Plastic Murder---The Valentine Gambit

A lot can happen over the course of a few days.

For example, in just under the span of a week, a young man from Birmingham named James met (and fancied) a girl named Alex. During that same week, James learned an intriguing secret about Alex---during business hours at the store where she "worked", she was frozen in place behind the central display window as a mannequin---and came face to face with Faceless, a serial killer who wanted to "reclaim" Alex because the incident that had facilitated her reincarnation as a mannequin happened on property. James also learned that Alex's creation was "helped along" a bit by an unlikely party: the Autons.

Also during that week, the Fifth Doctor, Nyssa of Trakken and Major Tom found themselves questioning renowned sculptress Pelandra Glass-Weaver---and confronting the Master---on the planet Mylrae, only to learn that the Master had invoked the wrath of both the Nestene Consciousness and the Junta. With the bloodthirsty Junta calling for the Master's head (and ready to kill anyone else in their way), the group chose to head back to Earth to prevent the Autons---all of whom were under Faceless' control, rather than that of the Nestene Consciousness---from slaughtering the patrons of Swannies, a popular shopping center.

These two separate tales eventually converged, with James and Alex (along with several of James' friends) working alongside the Fifth Doctor to stop the Master from stealing the weakened, peaceful "offspring" of the Nestene Conciousness and switch off Faceless' control signal (after Major Tom nearly roasted Faceless with a flamethrower), thus ending the Auton menace….for the time being, at least. Since then, a lot's changed…..but more on that later.

The important thing to remember in this case remains: none of the individuals and/or groups who survived the last Auton "visitation" knew that the Nestene Consciousness was returning….and this time, it didn't want peace.

This time…..it wanted the entire planet. And it was perfectly willing to commit mass murder to achieve its goal.

Not unlike the psychopath who took control of the Autons during the Battle of Swannies…..
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Faceless stared at the ceiling, silently cursing the name of River Song every few seconds just to relieve the monotony.

Insolent woman, he mentally sneered, she actually believed that I, the last of the Rengold family to take up the name and mantle of Faceless, could be defeated by her stupid poison! Indeed, he'd done what few others had and survived the virulent concoction that River had discreetly slipped into one of his IVs….but it hadn't been an easy victory. Faceless' already ravaged visage was now further decimated by scars commonly seen on chemical burn victims, and he'd suffered acute respiratory failure at least three times over a two-day period; had his personal doctors not intervened, the Butcher of Lake Gilmour might have breathed his last…..

"…except I didn't," he reminded himself, remembering all too well how the doctors nearly arrived too late to save him. "And River Song isn't the only one who's responsible for my…incapacitation…" He thought back to the Battle of Swannies, how everything had gone pear-shaped after his fight with Major Tom. "He just had to bring a flamethrower, didn't he…..idiot." The flamethrower had almost done more damage than River's poison; the lung-searing, flesh-roasting napalm had briefly consumed Faceless and turned him into a walking fireball, adding 3rd-degree burns to the long list of extensive, disfiguring injuries he'd sustained over the course of his "career". There had been other wounds from the battle, as well…..

"No. The gunshot wounds don't count." Even before he first donned the mask and took the name of Faceless, William Jason Rengold III had always hated firearms and those who used them, claiming that anyone who felt safe "taking potshots with some stupid hand-cannon" was a coward, plain and simple.

Outside, the nurse who'd been hired to replace Faceless' original caretaker during her weekend holiday talked loudly on her cellphone, despite the presence of several signs requesting that visitors (and staff) avoid using cellphones inside the building. Worse, she was talking about attending a Justin Bieber concert!

Faceless felt a growing surge of rage; the nurse who was loudly proclaiming that she had a "full blown case of Bieber fever" was supposed to be monitoring the detoxification equipment designed to remove the poisons from a patient's body. Predictably, ever since she'd started yammering on the phone, the detox machines had slowly stopped functioning correctly, and were now operating at a mind-boggilingly ineffective 15%.

"GET BACK IN HERE, YOU IDIOT!" Faceless shouted, but the nurse ignored him. Angrilly, he punched the walls, making as much noise as possible to get the vapid girl's attention. "THIS MACHINE ISN'T WORKING CORRECTLY! GET BACK IN HERE AND FIX IT NOW!" Finally, the nurse turned to address him---and in what can only be described as a facepalm moment, she actually shushed the murderer and whispered "I'm on the phone, so shut up and go to sleep, or something!" With that, she went back to her pointless conversation about the concert.

Faceless felt the all-too familiar feeling of homicidal rage envelop him…..

Outside, the nurse was talking so loudly that she didn't hear Faceless tearing the tubes out of his arms, didn't hear the detox machines gouging ugly marks in the tile as they were dragged across the floor. She didn't feel the wristblade pressed agaisnt her back until it was too late….

She didn't even have time to scream as Faceless dragged her back into his room and locked the door.

