Beneath the Surface
The Doctor was drenched. Full drowned rat. She’d even worn a waterproof, at Yaz’s insistence, but water had percolated through the seams. Not that she minded. It’s not like she felt the cold. But she did feel the exhilaration of being out, solving a mystery with Yaz. She still wasn’t sure if it was a good idea. They’d both been through a lot since she’d got this second chance. But once Yaz had got the tipoff from an informant that someone was buying up loads of alien tech, the human had been insistent. The Doctor wondered if this was Yaz trying to prove to the both of them that she was ready to be back out in the field again. Having adventures again. The Doctor felt a pang of regret that she hadn’t tried harder to put Yaz off. But, truth be told, she loved this. And she knew Yaz did too. Maybe this would be good for both of them. Although this frigid downpour might result in Yaz getting a cold.
"Love a bit of fieldwork, me." Yaz said, shivering
The Doctor grinned practically vibrating with excitement despite being utterly drenched. The Doctor felt a frisson. It wasn’t just the electricity in the air from the thunderstorm. It was being with Yaz, her Yaz, on their way to solve a mystery. Like old times. Better than old times. It was like she was having her cake and eating it too.
"Right? Nothing better than a good old-fashioned mystery in the middle of the night. In a storm. In a remote secret lair."
"You’re enjoying this way too much."
The wind howled as Yaz and the Doctor made it to the sleek awning of the building, finally granting a small degree of shelter from the relentless storm. The concrete and glass structure loomed over them, its reflective surfaces fractured by the storm's fury, as if the very elements were trying to tear it down. Rainwater dripped from Yaz’s hood as she exhaled, her breath visible in the chill. The Doctor bounced on her heels as they walked to the door, pushing wet strands of rapidly curling hair from her face. Yaz sighed, rolling her eyes fondly before pulling out her recently gifted sonic screwdriver.
"Alright, let’s see if I remember this right..."
The Doctor marveled as Yaz angled her sonic towards the heavy security door, focusing hard. A cute little furrow creased the human’s brow. The Doctor leant in, barely containing her pride.
"Concentrate. Be specific. Visualise exactly what you want it to do. We don’t want to be setting off any alarms, or making light bulbs explode.”
“That was one time!”
“Shhh. We’re supposed to be being covert.”
Yaz raised an eyebrow. There was a quick buzz, a sharp flash of red light, and then a rapid series of clicks as the locks disengaged. The door slid open with a mechanical hiss. The Doctor beamed.
"Flawless technique! You're getting good at this!"
"Fast learner, me." Yaz smirked as she tucked her sonic away.
The Doctor grinned at the brunette, eyes bright, but her levity faded as they approached the lobby - cold, mechanical, empty. She and Yaz shared a serious glance before they stepped over the threshold.
The air shifted the moment they entered. The door slid shut behind them. The storm still raged muffled by the thick wall but was replaced by a deep, unnatural silence. The Doctor thought it was almost too still, like something was listening. The dim, automated emergency lighting system flickered sluggishly to life, doing nothing to aid visibility. It simply casted elongated shadows across polished concrete floors.
The Doctor paused, sniffing the air. Yaz, already pulling out a torch, noticed immediately.
"Doctor?"
"Do you smell that?"
Yaz sniffed, brow furrowed.
"Smell what?"
"Iron. Ozone. And something else. Something wrong."
The Doctor didn’t elaborate, and Yaz didn't push. Instead, the human swept the torch beam across the empty lobby, scanning for any sign of life. The stark, minimalist design offered no clues - just sweeping glass walls, sleek steel desks, and a single security station. The Doctor approaches the abandoned security desk. A half-drunk cup of tea sat motionless, stone cold. A half-eaten custard cream beside it. There was no build up of dust, no sign of long-term neglect, just the lingering absence of movement. She could feel time moving normally. The clockwork heartbeat of the universe is ticking on as usual. But the building felt somehow stuck. A moment frozen just before catastrophe.
"They left in a hurry." Yaz gestured at the undrunk tea.
The Doctor nodded slowly, her gaze drawn to the coat rack tucked in an alcove nearby. Yaz followed her line of sight. Too many coats. Different sizes. None of them taken. It made the Time Lord’s skin crawl.
