When Baristas Attack by BellyJabie
Summary: The Doctor has just regenerated and crashed the Tardis in Chicago, greatly disturbing the life of autistic adult Amanda Green. As the Doctor deals with his new body, Amanda must figure out how to put her life back together. But something dangerous is brewing in Chicago. Workers of the popular coffee shop chain Bean Busters have gone wild, gaining horrible strength, screaming their throats raw, and attacking anyone and everyone. The Doctor and Amanda must figure out what's making the baristas go feral, and discover a new threat that comes not from the stars but from the Doctor's own favorite planet.
Rating: All Ages
Categories: Other Doctors
Characters: The Doctor (Author-Created), The TARDIS
Genres: Action/Adventure, Drama, General, Horror
When Baristas Attack by BellyJabie
Chapter 1: Chapter 1Author's Notes:
His face was pressed into the floor. He was keeled over on the floor with his butt in the air. Not very dignified, he was glad he’d been alone for this.
Where was he? The Tardis. Who was he? The Doctor. That was good, he hadn’t forgotten who he was this time. He? How’d he know that? He’d been a woman a few minutes ago, maybe he still was? But he was feeling very “he” at the moment, so he’d stick with that until he got more information. His face was still pressed into the floor, maybe he should do something about that.
He pushed himself onto all fours. He took a few minutes checking his sight, his hearing, his smell. Then the arms, legs, and neck.
He couldn’t breathe! Something was choking him! Clawing at his neck, he tugged off the neckerchief he had been wearing, as it had gone from loosely tied around her neck to constricting his airways.
Once he could breathe everything else seemed to be in order. Except his feet, they were killing him for some reason. He needed to get off the floor, get his bearings, figure out what the Tardis was doing. With great difficulty, he pushed himself to his feet.
Fire. Sparks. Rubble. The Tardis was wrecked. Again. His regenerations had gotten increasingly violent over the centuries, often necessitating a new console room to go with his new body. At least he wasn’t crashing.Or at least he didn’t think he was. The Tardis had stopped shaking and the column was still. Perhaps he had already done the crashing bit while he was unconscious. The cloister bell rang through the tardis. Should he try to take off again?
A burst of flame erupted from the central console. If he wanted to hold onto his brand new eyebrows he’d need to step away from the controls. In fact, he should probably leave the Tardis as soon as…
Pain. His body was wracked with pain. The Doctor doubled over, nearly returning his face to the floor. He wasn’t done. Of course he wasn’t, this process was never without a huge amount of drama. He needed to leave now and find some place safe to finish processing.
Walking was difficult. His clothes didn’t fit: the pants were way too tight and actually tearing as he walked. Like the neckerchief they were made for a woman much smaller than him. It was getting hotter. Stumbling and panting, he made his way towards the door before he was incinerated in his own Tardis.
Amanda Green stared at the game screen. It was paused, and playing the catchy pause music. She had been staring at the screen for three minutes, trying to muster the will to leave her chair. The pause screen stared back at her.
She needed to start getting ready for bed. She had been playing the game for over four hours, but still didn’t feel like stopping. Didn’t feel like getting into bed and trying to get to sleep so she could wake up for another day of work that would begin another week the same as she had been doing the last four years of her life.
Her weekend was over, and she had accomplished nothing.
She had needed to clean her apartment, but hadn’t managed that. She needed to go job hunting, but hadn’t managed that either. All she had really managed was groceries, so she wouldn’t starve at her desk. That was the only productive thing she had managed in her stale, stagnant life.
A life that had turned thirty years-old that morning.
Amanda had received a few texts from her closest friends. Friends who were too busy dealing with their own things to ever see face-to-face, but at least they had reached out. No one at work had, but she preferred that. Amanda kept to herself at work; she had nothing in common with the others in the rows of cubicles she occupied, and didn’t want to deal with the stress of trying to communicate with them.
She really needed to go to bed.
