Prologue

Stupid o'clock, Thursday 1st May 1997

"Alright. This is the Cheshire cat's big day. We don't want anything wiping the smile off his face. Six polling stations under our remit. We've got to make sure every one of them is safe as houses. Safer than Major's house, anyway. He's got a lot of packing to do tomorrow. Shoebury; you're head of Team Blue. Bols, Team Red. Dawson, you're Team Yellow."

"Great, I'm a streak of piss," Jake frowned, folding his arms.

"What about me?" asked Eddie.

Gene shrugged.

"Referendum party?" he suggested.

Eddie scowled.

"Bloody hell," he mumbled.

"You're on team blue with me." Simon told him.

"Sounds like sports day," Marci commented.

"Do we get medals at the end?" Bammo asked.

"Yes," Gene barked, "I get a medal. For me incredible levels of patience in putting up with a bunch of twats and cheesebrains." He turned to Robin. "Batman, get back to yer doggy do-gooders; I want the polling stations to have one mutt a piece in place, noses primed. Get the buildings combed over before the voters come to stick an X in their box."

"And now Gene invents the face of modern gaming," Simon mumbled, folding his arms and leaning back.

Gene turned to Alex.

"My glamorous assistant here will now furnish you with a psychological profile of our friendly neighbourhood anarchist."

Alex stepped forward, a notebook in one hand and a pen in the other.

"Messages started three days ago," she began, "it started with a coded message in the classified ads in the Fenchurch Advertiser. Then there was a message over the air on Capital Radio. The DJ wasn't aware what was happening and unwittingly allowed the suspect on the air. Letters have been sent to three of the six polling stations in the area with a warning. There are signs that this campaign has been constructed with haste; the approach used suggests that the person we're looking for is fairly young, perhaps late teens. An email was sent from an academic establishment which suggests it may be a student but the facilities are open to members of the public so that might be a red herring. The campaign seems more in gear with actually scaring the voters away from the booths rather than causing damage to those who turn out to vote so there is every likelihood that the threat is a bluff but we can't take any chances."

"The big boys are getting their kickers in a twist about this one," Gene told them, "want us to do our best to keep it out of the public domain so no loose lips."

"It's four o'clock on the morning," Terry yawned, "I can't put enough words together to tell anyone even if I wanted to."

"Alright then, sod off, the lot of you. Go and do yer bit for maintaining the integrity of the British electoral system."

"Where will you be, Guv?" asked Jake.

"I'll be arresting D:Ream so that none of us have to listen to that soul-crushing song again," said Gene, "go on, bog off."

As the gathering dispersed Gene rubbed his forehead and gave a deep sigh. He'd only been back at work for a week or so and this was one of the biggest days of his career. After a decade and a half of Tory rule, new Labour looked to be in prime position to turn the country red. Months of scary posters of Tony Blair's eyes tinted red had failed to garner support for a party that had become increasingly unpopular. They grey man was surely out and the Cheshire Cat would be taking his place at Number 10.

Assurances from Alex, Simon and Robin that the threats would come to nothing because there had been so such explosion in the real world were little comfort. Sometimes things were just… different in his world and he couldn't risk this being one of those times.

Besides, he'd had far too much fun assigning people to teams and leaving scary pictures of their assigned party leader on their desks to freak them the hell out.

He walked into his office and stared out of the window. It was a big day and a big night. A brave new world. By morning, everything would be different.

What he didn't realise was that the same applied to him, to his world, to his station and to every member of his team.

And in contrast to the words of D:Ream there wasn't a hope in hell that things were going to get better.

~xXx~

Kim woke on the floor after a turbulent night, tossing and turning on the carpet, drained by her tears and her desperate sobbing. She awoke with a start in the early hours; a gasp on her lips and a jolt in her heart as the images she'd witnessed on the TV screen came back to her.

"Oh ma'am," she whispered, her eyes instantly filling with tears.