"Nobody goes out in this storm without their coat."
“No Yaz, they don’t.”
The Doctor removed her own soaked waterproof, hanging it on the rack as if it might blend in. Yaz hesitated, before following suit, her movements slower, more deliberate.
"I don’t like this, Doctor."
"Neither do I."
A low hum vibrated through the building’s frame, almost imperceptible, but the Doctor felt it in her chest. A sound just on the edge of hearing, a deep, mechanical thrum. She glanced at Yaz, who was distracted by something else. Or the lack of it.
"There’s no CCTV, Doctor. No security systems. Just manual locks. It’s like… Adams wasn’t worried about intruders. But he should be. If I were a billionaire hoarding alien tech, I’d want some security. Unless I was doing something so bad with it that I wanted to make sure there was no evidence of what I was doing. Hence a security guard and manual locks, but no CCTV or access controls that could be reviewed.”
“Check you out PC Khan! You’re right, of course. Which makes me think what’s going on here is the other option.”
“Which is?”
"He was more worried about keeping something in."
A silence settled between the pair, like the eerie still of the building had enveloped them. The Doctor’s insides felt itchy. This felt all wrong. Something bad had happened here. Might still be happening here. She glanced over to Yaz. She knew the human could hold her own. She just didn’t want her to have to. The Doctor gave her head a quick shake, trying to dispel this morbid train of thought.
"Could still be a nice underground art gallery, though! Hidden treasures.” The Doctor knew her cheeriness must sound forced to Yaz. “Maybe Adams is just collecting nice alien trinkets. Or is trying to replicate the Kronk burger recipe. Don’t think he’s quite got it given the smell.”
Yaz side-eyed the blonde, unimpressed.
"Yes. I’m sure famed fitness freak Adams has built this expensive creepy lab to perfect a burger recipe.”
The Doctor flashed Yaz a sheepish grin, but it didn't quite reach her eyes.
“I mean, I hope you’re right, Doctor. But it feels ominous here. Wrong.”
“We can go-”
“Don’t you dare, Doctor.”
“Okay, sorry. Well, in that case, we should go underground. Like the Jam! I met Paul Weller at Live Aid with Ace-”
“Doctor!”
“Ah yes. Right then...” The Doctor scanned the area with her sonic. “Lift’s that way.”
The hollow, mechanical groan of the lift stirred as the Doctor pressed the call button. The Doctor paced, trying to redirect her nervous energy as the lift ascended. Silence had fallen between the two and the Doctor couldn’t help but worry that she'd upset Yaz by suggesting they leave. That her overprotectiveness was misinterpreted as believing Yaz wasn’t up to the job.
After what felt like an age, the lift doors crepitated open with a protesting screech. A metallic, musty gust of air rushed out. Damp, stagnant, tainted with something rotten. Fear curdled in the Doctor’s stomach.
“Why don’t you stay here and keep watch?”
“Doctor!”
“Okay, I had to try.”
The Doctor was relieved when Yaz smiled gently at her.
“I know.” The human replied softly, stroking the Doctor’s arm.
Yaz swallowed, stepping inside with what the Doctor knew was forced confidence. The Doctor wished Yaz wasn’t so brave. The human’s bravery was one of the many traits the Doctor loved. But it worried her greatly. The image of Yaz’s lifeless body at Grimstone Weald was forever seared into her mind. The Time Lord scuttled into the lift just before the doors slammed shut, sealing them inside. The space was small. Barely big enough for the two of them. They stood in silence, shoulders brushing. A shiver ran through the Doctor. Not from the cold. Not from fear. Something else.
The Doctor felt Yaz slip their hands together. The Doctor looked at the brunette quizzically.
“You’re practically radiating worry, Doctor.”
“I don’t like that we don’t know what we’re getting into. This place has creepy vibes. Proper evil. One way in and out and we don’t really know what we’re going to find down there. I’m excited that we’re out solving mysteries but I’m terrified that you’re going to get hurt again. That I won’t be able to protect you. Although, I do feel a little bit better now I’ve said that out loud.”
