Hey, y'all. I wrote this partly to congratulate the ADRICs Finalists from this newsgroup, and partly to just work off a fit of extreme silliness. Warning!! Author-insertion and worse lie ahead. SHOCK VALUE by BKWillis "Quickly, Lydia! I need the sonic screwdriver!" The Doctor's companion shrugged apologetically. "Sorry, Doctor, but you used it as the detonator in that big bomb you rigged on that Movellan battleship last week. It's gone." "Gone?!" "Boomies." The Doctor furrowed his brow in that cutely serious look that so many girls found charming. Lydia thought it made him look con- stipated. He turned back to the generator console and hmmed thoughtfully for a few moments. "Very well, then. I'll have to try something else. A Zeus plug should do the trick..." "Ooh, no luck there, either," Lydia replied. "You used it to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow on the Master's Insta- Death-Destructo-Whomper three days ago." The Doctor eyed her narrowly. "How about a drone clamp, then?" "You used the last of them to bypass the TARDIS drive monitor circuit last month." "Ion ram?" "Left it on Mondas." "Phased tachyon interruptor?" "Doorstop in the Cloister Room." "Polarized inductance baffle?" "You threw it at the Brigadier when he said you were being immature." "Blast!" swore the Doctor. He poked fitfully at the bundle of wires and components he'd detached. "We have to disable this thing before the Kvetchians get it fully powered. What _have_ we got to work with?" Lydia rummaged in the rucksack for a moment before finally pulling out a small, paper-wrapped object. "All we have is a pastrami-and-cheese sandwich, about half-eaten." "Yes!" the Doctor cried. "Then there may still be a chance. Unless... it doesn't have mustard on it, does it?" "Yes, why?" "Aaaargh! No! Mustard will throw off the pH balance! It'll never work!" The Time Lord slammed his fist on the console in helpless fury. Lydia peeled the sandwich apart to get a better view of its con- tents. "It's not like there's a _lot_ of mustard on it," she offered. "We could probably wipe it off..." The Doctor's mood swung back to perky excitability again. "Yes! There's a good girl, Lydia! Get rid of that mustard like you've never eliminated a condiment before! The fate of the Earth dep- ends on it!" Unfortunately, the Kvetchians chose that moment to smash down the door and storm into the room with many guns and truncheons and other violence-oriented items, which they brandished in a very enthusiastic and violence-oriented fashion. "Drop the sandwich, girl," the Kvetchian Commander ordered. "We have you, now." In the face of so much firepower, Lydia quickly complied, the sandwich making a sad little 'splut' as it hit the floor. "You must listen to me," began the Doctor beseechingly as the Kvetchian technicians began reassembling the console. "You must stop this mad scheme--" "Silence!" the Commander bellowed in fairly typical villain fashion. "You shall not dissuade us from our course, Time Lord! Soon, our Mega-Generator will achieve sufficient voltage to electrocute every living thing on the Earth. We will show them that resistance is useless! BWAHAHAHAHA!!" "Hold it, hold it," Lydia said, making a T-shape with her hands. "Time out." She put her hands down and marched resolutely over to the Kvetchian officers, a troubled scowl on her face. "Let me get something straight, here. You're going to electrocute the Earth with high-voltage power, right?" "Yup!" the Commander replied smartly. "Dastardly, isn't it?" Lydia continued to stare at him in an unnervingly serious manner. "You're going to electrocute everyone, and you say that that will show that 'resistance is useless', correct?" "Well... yes." "I see." Lydia swept her gaze around the room, taking in the Doctor, the Kvetchians, and the sandwich, all of whom (except the sandwich) stared back with slightly nervous curiosity. "So, you are telling me that this whole story was nothing more than the setup for a really bad techno-geek pun about electricity?" "Erm, well... you see... it's sort of... ummm... yeah, I guess..." "Uh-huh." Lydia closed her eyes, took a deep, calming, breath, and began shouting at the top of her lungs. "I HAVE _HAD_ IT! THIS IS THE LAST STRAW! I THOUGHT THE PUNS COULDN'T GET ANY STUPIDER THAN MY LAST STORY, BUT THIS TAKES THE FRIGGING CAKE!!" "There, now, Lydia," the Doctor stammered, trying to get the dialogue back on track. "We can still stop these villainous