The Torchwood team were gathered around the television set in the rest area. They were far from relaxed as they watched the continuation of the news bulletin that had greeted them when they got up for work in their respective homes this morning. Toshiko hugged Etsuko tightly as she stood and watched. Owen looked impassive, but anyone who knew him would recognise the depths of emotion behind his eyes. He was as upset as anyone else but he kept up the cool professional mask. Gwen and Beth had no such masks and were crying openly. Ianto and Alun clutched hands and bit their lips to hold back their feelings in their doppelganger way.
Jack glanced at the scene of devastation on Runway Three of Cardiff International Airport that was being broadcast for the umpteenth time since the news broke at about half-past six this morning. Four hundred and sixty-eight passengers and crew on the Boeing 747 returning from Orlando, and eight passengers and four crew aboard the private plane that had collided with it in mid-air were all now confirmed dead. That was about the only change in the story since the earliest newsflash. At first there had been wildly optimistic talk of searching for survivors.
It was now being called Cardiff’s worst Human disaster.
The worst that wasn’t caused by something that came through the rift, Jack mentally added.
A helpline number flashed up on screen for people worried about friends or family.
“Does anyone here have any friends or family they’re concerned about?” Jack asked. Everyone shook their heads. Gwen murmured something about Big Dav and his family being away on holiday, then recalled that they were going to Alicante, not Orlando. For the rest of them, the fact that Torchwood made it hard to form outside friendships was, for once, a blessing.
“Ok,” Jack’s voice was gentle but firm. “Then, come on, people. Let’s leave this to the armchair voyeurs. There’s nothing we can do. The people who can are already doing it. Let’s get on with our jobs. Tosh, Alun, there’s a fishing boat crew who swear a UFO hovered over them out at sea last night. Go and interview them, get a description of the spacecraft and Retcon them. The usual routine. Gwen can babysit Etsu while she’s finishing those profiles from yesterday. Owen, I know you’ve got that experiment on alien stomach bile to be getting on with. Ianto, you’ll be ok in the inventory on your own? If you want any help, Beth would be delighted to put up the closed sign and come down to you.” He turned to Beth and smiled his most charming smile. “I could really use a coffee?”
“Yes, sir,” Beth said and scurried off to do exactly the same job she used to do for a group of dentists - making coffee, reception, filing and any odd jobs that nobody else reckoned was their responsibility. It still seemed much more fun to be doing that work in the secret underground headquarters of an organisation that hunted aliens.
Jack watched as his team went to their separate tasks, then he reached to turn off the TV. He had felt bad about cracking the whip on them. They weren’t automatons. They were Human beings who had been as shaken by this tragedy in their home city as anyone else. But truly, what good could they do watching the same news repeat every fifteen minutes. Events like this were the responsibility of specialists who would already have begun their grim task while the cameras filmed with long lenses and the news reporters stood outside the airport’s boundary fence and speculated.
He had every respect for those specialists. He had some experience himself of what happened to a Human body when so many tons of screaming metal ploughed them into the ground. He’d seen it all too close up many times in World War II. He remembered going to find the body parts in the wreckage of crashed planes, burnt and twisted organic matter that used to be men he had drunk with in the Officer’s Club. Or worse, the pitifully young ones, barely old enough to be called ‘men’ rather than ‘boys’, who had been under his command.
At least the people who had to investigate this crash had the mercy of not being personally acquainted with the bodies they were collecting. Even so, he spared a comradely thought for them as they did their job some eleven miles south of where he did his.
The phone in his office, the one with the traditional ring tone unlike every other phone in the Hub, sounded loudly. He sprinted along the walkway and grabbed the receiver on the fifth ring. As he listened his expression darkened. He calmly thanked the caller for the information and said he would be there in half an hour. He grabbed his coat from the hatstand and had it halfway on as he sprinted out of the office, calling for Owen to join him.
It took longer than half an hour, in fact. The alien gismo that turned traffic lights green worked fine until they were close to the airport. Then there was such a tailback of traffic that the SUV couldn’t go anywhere.
“What the bloody hell do they all think they’re doing?” Owen asked. “They know all planes are grounded. The TV said check with your operator. Most of them are supposed to go to Bristol. So why are they clogging up the road?”