Yaz gave the Doctor’s hand a squeeze. Her patience and empathy were some of the other traits the blonde loved.
“Thank you for telling me.”
The lift shuddered. The Doctor helped steady Yaz.
“Did you always worry like this? Before you came back?” Yaz asked.
“I always worry about you, Yaz. I always pick up humans-”
“Pick up?” Yaz smirked, eyebrows cocked.
“You know what I mean!” The Doctor laughed, grateful that Yaz had injected some humour into the conversation. “I always find someone to travel alongside me. Because you humans are brilliant - you’ve met some of them, all brave and big hearted. I get lonely and selfish and want someone around. Then I spend a lot of time feeling guilty for taking you with me. Getting you into these dangerous situations.”
“But you warned us. Before we came aboard properly.”
“I know. But can you really give informed consent? Would you have come along if you knew you were going to get zapped into another dimension, exterminated multiple times or spend years of your precious life stuck in the past?”
“I told you, I’m with you whatever happens.”
“Which is, unfortunately, the thing I both most love and most fear my friends saying. Especially you.”
“You trust me, right?”
“Always. But more than anything, I trust you will do the right thing. Which is not always the same as doing the safe thing.”
“I worry about you too. And, yes, I know you’re better at healing than humans. But like, since I’ve known you, I’ve lost you too many times.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.” Yaz gave a small chuckle. “Look at us, you would have thought someone forced us to come here!”
“Hey! I’m equal parts scared and excited. Well, sixty-forty. Ish.”
The lift came to a grinding halt and the lift doors shuddered open, revealing absolute darkness. The air was thicker here, heavier. Stagnant. Cold. It clung to their skin like damp silk. The smell hit them next, an overpowering fetid rot, laced with something metallic, something burned, something vaguely medical. Yaz instinctively covered her nose, but the stench was all pervasive.
"Oh my god." Yaz gagged.
The lift let out a final groaning screech as the doors closed behind them. The sound echoed, swallowed by the vast, unseen space ahead. A lightbulb flickered, automatic, buzzing like a dying insect, before it petered out. Yaz flicked on her flashlight, its beam cutting through the gloom to illuminate a long concrete corridor. The mechanical thrum was louder down here, playing in a discordant duet with the drip of a dark liquid from a pipe overhead. It set the Doctor’s teeth on edge. All of her sensory inputs screamed the same conclusion. Something terrible has happened here.
“You’re quiet. I hate it when you’re quiet.”
Yaz’s breath was visible in the chill.
“Processing. Dreading. Same thing, really. The coats upstairs suggest there should be people down here. But…” The Doctor trailed off.
“It feels dead.”
“Yeah.”
“Which door do you think, Doctor?”
The Doctor scanned the area with her sonic. Her grip tightening around it, as if to draw comfort.
“This one.”
The Doctor led the way, her pace slower than usual, her mind racing with the awful possibilities that may lay beyond the door. She pushed it open. Positioning herself infront of Yaz, the blonde crept into the gloom. The room hummed with a low, mechanical drone, like the breathing of some vast, unseen creature. The smell was somehow even worse here. The air was thick—heavy with the scent of scorched flesh and sterilised metal, an unnatural fusion of clinic and charnel house.
Yaz tapped the Doctor on the shoulder.
"Doctor, look at this."
She pointed to a terminal next to the entrance, a feeble blue light emanating pathetically from the screen. A video file had queued up before the computer had been abandoned. Test Log 5 - Personal Notes . Yaz pressed play and the Doctor held her breath.
Adams appeared on the screen. He was seemingly in the very lab the Doctor and Yaz were now in. It’s well-lit, clean. Adams appeared, put-together, controlled. Smartly coiffed hair set above a determined face. But the Doctor registered a wild glint of barely contained mania behind his eyes. Adams speaks to the camera.
"The problem with the human body is that it’s a flawed design. Weak. Aging. Corruptible. Evolution is too slow. Nature is a failure. In my research into alien tech I have found ascension. It speaks to me. Promises I will not be like the others. I’m not a Prometheus stealing fire from the heavens, but on a mission to surpass the Gods themselves. A perfected state. No hunger. No exhaustion. No pain. I will be the first but I will bring salvation to all. At any cost.”
