1.
In the darkness there is water dripping somewhere, as there is on board most Star Cruisers these days. The echoingapproach of two sets of footsteps. There is the sound of a sudden, quick scuffle, a heavy fall of bodies.
Three screaming shots.
Two from one sonic gun, one fromanother. So fast and close, they're barely distinguishable. The sound of them against the bulkhead echoes … and fades away.
Silence.
In his mid to late 30s, Jack Harkness peers intently over a smoking gun. He is The Bodyguard.
The hitman is dead on his feet, leaning against anairlock. A gun drops heavily from his hand. His life ebbs as he slides slowlydown the metal door to his knees then falls forward, facedown on the grated metal floor.
Jack is lying on top of a Killergion. Protectively pressed body to body on the filthy metal floor of the Cruiser.
The Killergion, a handsome,50-grebb-old diplomat, gasps in barely controlled fear as his five limbed expensive suit soaks up a black pool of … something we dare not even imagine. There is no movement.
The two men are lying near the door of a bay. Blood spreads from the body of the hitman, a few yards away. The Killergion starts to raise himselfup but Jack keeps him pressed to the floor, still alert for any further threat.
A beat, and voices approach. Jack wheels, his sonic .357 aimed at them.
"Freeze!" Jack snarls.
A uniformed crewman freezes in his tracks. Jack lowers his weapon and speaks. "Call the Brig."
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Passing foot traffic reveals a Vid-Com Screen , behind the reflections of the artificial running lights, all the Screens are showing the same picture, the glittering image of a man singing. Through the voices as people hurry past to get the quarters comes the sound of his song "I have nothing."
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A battered old desk. Scattered across the top - a pile of blank white paper, a jar of glue, a stack of magazines, a pair of scissors, a VCom remote control,softly in the background, a VCom is playing the same image we sawin the showroom window, the same song.
Hands appear.
Gloved hands.
The hands pick a magazine off the stack called Screen put the magazine down and pick up the scissors. Aheadline on the cover reads: "IANTO JONES'S GREATEST TRIUMPH!" The scissors start to cut.
Meticulously they excise the name "IANTO JONES" from the page. With the care of a surgeon.
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A rowdy sound of screaming, pushing bodies.
Arms stretch out, cameras flash, microphonesare thrust forward. A deafening cacophony of "Ianto,Ianto! Ianto! Over here! Over here! This way, Ianto! Ianto! Ianto!"
We cannot see the object of this frenzy.
We catch a brief glimpse of an attractive,well-dressed young dark skinned woman, exiting with the other celebrities, as she is pushed and casually jostled aside by the mass of surging fans and media. Her face is calm and impassive as she watches from the sidelines.
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In a gold panelled room stylishly hung with a few choice paintings that reflect the Killergion's success as a diplomat,he pours two snifters of brandy as he speaks with Harkness.
"Your hands ever shake, Jack?" he asks as he offers Jack a drink.
"Sometimes." Jack concedes, "It's just adrenaline."
"How did you know?" the Killergion asks.
"I saw him checking the airlock timer." Jack shrugged.
"I saw him too." The Killergion frowned with confusion.
They don't have active timers on the upper levels." Jack says softly as the Killergion hands a glass of hyper-brandy to Jack, who looks at it.
"You know, I'd like you to stay on." Jack is told as a sealed envelope is slid to him.
"I'm not good in permanent positions, my feet go to sleep." The two men smile at each other. They raise their glasses in a joint salute – the Killergion drinks.
Jack doesn't.
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The gloved hands are gluing the word "TIME" onto a message that is taking the classic form of a ransom note. Apparently an acceptable form of threat in any galaxy. Each word has been cut from a different page and is in a different typeface. The note is being assembled with such care that it has an unusually neat appearance and is quite easy to read. It reads:
JONES BASTARD - YOU HAVE EVERYTHING
I HAVE NOTHING. THE TIME TO DIE IS ...
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A blur of hands and faces. Excited fans. Pieces of paper,autograph books,and notes are thrust forward.
Again, a mass chanting "Ianto! Ianto! Ianto!"
Hands of Ianto's entourage accept some of the proffered items.
Ianto is signing "Best wishes, Ianto Jones" on an out-stretched open palm. In themidst of the urgent mess of hands and paper, a decorated doll is thrust forward, bearing the legend - "IANTO, WE LOVE YOU."
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Jack gets out of a hover cab with two suitcases. His house is a modest steel affair on a small lot. He goes up the walk and puts down his suitcases. He looks at rampant undergrowth and overgrown circulars cover his doorstep. He picks up a few and fishes a bunch of keys from his pocket. A curious neighbour peers from behind a net curtain. As the door opens, we are aware of a further pile of mail inside. Jack's feet push the letters aside and go inside. The door shuts.
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Harkness has carefully set a place for himself at the table in a breakfast nook. A bottle of red Hyper Wine is open with a glass beside it.
At the stove he stirs and flavours a stew and reads a Time Agents magazine. He adds a splash of wine. He lifts the pot from the stove and tries a piece of meat.
At the table, he looks at the place setting and absently eats another piece of meat. Finally he sets the pot on the plate and eats from it directly while glancing through the magazine.
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Lots of people are schmoozing in the dressing room.
There's a loud buzz of excited chatter. Hands are stacking flowers, good luck messages, cards and cables by the mirror.
The doll with its embroidered ribbon message "IANTO, WE LOVE YOU." Is casually moved to one side, among the flowers resting on the small portable Vcom screen.
On the screen is an image of Ianto performing on stage, acknowledging applause, and bowing.
The doll suddenly explodes, destroying the Vcom, the mirrors and the surrounding lights.
There is screaming and chaos.