"The next time I tell you to get back in here," he snarled, "YOU GET BACK IN HERE! Assuming, of course, that there's going to be a next time…Speaking of which---" He threw the nurse's cellphone to the ground and stomped on it until it was a pile of metal and plastic. "NOW FIX THE DAMN MACHINES," he shouted, "AND DON'T EVEN LOOK AT ME UNTIL THEY’RE WORKING PROPERLY AGAIN!" With his rant over, Faceless eased himself back into his bed and inserted the tubes back into his arms, his breathing becoming heavier with each passing minute.

Without even pausing to wipe the tears from her face, the nurse set to work repairing the detox equipment. For 21 minutes, she readjusted, recalibraited and repaired each of the machines until they were all functioning at maximum efficiency. Faceless sighed and laid back, finally content. "It appears I've misjudged you," he mused. "You're not a useless little idiot after all….and that means you've earned your life back. Now get out of my sight." The nurse nodded and turned to leave, only to scream as three black-clad female figures broke down the door, their sightless plastic eyes staring at Faceless.

"We-we-we-we ha-ave-ave-ave-ave come to-to-to-to kill-ill-ill-ill you-ou-ou," the black-haired woman spoke, her voice sounding like it was coming from a scratched CD. "Not if I kill you first," Faceless growled, intentionally falling off of the bed to retrieve the wristblades he'd stashed under the frame. The nurse who'd just saved his life ran off, screaming, as Faceless attacked the Special Ops Autons, not daring to look back….

….except, something was clouding her mind….a voice of some kind….

The nurse's eyes flashed pink; the Nestene Consciousness had given her a new set of orders, and she was to carry them out as soon as possible.

No longer panicking, the nurse returned to Faceless' room and grabbed the brunette Special Ops Auton. "You must-ust-ust-ust not-ot-ot---" the damaged robot stuttered; the sleeper Auton nurse ignored the protests of the lesser Auton, ripping the brunette's right hand off and yanking out both gun barrels. "You are no longer needed here," the nurse declared tonelessly, slapping a one-use Vortex Manipulator on the knackered Auton's wrist and pressing the button to teleport her away. Destination: Space Station Beta-Three.

Her mission complete, the nurse left the room and once again went stock-still; her personality programming was restored, and she screamed in terror as Faceless staggered out into the hall throwing Auton limbs against the walls. "NOBODY BETRAYS ME AND GETS AWAY WITH IT! NOBODY!"

The terrified nurse fled the UCLA Medical Center, hoping she would never have to go back…..
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James stared at the ceiling of his bedroom, wondering how in the hell things had gone so wrong. "All because of how Alex signed her post….." he muttered.

His thoughts drifted back to that afternoon, when things had gone totally pear-shaped….

"She just signs her post 'Love, Alex' because she's being friendly! It doesn't mean anything, Keeley!" he'd declared, meeting Keeley's angry stare with a defiant one. "We're not doing any 'long-distance dating'!" "Don't lie to me, James! What have you been sending her?" James was livid; "What have I been sending her?! I haven't sent her a I\'M SWEARING thing, Keeley!"

Charlotte, Liam and Other James had stood back, not wanting to get involved. "James, this has to end. Tell her to stop using that stupid signature in her letters, or we're THROUGH!" "NO!" James had screamed. "I'M NOT LETTING YOU RUIN MY RELATIONSHIP WITH ALEX---" "So there IS something going on between you two!" Keeley's accusing stare was the back-breaking straw for James; "THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT---" "If you'd rather be with some plastic prig than me," Keeley had shrieked, "THEN GO AHEAD! I DON'T CARE ANYMORE! JAMES, YOU AND I ARE THROUGH!" "KEELEY, WAIT! IT'S NOT LIKE THAT..Keeley….."

James felt tears stinging his eyes. "Keeley," he muttered to himself, "why'd you have to take it so badly? Alex and I are just friends…" He squeezed his eyes shut. "We're just friends….."

A knock on the door of his room ended his reverie. "Who is it?" he called. "James, open the bleedin' door already!" Liam shouted. Quickly, James wiped his eyes and ran to open the door; sure enough, Liam was standing there, accompanied by Charlotte. "We just wanted to see how you were doing after the whole, ah, Keeley thing," she began; James stormed back over to his bed. "There was no 'Keeley thing'; it was just a colossal misunderstanding, and now she thinks I'd rather see Alex than her!" He threw himself down onto the bed; "HOW did this get so stupid?!" he hissed.

"If it's any consolation, Other James isn't doing any better," Liam offered. "He got chucked out of English class for disrupting Miss Ferrera's lesson." "What'd he do?" James muttered; Liam stifled a giggle, and Charlotte blushed. "You don't want to know," she told him. "Let's just say it involves something that smells horrible and leave it at that."

James laid back and sighed; ever since the Battle of Swannies, Other James had developed a propensity for playing stupid pranks that often involved things one shovels off the sidewalks. "Has Keeley said anything about the row yet?" he asked. "No," Charlotte replied, "and I'd try to avoid talking to her for the next few days; she's really taking it hard. After the two of you yelled at each other, she ran to the girls' toilet and locked herself in a stall; Alice, Helen and I heard her crying…."