The video cut out as the screen died. The silence afterward is unbearable.
"Okay. That’s definitely the most ‘evil billionaire’ thing I’ve ever heard."
The Doctor barely registered Yaz. She’s staring at her own reflection in the blank screen, her mind racing. Because that kind of obsession with control, with rewriting one’s own biology is uncomfortably familiar. She swallows thickly trying to squash her rising emotions. She can deal with that later. More important things first.
Yaz raised her torch to inspect the rest of the lab, the beam slicing through the stygian depths. It caught the outlines of something - or somethings - massive, hulking, and mechanical, the human’s gasp drawing the Doctor’s attention. The blonde fumbled for a light switch, casting the room in an anemic yellow glow, barely brighter than Yaz’s flashlight. The Doctor’s breath caught in her throat.
Wires slithered across the walls, mechanical veins feeding into four pod-like structures. Crackles of electricity sparked at random. Monitors flickered with static-ridden biometric data and screens glitched between strings of unreadable code. Pipes and tubing snaked the chambers. Thick viscous globs of foul liquid dripping from the bends to form acrid pools on the floor.
The Doctor stepped forward first. She could feel stickiness beneath her boots as she took slow, deliberate steps. Yaz followed, the torch beam trembling slightly as she moved. Each pod had a small window on the door, some fogged over, with condensation dripping in slow streaks down the inside of the glass. Others were smeared with something darker, thicker. She carefully approached the pod closest to her and used the sonic to open it. The door fell off completely, thunderously clattering to the ground. Its discordant note hung in the air, echoing menacingly.
“Doctor!’ Yaz gasped.
“Oh no.” The Doctor recoiled. “No, no, no, no.”
The half-converted figure was suspended limply in a metal harness, limbs bound by cables and surgical restraints. It was frozen in the throes of transformation - flesh stripped away, replaced with jagged steel that hadn’t finished knitting into place. Metal plating was bolted into raw, exposed muscle. Sinews snaked with exposed wires. The victim had lost an entire section of their face, revealing the gleaming inner framework of a machine where a skull should be. Their mouth gaped, oozing with congealed blood, caught between a silent scream and static distortion. Electricity crackled and the figure jerked. A grotesque marionette. There was no dignity in this death.
Yaz frantically clawed at the Doctor’s arm, unable to tear her eyes away from their grisly discovery.
“Are they still alive?”
The Doctor reached up to the figure’s neck. Cold to the touch. No pulse. The Doctor let out a sigh of relief, before solemnly shaking her head. It was probably for the best, all things considered. She bowed her head. Then the Doctor spotted it, a charred, blood splattered ID badge that had fallen to the floor of the chamber. She crouched to take a look.
“It’s the security guard.”
The Doctor’s words caught in her throat, as she picked up the card. She wiped blood from the plastic, almost tenderly, to restore the identity violently taken from him.
“Patrick Braverman.” Her hearts clenched. “I doubt he was a volunteer.”
The words tasted bitter in her mouth. She wondered if she’d ever given consent to Tectuen. Had she admired, even loved the woman who took her in to the point where she blindly volunteered to help, not knowing the horror to which she’d be subjected? Or was she, like Patrick here, tricked and trussed up before she even knew what torture lay ahead?
The room seemed to shrink around her. The walls were too close, the air too thick. The hum of the machinery distorted, becoming voices - whispers from another lifetime.
“Specimen unstable”
“Increase the dosage”
“It must be observed”
She sucked in a sharp breath, but it wasn’t enough. The walls kept closing in. She shut her eyes but all she could see was Braverman’s desecrated corpse. Her imagination ran wild trying to fill in the gaps of her own life. Was this what happened to her? Was this how it began? Cut open, dissected, remade for the advancement of an authority figure who had betrayed them? Murdered them? Was she just another failed experiment, thrown away and forgotten? The Doctor swayed on her feet, her breath coming short, shallow. She blinked rapidly, desperately trying to remain in the moment.
