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"Here, blow on this..." Mistress Mel pursed her lips... A tremendous wailing noise erupted from the back bedroom. "I found these bagpipes under the bed..." --- Way down deep in the bowels of the BBC Television Center, the archives to be exact... The three security guards, John, Scott and Martin, paced around the shelves. Waving their flashlights back and forth. "It's getting a bit cold innit?" asked John. "Yep," said Scott, "Here, Martin, go and stick another tape on the fire." "Awright!" he picked up a can of 2 1/2" videotape. He carefully read the label, "Tenth Planet episode 4, nobody'll miss this." A flash of light, a spadoing! of white noise and seven figures suddenly appeared in the centre of the archive. The sixth Doctor's ponderous bulk slammed into Martin, knocking the tape from his grasp. Sam delivered a quick kick knee in the happysack to Scott, while the 8th Doc grabbed a nearby fire hose and ran round and round John until he was completely encased. Martin ran towrds a big, shiny, extremely obvious red button on the wall. "Quick!" Imran shouted, "Get him before he hits the alarm!" "Bundle!" Alryssa launched herself at the hapless security guard. Sadly, Sarah-Jane had fainted and Alryssa tripped over her prone form, tumbled along the floor, through a door and down several flights of stairs. Gordon rolled on the floor laughing. "Oh cruk..." muttered Imran as Martin's hand hit the button. <AWOOGA! AWOOGA! AWOOGA!> The tramping of dozens of security guards' feet could be heard pounding towards them. Gordon dived for cover behind a shelf. The 6th Doc picked himself up of the floor as the 8th fiished putting a perfect triple-reefer-slipknot on the end of the fire hose. Imran ran past the 6th Doc, picking up Sarah-Jane and throwing her ovber his shoulder. "Quick, try and find another exit!" the 6th Doc bellowed. As the door filled with BBC security personnel, the motley crew searched for another way out, finding only a tiny ventilation shaft. "If you think I'm getting in there," thundered the 6th Doc, "You are sorely mistaken!" ""What's that noise?" pondered Imran. "Sounds like a squeaky wheel..." Gordon rapidly trundled around the corner in a wheelbarrow, knocking the BBC security guards flying. "Quick, get after him!" shouted Imran, and the motley crew raced out of the doorway, knocking over the few security guards still standing. --- Alryssa slowly unwound from the bundled heap she'd ended up as when she'd finally stopped moving. "Ok," she said to herself. "It's dark, it's quiet, I have no idea where I am." She sniffed. She could smell something. Something foul and rancid. Alryssa picked an everlasting match out of her pocket and struck it against the wall. The light illuminated the previously unseen figure in the room with her. "Oh no," she muttered to nobody in articular. "It can't be, it must have followed us through the swirly thing." "Oh bugger! It's...Eric Saward!' "Today..." the crazed ex-script-editor ranted, "we're going to do a follow-up to the Keys of Marinus. And we're going to include lots of violent deaths, lingering close-ups, the Krotons, some mercenaries, big explosions, references to the Zarbi - fans _love_ those... and *you* can be the companion..." he said, pointing at Alryssa. "I've waited a _long_ time for this... to come back to the place of my ultimate defeat, and make the Who _I_ want!" Alryssa backed away. "And it will all start _here_!" he raved, gesturing to the basement around him. Alryssa swallowed. There was only one way out of this she could think of... and it would require her to do something she utterly, utterly loathed. Wear a fuku. Unless... ... she could kick him in the nuts really fast and make a break for it. "Um... so... if I were to be the companion," she said, edging closer to get a good aim, "Uh... who would the Doctor be then?" Eric's eyes gleamed.... "Remember all those rumours in the tabloids lately? _I_ planted them..." "What, you want Sylvester Stallone as the Doctor?" Alryssa said in false disbelief, edging closer to Eric's legs. "No. That was merely a ruse, a deception to divert people's attention from my true choice..." "...Thomas Kelly. _Your_ Thomas Kelly. With, I think, Paul McGann as stunt double..." Alryssa froze just before her knee jerked up into Eric's groin. Uh-oh... She stopped. Thought. "So, who died and gave you a brain?" she said. She liked the sound of this. Putting an arm round Saward's shoulders, she walked away with him to discuss the possibilities... "Oh, you'd be surprised..." Saward said. "_I_ certainly was..." "Mm-hmm. So lemme get this straight. Five year contract, twenty-two episodes per season, star billing for Thomas and me, simultaneous UK and US broadcast, nice big budget, the PMEB *and* EF as Staff Writers and all the fluffy McGann dolls they desire?" "Yep." "Oooh... What happened? The BBC get hypnotised by an evil mastermind?" Alryssa teased. Saward shuffled his feet. "Well..." WELCOME, ALRYSSA. MY SERVANT HAS TOLD YOU OF OUR PLANS, I SEE. SO... WHADDYA THINK? Enter the Evil Mastermind. "Here we go again..." Alryssa muttered. --- "Where are we now?" Sixth looked around. "I recognise this place... I faced many horrible, nightmarish terrors here." "It's the BBC canteen," Sam observed. "That's what I meant." "So where do we need to go?" Eighth checked the map. "Hmm. We need to find out what's going on. Which means we need to find the man who knows it all..." "David Brunt?" "No." "Andrew Pixley?" "_NO!