At least it’s not just me, then, James thought bitterly. "Did anyone ask if she was alright?" "Yes, but she just yelled at them to go away. I think this is serious, James; this whole misunderstanding about Alex needs to be sorted out, and soon." "Orange is right," Liam agreed (Charlotte glared at him, but said nothing), "you've got to fix this before it gets further out of hand!" "It's already too far out of hand," James muttered, "and besides, I have other friends." "What kind of remark is that?!" Charlotte cried. "'I have other friends?' What, Keeley doesn’t matter anymore---" "THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT!" James thundered.

Liam and Charlotte stepped back, afraid of what might happen next. James shook his head; "I…I'm sorry. It's just…..everything's been going so damn wrong lately; Hisley keeps giving me banter in class, Goldie Jayce said he wanted to whack me 'round the head with a washing-line pole yesterday, Mum's been asking about 'that nice girl who's sending me letters'…..it's so overwhelming."

He felt a hand on each shoulder; Charlotte and Liam had sat down next to him. "Mate," Liam declared, "we've all had bad days, some worse than others. Trust me, this Keeley thing will blow over soon." "In the mean time," Charlotte added, softly, "things are going great for you, even without Keeley! Don't let that change."

James nodded, a grin slowly crossing his face. "I guess you're right. After all, things could be worse…."
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Inside a warehouse somewhere in Birmingham, a stainless-steel pod cracked open, leaking something that smelled like industrial cleaning chemicals mixed with the plastic used to make Barbie doll heads.

What emerged from the pod, however, was a much more pleasing entity than one might have expected.

She stood at least 5'11, looking as if every inch of her body had been hand-sculpted by the finest artists and engineers on the planet. Before her, a large Plexiglass tank, occupied by some bizarre, pulsating thing filled the rest of the room. The woman smiled, revealing teeth that looked like a dentist's dream come true---every single tooth was perfect, not a flaw or stain among them. "I guess I should thank you for the healing pod, 'Dad'...or is it Mom?"

A voice sounded in her head, reminding her that now wasn't the time for frivolities; she had a job to do. A girl in a nurse's uniform, bearing a badge that designated her as an employee of the UCLA Medical Center, came forward. "Miss Valentine," she intoned, "how was your rest?" The impossibly beautiful woman the nurse was addressing---Jennifer Valentine---showed no shame at her lack of clothing----she only wore a Plastinol bikini while in the Nestene stasis pod---and, indeed, seemed mildly amused at her own near-nudity. "Very relaxing. I've got to say, the Consciousness has really gone out of the way to keep me from getting wrecked on this mission; that car could've crushed me beneath its wheels if Beta-Five hadn't shown up!"

"Relying on Beta-Five shouldn't be your main strategy, Miss Valentine." The new voice was an interesting one; it was deep, silky-smooth and mellow, but with an undertone that felt cold…hard as flint. "She's still in the prototype stage, and her abilities haven't been fully measured yet. After all, you did hire me for such bodyguard duties…" The speaker stepped forth from the shadows; Jennifer smiled at the black-clad figure of Tyrell Fulcatta, one of the most infamous mercenaries ever to have been trained on Riftan-Five. The few who managed to evade Tyrell never got a good look at his face; thus, the intergalactic media borrowed Johnny Cash's old nickname and designated him "The Man in Black", due to his tendency to wear all-black clothing.

"Tyrell," Jennifer purred, "if I asked you to pull my bacon out of the fire all the time, you'd be in a retirement home by now." "I highly doubt that," Tyrell replied. "Back on Riftan Five, the two top spots on the survival test were held by myself and Lytton." "Ah, yes, your old partner in crime….how is he?" Jennifer asked, still grinning a sultry grin. Tyrell frowned. "If we're going to continue this conversation, Jennifer, could you please put on some more clothes? I don't mind admiring the…aesthetically pleasing aspects of your design, but lately you've been dangerously close to going starkers a few too many times." Jennifer laughed, a melodious sound that brought to mind wind chimes, harps and pleasant evenings gazing at the moon. "Too distracted by my beauty, Tyrell?" she quipped. "No, just worried that you might show up for a corporate function in a bikini---or even worse, in the nude; that'll make the front page of The Sun, not to mention all of the actual newspapers…."

Jennifer chuckled as she gestured to a pair of Autons; "Not to worry, Mr. Fulcatta---I always have my trusty rolling wardrobe in case of emergencies." She pulled a knee-length grey skirt, an off-white blouse and grey jacket from the rolling wardrobe, along with a pair of black-high heels. "Turn around, please," she instructed. "I'd like to have a bit of privacy." The nurse and Tyrell both looked away as Jennifer got dressed.

