TITLE: Dead and Back Again: Psycho Adric AUTHOR: S. Daniel Wilson FEATURING: Adric, Nyssa, and damn near everyone else, but no Daleks... RATING: PG-13 ARCHIVAL PERMISSION: Yes SUMMARY: Adric returns from the Netherworld for the last time, in search of revenge. -- "...People once believed that when a person died, a crow carried their soul to the land of the dead. But sometimes, something so bad happens--" "Oh sod off, will you?" Adric spat through the darkness that permeated the Other Side. "I've got a headache." "...Something so bad happens that a terrible sadness is carried with it; and the soul can't rest. Then sometimes, just sometimes, the crow can bring that soul back to make the wrong things right." Adric lashed out into the darkness with his leg and hit something solid. There was a muffled squeek, and a flashlight turned on, illuminating the face of a midget cyclopean ten-year-old girl. "Sorry. It's my job. I'm just trying to help, is all," she explained, rubbing her shin thoughtfully. "I don't want your help. I don't want anyone's help." "There's a screwdriver impaled in your forehead, you know." Adric shot her an acidic look. "Yes, I know. Now leave me alone." "But don't you want to go back? To right the wrongs? To avenge your death?" Adric reached up, gripped the screwdriver handle firmly, and yanked it from his head. "No. No, not really. In fact, I'm considering staying here for the rest of whatever." "Oh. How very droll. You sure you don't want to meet any crows?" "I'm not in the mood. Now please leave me alone." The flashlight flicked off and the midget girl could be heard walking off into the distance, the sound of her footsteps echoing like footsteps tend to do in dimly-lit, damp underground tunnels. They stopped. "I was run over by a fat guy on a motorcycle, you know. Ran right over my neck; killed me instantly. I never thought I'd find anyone who'd managed a stupider way to die. Guess I finally found one." The footsteps continued and eventually faded away altogether. Adric sighed and wiped at the dribble of blood that slowly cascaded down his forehead from the screwdriver hole. He threw the tool away and stood up carefully; it was quite dark and he didn't want to bump his head. It hurt bad enough already. The Netherworld. The Other Side. Whatever. It was dark and dreary and boring and very like the Department of Motor Vehicles, depending on where you happened to wander off to, but the one comforting fact about the void was that Adric didn't have to worry about a psychotic Trakkenite impaling him with this or rending him with that or rolling over him with the other. No ridicule, no taunting, no Doctors to keep track of, no fictitious characters from obscure Japanese Anime showing up at the 'Round and blowing everything to hell. Why did he keep going back? Why not just leave the pile of smouldering ashes beneath the undamaged five pointed star as it was and go on with his unlife? Or, more recently, the corpse with the phillips-head screwdriver stuck rather amusingly through its noggin? What was the point in rejoining the living when the living only caused you to rejoin the dead? "Revenge, that's why." He startled at the sound of the unexpected, deep voice. He noticed that, somehow, the darkness was lifting. Droplets of water splashed down on him randomly, like rain almost. As the darkness gave way to grey light, he turned slowly, looking around at the scenery as it grew visible. His surroundings were inexplicable: A graveyard, old, haphazard, tattered; sitting disused and antiquated at the heart of a dull, green valley, filled with crooked crosses and tombstones and empty holes. The sky overhead was filled with dark, ominous clouds, sprinkling their waters of fear and uncertainty upon him as a deathly wind caressed his lifeless body. Near him, a scraggly, black oak tree creaked in the breeze, its fruitless and naked limbs reaching out every which-way like clawed demon's hands scrabbling for a victim. Perched upon one lower limb was the largest, blackest bird Adric had ever seen. A crow. Completely black and devilish, with yellow segmented eyes that appeared to glow and stab as they stared at Adric. It ruffled its feathers and took two steps sideways to retain balance. "You do want revenge, don't you?" it said to the boy. No, it didn't actually speak; it was more of a thought, Adric realized. More like a voice that was just suddenly inside his own mind, a voice forming words that he could