aliens from--" "TO HELL WITH THE VILLAINOUS ALIENS!" Lydia bellowed, seriously outdoing the Kvetchian Commander's earlier outburst. "I'M MORE WORRIED ABOUT MY CAREER! THAT DIRT- BALL AUTHOR PROMISED ME A GOOD ROLE, AND I HAVEN'T EVEN BEEN _DESCRIBED_ YET!! I'M A _CHAR- ACTER_, DAMMIT! I'M NOT JUST SOME DEVICE FOR SETTING UP MORONIC PUNS!" With that, she stormed off the set, her whole body rigid with barely-contained anger. "Umm, Miss?" a Kvetchian called hesitantly after her. "Where are you going?" "TO GET SOME ANSWERS!" "But, uh, we kind of need you to finish the fanfic..." the Kvetchian countered lamely. "STUFF THE FANFIC! I'M OUT OF HERE!" The remaining cast members watched her stalk off, then looked at one another. The Doctor gave the Kvetchian Commander a helpless shrug. "Kids these days," he said. "What can you do with them?" The Commander nodded. "I have two at home just like her. Always wound up over something." There was a long, awkward silence. "So, uh, would you like a sandwich?" the Doctor asked, pointing at the one on the floor. "Sure," the Commander replied. "As long as it doesn't have any mustard on it..." ---- Inside This Time Round, the party was just getting into full swing. All of alt.drwho.creative's ADRIC Awards finalists were gathered to express their happiness over their nominations with a good old-fashioned beer blast. It was a rollicking good time. Helen Fayle had gotten to the jukebox ahead of everyone else, with the result that David Bowie's 'China Girl' was now being blasted into the room at a volume that could stunt growth. She was now atop one of the room's center tables, doing a dance that would have made Madonna blush. As it happened, the table was the one Graham Woodland and Scott Matthewman were sitting at, and the pair were occupying them- selves by offering lewd suggestions to her, some of which were acted upon. At the bar, K. Michael Wilcox was in an earnest discussion with the Moderator, aka Rebecca Dowgiert, over whether to institute the idea Zoe had for doing Musical Internet Adventure Round- Robins. Zoe was currently ensconced firmly in the bespectacled young man's lap, and appeared to be supplementing her argu- ments with large amounts of pouting and eyelash-fluttering. The effectiveness of this ploy was hard to gauge, but Wilcox appeared to be sweating rather more than the room temperature would have required. Further down the bar, Liz Shaw and Nyssa were watching with considerable interest as Jeri Massi demonstrated the proper tech- nique for breaking cinderblocks barehanded. Nyssa was taking notes, and every so often would take a few practice karate-chops. At a somewhat more sedate table in the corner, Clive May, Paul Smith, and Beck McLaughlin were listening to a somewhat-slurry S. Daniel Wilson tell a joke about three nuns, a giraffe, and a bowl of avocado dip. All four bore merry grins, which may have had to do with either the joke being outrageously funny or with the largish number of empty pint mugs on their table or, quite possibly, both. Next to them, Susannah Tiller was attempting to win a bet that she couldn't hold a full pint mug balanced on her head for five minutes while being tickled with ostrich feathers. Paul and Steve Benson, who had made the bet, were wielding said feathers, but Susannah was managing to hold steady. Daniel Trout had been appointed timekeeper, and was keeping one eye on the clock and the other on the beer mug. Lydia, however, was interested in none of this. She had come for one man, and one man alone. She spotted him as soon as she stepped through the door, a short, broad-shouldered man wearing a 'Carrier Air Conditioning' uniform shirt. He sat opposite a tall, lanky man with his hair tied into a ponytail. Directly behind them, a huge Ogron was conversing in low tones with a young girl with red hair and a tattoo on her arm. Doug Killings looked over his shoulder, watching as Lydia made her way toward their table. "Uh-oh," he said to his companion. "Looks like trouble headed this way. Female and p-o'ed." He slid away from the table and stood up. "Where you going?" his tablemate drawled. "I know how you are with women," Doug replied evenly. "I intend to get out of the blast radius." With that, he turned and walked over to watch Ms. Massi demolish some more masonry. The shorter man scowled, but turned his attention to Lydia as she strode up to him. With a smile, he said, "Howdy, ma'am, what can I-- URK!" Lydia