"Since you're willing to play bodyguard, Tyrell, mind playing secretary as well and seeing what's on the agenda for tomorrow?" Tyrell pulled out a portable calendar and flipped through the pages; "You've got a meeting with some lawyers regarding those plastics companies you bought out last weekend; we've arranged the paperwork to make it look like you just made the deal tonight." "Excellent. And the, ah, original owners?" "All dead, ma'am. Three killed by Seducers---" "Wait, just three of them were killed by seducers?" Tyrell cleared his throat; "Funny thing, that. Apparently, someone got to the fourth before we could….someone who really likes using knives."

To the surprise of the Auton sleeper nurse, Jennifer actually growled. "Rengold," she hissed; in a split-second, however, she'd regained her composure. "No matter," she beamed, now fully-clothed and smiling. Who wants to join me in a toast, celebrating the future of Valentine Plastics Incorporated?" Tyrell smirked; "Count me in."

The nurse Auton ran to get the champagne, never noticing the grey-clad figure watching from the skylight….
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James lay in bed, waiting to fall asleep so he could forget all about the day's events. Even at rest, however, his mind was still fixated on the row with Keeley…..

In his dreams, James found himself back at Swannies, staring at the central display of a clothing store he'd never seen before. Both Alex and Keeley were there---and, oddly enough, both of them were mannequins. A man who bore a strange resemblance to John Simm strode up, clad in the typical attire of a carnival barker, and gestured to the two mannequins with a cane. "Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted. "Today's central attraction will feature this very lucky young man---" he gestured to James--- "choosing which of our lovely ladies he'll be with FOREVER!"

Though their lips didn't move, Alex and Keeley both appealed to James. "You'll have a great life with either of us," Alex assured him, "and I'll be happy as long as you're happy." Her expression was serene, a far cry from Keeley's look of determination. "You'd better choose me over that plastic prig, James, otherwise I'll never speak to you again!"

"I….I can't choose…."

"C'mon, lad, take your pick! It's not that hard a choice…is it?" The barker was grinning at James; Alex still wore her serene expression, but Keeley looked positively furious. The crowd wasn't helping at all….except…

One man, clad entirely in white, stared directly at James. "You make the choice, James…don't let the choice make you. The Valentine Gambit must be overcome…and it's your move."

James jolted awake. "Kilroy?" he briefly whispered, before sleep overcame him once again….
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Outside of James' flat, a man in a brown pinstripe suit stared at the sky, as if he were waiting. "It's almost starting," he hissed, his brow furrowed in frustration. "I should be the one handling this!" He shook his head. "Still, could be worse….."

"It could indeed, especially if the family living in this flat saw you out here."

The grey-clad man who spoke those words had seemed to appear from nowhere, but the man in the brown suit wasn't surprised. "Always one to make a dramatic entrance. Did you find what you were looking for?" "Yes…except they're dead." "What?! All four of them?" The masked man in grey nodded. "It's going for their lawyers tomorrow morning. Believe me, the Nestene Consciousness has evolved since the last time you faced it…" "It nearly destroyed Hyperville last time!" the man in the brown suit shouted. The masked man nodded; "That's just it---nearly destroyed. The only reason it failed was because of your intervention….this time, the game has changed; it's Jennifer Valentine's gambit, and the Consciousness is facing three of you."

The man in the brown suit sighed. "I know. Wibbley-wobbley, timey-wimey….that sort of thing. Let me guess…you're hiring the dandy, the cricketeer, and…..wait, which of me is the third one in the equation?"

"One of your future selves."

The Tenth Doctor shook his head; "I KNEW it!" He stared at the ground. "At least….tell me one thing related to what he looks like," he asked. The masked man considered it…. "He wears a bowtie." "WHAT?!" "That's all I can tell you. This particular future incarnation wears a bowtie." "Why in blazes does he wear a bowtie?!" the Doctor shouted. "In his defense," the masked man replied, "he says bowties are cool."

"At least it's me," the Tenth Doctor admitted, "not some yobbo claiming to be from the 57th century or anything like that." He sighed. "Well, is it safe to assume my future's in good hands?" Again, the masked man nodded without saying a word. "Then I should be off… "

He turned, but the masked man was gone. "Lucky for me I'm not one of those poor lawyers," he muttered, returning to the TARDIS. Seconds later, he was gone, hoping to not hear four knocks anytime soon…..
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For the second time in less than a month, the people of Birmingham were about to be invaded from within.

Only recently, a new clothing store known as Homme/Femme had opened in the city, far enough away from both Swannies and the Bull Ring to avoid competing with either establishment. To say Homme/Femme was new was a bit of a stretch; it had actually been around since 2001, thanks to famed deisgner Marco LeTrix, though some associated it with a weird incident that, if the police reports could be taken seriously, moving mannequins with guns built into their hands. Still, that was a decade ago; the new Homme/Femme promised one thing, and one thing only: Spectacular clothing, at spectacular costs.

"Spectacular costs" wasn't just a euphemism in this case; the £125 bikinis, £245 hats and £580 high heels were among some of the cheaper items. It wasn't uncommon for the Homme/Femme display window to feature mannequins clad in £8000 cocktail dresses or £5600 business suits; nor was it uncommon to see the owner of the international Homme/Femme chain of stores, the lovely Miss Jennifer Valentine, showing up and having friendly chats with the customers. What was uncommon were the lawyers; the third week after the Birmingham store opened, four lawyers showed up and asked if they could talk to Ms. Valentine.