“Human nature,” Jack observed dryly. “Human stupidity.” He glanced in the rear view mirror and saw a police vehicle coming up on the wrong side of the road. It seemed to be escorting another vehicle. As it passed, Jack recognised the official car of the First Minister of Wales. He waited for the rear escort to pass then slipped in behind it. When the two way radio crackled and the Minister’s escort complained about his impertinence Jack flashed the blue strobes on the windscreen of the SUV and said ‘Torchwood’. He was gratified to find he had no further trouble as the convoy was let into the airport grounds. He let the First Minister head to the main terminal to make press statements and turned the SUV towards the remote hangar where he had been told there was something that came under his purview.
Nothing Jack or Owen had ever seen before in their lives, or had steeled themselves to expect to see, quite prepared them for what was happening in that hangar. The bodies from the crashed plane were being brought here and arranged according to where they were found in the wreckage in order to identify them and possibly help work out what happened to the plane based on which bodies were worst burnt, which most smashed up and dismembered. It was unpleasant enough even if it was possible to retain any sense of professional detachment. Judging by the faces of the people working in near silence, that wasn’t easy for them.
Jack was trying to be detached. But he found himself looking at one particular grouping of badly burnt bodies that were being carefully labelled by one of the accident investigators.
“These ones seem… small…” That was the only word that came to mind at that moment. He looked at the head of the investigation team, one Prentiss Morris, who shook his head sadly.
“The plane was coming from Orlando, Disney World… more than half the passengers were children. These… we’ve identified shreds of a scouting uniform. A group of youngsters on a ‘holiday of a lifetime’.” He sighed. “In my day we had a weekend on Barry Island.”
Morris was a professional. This was far from his first crash reconstruction. But he had given up on detachment at that point.
Jack swallowed hard and decided that they might at least try to be professional if they couldn’t be detached.
“Sir,” he said in a calm voice. “This obviously isn’t what you wanted us to see?”
“No.” Morris brought himself back to the point. “No, it’s not. I’m sorry we had to come through there. But our security staff is stretched keeping the press at a distance. We’ve locked down all the other entrances to the hangar. Please come this way.”
Morris brought them to a smaller annex to the main hangar. The roof was just as high but in the smaller room the extractor fans removing the unpleasant smells were louder.
Jack and Owen knew why they had been called as soon as they looked at the bodies laid out on the floor of this room.
“The passengers and crew of the private plane?” Jack surmised.
“Yes,” Morris answered him. “It crash landed separately to the 747. We’re confident there’s no confusion. None of these were from the commercial airline. We certainly hope not. Because… well… you can see….”
The bodies were less badly burnt. The private jet had not been as much of a fireball as the passenger plane.
“It came down more or less intact,” Morris explained. “The airport fire service got the fire out much faster than with the 747. We were able to recover the bodies practically whole. I almost wish we hadn’t.”
The first two bodies had portions of a pale blue cotton shirt material still visible in places. They were obviously the pilot and co-pilot of the private hire executive jet.
“We have their names from the company. There’s no problem with identifying them. But their passengers… as you can see, the manifest is not a lot of help.”
“Fucking hell,” Owen swore as he looked at the bodies. “But they couldn’t have looked like this when they got on board. If so, I really want to see their passport photos!”
“There must be CCTV of their check in?” Jack asked. Morris nodded and said he could access them from his office. Owen, meanwhile, was pulling on a pair of latex gloves and beginning to examine what were clearly the remains of something non-Human.
The back of the skull was at least an inch wider than a Human. He could check that more accurately later with callipers, but that was his expert guess. His preliminary examination suggested that the skull was thicker than a Human. He could check that with a scan later. But he was guessing that the brain inside was probably not much bigger than a Human. What that signified, he wasn’t sure. The jaw was elongated like an animal - a dog came to mind, but it was a hound from hell if it was. There were at least twice as many teeth as a Human, and the incisors were razor sharp fangs. The eye sockets were larger than Human, too, though the eyes had been burnt away. The spine was curved unlike any creature that stood upright and he didn’t look at the limbs as arms and legs, but as hind and forelegs with the joints of a creature that normally walked on all fours.
The epidermis was burnt, but he could see that it had been covered in hair or fur. He took samples from the charred surface to examine later back at the Hub.
“I’d like to get one of these back to my lab as soon as possible,” Owen said. “Can we arrange that?”
