A/N: Welsome to episode six, another adventure of the Doctor and Brittany. Yeah, episode six of a series of stories, go read the other episodes first et cetera et cetera et cetera. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: in the absence of a witty, attention-grabbing, amusing, random or otherwise interesting disclaimer, the following has been inserted - I do not own Doctor Who.


SERIES ONE: EPISODE SIX

FRACTURED GLASS

CHAPTER ONE: THE THINGS THAT GO BUMP IN THE NIGHT

Sam Taylor was the pinnacle of ordinary-ness. He was a twenty-two year old university student from Auckland, Aotearoa, the land of the long white cloud, otherwise known as New Zealand. Part-time job, had a few mates, went to the pub on weekends. Loved science fiction and aliens and dinosaurs and anything else like that.

Suffice to say, he was well surprised to find himself in a science fiction story of his own. It had all started when he had seen the spaceship. At least, that's when he though it had started.

In fact, it had all begun almost seven years earlier, on the day he's broken the mirror. It had been a nice mirror too. His grandmother's. Gold-plated framing and everything. Of course, it was one of things you didn't pay attention to at the time. A broken mirror? Who believes in those bad luck superstitions anyway?

Sam Taylor did. He knew it was true, because there was something chasing him. Normally, he would have assumed it was his friends trying to give him a bit of a scare, but he wasn't so sure anymore. He wasn't so sure of anything anymore, not after what he'd seen.

Sam Taylor was running for his life.

Rain pelted down on his shoulders, heavy and cold; winter rain. The pavement beneath his sneakers was flooded with water, his feet slipping and sliding every which way as he sprinted madly through back alleys and empty streets. A cat screeched and took off as he disturbed its hiding place, but he kept running. Always kept running, for if he stopped, whatever was chasing him would catch up. He definitely didn't want that to happen.

He paused for a breather, the cold night air harsh in his lungs. He could feel the blood rushing to his head, and could hear the steady thumping of his heart as it tried to break out of his chest. All signs that he was severely out of practice when it came to exercise.

The mixture of fear and adrenaline pumping through his system didn't let him keep still for long, so he hugged his thermal jacket tighter over his chest and ran on, breath still coming in ragged gasps. It was a dark night, black storm clouds burying the moon, so Sam almost ran straight into the tall man that jumped out of a side alley. At first, he thought he was going to be mugged, as the man was clutching a metal pipe in his hands, but then he recognised the outlandish style of dress. The blue pinstripe suit, red trainers and long brown overcoat were instantly recognisable anywhere.

"Run!" the man shouted, with a distinct British accent. "Run, Sam Taylor, run and don't look back!"

Sam obeyed, and the man moved to block off the alleyway behind him, almost as if he were guarding it. But Sam kept running, vowing to himself that, if he got through this alive, he was going to join up to the gym. And if this all turned out to be a dreamed caused by watching Alien one too many times late at night then, well, it would still be a good move. No reason not to keep fit.

The downpour had eased up slightly, but that did nothing to ease the pain burning in his legs. He kept running, always keeping ahead of the menace that was following him.

A shout rose up from behind him, definitely human in origin, but whether it was a battle cry or a cry of pain, Sam couldn't tell. He didn't want to know, in case it was the latter. He didn't look back, not even for a moment, didn't dare tear his eyes from the path in front of him. Didn't dare do anything but run, arms pumping in time with his pounding feet.

The alley behind him fell deathly silent and Sam freaked out, skidding to a sudden halt. He spun around on the spot, but it was too dark to make out much. There was no sign of either the British man, or his pursuers. While this could be considered a good thing, Sam couldn't help but think that the strange man had been killed. Surely not? He'd never had to deal with anyone dying before, not like this anyway.

What was he going to do? He couldn't outrun the creatures, not forever. What happened then?

There was a splash from somewhere behind him and slowly, ever so slowly, he turned around, trainers squeaking on the wet pavement. Another splash, and still he was turning, not nearly fast enough.

Splash, splash, splash, splash.

He caught a glimpse of a patch of darker shadow, the impression of wings, clashing mandibles and light glinting off compound eyes before the creature leapt at him.

And still he was turning, not nearly fast enough.

Sam's only hope lies with a man he doesn't know, a man who calls himself 'the Doctor'. However, the Doctor was a lot closer than he realised.