The lawyers weren't there to discuss fashion, or why Mr. LeTrix had seemed to disappear off the face of the Earth after signing control of Homme/Femme to Jennifer; they were there to ask why she was interested in buying out four very prominent plastics companies. Their inqueries were always met with "We're sorry, but Ms. Valentine is unavailable at this time," and they eventually gave up on visiting the store altogether.

Instead, they decided to pay her a visit. At Homme/Femme corporate headquarters, no less.

Strangely, the lawyers vanished that afternoon; all four were found dead three days later, and it appeared as if they'd been strangled….by someone wearing a child's size twelve shoe. Their clients were gone, as well, their companies now under Valentine's control and merged into the burgeoning Valentine Plastics Incorporated.

They weren't even the first to die under her thrall….and they definitely wouldn't be the last.
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Owen Succherman, Jeffery Staunton, Ivan Jurnigan and Todd Frentz were all nervous.

All four young men were attorneys---specifically, attourneys representing major plastics firms in the United Kingdom. They had no personal quarrels with each other---though the firms they served often did---and often met at the pub after work for drinks and a round of "my day sucked worse than yours". Of the four, three were dating (Jurnigan had gone on record saying he had no interest in "increasing the population"), meaning that their post-pub routes usually led to their girlfriends' flats and nowhere else.

Such would not be the case today.

"Who is this Valentine bird, anyways?" Jeff asked, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses as the lift ascended. Jeff had lived in Kent for most of his life, until an incident involving a combine harvester and a herd of cows sent one of his parents to the hospital and the other to the undertaker. Since then, his remaining family had encouraged him to move to a more "urban" part of the country---Birmingham, for instance. "I mean, I've heard a lot about these high-ranking plastics manufacturing types, but as far as I know, Jennifer Valentine didn't exist before last week! "It does sound kinda weird," Owen agreed. Unlike the others, Owen hadn't been born in Europe (Ivan was "on loan" from a Russian law firm, and Todd had moved to Birmingham from Poland); he'd grown up in Chicago, Illinois before becoming "bored" with the Windy City and crossing the pond, to live in what his father sarcastically referred to as Jolly Old England. "Something about this doesn't add up…"

"My father had a saying about things that do not add up," Ivan intoned. "If something does not add up, then erase it." Despite his mother's silence on the subject, Ivan Jurnigan suspected (and later found out) that his father had been a Russian Spetznaz agent. "Jennifer Valentine may not be what she appears." "And what, exactly, does she appear to be?" Todd Frentz asked, grinning. "All I know is that she looks more like a supermodel than a corporate mastermind." Owen and Jeff nodded; Ivan just rolled his eyes. The four made more small talk as the lift ascended, waiting to meet the mysterious Jennifer Valentine face to face.

The lift doors opened, and the attorneys were a bit surprised at the décor of the room they were entering.

Instead of potted plants, or statues, or framed artwork, the lobby---which had grey tiled floors, pastel grey walls and light-grey ceiling tiles---had several mannequins posed and displayed in various areas. One in particular looked like a little girl, likely no more than 10 or 11 years old, and it gave Jeff a case of the heebies. "That thing is creepy," he muttered, "and it looks so…what's the term…" "Uncanny valley?" Owen offered. "Eh?" "Uncanny valley. Y'know, the point in technology where it's difficult to determine if a being is human or artificial." Jeff nodded; "That's exactly what I was thinking! She doesn't look completely lifelike," he mused, "but she doesn't look like just another plastic dummy, either. Something about her is just weird…the eyes, the face, the hair….." He shivered, backing away from the little girl mannequin and focusing on the task ahead: giving legal advice to his client as to whether or not Jennifer Valentine should buy out his company.

The thick wooden conference room door on the other side of the lobby opened, and a man in a black business suit emerged. "Ms. Valentine is expecting you, gentlemen," he told the four attorneys, his voice sounding silky yet cold. "Please take your seats, turn off your cellphones and don't touch anything." "And, ah, where is Ms. Valentine at the moment?" Todd asked. The man in the black suit scowled; "She's tending to some last-minute business involving an overseas deal. She'll be with you shortly." With that, the well-spoken man in black closed the door, leaving the lawyers to their thoughts.

Three minutes later, those thoughts were interrupted by a rather pleasant distraction: Jennifer Valentine had arrived.

Todd Frentz's observation that she looked more like a supermodel than a corporate mastermind was right on the money; every inch of her figure almost seemed to have been hand-sculpted to give her all the right curves in all the right places. Her honey-blonde hair cascaded down to her shoulders like a waterfall of molten gold, framing her face---which looked like someone had genetically mixed Cameron Diaz and Scarlet Johansson's DNA to create a perfect visage---in the most impressive way possible. Her teeth were flawless, her eyelashes were the perfect length, her ears were perfectly proportioned….she looked impossibly, inhumanly, miraculously beautiful. And she didn't look a day over 27.