Her hands were trembling, She reached immediately for her unfinished glass of scotch, still sat beside her, and drank it down. She closed her eyes as she let out a sigh, the liquid stinging a little with its impact. It wasn't enough though. She could have taken a bath in the stuff and it wouldn't have been enough to get rid of the things she'd seen the night before.

Her heart still raced in fear as she remembered. She couldn't shake it. The images plagued her, they filled her head and made her want to scream and cry until the sounds of her sobbing made the walls cave in.

She felt so sick. She didn't know how to handle what she had seen, not whether to believe her eyes or the strange visions that played on the screen. She panted heavily. Her mind was a turbulent mess and so were her emotions, and it was still only 4 a.m.

She closed her eyes. She had to put it behind her. She'd been drinking too much, even she acknowledged that. She had to put it out of her head and get ready for work.

A valiant effort. A smart idea. But unfortunately one that disappeared with a click as the TV switched itself back on.

It hadn't finished with her yet.

~xXx~

His anger swelled to hideous proportions. Nothing could rival it. The energy burned in the air, sparked off the walls, burned the world with its malevolence.

Jim Keats used to be a man, a very long time ago. Then he became a bitter and twisted man. Then, thanks to the opposite energy that was born of Gene and his role, he became the devil in spectacles. And now?

Now he went beyond that. There was no humanity left in there, or if it was it was buried so deeply there was nowhere for it to escape from.

The switch had been flipped. The lid of the cage left open. The darkness had escaped and there was no pulling it back.

He'd tried to destroy Gene so many times, in so many clever and cunning ways, but his plans always failed because, like those preachy cartoons, the mouse always evades the cat. So this time the direct approach was the order of the day.

Flames burned through whatever passed for his soul.

They weren't the only fires that would be burning soon.

~xXx~

7 am; Friday 2nd May

The approaching footsteps were so heavy and clunky that everyone in the office turned to look.

The buckles on the side of the black, leather boots rattled as the footsteps came closer and stopped halfway through the office. Her boots were dark. The clothes draped around her body were dark. But darkest of all was the look on her face. Every person in that office felt a shudder travel down their spine. Not one of them found the guts to open their mouth and ask who she was or what she was doing there. None of them knew her - but she seemed to know them.

The office stared on in silence for what felt like an ice age until finally a young DC named Michael Dillion got to his feet, swallowed nervously and asked;

"Can I help you?"

The darkest of stares turned onto him.

"No," she said.

Dillion looked at her nervously.

"Then," he began, "can I ask who you are?"

Her expression was cold and unemotional.

"You'll find out soon enough."

"You should at least tell us what you're here for," Dillion felt his anxiety rising as he spoke, "what is the purpose of your visit?"

She caught him in her glare; cold, hard. Intense. The corners of her mouth moved into something resembling a smile that somehow wasn't quite there as she delivered her answer; four words that changed the course of the world and those who thrived within it.

"To fuck shit up," was all she had to say.

~xXx~

A/N: I tried so, so hard not to give this the obvious title but in the end I realised it fitted in more ways than one so I just had to go with it and try to forgive myself for being cheesy :P

On a personal note I was really excited when my timeline got to 1997 because I have fond memories of the 1997 General Election and all the excitement surrounding it. At the time it really felt like everything was going to change for the better. We live and learn :P Things Can Only Get Better was the song adopted by New Labour for their campaign.

This fic follows on from Where Have All The Cowboys Gone? – the rating will change to M at some point. It's going to be dark, I'll say that from the outset. But please stick with it because, as always, eventually light makes right.

Things I don't own: Ashes to Ashes, Life On Mars and the 1997 General Election.

Things I do own: Simon's crocodile, the right to be horrible to Kim and Evan's dubious second career as a beard model.

Thank you in advance to everyone who reads; I'd love to hear your comments and reviews, and please make sure you don't spoil your ballot papers! *spills coffee on mine* DAMNIT!