Circling
We're circling.
crack! CrAcK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
A sound echoes upwards from the deep and beyond us. It shatters through the collective ear drums of the TNT audience and the traumatized remnants of whatever remains of a once massive UWA viewer ship. A short silence... then it is heard, just as the thunder chasing the lightening, a scream travels up through the spiral staircase before you chasing the cracking sound.
Faster.
We're going faster now. Spiraling through the twisting staircase with swiftness greater than before; chasing the cause of the effect that had just hammered through our ear drums twice before. Coming to a half the camera angle settles just outside of a stainless steel door. The door itself is not in itself a complete wall. To a human it would create an impasse that is true, however, this impasse has a just a sliver of a window in which you can see through a barred opening and into the interior of what TNT fans are coming to recognize as the Andorran Consulate. It is the underground den from which the Doctor satiates his most primal desires well within the confines of the international legal system... for this section of Washington D.C. is Andorran soil.
We gaze through the bars together as one. And with all our combined might...
...we...
...are...
...helpless.
CRACK!
Another scream thunders through the stagnant cellar air as we bear witness. A young woman; we only know her by one name. Her last name has been lost to her. A minion for years. She too was tortured by the Doctor and she too endured the pain that she so presently exacts. Her identity lost in a sea of pain so vast from which there can never be rescue. Now the glove is on the other hand.
CRACK!CRACK!CRACK!
A wooden rod. It's hers. She breathes heavily; dressed in her signature little black dress, her bare dirty feet waltz about a chair. Beads of sweat have collected on her body, she's had quite a work out before we got there, and so has he. His name is Sam. And he's currently bound to that chair through the use of several chains, strands of duct tape, and a rosary which has been used to tie his neck to the back of the chair. His Lord observes from the beads as another of his son's suffer.
" Do you remember him?."
That random soul the Minions snatched off the streets two months prior? Erica remembers. He has been the sole source of her attention as of late. And as such he has been the sole recipient of a beating courtesy of Erica's weapon of choice as of the last fifteen minutes. Sam's not in the best of shape. His once pristine business suit is in torn and matted together with his white dress shirt through a combination of dried blood and torn flesh. He didn't scream those last few hits. She didn't even give him a chance. His mouth just hung open as he tried to scream with empty lungs.
Doc Placebo, "She circles."
Panning backwards slightly the camera reveals Doc Placebo sitting a top of a torture rack Indian style. Dressed in black satin pants the Andorran wrestler's right hand is caressing the golden face of his newly acquired trinket. The TNT World Title. The image of Erica stalking her quarry blurs slightly as the Doctor begins to provide his own vocal recitation.
Doc Placebo, "She smells it, it's why she circles."
Doc Placebo, "The smell hangs here... it's thicker as a bowl of ravioli."
Doc Placebo, "It stinks."
Doc Placebo, "It's putrid..."
Doc Placebo, "...and it feeds her."
The Doctor closes his eyes and draws in as much air as his lungs will allow filling them to their utmost. He exhales slowly through the mouth keeping his eyes closed; savoring it.
Doc Placebo, "Can you smell it? Do you know what this stench is?"
Doc Placebo, "It's the stench of..."
Opening his eyes.
"...DEATH!"
To Part Two!