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Wielding's first law

time * space + humans = shit = const

'nuff said.

the beginning, continued

Somewhere else, a kid with no proper name swings back in his chair, staring at the computer with a very wide grin, slightly predatory and delighted at once, resembling the Cheshire cat. His eyes shine with excitement as he starts to tap on the keyboard. “That was great”, he mutters under his breath, though there’s no one to hear him speaking. “Fuckin’ perfect.” As if he was commenting a movie. He smiles again, this time in a childlike manner, unaware of possible danger. “Whose move, then?”

the beginning

It’s all of sudden when the screens in Torchwood Cardiff hub turn to black, then splashes of white appear and, finally, the senseless mosaic becomes one dim image, bathed in blue. And that image is enough to keep their gazes fixed, breaths held.
“Hello, Captain.”
The voice they hear is not just powerful – there is something else about it that almost forces them to listen. As if it didn’t belong to that thin man, shivering in soaking clothes. He would have been just plain, if not for his bruises, dripping water and the haunting, yet tired look in his double-colored eyes.
"I came here to destroy it all. All that you did, all that you do. As you can see, it's no longer necessary." The dim blue light draws out outlines of what might have been Institute’s fittings and what now is smashed, burnt, cracked and broken beyond recognition, in a nearly impossible way. A landscape of destruction, providing an ominously matching scenery for that man. A proof of his madness – if it’s madness that’s dwelling at the bottom of his irides – perhaps?
"Now you look like you thought I did it after all and I'm crazy enough to deny it, for whatever reason. But, no. I changed my mind, but it was...already too late."
For a moment, he turns away, as if… there are numerous “as ifs”; and it’s not a wise thing to do, trust a madman. But, as for now, there is no fury nor hysteria of any kind, just sadness, more striking than the remains he must be looking at. And so, they believe him, though it doesn’t bring relief. They still lean back instinctively when he looks at the screen again, directly at them. One eye as blue as the surrounding light, another one brownish-green.
"From that moment I take command of Torchwood Two." That’s a statement, clearly not a question. And, surprisingly enough, even Captain is too startled to undermine it. "I will make my own rules, but I won't break any of yours if it's not absolutely necessary.” That tone, strong, but only seemingly confident, makes them lean back again, wary of his madness. “We both know and you know even better than I do what can happen when just one man makes all decisions and has enough knowledge to think that he's able to do that. This time I won't take a chance. I will just take some of the responsibility. I will fix it. Make it work. You can try to stop me, you are very welcome, but as you can see, I'm the only one left here and I still...have the key. I will report you on the progress as soon as I take care of this mess. Whisper out" He looks away again, focusing on something they can’t see. "Who's there?"
Before they get a chance to know the answer, screens turn to velvet black again. The connection has ended, but the silence – fractured only by echoing sounds of dripping water – still keeps ringing in their ears.

Victorian Torchwood

Photo by Diodak, Lublin Old Town, Lost Days photoshoot, May 2011

the greater good

Doing something for the greater good is like feeding the gavial. At first, you give it more fish so that it'll go to sleep and stop causing trouble. But at one point it wakes up, and you have to feed it again. It grows as you feed it, and you still do it to maintain peace and quiet. And you end up with a reptile that's not only hungry but also huge and annoyed, and you've got no fish left, and you don't know what to do.
It's exactly like that.

@fixer wrote:

Twentieth-first century came, everything changed and we were too occupied to even notice. It doesn't matter now, we were not ready anyway. Actually, we're never ready...enough. So we just keep trying.

a guided tour

"So, uh, welcome to Torchwood. Don't you like it? M'kay, I agree, it could be a bit less watery and I really wouldn't mind, but it's great nonetheless. Don't let the bare concrete walls and occasional mould and other shit mislead you. Hear these howls? Actually, these are not the aliens we're supposed to catch (or so the gossip goes). I guess it's just distorted sounds of Glasgow, above us. But whatever. Here is our main workplace, that's why it's even more messy. Here, we eat and discuss stuff, and work, too. There, no, you don't go there, it ain't no visitors' area, it's Eric's territory. To the left is the morgue, but you don't look as if you found it enjoyable. Here... and there... and there too... are piles of alien tech. Whole heaps of stuff that does wonders. Or explodes. Or just lies until it rusts, whatever.

That corridor? To the damned circle. You're sure want to go there? That pile of stones clearly gives me goosebumps. See? We're getting nearer, and you start to feel it, too.

You already know it's something else and otherworldly, but you can't even find the right words to describe it, can you? Like your body knew it all along, instinctively, and this time it's the mind that has to catch up with that nasty shit. I'm not very good at ideological babble, so forgive me, I'd rather let you come a bit closer to the circle.

I bet you already know what I mean. Somehow beneath this water are whole worlds. You're standing on a bank of abyss deeper than anything you could imagine. There's a lot of life down there. A lot of thoughts. Wars, too. Trouble, obviously, when something slips through. But to hell with trouble, this job is worth it.

How can you not love it, seriously?"