hear. "Who are you? Did that cyclop girl send you?" "She mentioned that you might be interested in my services," the crow said, preening feathers with its beak, all the while keeping at least one hypnotic eye on the dead boy. "Your thoughts would seem to confirm her theory." Adric looked away from the psychic bird and studied the tomstones, determined not to be talked into any scheme of returning to the Living. Even if he hadn't fully made up his mind whether or not he was staying, he at least wanted some more time to think about it. Maybe a year or two. "I don't want to go back agian. Not anymore. It's just useless... I'll end up back here in a day or two. Punch my card, thank you, show up for work again tomorrow. No thanks. I need Life again like I need a hole in my--nevermind." The crow flashed its wings outward and dropped from the branch, catching a gust of air and sailing gracefully to land atop a crooked cross in front of Adric. It stared him down with the twin yellow eyes, instilling an instant sense of urgency within the young man. "You've been dead and back again, Adric, but you've always used the traditional.. that is to say.. legal means of reentering the world of the living. What if I told you there was a way, albiet heavily frowned upon by the Powers that Were, to return to the world of the living where nobody, not even that insane curly-headed girl, could ever harm you again?" Adric thought for a moment. "I'd say you were off your nut." "And you'd probably be right, but for entirely different reasons." The bird splayed its tailfeathers in an inobtrusive display, released a bubble of nauxious gas, and continued. "But there is a way to get back, a way to right the wrongs, to avenge all those things that need avenging, maybe even get laid in your spare time." Adric heard a low, growling sound and looked off to one side to see, sitting next to a tombstone and looking rather ravenous, a white tiger. With a lightening ferocity it lept, caught the crow in its mouth and landed on all fours. It smacked and chewed; the crow crunched and bled profusely. The white tiger suddenly glared at Adric, as if noticing him for the first time. He cleared his throat and raised a paw to his throat. "Oh, so sorry about that, old bean," he announced in a posh, aristocratic tone. "Didn't realize anyone was standing there!" Adric was just shy of being horrified. "What did you do that for?" The tiger tried to look genuinely shocked, which is not an easy expression for tigers, even those in the Netherworld. "Oh, my dear fellow--it's how you get back! Don't tell me that stupid bird didn't explain it to you?" "He said there was a way..." "Oh, dash it all, he was probably going to try to sell you something, no doubt. I simply cannot abide these crows, you know. Always trying to make a quick quid." He sat back on his haunches, a bit of crow entrail hanging from the corner of his mouth. "Now then, are you ready to go back?" "What?" Adric exclaimed. "Get eaten alive by a tiger? Pull the other one!" "No, really, I'm quite serious, old chap. I eat you, you come back to life in the land of the living, you get to avenge deaths and all that argy-bargy nonsense. Please make your decision quickly; I'm late for a lunch with Ted Kennedy." "But Ted Kennedy isn't dead." "Have you looked at him lately?" Adric considered this. The tiger looked down at an upraised paw which had a wristwatch wound around it. "Fifteen seconds, I'm afriad," he declared. Wander endlessly on the Other Side for all eternity, Adric thought, or get eaten alive by a ravenous beast and take my revenge... Wander endlessly on the Other Side-- "Time's up!" announed the Tiger. Adric screamed as darnkness and strong, steely jaws engulfed him. There was a painful cracking of bones and an excruciating hiss of air as an incisor puctured one of Adric's lungs. He passed out from pain just as his vital organs were being chewed to pieces. * * * * * "I think he's had too much to drink tonight," Tegan murmered to Barbara, and pointed at the current drunken antics of the Sixth Doctor, currently seated in the far corner booth of This Time 'Round. The man in the radiant patchwork coat threw his head back and cackled like some kind of crazy cackling guy in a horrible, horrible coat might, overpowering the usual, calming murmer of sound that permeated the pub. He plopped his empty beer tankard down onto the table amidst his own broken laughter, much to the chagrin of the First Doctor, who was seated across the table from him. "I'm terribly sorry, young man, but I'm afraid I don't understand the joke," he admitted. The Sixth Doctor's laughter ceased abruptly and his eyes snapped open. He lowered his face, suddenly serious and complex, and leveled himself with his predecessor. "How can you not get it? 