Subject: ((Hello, beastie))
Posted on: 2016-10-24 16:15:58 UTC

Jack was patting at the mirror, horrorstruck. “How the hell did we not see our reflections running down the hallway?” he demanded of the Detective.

“What, you think I know? It’s obvious we’re dealing with some kind of reality warper with an Alucard complex,” the Detective snapped, turning back from the mirror to face the monster.

“Although. . . there’s a chance the mirror was there the whole time, and the low-lying fog obscured our reflections. . . Dammit! Multiple variables, screwing with my brain. OKAY- from the beginning.”

The Detective stood, dead-eyeing the creature, as Jack looked at him like he was mad. The Detective stared, taking in every detail. The wear of the trench coat, the obvious fact that the bag had been used to cover someone’s head in a previous shooting. It had shot several victims, apparently, as the blood around the eye was dry, but its gloved hands were dripping. No other bodies apparent. So observing, the agent opened his mouth to speak, then tilted his head.

“Ah, screw it,” he said, “OPEN FIRE!” and Jack slammed his spare mag into the pistol, firing three shots into the wailing, chain-ridden monstrosity, before they legged it into the left corridor at random. Every good Whovian knows to turn left, after all.

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