A/N: Welcome back folks. This is the second episode in my series, continuing on from the events of Second Chance. So, I s'pose this is Brittany's first proper TARDIS trip. Okay then. Read on and enjoy, and leave me lots of nice lovely reviews! (not trying to sound desperate or anything)

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.




White lightning flashed across the sky, rolling thunder following almost instantaneously. Heavy raindrops pattered on roofs and roads, filling gutters and turning grassy fields into muddy wastes. A lone figure hurried across a wide bridge arching over the Thames, making his way into South London.

His only defence against the storm was a heavy blue raincoat draped around his shoulders and thick, black gumboots on his feet. Under that, he wore a plain grey sweater and long khaki cargo pants. His name was Christopher Walker, and he was on a mission. Of course, he would have much preferred to be at home in the warm with his wife and two kids, but his job didn't always allow such luxuries. Instead, he was stuck out here in the rain following up a lead on his current case.

He ducked across a road, dodging honking cars and avoiding deep puddles. A quick search through his pockets yielded a crumpled packet of cigarettes, which he proceeded to open. He sheltered under the eaves of a house, cupping his hand around a cigarette to protect it from the elements while he lit it. He took a quick pull on the smoke, blowing a little grey cloud out from between his teeth.

Chris set off again, cigarette in hand, coat wrapped tight around his body to keep out the driving winds and sleeting rain. His workmates at the police station believed that he would find nothing out here, and had told him as much, but someone had to go have a look. He had been working on this case for the past week, and this was the only true lead he had found during that time. Six days ago a man, Greg Miller, had been reported missing. He had gone to work in the morning, and never came home. Within the next seventy-two hours, a further twenty people had disappeared, with more everyday. There was one link between the missing people.

They all worked at the same place, a textiles factory in South-east London. A few officers had walked past the place, and it seemed normal enough. It was old and run-down, for the company that owned it had barely enough money to run the factory, let alone repair it.

Chris paused across the road from the factory, dropping his cigarette in the bin next to him. His wife always nagged him to stop smoking, but he could never find the time or the effort to. There was always an excuse, always an easy way out.

He shook his head. Focus on the job at hand. Finish what he had come here to do, so he could go home, and possibly even have dinner if he was lucky. The factory in itself did look normal. It was one of many large buildings on the street, nestled between a warehouse and a rundown derelict apartment block. Chris slowly walked across the road. The factory should be empty, or at least that's what he hoped.

He pulled some pliers out of his coat, and broke the lock on a window. Chris glanced around quickly, to make sure no one was watching, and climbed through the window. He closed the window behind him with a quiet click and sighed. The things he would do for his job. Still, there was no harm in a quick look around, and if it helped solve the disappearance mysteries, all the better.

The room he had entered through the window looked like an abandoned storage room, with cardboard boxes and stray bits of cloth strewn everywhere. Deciding that this room did not hold the key to the disappearances, Chris opened and stepped through the only door in the room. He found himself in a corridor, with numerous doors leading off at regular intervals. He opened the first one, and peered inside. It was some kind of office. There was a boring desk with a computer perched atop it in the centre of the room, and old paperwork thrown into haphazard piles all over the floor. The next three doors showed similar offices.

At the end of the corridor was a door unlike all the others in the corridor. Chris pulled a torch out of his pocket and turned it on to get a better look. While all the other doors had been made of flimsy wood, this one was smooth, curved metal. At first glance, it looked like a submarine hatch, built into the wall, but there was something out of place about it. Chris grabbed the wheel at the centre of the door, and turned it. Expecting to meet resistance, he was almost flung off-balance when the wheel spun freely beneath his hands. With the hiss of escaping gas, the door swung outwards.

Chris clambered through the dark opening after a moment's hesitation. He hadn't been expecting a shiny metal door in the middle of the administration offices, and his instincts told him to turn back. Once he stepped over the threshold, dim, white lights flickered on overhead, revealing a silvery metal corridor. A metal grille covered the floor, shiny pipes and conduits snaking along beneath his feet.

He wasn't an expert, but this didn't seem human. He looked back at the door, unsure of whether he should retreat or go on. However, before he could make the decision, something grabbed him from behind, dragging him further down the metal corridor.

A few minutes later, a scream echoed through the factory, dieing away slowly, until all that remained was a whisper. There was no-one around to hear the cry.