The Rift is a temporal anomaly, a rip in the fabric of the universe, where all manner of weird things can come forth: the lost, the unhinged, the trash of the multiverse.

So of course, I spill out of it, emerging– blurry eyed–in Cardiff, Wales of all places. An interesting location to be sure; having the highest concentration of aliens in the entire hemisphere being only one of its appealing qualities. But I was not here to meet the locals. No, I had eyes for only one man. A man of infamy around the bars frequented by the Judoon. A man who was known for only three things: his unstoppable libido, dashing good looks, and the strange condition of immortality. 

He’s also the only person in this century with a time machine. His is a crude device to be sure, but it was only a means to procure a more suitable ride later.

He was opposed to the idea, of course, and certainly did not appreciate me shooting him in the head. But my goal was so close now, and I was not going to let the Torchwood Institute stop me from claiming my prize.

And you thought Doctor Who was a dark show.

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