Apocalypse Rising (Book Three)

The Shakespeare Code

17 out of the goal of 75 comments already from "Tyler and Jones!" O.O What?! :D Keep on commenting, guys, and you'll get the answer to your question! The sooner you do, I'll answer a new question where the last chapter to comment on will be "Last of the Time Lords," and the answer will be in the epilogue.

That question is: "Which Torchwood episode will the Apocalypse cross over into?" The sooner we get to 75 for this question, the sooner I'll stack up comments to answer the Torchwood one!

So, what're you waiting for? Read and comment away!

***

Martha tried to get a better grip on the console as the Apocalypse ran around it. "But how do you travel in time?" she asked over the noise. "What makes it go?"

The Apocalypse rolled her eyes. "Oh, let's take the fun and mystery out of everything," she complained. "Martha, you don't want to know. It just does. Hold on tight!"

Martha did, but the jolt was so large, she fell to the floor. "Blimey!" she gasped. "Do you have to pass a test to fly this thing?"

"Yes," the Apocalypse grinned. "And I failed it! Granted, only by a few points, but still!" Martha stared at her as the Apocalypse grabbed her cardigan. "Now, make the most of it," the Apocalypse told her. "I promised you one trip, and one trip only. Outside this door?" She smirked, leaning against the doorframe. "Brave new world."

"Where are we?" Martha asked in excitement.

The Apocalypse kicked the door open with her boot. "Take a look," she smirked. "After you."

Martha stepped outside, and her jaw dropped as she looked around the old town. "Oh, you are kidding me," she gasped as the Apocalypse stepped out after her. "You are so kidding me!" The Apocalypse just grinned. "Oh, my God, we did it! We traveled in time! Where are we?" She shook her head. "No, sorry, I got to get used to this whole new language. When are we?"

The Apocalypse was about to answer when she blinked. "Mind out!" she warned, grabbing her arm and pulling her back as a slop bucket was emptied right where Martha had been standing. "Apparently, somewhere before the invention of the toilet," she sighed. "Sorry about that."

"I've seen worse," Martha shrugged it off. "I've worked the late night shift A and E." The Apocalypse walked forward, but Martha wasn't ready to move just yet. "But are we safe?" The Apocalypse blinked in confusion. "I mean, can we move around and stuff?"

"Of course we can," the Apocalypse nodded. "Why do you ask"

"It's like in the films," Martha told her. "You step on a butterfly, you change the future of the human race."

The Apocalypse smirked. "Then don't step on any butterflies. What have butterflies ever done to you?"

"What if . . . I don't know. What if I kill my grandfather?"

The Apocalypse's eyebrows shot up. "Are you planning to?"

"No."

She shrugged. "Well, then . . . "

Martha finally stepped forward, and they walked down the street. "And this is London?"

"I think so," the Apocalypse nodded. "Round 1599."

"Oh, but, hold on," Martha paused. "Am I all right? I'm not going to get carted off as a slave, am I?"

"Martha, I'm not even human," the Apocalypse reminded her. "Just walk around like you own the place. Works for me. No one will even notice you're not white. Besides, you'd be surprised. Elizabethan England? Not so different from your time. Look over there." She pointed to a man shoveling manure. "They've got recycling." She nodded to a water barrel. "Water cooler moment."