Disclaimer: We do not in anyway claim ownership of Doctor Who, that privilege resides with the BBC
Summary: The 42nd century is plagued with crime and fear but for the Doctor and Rose, there is only pain when they are faced with a moral dilemma like no other for their enemy is none other then the ancestor's of Jack Harkness.
The scene is reminiscent of an aristocrat's portrait.
Thamal Harkness, patriarch of the Harkness clan lounges comfortably on a black wooden chair of epic proportions, against the back wall of a lengthy room, swinging his revolver around lazily in one hand.
His handsome face is twisted into a sneer of hatred; his grey-green eyes shudder inducing.
At his feet, his vicious wolfhound lays spread out on the carpet besides its master's daughter, Zamaya, her golden curls bouncing softly as she moves left and right.
The girl is playing quietly with her dolls, all seven of which lay scattered on the floor.
It could almost be considered cosy, if there wasn't a bloodied corpse lying eagle spread in the middle of the room like a throw rug.
Thamal occasionally points his revolver at the corpse and mimes shooting it in the back before laughing harshly and turning to the woman hidden in the right hand corner by the one of the tall Corinthian pillars supporting the roof.
"That's what happens, Sherie my love, when you double cross the family!" Thamal calls out to her in a mocking voice.
The woman shudders involuntarily, drawing her arms around her body as if they can protect her.
The gesture does not go un-noticed. Thamal gets off his throne like chair and sprints over to the woman, grabbing a hold of her long brown hair so that she can not escape him.
The woman shrieks in pain, attempting to claw at him with her long nails. Thamal responds by tightening his grip.
"You can't escape me, till death do us part, remember?" He sneers down at her as she tries to struggle free.
When she continues to struggle Thamal presses his gun to her temple. Instantly Sherie quietens down, her eyes wide with fear.
From her spot on the carpet, little Zamaya raises her head and, grasping her doll firmly by the scruff of its neck she clambers to her feet.
"Burn her" Zamaya cries, her voice hard and bitter, more mature then her 6 years.
She begins to twist the dolls plastic head until it comes clean away from the body.
Thamal licks his lips as he stares down at Sherie, considering his daughters words.
When he doesn't reply Zamaya stomps her foot on the ground in anger, "I said burn her, wring her neck like a chicken till she can't breathe no more then burn her body till there's nothing left but ashes and eddies. I need something to jump on!" She cries maliciously, so different to the fragile shell of a small child that she is encased in.
Thamal smiles down at his daughter, so much potential, he's glad he kept her.
He looks back to his wife who is watching Zamaya in a mixture of pity and terror.
"She's a regular chip off the old block isn't she Sherie?"Thamal asks with an evil chuckle.
"I'm even thinking of giving her own division of the family business, interrogation! I think she'll do well!"
Sherie gives a cry of pure terror, giving up all attempts to escape and hiding her face in her hands.
With a grunt of disgust, Thamal releases his grip on her and let's her fall to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably.
Zamaya waits patiently as Thamal walks away from Sherie to pick her up and twirled her around like any father would do.
As he places her back on the ground he reaches in his pocket to pull out a box of matches and gestures to the bloodied corpse.
Zamaya shakes her head and points instead to Sherie.
Thamal's face darkens, "NO!" He cries harshly, slapping her in the face.
The little girl staggers backwards, her hand reaching up to touch her left cheek, but she does not cry.
Instead she glares at her father until he hisses, "We need her!"
Zamaya's frown deepens but she says nothing and instead takes the box of matches her father holds out to her.
Thamal ruffles her hair in response and gestures to the corpse once more, "No kerosene, just let him burn sweetie, nice and slow like a spit roast"
At this, Sherie's sobbing grows louder, drowning out all other sounds.
"You're sick!" She shrieks, violently hitting the ground with her fist, "You sick twisted bastard, you did this to her." She gestures wildly to Zamaya, "She's like that because of you!"
The Wolfhound on the floor begins to growl menacingly, awoken from its sleep but it's master raises a hand and it quietens at once, lowering its head again.
Thamal puts an arm around his daughter in mock protection as he addresses his wife. "This darling, is an improvement, all you did was give her these stupid dolls to play with" and with that he snatches a lone doll from the floor and aims it at the corpse.
It lands beside the body; face down in a small pool of blood trickling slowly from the corpse.
"Go on" he urges his daughter, looking down at the box in her hand.
Zamaya obediently opens the box and pulls out a single match, striking it eagerly against the edge of the box until it catches fire.
With sickening joy she runs over to the corpse and let's the match land on the man's jacket.
Zamaya watches with anticipation as the jacket catches on fire, urging the fire on to consume the body.
Thamal stands where he is, grinning at her as Sherie looks between the two of them, pure misery etched on her beautiful features.
Slowly she stumbles to her feet and runs out of the room without glancing back.
Father and daughter are too bewitched by the flames to notice.
There is nothing to be done about her brother's body, by morning he will be nothing but ash on the carpet, and she will be the one to sweep it up.
But, if she does anything right in this life, she will make sure Thamal never does this to someone else's family.
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