Daughter of Torchwood

Starla

In the first series of Torchwood, Tosh, Owen, Suzie and Ianto have no idea that Jack can't die until a few episodes in, but for my story, they already know. Reuploads from 19/05/2026 include rewritten chapters and some entirely new chapters.

Main Hub

The Hub hummed with a low, industrial throb, its cavernous multi-level architecture disappearing into the shadows of Cardiff's underground. Steel walkways and rusted stairs wound around massive concrete pillars, connecting cluttered workstations where blue monitors flickered against the cold, damp stone. At the centre of the sprawling complex, the Rift Manipulator stood like a high-tech altar, its glowing displays casting long, dancing shadows across the yellow hazard stripes on the floor. Between the high-tech sensors and exposed piping, a worn leather sofa and a cluttered desk offered a few scraps of human comfort in a space that felt less like an office and more like a subterranean fortress guarding the edge of the world.

Medical Room

The Autopsy Room felt more like a high-tech tomb than a doctor's office. Descending the curved metal stairs, Owen entered a sunken arena where the cold light of the overhead lamp pooled over a sterile metal table. Surrounded by the hum of monitoring equipment and the glint of surgical steel, the room was a silent witness to the strange and often dangerous biology that washed up through the Rift, its tiled walls echoing with the secrets of the dead.
Office

The office was a snapshot of a man out of time, a cluttered sanctuary of polished wood and cold stone hidden behind a stained glass arch. A pool of harsh light from the overhead lamp washed over a desk crowded with both 21st-century gadgets and relics from centuries past. Through the glass, the frantic energy of the Hub felt miles away, muffled by the weight of the underground. Behind the desk, a faint red glow bled from the doorway of the sleeping quarters, casting long, crimson shadows that seemed to dance between the brick walls and the flicker of distant blue monitors.

Meeting Room

The boardroom was a pocket of formal tension buried beneath the streets of Cardiff. A heavy wooden table, polished to a dull shine, anchored the room, surrounded by the hum of cooling fans and the flicker of blue-tinted monitors. Crystal decanters caught the low light from the sideboard, their amber contents glowing like trapped embers against the backdrop of cold, curved steel pillars. It was a place of hard decisions and quiet revelations, where the warmth of the mid-century furniture felt strangely at odds with the stark, industrial reality of the world they protected.

Vaults

The holding level was a narrow, suffocating vein of stone and rusted iron, buried far beneath the pulse of the Hub. Thick bundles of cables hung like paralysed serpents from the ceiling, their shadows stretching across the stained concrete floor under the flicker of a single, caged light. Behind the rounded vault doors, the air was heavy with a cold, metallic silence, broken only by the faint, electric hum of observation monitors. It was a place of iron latches and reinforced glass, where the monsters of the Rift were kept in a damp, industrial purgatory.

Crypt

The Crypt was a place of frozen time, a silent archive of those the Hub could not save. Beneath the heavy stone arches, the air grew noticeably colder, carrying the faint scent of ozone and ancient dust. A single concrete path cut through the centre of the floor, flanked by deep, circular tracks that hummed with a dormant mechanical power. Overhead, a line of industrial lamps fought back the gloom, their harsh light reflecting off the sterile white tiles and the dark, wooden faces of the vaults. It was a cathedral of secrets, where every locker held a story cut short by the Rift.