A/N: Hi. Again. Long timey no writey here, so apologies for that. Just with the lack of Doctor Who I haven't had much inspiration, and I couldn't seem to get another chapter of 'Legion' out, even though I was probably happier with that prologue than this one :s Anyways I am back, and even though I've given it the whole 'I promise I'll keep writing it' before I really mean it this time. I've got the DW bug back, so yay for that :D

I can't think of much more to write here, so I'll just get on with introducing Logan Baxter :D


Prologue

It must be said that there is something invigorating about running barefoot across hot sand with the sun only just rising over the horizon, even if it is quite a clichéd moment. The cool, salty sea air drying out the light perspiration on your neck and forehead, the warmth that seeps through your toes and welcomes each landing footstep by pulling you down into the golden sand, challenging your calf muscles. The faint squawking of waking seagulls, crying out for no other reason other than that they can.

I suppose if you had no worries then this would be a wonderful way to start the day. Also I imagine it would help if it was a nice beach, like Palm Beach or Horseshoe Bay or something like that. Wonderfully invigorating.

Not so much when you are being chased by five angry, baseball bat toting men and dressed only in your underpants and a t-shirt on a beach that is littered with all sorts of vile rubbish. That's not so much invigorating as, well… terrifying.

Logan Baxter was still gripping onto his jeans and trainers, despite the fact one trouser leg was hanging down and threatening to trip him up at any moment. The sand pulled on him, causing him to lurch and stumble unsteadily and his steaming hang over wasn't helping matters much either. The five men behind yelled various unnerving insults and threats, but he tried to block them out, concentrating solely on reaching the far end of the beach and maybe getting up onto the street and out of this nightmare.

He couldn't even remember what he had done to rile these people up so much. Although it wasn't as if he was the kind of person to never annoy anyone, he was pretty much well known for getting himself into situations that he could have easily avoided just by opening his mouth at the wrong time, but usually he remembered what he had done. This morning he had woken up on the back seat of his car that was still parked up the beach somewhere, trouser-less and surrounded by beer cans and with five rough faced thugs peering in at him.

They had started by trashing the car, smashing it mercilessly with their bats. Logan had struggled blearily into the front seat and started the engine, getting about a hundred yards before the engine died. He had stumbled out, grabbed his things and started running. His pursuers didn't even have the decency to inform him to why they were going to cave his head in. Something told him that it wasn't just a random act.

'The more you run the more you'll bleed!' a manic voice bellowed at him.

Logan winced. Was that supposed to make him stop running? He pushed himself harder, despite his throbbing head and aching body. Looking around he knew he wasn't going to make it to the sandy ramp that lead up to the roadside. Once he was up there he had a good idea of where he could go; behind the arcade, up the fire escape and then hop back down into the bushes behind. It would be a hard fall but he could hide out in the park until they finally gave up looking for him. But they were advancing on him quickly and while he was on the beach, he had no chance.

He decided to take a short cut, taking a drastic change of direction by taking a sharp right and running straight for the concrete wall that ran around the beach. It was about seven feet high, and Logan himself was about six feet high. In theory he could easily haul himself over the wall, but he didn't take into account his sheer exhaustion. He reached the wall and threw his belongings over it, then tried to vault after them. His arms refused to take his weight. He risked a glance over his shoulder and whimpered pathetically at the sight of five furious psychopaths practically close enough to spit on him. He tried vaulting again and this time his arms decided the situation was perilous for them to help out a little, but it was too little too late and Logan felt a rough hand grab the back of his t-shirt and haul him backwards. He stumbled, lost his footing, and landed hard on his back. He lay there, dazed, and then looked up to see the men standing over him, some with the bats balanced on their shoulders and others smacking them threateningly in the palms of their hands.

Logan, knowing he was now up shit creek without a boat, raised his hands and decided to do what he did best. Beg. 'Please don't beat on me,' he whined, pathetically. 'Whatever I did, I'm sorry okay? I… If I said something to one of you I was probably drunk, I've been drinking a lot lately, 'kay? I'll make it up to you. I… I can work stuff! Yeah I can do some running around and stuff, I'm good at that. Just ask Tommy Reynolds, you know him? Yeah give him a call and I'm sure…' He interrupted himself with a yelp and wrapped his arms around his head as he saw one of the bats come out.

It didn't hit home though.

Logan peered out from behind his arms to see that the bat had hit the sand just above his head. He peered nervously at the man behind the bat. He was broad and stout, with dark skin and flat features. He squatted down, pushing his scarred, grimacing face down towards Logan's. His breath smelled of stale cigarettes and something horrid that could possibly be some kind of gum infection. His black hair was shoulder length and looked like it hadn't been washed for a long time. Something told Logan that this man probably wouldn't think twice about smashing him into the sand.

'Do you know who I am?' he demanded in a raspy voice.

Logan blinked and shook his head. 'No.'

The Neanderthal like man raised the bat so it rested on his shoulder. 'You know Betty Vance?'

Logan tried to search his memory for the name, but his terrified state wouldn't allow him. He shrugged and shook his head. 'I uh… I don't… I don't think so?'