“He did this to them.” Yaz growled as she inspected the desperate bloody claw marks on the inside of the door. “Against their will.”
The Doctor barely registered it at first. The rage in Yaz’s voice. The scrape of fingernails against metal as she traced the bloody claw marks inside the door. The Doctor forced herself to blink, to breathe, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. She looked at the pods, at the things inside them. Bodies frozen mid-transformation. Some motionless, others twitching weakly, rejecting their botched conversions even in death. Their futures ripped away just like hers.
She hovered a hand over her sonic, hesitating. She knew should scan the other pods and see if there was any small glimmer of hope, but she already knew. She didn’t want to know more. She didn’t want to be here. She regretted coming. She didn’t want to think about -
“Doctor.”
Her name was an anchor. She latched onto it. To Yaz. The apologetic worry in her voice. The concern cutting through the panic. The Doctor exhaled sharply and forced herself to scan the pods, the sonic whirring in her trembling grip. Dead. Excruciating, pointless, undignified deaths.
“Adams wasn’t testing the alien tech on himself. He was perfecting it first. Running trials. Experimenting. Watching them suffer, fail -"
The Doctor trailed off, swaying like the room itself was shifting, closing in. Her mind was spiraling, hands trembling. The past bled into the present, spectres of stolen memories pressing against her skull. She couldn’t untangle her rage at Adams from her fury at Tecteun. These victims had been stolen the same way she had. Their bodies broken apart, reshaped, their lives rewritten without consent. Her hearts raced. Too fast. Faster than her thoughts. She staggered backwards, terror twisting into panic. Muffled sounds distorted around her. Fear clamping round her chest. Dragging her down
Fingertips on her face. A steady, grounding touch. She didn’t pull away.
“Doctor, you’re okay. Just breathe. Please. Breathe.”
The Doctor took a deep breath, spluttering as the fetid smell invaded her nostrils. She wanted to puke. To run away. To find Adams and punish him. She never got answers, never got justice for what happened to her. She would get justice for these victims. Her hands clenched into tight fists and the room began to spin.
“Look at me, Doctor.”
The Time Lord focused on Yaz. On Yaz’s deep brown eyes which were wide with worry. On Yaz’s gentle hands cupping her cheeks.
Yaz is here, my Yaz, holding me together.
Her hearts slowed and breathing returned to normal. She pressed her forehead to Yaz’s for half a second before pulling away.
“Thank you Yaz. Sorry.”
Her voice was shaky. Hoarse.
“Hey, no need to apologise. Do you want to talk about it?”
“No. I mean - not right now. We need to stop Adams first. Then we’ll talk. Promise.”
Yaz studied her for a moment before nodding, pressing a brief, grounding kiss to the Doctor’s forehead.
"We can call UNIT in if it’s too much. I understand this could be difficult for you."
The Doctor’s mouth twitched, an imperceptible almost smile. She’d offered Yaz a similar out mere minutes before. She opened her mouth to respond.
Metal scraped against concrete. The Doctor’s response remained unspoken. A low, wet gurgle echoed from somewhere deeper in the underground complex. A sound of movement. A sound of something waking up. Electricity surged sending sparks cascading from the ceiling. The screens flickered, biometric readings spiking violently. The mutilated corpses jerked violently in their tombs. Another surge and the lights above them shattered into a cascade of glass.
The Doctor snapped upright instantly. Every trace of vulnerability was gone, replaced by sharp, urgent focus. Tecteun had tried to destroy the entire universe just to erase the failures of her experiment. What would Adams do to cover up his?
The Doctor grabbed Yaz’s hand—a quick, firm squeeze, a stolen moment of strength. Then she let go, spun toward the sound, and ran. Into the black. Toward the danger. Yaz followed closely behind, their footsteps echoing sharply through the dingy, unlit corridor. The air grew colder. Denser. Wrong.
"Doctor! Wait! We don’t know what’s in there!"
"What if it’s someone else being forcibly converted? We have to stop it. We have to save them. While there’s still a chance."
"I know." Yaz sighed, resigned. "But just be careful."