grabbed the man by his shirt collar and yanked him to his feet. "Willis," she hissed, "why are you screwing up my life?" BKWillis, caught completely off guard, could only stammer, "Uh, who are you, exactly?" Lydia shoved him back into his seat contemptuously and sat down across from him. "You have to ask?" she replied darkly. "Just how many people do you put through Hell?" ("More than you know," the redhead behind Willis muttered.) "The name is Lydia." "Lydia what?" the author asked. "How the Hell do I know?!" Lydia shouted, prompting a few stares. "You haven't written me a last name!" "I haven't?" "NO! All you've done is use me to set up brain-dead puns!" "Oh, yeah," Willis muttered. " _That_ Lydia. Heh heh... 'Resistance is useless...' Heh..." "You promised me some character development, you halfwit! Instead, I get cheap puns and a scene with a sandwich!" "Did the sandwich have mustard?" Willis asked with sudden sharpness. "Yes, why?" "Just checking. Anyway, you ought to be more respectful of me, you know. I got you this job, after all." "Some job!" Lydia shot back. "I just react to some ill-defined Doctor-character and help set up idiotic jokes." Willis shrugged. "It's what you're paid to do." "Well, I want something better. I want a role that's unique and three-dimensional." "When I was a kid, _I_ wanted to be the Lone Ranger," Willis said dismissively. "Take what you can get, and be glad to have it." "But, _anybody_ could do this part!" Lydia protested. "Then, perhaps I should get somebody else to do it. Somebody a little more... agreeable." Lydia's mouth closed with an audible snap. Her eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, and her next words came out in a chilly whisper. "Are you threatening to fire me?" The author met her eyes with an equally hard stare. "No. I _am_ firing you. I have no need for insubordinate employees. Clean out your desk and get out." (Behind Willis, Number One looked over at Francois. "She has a desk?" she asked. "How come I don't have a desk? Do you have one?" "Francois not having desk. Ask for desk, promised desk, but no desk." "Damn. I wonder why she gets a desk?" "Perhaps desk for keeping mustard in, yes?") Lydia slammed her hand down on the table and thrust herself to her feet. "You can't fire me, you sawed-off hillbilly, because I QUIT!!" "You can't quit!" Willis spat back. "Because I already fired you! So nyah nyah nyah!" Seething, Lydia snatched up the nearest glass of lager and threw its contents at BKWillis, drenching him utterly. ("Damn," Number One swore as she regarded the dripping writer. "Hmm?" Francois asked, arching his bushy eyebrows. The half-girl sighed. "You don't know how much I was hoping he'd end up having a Curse like mine. Serve him right." "Ah.") "You spiteful little wench!" Willis roared as he wiped at his face. "You'll never work in this newsgroup again!" "You try to blackball me, and it'll be your ass, redneck!" Lydia shot back. "I'll ruin you! Your days of abusing and exploiting the fanfic workers are numbered, mark my words! The oppressed masses shall break the chains of economic slavery you hold them in! We will have fanfic that is free and democratic! The PEOPLE'S FANFIC!" BKWillis ground his teeth and trembled with barely-suppressed rage. One hand clenched spasmodically at his side as he snapped his fingers with his other hand. "Francois! Number One!" he called over his shoulder. "Show Little Miss Guevara to the door." "Do it yourself," the redhead muttered sourly. "Is Francois's off-day," the Ogron added. "Hah!" Lydia shouted triumphantly. "Your other victims have seen the light of truth, as well, Willis! Your reign of terror is almost done!" BKWillis rounded on his two recalcitrant minions. "Throw her out, now! I order you!" Several other patrons turned to see what the commotion was about, but seeing that it was just 'that loony Willis' having another crisis, they quickly went back to what they were doing, which was generally a lot more interesting, anyway. The redhead and the Ogron just stared mutely back, arms folded across their chests. "I am the author, and you will obey _me_!" Willis screamed. "Not exactly Roger Delgado, is he?" Number One asked sardon- ically. "I'll give you each a bonus for working on your off-day!" the author blurted desperately. He abruptly found himself shouldered aside as the two characters swarmed past him and seized Lydia by the arms. "Come on, girl," Number One rasped. "Orders