'Wrong answer!' the monster snarled, bringing the bat down again. He felt a rush off air on his scalp as the bat slammed into the sand again. He let out a terrified whimper. 'Try again!'

'I don't…' Logan whined. 'I can't…'

'You know my sister!' the man screamed in a voice that should only be heard in the elevator descending into Dante's Inferno and pulled the bat back over his head again. 'Don't you lie to me!'

Logan curled his arms around his head and let out a rather unmanly squeak. Usually it would have mortified him immediately, but the way he sounded wasn't really his main priority right now.

'My baby sitter, my little princess sister calls me up in the middle of the night!' he yelled, knuckles white around the wooden bat. 'Crying her eyes out and wailing about some man. Some man who took her for all she was worth! Cleaned her out! Took her god damn money and jewellery and split. But she didn't care about that though, she was too busy going on about how her heart was broken. Four years and you go and pull a stint like that? I should do more than beat your head into the sand you dirty little...'

Logan frowned from behind his hands and tuned out the terrifying profanities that poured out of his attackers' chapped lips. Okay, so he didn't have the best memory in the world, but he would be pretty sure if he had been seeing a girl called Betty Vance for four years who had a brother as monstrous as this. And also if they shared the same genes it was unlikely that she would be a looker. A wave of relief washed over him. This was just a case of mistaken identity.

'That's not me!' he cried desperately. 'I don't know her I swear! I... I'm Logan Baxter! I live up in B-Circuit! I work on the construction site! I don't even have a girlfriend, man! I haven't had one for years!'

The men stared down at him, a mixture of annoyance and bewilderment crossing their dumb faces. After several excruciating moments, the scorned brother glanced around at his cronies.

'What did she say his name was?' he asked quietly.

One of them shrugged. 'Urm... Ket. Or Kit. I dunno.'

'I'm pretty sure it was Kit.' Another piped up.

'Nah I thought it was Kat.' A third added.

'See?' Logan insisted desperately. 'That sounds nothing like Logan! You got the wrong guy!' He started to push himself up. 'No hard feelings, eh?' he chuckled nervously. 'I'll just be on my way. And I promise I won't tell anyone that you're lurking around with those... nice... big bats of yours. I'll keep quieter than a mute in a library I swear. I just--'

A heavy boot landed hard on his chest, making him wheeze and pinning him back down on the sand. 'Do you think I'm an idiot?' Betty Vance's brother snarled, tapping himself on his huge chest with the bat. 'You think by you giving me a fake name I'll just let you skip off home?' His top lip curled back and he straightened up. 'I'm going to do more than give you a warning, kid. I'm going to kill you.'

'I'm not lying!' Logan wailed, panic engulfing him again. 'I have my drivers licence! Wait! Just...' He looked around for his jeans but then remembered throwing them over the wall. 'It's in my pocket! Just let me get it and-'

'Screw this.' One of the cronies snorted. 'Just do it already.'

They all moved in, rearing back their bats.

'Please! I'm not this Kat or Kit or whatever! I... please!'

He curled up into the foetal position, waiting for the inevitable reign of blows to shower down on him. Well how was this for a great week? And to end it by getting killed because of some loser who couldn't treat his girlfriend right. And when these men realised that they had got the wrong guy, they probably wouldn't batter an eyelid anyway. Fantastic. Just goddamn fan—

A sound made him flinch. A whumph. Initially he figured it was the bat hitting the sand, but then he realised it was far too loud for that. He risked a glance out between his fingers, expecting to see Betty Vance's sibling glaring down at him, but he wasn't there. His cronies were there, looking extremely confused, but their leader was nowhere to be seen.

Logan propped himself up and glanced around. His eyes finally settled on where the bulk of a man had been standing. Instead of footprints in the sand there was a dip, the sand sliding down into it like a small sinkhole. Logan stared at it. The guy was big but surely not big enough to sink in dry sand that quickly...

The next time it happened he saw everything. Thin black vines shot up out of the sand and wrapped tightly around the ankles of the lackey to Logan's right. All of the men looked at them in silent confusion, and then seconds later the lackey was quickly whipped out of sight. Right before his greasy head disappeared under the sand, he managed to release a terrible scream.

This got everyone moving. In a chorus of confused and frightened bellows, the lackeys took off across the beach, now completely unconcerned with Logan. Not wasting a moment, Logan scrambled to his feet and turned to the wall behind him. If the lackeys had done the same thing instead of taking off across the sand, they probably would have stood a chance. But stupidity and panic aren't a good mix, and Logan wasn't about to tell them otherwise.

He vaulted the wall easily this time and scrambled to gather his belongings. As if mocking him his drivers licence slipped out of his pocket and landed on the pavement, but he didn't pick it up. His brain screamed at him to run, to get away from that beach as fast as he could, especially when he heard two more awful screams coming from the beach. But curiosity made him turn and look. And he looked just in time to see the last lackey get whipped out of sight by the glistening black vines.

Or were the tentacles? He could have sworn he saw suckers.

He didn't allow himself to think about it. Heart thudding in his chest and sweat pouring from his brow, he sprinted across the road, past the arcade, and anywhere that was far from sand.