Morris looked hesitant. It was, of course, completely irregular and improper to remove any remains from a scene of accident reconstruction. Normally he would never sanction it. But in this case, he would have been glad if Torchwood had demanded to take every one of these strange bodies away. He would never have to see any of them again.
“Do what you think necessary.” Morris told him.
“Call our usual hauliers,” Jack told Owen. “Make sure they know they have to be discreet both ends. We don’t need a tabloid paper with a long lens getting a scoop out of this.”
“Good point,” Morris noted. “The TV already got some footage of bodies being brought into the hangar an hour ago. We got them cleared out but they’ve been running what they have every half hour. That seems to be keeping them happy for now, though. I think we might get away with it if your people are discreet.”
“Good,” Jack said. “Now, what about that CCTV footage?”
“Come with me,” Morris told him. Jack followed him, leaving Owen to make the arrangements for the removal of one of the alien bodies to the Hub.
Morris’s office was another annex to the main hangar. Jack again glanced sadly at the Human cost of this tragedy before he was ushered into what was clearly a hastily organised command centre with a desk, computer, filing cabinets and other office equipment jammed into the room. Morris sat at his desk and typed almost as fast as Toshiko did at her workstation. Jack stood behind him and watched as he brought up the CCTV footage of the private airline’s check in desk.
What appeared to be eight perfectly normal looking humans wearing business suits were met by a young woman in the sort of colourful, smartly fitted skirt suit that screamed ‘air hostess’. She seemed to be communicating with them in English as she checked their passports and tickets and invited them to follow her through the departure gate.
“There’s a body missing,” Jack said as he looked at the crew and passenger manifest and noted the name of Bronwen Baugh, stewardess. “Where’s the girl?”
Morris stared at the CCTV footage and realised Jack was right.
“She must have been missed. I’ll get onto it right away. There must still be remains in the wreckage.”
Jack opened his mouth to say something else but he was distracted by the arrival of one of Morris’s investigation team, who burst into the room without knocking.
“Sir, we’ve extracted the cockpit voice recording from the private plane. This is a copy…” He held out a newly burnt CD ROM disc. He was slightly surprised when Jack reached for it before Morris and turned to slide it into the ROM drive of the computer. The autoplay function immediately kicked in to play back the audio from the stricken plane.
The tape had a maximum of thirty minutes recording time, but it hadn’t used anything close to that in the preparations for take off and the few minutes it was in the air. The take off was perfectly normal. The pilot and co-pilot were aware of a 747 starting its descent pattern, but it was on a different runway and a different flight path at that point, nothing to do with each other.
Everything was fine for those few minutes. They had reached the point where the co-pilot could turn off the seatbelt sign and the pilot casually mentioned that they would be in Cork in time for breakfast and suggested a nice place where the two of them could eat. In any other context Jack would have been tempted to wonder if that was a ‘date’ but having seen what was left of both of the men laid out in the hangar annex the thought died quickly. Besides, perfectly normal turned to perplexingly abnormal very quickly.
It started with a scream from the passenger cabin. A scream that could best be described as ‘blood-curdling’.
“That was Bronwen,” said the voice of the co-pilot. “She sounded scared out of her mind.”
“Check it out,” answered the pilot. The co-pilot’s voice sounded less clear as he took off his headset and climbed out of his seat. Then the door to the passenger cabin was opened and the sounds beyond there were picked up by the flight recorder. The stewardess was not screaming now. But there was an argument going on between the passengers – conducted in a language nothing like English.”
“What is that?” Morris asked. “Dutch?”
“I'm not sure,” Jack answered. And it was true he couldn’t tell anyone what the language was. If pressed he might have guessed at something from the Andromeda galaxy. It was getting on for two years now since he last set foot in a semi-sentient relative dimension space and time ship. But the low level psychic radiation that got into the heads of any of its passengers still worked for him. He heard what the voices were saying easily.
Essentially, one of them was telling the others that eating the stewardess this early in the flight was a bad idea. Another argued that it was only a short flight and she HAD asked if they wanted breakfast. Visceral noises in the background and the lack of any sound from the stewardess suggested that most of the party had helped themselves to breakfast. Jack swallowed hard and made a mental note to have Owen see if there was anything left in the stomach cavities of the bodies. It was probably going to be the only way of identifying the remains of stewardess Bronwen Baugh.