_" Eighth snapped. "We need to find... the Richards!" "Hey... Who's... Oh _no_..." Gordon stuttered. pointing a shaking finger at the figure now advancing on them. "It's... It's..." Imran shuddered. "No. Not even the BBC could be that insane..." "This *is* the BBC. Or more specifically, BBC _Drama_ we're talking about here..." Sam told him. "Oh yeah..." The figure advanced on them, grinning insanely. Behind it, the Sandwiches of Doom loomed. "Any bright ideas?" "One." "And that would be?" Imran prodded. "RUN!!!!" "YAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!" "Oh, that's _perfect_." Our heroes stopped mid-run and *stared* at the advancing figure. "HUH?!" "Hi. I'm Irwin Allen. And I've been thinking. How would _you_ like to star in _my_ remake of Battlestar Galactica?" Our heroes looked at each other. And ran like hell. "Hey, we've actually got a budget this time..." the (resurrected) Allen said. "Oh poot." --- WHAT TOOK YOU SO LONG? the Evil Mastermind said. "Blame the authors, I don't write this stuff," she replied. "The really bizarre thing right now is that I can't see any fault with your idea. So. What now?" NOW? NOW WE FIND OUR COSTARS! A big swirly thing opened up in the middle of the studio. She had a bad feeling about this, somehow, but curiosity was getting the better of her. What could possibly be so evil about a new series of Doctor Who? Unless... They walked through the door, where a shadowy figure awaited them... "I won't introduce you, as you already know each other!" "That!" cried Alryssa with great vengeance and furious anger, "Is *NOT* my Tom Kelly!!!" "EH?" boggled Saward. "If I'm not mistaken, that's Tom Kelly who played a Vardan in Invasion Of Time!" "What?!?!?" Eric seethed, "The short-arsed Irish fella?!?!" He turned to the two short, hunch-backed assistants trying to hide in the shadows. "Cannon! Ball! What have you pair of contemptible bampots done now?" "Waitjustacottonpickingbuggerybollocksymoment!" exclaimed Alryssa. She stomped over and ripped Cannon's face off. Alryssa pointed at the face underneath. "That's not Cannon! That's Pat Gorman in an unconvincing wig! As for Ball," she said, walking over to rip *his* suddenly unconvinving mask off, "Is..." She looked to see the chubby face of William Conrad perring at her. "Bloody 'ell, it *is* Cannon!" "Stop this at once! I'm the scriptwriter here! Who the flip is doing this? Which one of you melon farming fanfickers is playing silly buggers?!?!" Alryssa turned around to see Eric was now wearing a Cyberman costume. "So, Uncle Tewwy was telling the truth!" she grinned. "Excuse me?" piped up a short-arsed Irish voice. "SHUT YER FACE!!!" thundered Eric and Alryssa simultaneously. "need to go to the toilet..." "You and your fanficking mates think you're so bloody good don't you? Making up new adventures for the Doctor, indulging in every whim and fantasy. That's *MY* job!" "too late..." "Yeah, but if we kidnapped the wrong Tom Kelly..." muttered Gorman. "I'm going to put a stop to it all, only I'm allowed to write anoraky, continuity filled nonsense, me, me, me I tell you!" Alryssa yawned... "And when me and the Infinity Professor finish our plans, I'll have been the producer of Who since the very beginning! None of this educational, scientific nonsense, we'll have guns, mercenaries, people with no first names, guns, gratuitous death, guns, more death, it will be so lovely!" Eric dropped to his knees, sobbing... --- "Who the _Hell's_ going round resurrecting people?" "I _did_ say BBC Drama were insane... Oh no. Not this..." Sam panted. And indeed, the sight that faced them now was truly nightmarish. Not even one of those good nightmares you get after a cheese sandwich, either... It was the new BBC 2 logo. And it was coming right for them....! --- The Banana-Wielding Man regained consciousness. He could hear... chanting? "Clavicle. Clavicle. Clavicle." "Chocolate sauce. Chocolate sauce. Chocolate sauce." "Whipped cream. Whipped cream. Whipped cream." He realised he was wearing a latex mask. And he was tied to something. A pretty young woman (with a nametag saying "Auntie