"Gentlemen…" Even her voice was stunning, as if her vocal chords were hand-crafted by German engineers or something. "Sorry I'm late; as my..associate explained, I had some business to tend to…a few American firms had a problem with one of my offers; you know how it is." Owen, Todd and Jeff all nodded silently, any thoughts of their girlfriends instantly vanishing. Even the usually stoic Ivan felt irresistably attracted to the lovely Ms. Valentine, for reasons his analytical mind couldn't even begin to explain.

Jeff pulled himself out of his mysterious stupor long enough to ask a question: "Where are the gentlemen we were asked to represent this morning?" Jennifer sighed, projecting just enough sadness to make her next statement believable. "I'm sorry to be the one to inform you of the terrible news," she reluctantly told the young lawyers, "but Alan Downey, Dave Rourke, Stan Libatique and Donald Pearson all died rather suddenly earlier this morning." The lawyers were stunned; "How early?" Ivan asked, once again regaining full control of his formidable mental faculties. "Around 8:00," Jennifer replied. "We were all called to meet up here at 8:15," Owen countered, "so something's not right…" "Before you make any unfounded accusations," Jennifer cut in, "allow me to put your minds at ease: Apparently, all four of your clients had a clause in their wills that allowed the highet bidder to assume full control of their companies should any….unfortunate events befall them." Her seductive smile carried an almost invisible hint of malice. "And the highest bidder just happened to be me."

"Then why were we called to meet you, then?" Jeff asked, no longer feeling so enamored with Jennifer. "If our clients are dead, then why the hell did you need the four of us to show up?" "Yeah," Owen agreed, "this is just a waste of time! What the hell are you trying to pull?!" Jennifer's smile no longer seemed so seductive; instead, it now carried equal measures of malice, mocking and lasciviousness. "Answer our question, woman," Ivan growled. "Why did you call us here?" Todd said nothing, choosing instead to simply look around.

The malice in Jennifer Valentine's smile became much more pronounced. "It's quite simple, really. I called you here because now that I own all four of your clients' companies, your services will no longer be required."

At that moment, the door to the conference room splintered inward, revealing the little girl mannequin that had freaked out Jeff in the lobby; to his horror, she was staring right at him.

Behind her, all the other mannequins from the lobby stood in formation, looking like an army.

"What…..what the hell?!" Jeff screamed, knocking over his seat as he jumped up from the conference table to find a hiding place of some sort. "Is this some kind of sick joke?!" Todd asked, snapping out of his funk long enough to get angry at the deception he'd been forced to endure. "No joke," Jennifer replied, still smiling maliciously. "See, I can't let you four leave this building alive; you'd simply run to the media and tell them about my 'illegal corporate tactics', which I won't allow." "You won't get away with this," Owen snarled. "Our girlfriends---" "Your girlfriends already know," Jennifer interjected. "They're Auton sleepers; they've been keeping a close eye on you for the last few weeks, reporting to me whenever your work got too close to uncovering my plans." A door on the other side of the conference room opened, and Olivia, Crystal and Alison---the girlfriends of Owen, Todd and Jeff---marched out robotically, their eyes lit with a pink glow.

"What?!" Todd shrieked, tripping over a fallen chair as he tried to backpedal. Ivan, on the other hand, was a bit calmer. "You said the girls were Auton sleepers," he recalled. "Just what, exactly, is an Auton?"

Jennifer laughed, sounding melodious yet evil at the same time. "Autons are the future of this pathetic planet," she declared. "They're plastic humanoid robots…servants of the Nestene Consciousness." The mannequins---and Olivia, Crystal and Alison---all extended their right hands towards the lawyers, as if they were waiting for a handshake. Simultaneously, the fronts of their hands dropped away, revealing gun barrels. Jeff screamed obscenities and pleaded for his life, Ivan braced himself for a fight, and Todd was looking for a way out.

Owen, however, was focused entirely on the Auton that had been programmed to act as his girlfriend.

"Olivia," he murmured, "you don't want to kill me…remember all the fun we had?" The pink glow in Olivia's eyes flickered slightly; she frowned, as if trying to focus on something she couldn't quite recall… "Think about it, Olivia…you don't want to kill me…." Olivia blinked; "Owen? What…..what am I doing here---"

BANG!

The man in black emerged from the same door that the Auton sleepers had entered from, holding a wicked-looking pistol, and as Owen watched Olivia sink to the ground (with a blue stain seeming to blossom from inside her chest, eating away at her), he realized with a growing sense of horror that his girlfriend (he no longer cared that she was a plastic android with built-in orders to kill) had just been shot dead. "NO!" "Owen….help me…" Olivia moaned, as the blue liquid continued to dissolve her into nothingness. "Unless you want to end up like her," the man in black intoned, "stay where you---" Owen charged at the shooter, tackling him to the floor (trying not to look at the melting thing he once thought was his girlfriend) and running past him into a hallway that looked like it was ripped out of a bunker. In the room he'd just left, gunfire rang out, and the other three lawyers screamed their last. Owen squeezed his eyes shut, tears stinging his face as he ran for his life.

