"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?"
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