Krizu") leaned over him. "Hi. We're the PMEB. And _you've_ been chosen as our Paul McGann substitute of the week." "Substi..." Auntie brought something out from behind her back. "Meet... the Arse-Thwapper of Rassilon!" The Banana-Wielding Man started to scream. A voice piped up from the sea of female faces. "We're lowering our standards a bit, aren't we? I mean, we've got all those Paul clones running around..." A general murmur of agreement. Auntie lowered her weapon for a moment. "So what do we do with him?" Everyone looked at each other and had the same idea... --- "MMMMPPPPHHHH!!!" Evil Imran slapped himself. "Bugger! We forgot something!" "We've got Benny..." Evil Gordon drooled. "We need _Jason's_ Time Ring to get back to 1963... Hey, where's-?" Evil Alryssa came into sight, dragging a struggling bag behind her. The bag went "MMMMMPPPHHH!!!" "No problem, guys." "Right, then." Evil Alryssa and Imran touched Benny and Jason's Time Rings together. And they were outside the Round, circa 1963... --- "My, that is a big tool you have there!" "Thanks," smiled Chris. "I'm rather proud of it myself, it's extendible you know, up to twelve inches" Mistress Mel's face lit up. "I use it to screw things most of the time." he said, pulling it out from beneath the sheets. "It's a Black & Decker AK909 PowerDrill!" Mistress Mel's face remained lit up as she thought of several ways she could use the Drill to inflict sublime pain on Chris. "Mmmmmmmmmmmm!" Chris experimentally activated the drill. Mel looked ecstatic. Until someone fell through the ceiling and landed unceremoniously on the bed. "Come on, Chris!" yelled the newcomer, covered in plaster dust and wearing a ridiculous grin. "I've come to save you!" Chris looked at the new arrival. "I'm not sure I *want* to be saved, actually..." The person proceeded to fend off Mel, pick Chris up in a fireman's lift and left the room through the door. It would have been a lot less painful if the door had been open... "Fear not, good Chris, for I am... Sailor Fitz! And you have been rescued from durance vile!" "Actually, I was enjoying that..." "Would you have enjoyed it so much if she'd completed her plan to make everyone her willing slaves?" Chris had to think about that one. "Now... we must make haste, to save Harry and Adric!" "Now, hold on a minute..." Chris began. "WAAAAGGGGGHHHH!!!!" BOOM. "Sorry about that, I had a tandoori right before I got here." Chris' face turned a distinct shade of green. "Please, take me back. For the love of the gods, please, take me back...!" "I am afraid not, good Christopher. For we seek out that vilest of masterminds, that evillest of evildoers..." "Mary Whitehouse?" Chris said. "Sorry, force of habit..." "We seek _out_..." Sailor Fitz continued, a trifle more irritatedly. "...the Infinity Professor!" "The _who?_" "And the blackguard's lair lies right through... here!" And so saying, Sailor Fitz and his struggling cargo hurled themselves out of the window. Unfortunately, it _was_ on the top floor... Which meant it _was_ a long way down... "WAAAAAARRRRRRGGH!" Of course, this not being reality, the ground simply acted as a trampoline, and bounced the two until they were safely at rest. Far, _far_ from the Round. "Ah, there you are. You're late." Sailor Fitz scrambled to his feet, his cargo a tangle of unconscious limbs. "Sorry," he replied, dusting himself off. "I'm not entirely sure that getup suits you, you know." Fitz glanced at his ally, who smiled sweetly back at him. "God, I need a cigarette," he moaned. "There's no time for that!" urged his friend. "We've got to stop this loony!" "Just two minutes?" Shake of the head. "One?" Another shake. "Thirty seconds then? I'll be quick!" "NO!" His friend grabbed his arm, and Chris by proxy, and took off in a blur of movement, dragging the two behind. Chris had nothing else to say really, apart from, "I don't want to diiieeeeeee!" Well, that and... "Anji? What's with the sunglasses?" "You don't want to know." "Why?" Anji sighed. "Well... look, sometime back, _some_ idiot gave us - the Eighth Doctor's companions - the powers of anime characters. Unfortunately... _I_ get to be a conduit to the Vortex, no, don't ask, we don't have time, but we have to get to the Infinity Professor _now!_" "If I pretend I understood that, do you promise not to repeat it?" "Come _on!