Every door on either side of him was open, and each room looked more bizarre than the last. In one, a group of lingere-clad mannequins were being fitted with what looked like razor-sharp press-on fingernails. In another, several faceless, white female mannequin heads were being fitted with electronic components that looked like speakerboxes. In yet another room, a woman was standing stock still as several mannequins (Autons, Owen corrected himself) finished dressing her in a nurse's uniform while a speaker blared what sounded like 100 vuvuzellas and the booming noise from the Inception trailer mixed together. It was like some sort of surrealist horror movie, with Owen as the terrified, unwilling star. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of running, he tore his attention away from a room that held several Autons in cheerleader uniforms, hoping to see an exit…..

..which he did, except the little girl Auton was blocking it. He nearly fell as he skidded to a stop.

Before Owen could say, do or even think anything, the Auton child punched a hole in the wall nearest to where she was standing.

"She's incredibly strong, you know," Jennifer Valentine's voice called out. Owen couldn’t take his eyes off of the mannequin child in front of him. "What the hell is this?!" he tried to shout; his words emerged as a harsh whisper. "The birthplace of the future," Jennifer replied, calmly walking down the hallway as sounds of electrical wires breaking free of their clamps inside the walls created a nightmarish soundtrack to the moment. "The last time an envoy of the Nestene Consciousness came here, its plans were foiled by the Doctor. The envoy before that, on the other hand, didn't even want to conquer the planet…it wanted peace." She laughed, as if the notion of humans living in harmony with the Nestene Consciousness was a bad joke.

"What the hell is the Nestene Consciousness?!" Owen screamed. "The soon-to-be ruler of this planet," Jennifer calmly stated, still calmly walking down the corridor as the sound of wires tearing themselves loose echoed all around her. "And who's the Doctor?" Owen asked, his voice a harsh rasp. Jennifer stopped, her smile fading a bit. "The Doctor," she stated, choosing her words carefully, "is one of the most persistant obstacles that the Nestene Consciousness has ever encountered. All of its past defeats came at his hands, and on a few occasions, he nearly destroyed it completely." "Well, in that case," Owen spat, "I hope he---"

Electrical wires (insulated with plastic, obviously) tore through the walls around him, shot up from the floor beneath his feet and whipped downwards from the ceiling above him, spinning him around to see Jennifer, smiling seductively once again. In seconds, Owen's arms, legs, hands, feet, and torso were completely bound by the wires.

Jennifer's gait took on a sultry sway as she made her way towards the attorney. "Just to prove that I don't hold a grudge," she murmured, her voice almost dripping with seductive undertones, "I'm going to give you one final kiss before you meet your fate." Before Owen could protest, Jennifer wrapped her arms around his ensnared form and gave him the longest (and possibly best) kiss he'd ever had in his entire life. When she finally let go, Owen's expression was one of mingled terror and awe. "What…..are you?" he whispered.

The little girl Auton moved past Owen to stand next to Jennifer, who gazed upon the doomed lawyer with a glance that no Rennaisance-era courtesan could have competed with. "I'm the CEO of Homme/Femme Inc. and owner of their international chain of designer clothing stores," she replied, "the head of Valentine Plastics International…." She leaned in close. "And the most advanced Auton ever created by the Nestene Consciousness." Before Owen could say anything, Jennifer grabbed his head with both hands. "Oh," she added, almost as an afterthought, "and I'm also one hell of an assassin when I have to be."

Without another word, she broke Owen Succherman's neck.

"Take note, Beta-Five," she told the litle Auton girl as the wires holding Owen's body retreated back into the walls from whence they came (dropping the corpse in the process), "that Mr. Succherman never bothered to ask what my plans were, nor did he bother to ask what was going on in each of the rooms in the hall behind us." "Why-not?" Beta-Five asked, in a clipped, halting voice that otherwise sounded exactly like a ten-year-old girl's voice should. "Because he wasn't just a lawyer," Jennifer replied, holding up a sheaf of papers. "He also did jobs on the side for an organization known as the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce…"

"He was a UNIT boy?" the man in black called, jogging over to join Jennifer and Beta-Five. "Indeed he was, Tyrell," Jennifer replied. "All four of them were. In fact, they only fot their law degrees just last month, at UNIT's request." "They-were-inferior," Beta-Five stated in her robotic 10-year-old voice. "Inferior or not," Tyrell countered, "one of them nearly escaped after Plod here made a run for it. He didn't get far, though; a couple of the Seducers cornered him." Jennifer grinned; "And?" "His family's probably going to be wondering how in the hell his lungs were filled up with enough plastic to make a beach ball." Jennifer flashed Tyrell her most winning smile. "I knew I did the right thing when I hired you, Mr. Fulcatta. Even after that problem on Kashmir, you just kept going." "Nature of the beast, m'lady," the mercenary replied. "Learned it from Lytton, back when we were training together on Riftan Five." Jennifer nodded. "Let's go see how my latest project is doing," she told the mercenary, "then we can help Beta-Five fix up the lobby again." Tyrell smirked, and joined Jennifer and Beta-Five as they entered the door B5 had been blocking during Owen's escape attempt.

