Mission 0001 - Status: Failed
Title: Mad Dog
Author: minerva_solo
Rating: G (with mention of porn... G+)
Pairing: none
Summary: The end of An American Werewolf in London. With Jack. It's very short, I'm afraid.
Fandom(s): Torchwood/An American Werewolf in London
Disclaimer: Neither is mine, both are admired (but American Werewolf has superior special effects).
Fingers crossed I'm doing this right.
Jack felt strange throughout most of the eighties, and generally avoided Britain when he could. The problem was how they'd begun, for him. Nineteen Eighty One had not been a good year.
There was the feel of the future in the eighties; a dystopian future. There were punks, which Jack liked; riots and protests, which he threw himelf into; and porn cinemas in the middle of London, which hadn't been meant to happen for another century. Jack took full responsiblity for that one, and was a little sad when the internet was invented to undermine them.
"What are you doing 'ere? You promised never to do this kind of thing again!"
"I never promised you any such thing."
"Not you, you twit. Her."
"I've never seen you before in my life."
Sitting behind him in the cinema, watching a naked woman answer the phone, was his target. The police were in the area, under Torchwood's 'subtle' control. He would change tonight, and probably claim another victim if Jack didn't get to him first.
The American boy was talking to himself. No, to someone; just someone Jack couldn't see. Something for the boys at the base to investigate up in Scotland. Jack was just here to, well die. Until the rest of the team could get here. If he was unlucky, he'd be the next werewolf Torchwood.
He'd had already claimed the right to retcon the boy's nurse friend; he felt he would deserve it. Retcon wasn't 100% proof*; it needed vaguely matching cover stories to prevent re-ermgence of old memories. Jack was looking forwards to persuading her that he'd been the American she'd been living with.
"Hello?
"No, I'm sorry.
"No, nobody of that name.
"OK. Thank you. Bye."
It didn't go as planned. The boy was dead, the nurse was distraught and the police still swarmed the streets.
Jack stood in the middle of Picadilly Circus, surrounded by chaos, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His shirt was ripped ragged, stained with his own blood.
Retcon wouldn't cover this many people; it was a disaster. Torchwood would be lucky to get the body out without further police interference. The nurse would need so much retcon she would have to be relocated, so people didn't notice the personality change. Jack's input would be limited.
Jack noted on the report that the boy would probably have come willingly, if he had been reached in time. He had seemed depressed and desperate, and had attempted to communicate with his victims. Direct contact with the target might have prevented the mission's failure.
Jack failed to mention that he would have spoken to the boy in the cinema, if he hadn't become so engrossed in the film.
*The scientists were working on that, but Jack hoped they weren't working too hard
Author: minerva_solo
Rating: G (with mention of porn... G+)
Pairing: none
Summary: The end of An American Werewolf in London. With Jack. It's very short, I'm afraid.
Fandom(s): Torchwood/An American Werewolf in London
Disclaimer: Neither is mine, both are admired (but American Werewolf has superior special effects).
Fingers crossed I'm doing this right.
Jack felt strange throughout most of the eighties, and generally avoided Britain when he could. The problem was how they'd begun, for him. Nineteen Eighty One had not been a good year.
There was the feel of the future in the eighties; a dystopian future. There were punks, which Jack liked; riots and protests, which he threw himelf into; and porn cinemas in the middle of London, which hadn't been meant to happen for another century. Jack took full responsiblity for that one, and was a little sad when the internet was invented to undermine them.
"What are you doing 'ere? You promised never to do this kind of thing again!"
"I never promised you any such thing."
"Not you, you twit. Her."
"I've never seen you before in my life."
Sitting behind him in the cinema, watching a naked woman answer the phone, was his target. The police were in the area, under Torchwood's 'subtle' control. He would change tonight, and probably claim another victim if Jack didn't get to him first.
The American boy was talking to himself. No, to someone; just someone Jack couldn't see. Something for the boys at the base to investigate up in Scotland. Jack was just here to, well die. Until the rest of the team could get here. If he was unlucky, he'd be the next werewolf Torchwood.
He'd had already claimed the right to retcon the boy's nurse friend; he felt he would deserve it. Retcon wasn't 100% proof*; it needed vaguely matching cover stories to prevent re-ermgence of old memories. Jack was looking forwards to persuading her that he'd been the American she'd been living with.
"Hello?
"No, I'm sorry.
"No, nobody of that name.
"OK. Thank you. Bye."
It didn't go as planned. The boy was dead, the nurse was distraught and the police still swarmed the streets.
Jack stood in the middle of Picadilly Circus, surrounded by chaos, hands shoved deep in his pockets. His shirt was ripped ragged, stained with his own blood.
Retcon wouldn't cover this many people; it was a disaster. Torchwood would be lucky to get the body out without further police interference. The nurse would need so much retcon she would have to be relocated, so people didn't notice the personality change. Jack's input would be limited.
Jack noted on the report that the boy would probably have come willingly, if he had been reached in time. He had seemed depressed and desperate, and had attempted to communicate with his victims. Direct contact with the target might have prevented the mission's failure.
Jack failed to mention that he would have spoken to the boy in the cinema, if he hadn't become so engrossed in the film.
*The scientists were working on that, but Jack hoped they weren't working too hard