_" Anji said. --- Back in the bedroom... Only one word served to describe Mistress Mel's state of mind at the moment. "Oh, *cruk*." She folded her arms and pouted accordingly. She hated it when her playthings were abducted from under her nose. Sighing, she picked up her cellphone and began dialling.... "Servalan? Servy, they've only gone and escaped _again_. You couldn't lend me some of those hunky Federation troops of yours again, could you?" She listened to the voice on the other end. "Yes, yes, I _do_ know what this means." she said, waving a hand in irritation. "Trust me, you _will_ get Blake in your hands... the moment _I_ get my hands on my _playmates_... " "... no, not the Star Trek figures! I meant... oh, never mind." Mel hung up, and gathered her weapons. Looking around at the devastation once more, she sighed, thinking of the insurance premiums going up again, and then headed out after her prey. --- "Hello. Is that the Sylvester McCoy Estrogen Brigade? Yeah, it's the PMEB here." "Mm. Got another of those Paul clones running around..." "Yeah, I know, I know. Should be only Paul himself. Or his characters, but... well, times've been tough. You know how it goes." "Yeah, bring the spoons. We've got _plans_ for this boy." "Oh, how about... ninish?" "Mm. Oh. Oh, _really?_" "That has possibilities..." --- Auntie put the phone down, and turned round to the assembled PMEB. "Right. Small change of plan..." The Banana-Wielding Man struggled. Whatever this was, it did _not_ sound good. "Bring the maple syrup. Oh, and the Withnail and I videos..." Auntie smirked wickedly. The Banana-Wielding Man started trembling. And it wasn't just due to the lack of clothes, and the fact that the air conditioning was cranked... "Get the stretcher!" "Please! I'll do anything! Just... not that! What do you want to know?" he begged, as the hordes descended. Trina sighed and put down the spoons. "Dangit. I was looking *forward* to that. Why do they always cave in so early?" "Maybe he caught a glimpse of that novel you wrote." "You think he might want an autographed copy?" Her eyes lit up. "I think he'll want anything right now as long as we don't carry out our torture. Shame, but it'll get us the information we want," Krizu said, and leaned over the prone man. "So, Mr. Banana-Wielding Man (who came up with that anyway?), would you care to tell us who is behind this ridiculous scheme to turn the Doctor's companions into stone?" "His name is... the Infinity Professor!!" "The _who_?!" the assembled PMEB and SMEB said in unison. "He wanted me to distract the Doctor while he and the other Evil Mastermind completed their evil plan, involving the Infinity Doctor. He's been planning the plan for the last 37 years. That's all I know. _Please!_" "Did you hear that?" Trina said. "They're after one of the Pauls! That's _our_ job!" Angry mutterings from the assembled EBers. "Are we gonna let them get away with that?!" Elsa crossed her arms. "Well, _ARE WE?!_" "_NO!!_" came the chorus. "Then, Mr Banana-Wielding Man, we've got two more questions for you. If we're _not_ satisfied, Trina here will... play the spoons..." Trina grinned. The Banana-Wielding Man shuddered. "First... you're gonna tell us where your bosses are _right now_." "And second?" the Banana-Wielding Man asked, trembling (and possibly something else) in his boxers. "Second..." Elsa leaned in. "What _is_ your name, anyway? It's been bugging me ever since Alryssa dropped you off..." "Um. My name's...Mark McGann... I've been wanting to get one over on my brother for years..." "Oh, it's like *that*, is it?" "We don't have time for in-depth psychoanalysis, girls... just tell us where he is!" Mark looked at the clock on the wall (featuring, oddly enough, the Eighth Doctor, how ironic). "If he's on schedule, he should be just about ready to instigate his plan... from his TARDIS...." Trina looked glum. "How are we supposed to know which one? There's ike sixty versions running around out there!" Krizu smiled. "I think I know. Come on!" And the EB'ers stormed out, leaving Mark tied up and alone in the room. "Er... hello? Hello? Someone? Could you untie me? Please...?" --- Outside the Round, circa 1963... "Hmm. Doesn't look all that different from the 21st century Round..." Evil Imran observed. Frank Sinatra started pounding from the 'Round. "Uh-oh..." Evil Gordon said. "Come _on_, you wimps! We've got a job to do, remember?!" Evil Alryssa tapped her foot. Evil Gordon and Imran looked at each other. And swallowed. "This is not going to be good..." "That's the point. We're evil, remember?" "AT LAST!! FREEZE, EVILDOERS!!!" The Evil Odd Trio turned around, to face... "YOU?!" "We're the, er, Neutral Odd Trio. Or something." said Neutral Gordon. Everyone looked at each other for several moments. "So what are you going to do?" jibed Evil Gordon. "Er... I'm not sure..." "Put down that bag of Benny, right now!" ordered Neutral Imran. "Why?" "Well, there's two sides to every argument, true... " he answered, "On the one hand, we want her back because... er... because... " The Neutrals looked at each other. The Evils looked at the Neutrals. "Um... anyone care for a beer while we sort this out?" "MRrffffFFF!" screamed the bag. Part One - Part Two - Part Four
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