Finally she shut down the game console and began making her way out of her living room into her small bathroom. A quick shower and teeth brushing later she was just getting into her night clothes when she heard an odd noise outside.
Vwooorp vwooorp vwoooorp.
At first she thought it was one of the cycles that charged down her street sometimes, but the sound wasn’t quite right. It sounded like a piece of broken machinery, and it sounded like it was coming from…above? Like something was flying above her apartment building. She made her way to her blinds and peaked out to find the source.
There was nothing out there except the usual parking lot and industrial lots. Way above a passenger jet was descending into O’Hare airport, but that couldn’t possibly be the source of the strange noise.
The noise was getting louder, and was actually starting to overstimulate her when the noise faded out just as quickly as it had faded in.
Taking a few breaths to calm her thoughts down, Amanda decided that it didn’t matter what it was, as long as it wasn’t filling her ear holes. She needed to focus on getting into bed. It was an hour past the time she was supposed to be asleep and she knew she would pay for it the next day. She’d be dead tired at her desk before lunchti….
The explosion knocked her onto her bed. There was tearing and scraping and shattering. Wood and glass fragments flew all over her. Immediately overloaded, she could only lie face down on her bed and scream. Her mind flooded with the noise and confusion, blocking out any possible thought.
But as quickly as it began, it ended.
Time passed. Amanda wasn’t sure for how long she lied facedown on the bed. Even after the explosion ended her mind was still shut down, overwhelmed by the noise. After what she thought might’ve been five minutes, she started checking herself for any cuts or breaks. There wasn’t any pain, nothing appeared to be broken. Moving very slowly to avoid cutting herself on any shards of glass that might have fallen on her, she rolled over and looked at her bedroom wall.
Embedded in the middle of her wall, wedged right where the window and drywall used to be, was a giant blue box.
It was a tall box, large enough for someone to step into, with two double doors and white windows. Someone could have stepped inside, if the box hadn’t been wedged sideways at a downwards angle. There was writing on the white panels of the box, but she couldn’t read it at the angle it was stuck at.
What the absolute hell?
Fighting the meltdown that was threatening to erupt, Amanda tried to figure out how she could get out of her bed. Her bedroom was literally destroyed; there were chunks of wood and brick and glass everywhere, and she was barefoot and wearing only her shorts and a tank top. At the very least she needed to put some shoes on before she did anything. Luckily, she had a pair of flip-flops at the side of her bed.
Moving carefully, she grabbed the flip-flops, brushed them off, and slid them onto her feet. Then she maneuvered out of her bed and stepped onto the floor.
It was then that the confusion and panic started to really assert itself. What was this thing? Why had it crashed into her bedroom wall? What was she going to do about it? About her room? About work tomorrow? Was she going to have to pay to have her wall fixed? She definitely could never afford that. Was she going to be evicted? Where would she live? She couldn’t move on such short notice. She was stimming like crazy, waving her hands at light-speed.
The blue box’s doors burst open, bringing bright light into the dimly lit bedroom.
Inside…was a man. In his mid-30s, dressed in womens clothing that was far too small for him. He was standing as horizontal and angled down as the box itself, as if gravity was playing a different game within the box itself. Speaking of the inside of the box itself, she couldn’t see much. It was obscured by smoke and flames, but she was sure there was a whole room back there, much larger than the outside of the box suggested.
Before she could see anything further, the man lurched out of the box. Gravity really was playing some sort of trick; as he passed from the box into Amanda’s room, he planted face first onto the floor. His head seemed to think down was in a different direction than his feet did. Doing a weird sort of dance, he managed to plant himself on all fours in the middle of the bedroom, ignoring the debris strewn about. Grunting and panting, he stood up and looked directly at Amanda. They stared at each other for five seconds.
Then without a word the man moved past her, opening the bedroom door, and walked out of her bedroom.