'I appreciate the offer of your daughter, but I'd much rather buy the cow!'" He slapped a knee and returned to fits of giddy laughter. "You get it? Eh?" The First Doctor cast a worried look down at a pocketwatch that was suddenly in his hand. "Oh, yes yes, Mmm...No, I'm sorry, I don't get it. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going for a nice cup of tea and some fresh air." He stood with a polite, if not secretly curt, smile, and left the table. "Insufferable old man," the Sixth Doctor mumbled to himself. "No sense of humor whatsoever. Oh, would you look at that--my pint's empty..." On the other side of the bar, Nyssa and Mel were arguing, drunkenly, over which of the Doctors was cutest. "I'm telling you, it's that one with all the white hair and the capes and the... oh, blast, which one is he?" Mel took another sip of her Jack n' Coke. "My money's on the latest one," Nyssa pressed on, sipping the residual beerfoam that slid from the bottom of her pint glass. "He's got a nice ass, that one." The door flew open and slammed against the inside wall loudly. A bright light and a cold gust of wind blew in, billowing up napkins, straws, and other lightweight debris. Every eye in the house turned to stare at the door. Or, rather, what was walking through it. Mel dropped her drink and it spilled all over her blue jumpsuit and the counter. "Adric?" she whispered. The lone, emaciated visage of Adric, little boy lost, plodded slowly and lazily though the doorway. He was decked out in a wide assorment of black leather accessories, from pants and boots to jacket and gloves. His hair, usually a thick helmet style, was longish, almost to his shoulders, and slicked back, dangling and bounching. His face and other visible skin was pale, a deathly grey-white ghost mask that beamed fear and loathing. And his eyes... "Adric," Barbara asked, finally breaking the silence, "are you wearing mascara?" His eyes darted in her direction; he said nothing, only continued walking, the leather squeaking and hissing as he moved. The Sixth Doctor, jolly as ever, raised an empty beer glass. "Hey, everybody, it's Adric! Adric, come have a drink with meeeee..." His arm plopped down as he passed out, head falling to rest on the table. "Oh, I don't like the looks of this at all," the First Doctor said to himself as Ace handed him a tray containing a cup of hot water, a tea bag, and packets of sugar and cream. He quickly plunged the bag into the water, picked up the cup, and hurried out the back door. Ian, Polly, and the Fifth Doctor, equally alerted, followed suit. Adric's menacing gaze followed a random path: Ben, then Tegan and Barbara; over to the Third and Seventh Doctors, who had been playing chess; to Romana, and next to her, the Fourth Doctor, whos scarf and hat were neatly bundled up around his face as he noisily slept; Mel, whos outfit was covered with wet spots; and finally, the one he'd come for. Nyssa. "You," he said, raising a finger to point at her. "Welcome back, Adric," she said. "You look like shit." Like a stick-figure on fire, he sprang up into the air and landed like a bird on the bar. He walked foreward toward her, kicking over stacks of napkins and glasses of alchohol as he went, and even stepping on a few fingers that hand't moved in time. "You," he repeated, still pointing. "You've come back without your vocabulary," she mused cheerfully. "How amusing." He jumped down from the counter and stepped up directly in front of her. All eyes, save those of the sleeping Fourth Doctor, were on the pair. "I've come back for you," Adric hissed. "Really? I suppose I'm ought to be flattered?" She giggled and took another sip of her foam. His hand burst foreward and snatched the glass from her. He threw it; it shattered in Tegan's face. She screamed and clawed at her eyes, trying to get the shards out. No one seemed to care much. Adric's other hand thrust out and gripped Nyssa by the throat. At first she pretended that it wasn't affecting her; soon her face began to turn a very unnatural shade of blue and she was forced to concede to the fact that Adric was strangling her. His face looks so crooked when