, find this! This truly could end us. We need you, Doctor. We need your help!"


Clive closed the window on his computer. The explosions were a few blocks closer, now.

"Well," he said.

His wife had left, with his children, and they wouldn't have...

except that he'd managed to convince her, he'd gone mad.

An explosion racketed.

Tears trickled down his face.

"I wish she'd taken more of an interest in my work." He paged through several photographs. "I hope the General is right."

He took a look through a few photos of the UNIT scientific advisers that had been on during the General's tenure in the 70s.

Crazy-looking hobos, old fops, and young-old street people?!

He wasn't optimistic...

He frankly had more belief in his own time-significant personage turning up now.

There was a BING!

He turned toward his computer.


"Guten Tag, you rascal," he typed. "I'm just surprised the internet's still working here."

"I just obtained a set of photos from a collector here," came the reply. "Real, World War Two stuff, authenticated."

"Really? What's this"

"World War Two, Undesirables," Jens wrote.

Several minutes passed.


Clive looked out the window. The smoke was growing closer, as were the explosions.

The television sparked to life, with Prince Charles himself making a special broadcast.

"We urge all citizens to remain brave and vigilant in this most trying time," he said, half-reading from a paper in front of him. "We, Britannia, shall prevail, as we always have prevailed. With regret, I must say to you, that in the words of Sir Winston Churchill, 'I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.' But we shall come out of this stronger than ever before!"

He shook his head and turned back to his workstation, tuning out the rest of the Princes' speech. Pandering garbage, anyway.


The computer pinged.

"Clive, the photos here are authentic. I did my own tests. And for what it's worth... I'm sorry."

What did he mean?

The photos had downloaded. The first showed the familiar face amongst others at a German train station.

He hurredly flipped through them...

At a processing station.

At another train station, surrounded by lost-looking people and grim-faced guards.

At a concentration camp.

The face was among others, behind barbed wire, in prison clothes...

He stared. "No," he gasped. "He couldn't have possibly gotten..."

The next photograph proved him horribly wrong.

The next...

He heard shouts outside.

UNIT, and Her Majesty's Finest.

Earth's last hope.

He clicked the next link, tears nearly obstructing his vision.

Piles of corpses, ready for the ovens... he looked again, and he was struck, just before the plastic of his own computer twisted and reached in daggers for him, how even compared to the agony of the corpses around his, with how completely at peace...

was the face of the Doctor.