He needed food. He couldn’t think clearly but he knew he needed food. He was The Doctor and he needed…water? No food. He was having trouble thinking clearly. Where was he? Wherever it was it was small. There was a small kitchen in front of him. He moved to the fridge first.
Blimey, it was nearly empty. He grabbed the first container he saw, opened it, and poured it down his mouth.
Dijon mustard. Not great. He swallowed it down anyway.
The pantry might have something better. In the distance, somewhere far away, he could hear a voice shouting. What were they saying? Were they talking to him?
The pantry wasn’t much better. He grabbed a large bag of pretzels and began shoving them into his mouth. Then he grabbed a bag of dark chocolate baking chips and started consuming that too. After that came an unopened jar of sun-dried tomatoes before someone grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the pantry.
Then came some yelling. He heard it, but was unable to process any of it. The girl in front of him was yelling at him. Who was she? There were so many sounds and feelings and tastes. His own mind was numb, he couldn’t think about the past or the future. All there was the angry girl standing in front of him, yelling at him for some reason. Then she walked over to the wall and turned the lights on.
“Ah!” the Doctor yelled.
That was bad, he didn’t like that. Too bright, too much light, too much color. He closed his eyes and tried to block out the light with his hands. Where was his sonic screwdriver? He could turn off those lights with his sonic screwdriver. Stumbling over to the wall, he clumsily brushed the lights off again.
Being able to see again, he looked around where he was. He didn’t recognize this place. He saw furniture: a couch, a television set, a chair in front of the television set. He didn’t know where he was or what he needed, but that chair looked nice. It looked very nice. Stumbling over to the chair, he slumped into the chair and immediately passed out.
“Hello? Hello!!! Who the hell are you?”
The man was unresponsive, slumped in Amanda’s gaming chair. Exasperated, Amanda started shaking him, trying to wake him up. He remained unresponsive. For a brief second she wondered if he had up and died on her. Grabbing his wrist, she checked his pulse. It was there, going along slightly faster than it should have. So he was merely unconscious. Great.
She had an unconscious stranger sitting in her gaming chair. An unconscious stranger who had fallen out of a blue box that had somehow crashed through her bedroom wall, destroying half her apartment. That meltdown was definitely going to happen.
Leaving the stranger in the chair, she walked back into her bedroom.
It looked worse the second time. Now that the smoke and dust had settled she could see how bad her room was. The box had brought a part of the ceiling down; the fan was dangling from its cord. It had mercifully not damaged any of the furniture, but the debris and dust had made her bed unusable. At the very least she would need to wash her sheets and comforter. Another mercy was that her closet door had been shut, so all her clothes had been spared the disaster too. Still, this was unsalvageable.
There were tears in her eyes.
The blue box was still wedged in the wall, held firmly in place like it belonged there. Amanda stepped forward and angled herself to read the words on the top of the box.
POLICE PUBLIC CALL BOX
Was that guy a cop? He certainly didn’t look like one, dressed in ill-fitting women’s clothing, but no part of this situation made any sense.
What was this? What next? Should she call an ambulance? Or the cops? No, she didn’t want to talk to a cop, but maybe the ambulance? The apartment management would want to know, but the office wouldn’t be open at this point. Remembering that she left her phone on her bedside table, she reached for it.
Her phone was right where she had left it. Underneath the brick that had smashed it.
It was at this point that she fully broke down in tears.
Walking out of the ruined bedroom, she went back into the living and collapsed onto her couch, her face in her hands. The cop slept quietly in her chair.
She just wanted to get through another dumb week at work without too much stress, especially not the stress of some cop crashing a box through her bedroom wall. How had that even happened, with a catapult? Without her phone alarm she was probably going to be late for work without notice. She was a good enough employee that she probably wouldn’t be fired, but she’d still get a stern warning from her manager. Then there was dealing with the wreckage of her apartment. Even if the apartment didn’t charge her for the damages she would still have to move out, which she couldn’t manage either.