he smiles like that, she thought, staring into his jagged, toothy grin. She remained cool and calm dispite her inability to breath; when the spots started blocking out her normal sight, she decided she'd let the whole thing go on long enough. Reaching into a pocket on her pants, she withdrew a butterfly knife. Flicking it open, she lunged upward, catching Adric in the chest with the blade. He yelped, ceased his grip on her neck, and staggered back, knife jutting out of him. Nyssa caught herself before her weak knees completely gave way; she held herself up against the bar and gasped for air. Adric, bloodied and thoroughly annoyed, snatched the blade from his chest and threw it to the floor. Nyssa watched with perplexity as the grizzly, sucking wound impossibly closed itself up. Not even the boy's natural Alzarian rapid healing could do such a fast and effecient job on such a wound. Not far off, Romana was trying to shake the Doctor awake. "Doctor!" she said, punching him in the shoulder. He startled awake finally, the scarf and hat falling neatly into his lap as his wide eyes snapped open. "What?" "Adric's back and he and Nyssa are fighting again," she told him. "Happens all the time. You woke me up for that?" "Adric's immortal!" The Doctor turned over and curled up into a fetal position in the booth seat. "Let me know who wins, won't you?" he asked as he plopped the hat and scarf back over his face. Nyssa reached behind her and pulled a katana from behind her back. Adric snarled, smiled, and flew at her. She jumped sideways, letting him slip past her, then spun and shoved the sword into his spine. He arched his back and cried out in pain, falling to the ground. The Third and Seventh Doctors started taking bets between one another over who would ultimately prevail. "Nyssa, I'm afraid, has the distinct advantage of having killed Adric on several occasions now. I don't think a little leather and mascara is going to change any of that," the Seventh Doctor explained. "I'm not so sure this time," the Third Doctor argued. "He seems to be holding his own quite well. And that nasty business just now with the knife--I think we'll be seeing more of that throughout this match." Nyssa yanked the sword from Adric's back and chuckled sadistically to herself as an arterial geyser sprayed from his back. She stopped laughing when his legs shot up into the air and caught her hard across the chest, sending her tumbling back into the booth where Jamie and the Second Doctor sat. She landed on the table with an audible crack--her arm sat pinned under her at an accute angle as she gritted her teeth and tried not to scream out the pain. "Aye, Doctor, 'e's gonna killl us all!" Jamie exclaimed. He moved to scramble from the table, but the Second Doctor reached out to him. Though the grip on his shoulder was gentle, it was enough to momentarily restrain the highlander. "No, no, Jamie, I don't think that's it at all. No, he merely seems to be intent on destroying this girl here. I assure you, we're quite safe." "Fatty, Fatty, two-by-four," Adric sang loudly. He'd hurried to the other side of the room and was currently hoisting the Sixth Doctor's drunken, unconscious body up onto his shoulders. "Can't get through the kitchen door!" With a strength that was far beyond what anyone knew Adric to have ever posessed, he lobbed the Sixth Doctor's body through the air. It flew like a patchwork cannonball, slicing through the air in a way that an overweight Time Lord doesn't, and crashed with a hazardous passion into Nyssa, Jamie, and the Second Doctor. Jamie and the Doctor were thrown free of the resulting explosion of used beer and vomit; Nyssa, who took the brunt of the blow, was smashed through the wall and outside. The Sixth Doctor opened his eyes and blearily swayed his head. "Gnngzz... truck... mmvrr..." and he slipped back into unconsciousness. Adric walked through the bar and stepped out through the hole in the wall and into the cold night outside. Everyone left inside the bar exchanged curious glances, and all at once jumped up and made a mad dash for the door. The parking lot outside This Time 'Round was nearly deserted, save a few TARDISes, Bessie, and the Whomobile. The dark gritty asphalt was lit in small spots by dingy, orange streetlights set at uneven intervals. Near the broken wall of the bar, Nyssa was already back on her feet, her clothing tattered and sweaty, her hair mussed, her eyes ablaze with anger. Adric stood opposite