The Doctor barreled through the heavy metal door. A thick fog of acrid, burning smoke rushed out to meet her, curling around them. The stench of hot metal and scorched flesh was suffocating. Yaz coughed, eyes watering as she swept her torch beam across the lab.
The lab was bare, other than the towering conversion pod at its centre. Its surface was slick with condensation and blood, the internal mechanisms moving in a grotesque ballet. Mechanical spider-arms darting in and out, slicing, stitching, fusing. The figure inside convulsed, thrashing against its restraints. Their screams were somehow descant over the machinery's relentless whirring. An orchestra of pain.
The Doctor lunged at the pod, frantically gripping the thick power cables. She yanked hard, teeth gritted, trying to dislodge them. Almost manic, she strained harder but to no avail.
"Yaz! Find the power shut-off! Now!"
Yaz scrambled through the smoke, heart hammering. Her torch sliced through the obsidian haze, illuminating webs of knotted, makeshift wiring. She followed them blindly, hands trailing across the damp, grimy walls until her fingers found a lever.
"Found it! Get clear!"
The Doctor threw up her hands in surrender, stepping back from the cables as Yaz wrenched the lever down. A violent shower of sparks rained down as the lab plunged into darkness. The machine shuddered violently, lights flashing wildly inside the pod, a contained explosion ripping through its core.
Then stillness.
For a long moment, nothing moved. No hum. No mechanical breath. Just the stench of smoke and charred metal. There was a faint hum as the emergency power sluggishly kicked in. Dim floor lights flickered, casting an anaemic glow over the devastation.
The Doctor’s ears pricked. A wet slap of flesh against glass. And again. Harder this time. Whoever was in there was alive.
Beside the pod, a screen crackled to life. The text glowed red.
CONVERSION: 63%—ERROR.
Inside, the figure convulsed. A broken, half-human moan rattled out of them. A distorted scream. A noise that didn’t belong in a human throat. The Doctor held her breath
The pod hissed and bitter steam poured out in thick, suffocating waves. The shadows inside shifted. The Doctor’s pulses spiked. A silhouette staggered forward, half-shrouded in fog. Lumbering. Broken. Alive.
It lurched forward. The clang of metal boots on the lab floor. Heavy. Unnatural. The Doctor felt the vibration in her chest. The figure took another step. Another. Closer. Yaz gripped the Doctor’s arm. Vice-like. The Doctor barely registered it. She was rooted to the spot. Frozen. A failed experiment. Like her. Another victim she hadn’t saved.
"Are you okay? Do you remember who you are?"
The Doctor was grateful for Yaz’s police instincts. Her own instincts had seemingly deserted her.
A sound escaped the figure’s throat, not words. Not yet. Instead it emanated a garbled, mechanical groan. The voice glitching, breaking apart. Breaths heavy and wet. It moved closer. The emergency lights flashed, casting its half-metal face into momentary focus.
Beside her the Doctor heard Yaz’s breath hitch. The figure’s staggering steps weren’t random. They were relentless. Purposeful. Close.
The Doctor staggered back, moving in front of Yaz, hands raised. She wasn’t sure why. Partly in defense, partly a warning to stay back. Maybe to reach out. Her head was spinning.
The pod continued to spark, illuminating the figure in flickering bursts. Its ruined mouth twisted into a snarl. It lifted its head, voice crackling through half-functioning vocal cords.
"Ash..."
The Doctor’s stomach dropped. The temperature in the room seemed to plummet. The figure took another step forward.
"Ash..."
The light caught the brutal seams of the conversion. Flesh meeting metal in crude, jagged fusions. One human eye flickered, unfocused. The other burned with a dull, sickly blue.
The Doctor felt Yaz’s grip tighten around her arm.
"It’s Adams!"
The human’s voice was a shaky, horrified whisper.
"Ash..."
The Doctor’s hearts slammed against her ribs. The figure took another step. Closer now. The light hit him fully. The final pieces locked into place. Scorched metal, shoddily clamped into exposed sinew. An unfinished monstrosity. The face of a man who had rejected his own humanity. Who had tried to make himself something more. Who had become something else entirely. He looked the Doctor in the eye and rasped his name.
"Ashad."