All that took no more than thirty seconds of tape. Then the co-pilot was screaming about the passengers all being monsters. A growling voice that sounded like a large guard dog might sound if it had a voice, got louder as if one of the creatures was pushing the screaming co-pilot back into the cockpit. The pilot was yelling, too, and the horror going on behind him obviously distracted him from his flying, because the voice of the air traffic controller telling him he was off course went unheeded. So did a proximity alarm that told him he was on a collision course with another plane.
Then there was a terrible noise that was the private jet ploughing through the tail of the 747 and then white noise as nothing further was recorded.
The silence in the office continued for another thirty seconds before Jack turned to Morris’s assistant and told him he would need a copy of that recording. He could, in fact, just as easily have taken that copy. But he wanted the assistant to leave the room before he started organising a cover up of alien involvement in an accident that was the subject of enormous media interest. He told Morris to sit down and hold tight while he got onto his mobile phone.
“Rhys,” he said. “Hi, it’s Jack. Sorry, but we need another discreet collection. What did you send earlier?”
“A transit van with cold storage,” Rhys Williams answered. “Was that all right?”
“That was fine,” Jack assured him. “But we’re going to need something bigger. Also with cold storeage.”
“The only thing available right now is a lorry full of ice cubes,” Rhys told him after checking remarkably quickly.
“Seriously? People transport ice cubes in this country?” Jack asked. “There’s a market for that?” Never mind. It sounds ideal. Send it to the same place.”
“The airport?” Rhys sounded worried. “Is this to do with…”
“The less you know, the better right now,” Jack told him. Rhys, as transport manager for a haulage firm, was a good contact to have. Gwen had gone through the whole concept of ‘secrecy’ with him. But sometimes his enthusiasm to know what it was all about needed curtailing. Rhys sounded disappointed, but Jack didn’t have time to fill him in right now even if he wanted to. He terminated the call and turned to Morris.
“We’re getting the alien bodies out of here,” he said. “We’re going to arrange delivery of nine substitute bodies later, all suitably messed up. Eight passengers and one stewardess. There is no need to check the wreckage for another body. There isn’t one. Everyone is accounted for.”
“You mean…” Morris had tried not to think he was hearing what he was hearing from the passenger cabin. “They actually ate her? They really were aliens?”
“Yes, and yes,” Jack answered. “I don’t know what sort or why, or if there are more of them. I hope to find out. But that’s my problem. Yours is determining why two planes crashed. I’ll also be arranging for a re-dubbed copy of that cockpit voice recording to show that one of the passengers went off the deep end, broke through the door and started a fight with the pilots that caused them to veer off course and crash into the 747.”
“You’re going to cover up the truth?” Morris looked more appalled by that than anything else he had seen.
“I do it all the time,” Jack told him. “It’s my job. For the record, I hate having to do it. Especially in this case. A lot of relatives of innocent people don’t deserve lies being told to them. But they don’t deserve to hear the truth about this, either.”
Morris sighed and nodded. Jack was right, of course. He glanced at the TV still broadcasting the rolling news of the accident. He certainly didn’t want to be the one who had to tell the national media that aliens caused this disaster.
“We’re in your hands,” he said in a resigned tone.
Jack felt a little guilty about that. Morris was a man doing a hard job and he didn’t deserve to be mixed up in Torchwood’s kind of business. He wished there was something he could say to reassure him. But there was nothing. And in any case, they both soon had something else to worry about.
Jack’s communicator crackled and he heard Owen yelling with something of the same blood curdling tone as the doomed stewardess. The crack of his automatic pistol was a background sound. Jack pulled his gun from the concealed shoulder holster as he started running. The sight of a running man in semi-military clothes wielding a gun caused some shouts of alarm in the airport hangar but that was irrelevant background detail as he crashed through the door to the annex.
He got there in time to see a tall, grey-skinned humanoid raise his fists and break a hole through the concrete wall of the room. He took a shot at the head of what was clearly not a Human being, but it had ducked to get through the hole and he missed. Jack ran to the hole and looked. He was in time to witness the humanoid creature morph into something that looked like a very large, hairless bulldog as it sprinted away. Jack got two more shots off and thought he had hit it, but only in the left haunch, a wound that may slow it down, but not kill it.
He turned back and took in the scene within the annex. There were three similar grey humanoids lying dead on the floor, their thick but not completely indestructible skulls smashed open by Owen’s pistol at close range. Owen was crouched on the floor in the corner of the room, his gun outstretched.