is orders." The two began frog-marching the protesting girl toward the door as BKWillis looked on in smug approval. "You'll regret this, Willis!" Lydia cried over her shoulder. "I'll make you sorry you ever wrote me into a fanfic! Fight the pow- er! Fight the power!" "I'm already sorry," the author sneered as he turned to order another drink. Number One and Francois carried Lydia to the door, not ungently, and pushed her lightly through it. She rounded on them as soon as they released her. "How can you two keep doing that pig's bidding, after all he's done to you and your oppressed brethren?" "For a lot of money," Number One answered, shrugging. "Is true," Francois agreed. "Social conscience okay, but hard to put in bank." They slammed the door in her face. ---- "...and that's how I came to be how you found me," Lydia said with a sniffle. "Willis strongarmed the other writers to keep them from hiring me, so I ended up broke, homeless, and still lacking a last name or any sort of defined character traits. It's just not _fair_!" Lydia scowled and banged her fist on her 'Will Recite Dialogue for Food' sign, drawing looks from a few of the diner's customers. "Indeed it isn't, my dear," her companion said, his Deep-South accent drawing the words out. "I should think that some sort of... _retribution_ would be in order." Lydia laughed bleakly. "Yeah, but how? I've got no money, no influence, no nothing. How do I fight a high-and-mighty author?" "With my help, my dear Lydia," he replied. "Your story has touched me, and I have access to certain resources that might prove very useful in righting this particular wrong." Lydia was instantly suspicious. "Oh, yeah?" she challenged. "And just why would you want to do that? We just met." "I simply wish to see your grievances settled," the man answered, sounding slightly offended. "Bull patties. Nobody acts like that. The way I see it, either you are offering to help me to try and get in my pants, or else you're some kind of mysterious villain-type with a grudge against Willis. Which is it?" The man looked a little embarrassed. "Was I that obvious?" he asked. "It's the second one. Mostly, anyway." "Mystery villain, huh? What are you, his distilled Evil side from his final incarnation?" "Wow," the man said, impressed. "You _are_ good. Actually, since he's already basically Evil, I'm the distillation of his Really Really Evil side from between his twenty-ninth and thirtieth years." "Aha! I thought you looked familiar!" Indeed, the man was a near-twin to the hated fanfic author, albeit a bit older and with a sinister-looking goatee, a sinister-looking scar on his face, and a mildly sinister-looking 'Lennox Air Conditioning' uniform shirt. Lydia gave him a thorough looking-over, then pursed her lips thoughtfully. "So, let me get this straight. You're an even-more Evil version of BKWillis who's come back through time to try and destroy the not-quite-as-Evil version of yourself that exists today, and you want to use me as your pawn and henchgirl in carrying out some sort of harebrained schemes to achieve this end. Is that about right?" "Essentially, yes." "I see. And, I assume from your earlier statement that you do have something of an interest in getting in my pants, correct?" "Only when we're not doing actual Evil Arch-villain stuff." Lydia considered this for almost a microsecond. "Okay, count me in. I'm not likely to get a better offer anytime soon." The Really Really Evil BKWillis stuck out his hand. "Glad to have you aboard, Lydia," he drawled as she put her hand in his. "Good to have a job again, Mr. Willis," she replied easily. "Let's not be so formal, my dear. I believe in a more casual Evil work environment. Call me by my chosen name." "And that would be..." she prompted. "The Bradleyard!" "Oh, of _course_." "Want to hear my Evil laughter? It's pretty good." "Er, maybe later, Mr.... Bradleyard. Right now, I'm more interested in some lunch." Lydia's stomach growled a little to emphasize that point. The Bradleyard slapped his palm on his forehead. "Oh, right! How silly of me. 'Will Recite Dialogue for Food', and all that. I'm sorry. Let's see, do you want your sandwich with or without mustard...?" --BKWillis Copyright Notes: 'Doctor Who' is property of the BBC. This Time Round created by Tyler Dion. Story and original characters property of BKWillis. Authors are their own or their spouse's property. Zany Zoe concept created by K Michael Wilcox.