her, casual and ready to battle at the same time. The crowd that had filtered out of the 'Round was now gathered around the pair, watching and waiting quietly. It was Nyssa who finally broke the silence. "Rohm Dan Chuun Wi!" She shouted, twisting her arms and hands in a calculated move. A bright blue fireball erupted from her outheld palms and shot toward Adric, hitting him square in the face. He was blasted back through the air and onto the pavement, head smouldering like a doused firelog. Nyssa lowered her stance and grinned triumphantly. But the feeling of triumph was short lived. Adric, his charred mess of a face rapidly healing itself, jumped up and pulled twin AK-47's from within his long leather. A hail of bullets erupted from the weapons and plunged into Nyssa. Her body jerked and shuddered as the ammo punctured her flesh and bones, Adric crying havoc the whole while. Finally, his clips emptied, he threw the guns down and watched a bloodied, bullet-ridden Nyssa sink to her knees. "My... spleen..." she croaked weakly. The Third Doctor watched with dispair. "Shouldn't someone do something about this?" he asked no one in particular. "Well, morally, yes, I suppose so," the Seventh Doctor answered. "I mean, they are killing each other. Or rather, trying to do so." The Fourth Doctor looked thoughtful. "Yes, I agree, someone should do something. But... do we have the right?" There was a bright flash. Nobody, Adric included, had noticed the flame thrower that Nyssa had produced from out of nowhere. Adric was running around in circles, screaming, flames shooting from his body, as Nyssa tried to catch her breath and hold the flame thrower at the same time. "Stop, drop, and roll, young man!" the First Doctor called out from behind Bessie where he and Polly were hiding. Without bothering to wait for the flames to die down, Nyssa gathered up her strength and, reaching into a subspace pocket (a very convenient hiding spot, she'd always mused), withdrew a bazooka. The crowd from the bar broke up, everyone running for cover. "DIE!!" she screamed as she fired the weapon at the Alzarian. It hit him and exploded. Chunks of Adric, flaming chunks of various sizes, burst through the air, landing and scattering across the pavement. Nyssa collapsed, totally drained of her strength. The crowd moved back in to examine the damage. The Fourth Doctor bent down and picked up a squidgy bit of Adric. "Look at that--a smithereen!" The meaty bit of gristle in his hand suddenly became warm. Quite warm. Hot. He dropped it, confused. As he watched, the bits and pieces of Adric meat on the ground began to take on a different shape, becoming liquified and silvery. "By jove," the Third Doctor muttered, "how extraordinary," The pieces, having taken on a liquid metal essence, quickly began to move, each one finding another, until a large murcurean puddle was formed. To everyone's astonishment, the puddle grew upward, twisting and writhing, until it took the shape of Adric. He cracked his neck. "Miss me?" he asked. Nyssa was holding her upper body up with her arms, staring with disbelief at the sight before her eyes. "No... impossible... how..." Adric approached her. He stood over her, looking down at her bleeding, broken body. She shuddered in the cold, looking back up at him with complete disgust. "Well? Get on with it, then. Finish the job." "No." "What's that, then?" "No," Adric repeated. "See, I don't know that you'll come back again, and I'm far from being finished with you. I'd hate to have you die now and waste all my other opportunities to take revenge. No; I'm going to let you heal your wounds and recover. Then I'm going to break you again. And again. And as many times as I have to before I'm satisfied that you've learned your lesson." Rage, anger, frustration and hate were welled up so tight inside Nyssa that her teeth clenched her toungue, drawing blood and pain that she ignored. She hated having the tables turned on her, especially like this. Especially by Adric, of all people. She was supposed to be standing there, looking down at his body, laughing maniacally at a job well done. This was all wrong. Darkness overcame her and she laid down on the cold pavement. The crowd watched Adric walk off into the night. Someone, somewhere, thought they saw a dark figure strutting though an alley later that night, whistling, "It's a Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood...." The End...... -- THE ODEON--formerly Dazzi