“They started to re-animate,” he said. “Come back to life… the way we brought Suzie back with the fucking glove. They… turned into Humans… well almost Human, anyway… and… fucking hell… the strength of that one…”
Jack examined the remaining three burnt corpses. Two of them had heads so badly smashed in that they were probably not going to pose any problem. This reanimation would seem to depend on having a reasonably intact skull, since Owen’s head shots had stopped three of them.
The last one...
He watched in fascinated horror as the creature that seemed to be burnt to a cinder began to move. The blackened, burnt crust fell off as the fore and hind legs changed form and began to look more like a straight-limbed bipedal creature than a quadroped. Grey skin, shiny and gooey emerged as the creature struggled to its feet.
Jack pointed his revolver at its head. So did Owen. They fired. The skull disintegrated. The newly re-animated brain was pulped. The creature slumped to the floor, dead.
“Are they finished?” Owen asked.
“These are,” Jack said. “But there are two more out there. One running…the other packed in a fridge on its way to Torchwood. If it hasn’t arrived by now.”
He turned to Morris, but he was already calling airport security and requesting them to converge on the south-west perimeter to shoot a large, dangerous, possibly rabid animal.
“Tell them it has to be a head shot,” Jack told him as he speed-dialled his own mobile phone and reached Ianto at the Hub.
“Ianto,” he said. “Have you taken delivery of an ugly piece of work packed in ice?”
“Just doing that now, boss,” he answered. “I was going to put it in a cold cabinet in the morgue.”
“No,” Jack told him. “Put it in a freezer cabinet. It may look dead, but its friends have been very lively here. I’m hoping that they’re dormant at low temperatures. Just in case, though… Tell Beth to take Etsuko for a walk by the waterfront. Get them both out of there. And you and Gwen have your guns ready. I would have liked a specimen to question, to find out what the fuck this is all about. But if your lives are at risk don’t hesitate. Pulp the head. That finishes them off.”
Ianto didn’t reply right away. He was obviously talking to the delivery man. When he came back to him he was clearly surprised.
“You expect THAT to be a threat to our lives?”
“Yes,” Jack answered. “I’m not kidding. Be careful, all of you. Be safe.”
“Boss,” Owen said as he finished that call. “The ice cube lorry is here.”
“Ok,” he decided.” Get this lot bagged up and packed in ice, same as planned. But change of destination. I want the whole lot taken to the crematorium. Get our usual man on it. Priority job. Go with them, Owen. Make sure any remains are pounded to dust and then take the dust back to the Hub and deep freeze it. That should be enough to kill something that walked away from a mid-air collision.”
He left Owen to that and ran to find out what was happening with the runaway creature. He knew that airport security packed serious firepower these days. But they were trained to deal with Human terrorist threats. He wasn’t sure how they would handle an alien creature capable of breaking down a solid wall. And there had been enough deaths today.
He reached the perimeter fence in time to see a huge hole in it and two security guards down, blood pouring from dreadful injuries even as their comrades tried to administer first aid.
“We shot at least twenty bullets into the thing,” one of the guards protested. “It’s not… it’s not possible.”
“It’s possible,” Jack answered. “I said headshots. And how the hell did it get close enough to hurt people? Never mind. Where did it go?”
“Into the woods,” he was told, and Jack noted that beyond the fence was a narrow lane and then a dark copse of deciduous trees.
Ok, he thought. Follow the debris, and hope this is a big woodland with no bird watchers or nature trailers wandering around it. He heard the sound of an ambulance heading towards the stricken men and knew they weren’t his priority any more. The creature was.
He headed across the lane and into the woods. As he did so, he noticed a dark green Renault Laguna parked under the cover of the trees. It was empty. But it had a sticker on the windscreen identifying the driver as ‘Press’. He swore a very rude swearword he learnt on another planet in another time and hoped it was a tabloid writer, then he wouldn’t feel quite so bad about him being alien food.
No, he didn’t mean that, really. His job was to protect all Human life, even the sections of it he liked less then Weevils. And if there was a civilian in danger his job right now was even more imperative.
The mobile rang. It was Ianto.
“Boss,” he said. “Sorry, but it started coming to life while we were shifting it. I had to kill it.”
“You’re not hurt? You or Gwen?”
“No,” Ianto assured him.