None of them saw the grey-clad figure at the other end of the hall, watching them with unveiled hatred…
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At a café in Birmingham, three very important people met to discuss the deaths of four UNIT officers who had gone undercover as lawyers to investigate strange goings-on at Valentine Plastics Incorporated. The place was nearly deserted, meaning that the three wouldn't have to worry about being overheard; just as well, since any normal crowd would've dropped what they were doing to stare at a masked man clad in grey rags and a blond man dressed entirely in white discussing outrageous-sounding matters with a woman who had done six impossible things before breakfast…followed up with twelve more just to spite the previous record-holder.

"…and all four of them were killed?" the white-clad man asked, after his comrade in grey gave his report. "It pains me to say it, but yes," the masked man replied, his voice grim. "Valentine killed the last one herself; she kissed him, then broke his neck." "What a dirty trick to pull on someone in that position," the woman mused. "Anything else that we might find remotely interesting?"

The masked man handed over a folder; "Jennifer Valentine had an Auton with her that looked like a little girl; I heard someone refer to this new Auton as Beta-Five. Also, 'Miss Valentine' has hired Tyrell Fulcatta, the mercenary who worked with Robert Klieg during the first Kashmir assignment." The woman shook her head and muttered "The Man in Black." In a louder voice, she asked "I assume he's still dressing the part?" "See for yourself." The woman leafed through the folder, tut-tutting at the pictures of a black-suited man weilding a deadly-looking pistol. "Shot one of the sleepers just when she was starting to doubt her orders….this man is the definition of cruel and unusual." "Be that as it may," the white-clad man interjected, "we can't take on Jennifer Valentine ourselves, and you both know why that is." The woman and the masked man nodded. "Fortunately," the man in white addded, a sly grin forming on his face, "I know three rather industrious fellows who happen to specialize in dealing with the Nestene Consciousness, and I'm sure that they'd be happy to lend a hand." The woman chuckled, and though his friends couldn't see it, the masked man smiled.

The maitre'd arrived with the drinks that the trio had ordered, and they made plans to contact the "industrious fellows" as they enjoyed their beverages. "One's dealt with the Autons multple times before," the white-clad man explained, "so he might not be too quick to except, but---" "I'll see to it that he comes 'round to your way of thinking, sweetie," the woman assured him, grinning a seductive grin. The man in white rolled his eyes; "You have got to find yourself a hobby, or something….ANYWAY. The second of our courageous trio is just getting back from a rather important assignment, but I'm willing to bet that he'll be ready to take on another one." "If I may be so bold," the masked man offered, "allow me to present the offer to him." "I do allow it," the man in white agreed, "which leaves me with the third and final member of the group; he's just seen one of his friends off on a new career path, but hopefully, he'll be willing to join this little adventure without a problem."

With that, the three raised their glasses and made a toast to the men they'd be recruiting: "To the Doctor," the man in white declared, "the greatest hero the universe has ever known, even if some parts of the universe don't actually know he exists yet!" "The Doctor," the masked man added, "a true friend, an invaluable ally, and an incomparable leader." "The Doctor," the woman shouted, "quite possibly the best lover in the universe!" The other two looked at her, then burst out laughing. "Okay, maybe that was a bit too much," she admitted, chuckling. The three clinked their glasses and (after the masked man unmasked) took a swig of their drinks.

"Well," Kilroy declared, setting down his glass of Coke Zero, "we all know what comes next, right?" "Indeed," Publius Enigma replied, taking another sip of sparkling diamond water from one of Kashmir's moons. "The most dangerous part of our task is up ahead." "Oh, lighten up, sweetie," River Song chided, giggling as she swirled the Pan-Galactic Gargle Blaster in her glass before taking another swig. "That's almost as bad as that ear-candling stuff you did once, y'know," Kilroy reminded her. "I have a high alcohol tolerance," River replied, grinning sardonically at him. Once the three finished their drinks, they paid the maitre'd and said their goodbyes. River left first, using her Vortex Manipulator, and Publius put his mask back on and called a cab.

Kilroy sighed as they left. "Hopefully," he murmured, "they can get to the Doctors in time to stop this madness before it begins…breaking the Valentine Gambit is the key to a decisive win." He walked outside of the café. "Good thing I didn't tell them I had one last thing to tend to first," he muttered, grinning slyly. "After all, I am looking forward to seeing Alex again…" He snapped his fingers and vanished into thin air.

The mission to halt the Nestene Consciousness' reign of terror had begun.
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Awesome!

This great Duke!

DW11

Very awesome, as always old chap, well done!

Jam