London, England
28 August, 2014
6:14 PM
Then she stopped. She'd definitely heard rustling behind her. No doubts about it. Cherise turned slowly and took a good, hard look at the bush once more. Aside from the fact that Mr. Johnson desperately needed to give it a good trim, it seemed an extremely ordinary bush. Shaking her head again, Cherise turned back around and kept walking for a good couple of metres. This time she stopped because of a different noise. A little metallic whirring coming out of the alleyway off to her right. A bit like the noise a computer fan sometimes makes, but significantly more sinister. She supposed that was because it was a bit deeper in pitch than her computer's fan.
Cherise sighed, now resigned to the fact that she was definitely going to be making a big deal out of what was probably nothing today. She turned to her right and - not without a good measure of caution - walked into the alleyway.
"Hello?" she called out, "is someone here?" Her accent betrayed her origins - she had been born and raised in Liverpool and had only moved to London a year or two ago for a job. It was a nice job, as jobs went, but banking was quite stressful work. Still - she was learning to be quite observant thanks to the job. One couldn't be too careful when dealing with money.
It didn't take extraordinary powers of observation for Cherise to hear the last sounds she would ever hear. There was an awful, grating, metallic voice. It was shouting, and it hardly sounded human at all.
It said, "EXTERMINATE."
There was a flash of light and Cherise's shopping fell to the ground. A small silvery thing, not unlike a metal rat, scurried out from behind a trash can and began investigating the contents of the bags.
London, England
10 October, 2014
7:28 PM
As the first drops began to fall by an unassuming pub in Islington, a curious sound emanated softly from the sky directly above it. A perception filter kept everyone from noticing it - you would only have known it was there if you had been listening for it. And tonight, none of the people who spent every night listening for that sound were by the pub in Islington. It was a wheezing sound. A grating, whirring sound. An alien sound. The sound of a Type 40 TARDIS with the parking brakes on.
The TARDIS materialized out of thin air ten metres above the pub's roof. It dropped from the sky like a stone, hit the roof with a thud, and slid off, landing on its side in the alleyway behind the building. Not even the perception filter would mask that racket.