“Then that’s all that matters,” he answered. “Deep freeze the remains. Book it as an unknown entity.” He ended the call quickly. He had heard a noise somewhere in the woods. Two noises. One was a visceral roar. The other a scream of somebody terrified out of their wits.
A female scream. Not that it made him run any faster than if it had been a man. His job was to protect ALL Human life.
The trail of broken underbrush and trampled plants ended in a clearing. He saw the creature reverting back to grey humanoid – did it only morph into the quadraped for fleeing and feeding? Halfway up a tree, clinging on for her life, was a screaming woman with a camera dangling around her neck.
Jack drew his gun and aimed at the creature’s head. Then he remembered that this was his last chance to get any information about these creatures. He kept his gun steady all the same as he reached in his pocket for the “portable cell”. Toshiko had worked on the battery life of the gadget. It was pretty much reliable now. He threw it at the creature’s feet and watched as it was enclosed in the energy bars that only the most remarkable of entities was able to escape from.
It tried for a half a minute or so, reverting to animal and roaring with frustration. Jack risked moving a bit closer as it went back to humanoid.
“I have a nice cool cell with your name on it back at my headquarters,” he said to the creature. “Well, actually, not with YOUR name on it exactly. Because I don’t know your name. Any chance you’ll tell me?”
The creature swore in an alien language.
“That was rude. Especially with ladies present. Well, when I say lady, I suspect this is a hack journalist who wanted a good story, and I’d be tempted to let you eat her. But anyway, you’re the last. The rest are all dead. You should know that. So there’s just you, now, and we’re done.”
“There are more of us,” the creature answered with the same snarling, dog-voice Jack had noted on the cockpit recording. “We were just the ones who live in Britain – scattered across the island, living on carrion, keeping a ‘low profile’, the occasional kill, nothing to draw attention. We can live that way for decades. But then the urge to gather, to feast, comes upon us. We were going to Ireland… to meet with others. There are at least a hundred of us coming from all parts of Europe…. The city of our choosing will know death tonight when we hunt in a pack, taking our meat fresh and full of blood.”
“So you were off to a family reunion,” Jack noted. “Only somebody got greedy and polished off the stewardess. That’s the trouble with carnivorous aliens. No discipline.”
“You mock!” the creature growled. “You will not do so when the blood of your species quenches the thirst of the Gerduna.”
“Help!” the lady journalist screamed as the branch she was clinging to gave an ominous creak. Jack looked up and noted that she was directly over the creature in its portable cell. If she fell, she would land right on top of it. Talk about the jaws of death.
But he’d heard enough. And he wasn’t particularly interested in keeping this thing in the Hub. It was bad enough feeding the Weevils. He wasn’t about to go body snatching to keep this prisoner alive. He touched a button on his wristlet and then aimed and fired as the ‘cell’ collapsed. He put three bullets into the head of the creature, cutting it off mid-roar. It toppled like a felled tree. The analogy was helped by the loud crack as the tree branch above gave way and the lady journalist dropped further. The branch held by a piece of bark that tore away slowly like something in a cartoon.
“Ok, I’ve got you,” Jack said as he reached and caught hold of her legs. “Let go and drop down.” She did so, and he set her on her feet carefully. “So… journalist, obviously,” he said as he confiscated her camera. “What paper?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes,” he answered. “The Times is unlikely to run a story about alien monsters in the woods. Whereas a tabloid just might. Either way, you’re coming with me, right now. Airport security will want to know what you were doing lurking on the perimeter. Don’t worry, they’ll be nice to you. I’ll see that they get you a nice cup of tea before they interrogate you.” He checked his pocket. Yes, he had a supply of Retcon. There would be nothing much they could ask her by the time she’d finished the tea. That sorted her out.
He reached for his mobile. One phone call settled the arrangements he needed to make. Then he called Ianto again.
“Can you collect the SUV from St. Athan’s air base and then pick up one more alien body in the woods south-west of the airport. I’d do it myself, but I have to get on a helicopter. U.N.I.T. are giving me a lift to Cork, seeing as there are no commercial flights going that way today. I need to give their Irish section a hand clearing up a gathering of our alien flesh eating ghouls in their city.”
“All in a day’s work,” Ianto replied.
Yes, Jack thought as he glanced at his watch and noticed it wasn’t even lunchtime. That summed it up.
All in a day’s work.