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Season four, episode ten:
Midnight - Part Three.
- ~ -
"No one is killing anyone!" The Doctor hissed, eyes turning dark, blackening with anger as he glowered at the humans surrounding him. They were so fickle, so quick to turn to violence, so...so infuriating.
The Hostess ignored him, "I wouldn't risk the cabin door twice. But we've got that one." Everyone looked at it like it was the holy grail, "All we need to do is grab hold of her and throw her out."
Lynnette cracked her knuckles, her back burning with the heat of Sky's gaze. Irritation seared beneath her skin, singing her blood as it longed for Lynnette to turn her sights to Sky and eliminate her. It would be so easy. Unlike the others, she wouldn't even have to chuck Sky out of the door to incinerate her.
"All of you!" Snapped the Time Lord, demanding attention, "For all we know, that's a brand new lifeform over there. And if it comes inside to discover us, then what's it found? This little bunch of humans, what do you amount to? A murder? Cos this is where you decide. You decide who you are. Could you actually murder her? Any of you? Really? Or are you better than that?
For a moment his speech on morality seemed to land in their hearts. But what did morality matter in life and death? A good man didn't live simply because he was good. No, the people willing to do whatever was necessary survived the night.
And these people were willing to do whatever was necessary.
Lynnette watched with morbid fascination as the people around her decided. Yet, none of them were willing to admit to their choice. Ready to kill but frightened of being called a killer.
But, unlike the rest, the Hostess wasn't gripped by only fear, something else boiled beneath her eyes. Something Lynnette understood all too well.
The Hostess levelled Sky with a look, her eyes dark, callous, as she clenched her jaw and uttered the words,
"I'd do it."
If Lynnette was a different person she might have gasped in horror. But she wasn't a different person and the blood on her hands left stains wherever she went. Her handprints marked death. They always would.