The worst thing of all, she might have to move back in with her mother.
The man stirred. Amanda glanced up, hoping that he was waking up. After some fidgeting and muttering, he burst forward and expelled a bright, golden, misty light from his mouth. Amanda watched as the light floated up towards the ceiling and dissipated. When she turned back the man was slumped back in the chair again, as if nothing had happened. She watched for a few minutes, to see if anything else happened. When nothing did, she sat back and continued crying.
When she was done she started thinking about what her options were. She needed a new phone, a new bedroom, and to take care of whomever the hell this was. Right now it felt like all of those things were impossible.
Maybe she could sue this cop? Actually, she probably could sue him. Not only had he destroyed her home and her possessions, he had physically endangered her and caused her significant mental distress. At the very least he should be paying to fix the damages and to give her housing until they were done.
She decided that she would wait until the cop woke up and she could demand an explanation from him. Then tomorrow she could replace her phone, call in sick to work, and call a lawyer. These thoughts made her feel slightly better. Now that she had a plan she could finally start to calm down.
Her pulse was racing. She badly wanted sleep, but she needed to keep an eye on the strange man in her apartment. If he woke up and left she would never find out who he was or why he had crashed a giant box in her bedroom. Maybe she could just rest her eyes until he woke up again.
Making herself comfortable, Amanda leaned back on the couch and closed her eyes, opening them every few minutes to see if the man in the chair had done anything.
Amanda opened her eyes, and for a few seconds lay there wondering where she was. Then the last night returned to her and she shot up, checking if the man was still there.
He was exactly where she had left him, he hadn’t even shifted in the seat.
She had fallen asleep, which was a very stupid thing to do with a strange man in her apartment. Even if that man might be dead in her gaming chair. She checked his pulse again; it was still racing surprisingly fast for an unconscious person, but at least they hadn’t died on her.
What time was it?
She remembered with a sigh that her phone had been smashed with a brick. She didn’t have a walk clock since no one had a wall clock these days. Her laptop was still on her kitchen table so she walked over and pulled it open to check the time.
She had slept through the night, and slept way past the time she usually got up for work. Peering over to the window she could see light peeking in through the blinds. The morning had just started.
Which meant she needed to start taking care of this situation. First thing she needed was to shower, grab coffee, and then go get a new phone.
After taking care of her morning business she was dressed in her casual clothes and on her way out when she stopped by the man again. Could she really leave a stranger alone in her apartment? He was unconscious, but what if he woke up and decided to leave? Or maybe steal something? She didn’t have a name or number to reach him at. She considered tying him up, but there was no rope or anything that would make do in her apartment.
The only thing she could think to do was leave a note. After making yet another trip into her nightmare of a room to grab a pen and paper, she scribbled down a quick note for the man in the chair.
-Hey, don’t leave, I’ve gone on an errand and will be back soon. You destroyed my home and you need to pay for it-
She stared at it, trying to think if that covered everything it needed to. Then she scribbled on a last bit.
-If you do leave please leave your name and number on this page-
She wasn’t sure about the “please.” She should be demanding that this stranger stay there until he confessed why he had broken her wall and offered to pay for it. But it would have to do. Taping it to her apartment door she was finally able to leave and go about putting her life back together.
An hour and a half later Amanda had gotten a new Eternity phone and texted into work with a story about over-sleeping and also vomiting all over the place. She’d managed to get the next two days off which gave her more time to solve this thing that had been shoved on her. There’d been no messages from her apartment, which meant no one had noticed or cared about the blue thing in her wall. Right then she was taking the train back home.
Her new phone was working great, and was helpfully blaring her tunes into her ears at a volume doctors said was dangerous. But she liked her music to be loud enough to annihilate her thoughts; it calmed her down and prevented the noise and chaos of the L train from overwhelming her. It had been hard dealing with the anxiety of the previous night while at the same time trying to navigate public transit. Right then and there she needed to calm down for a few minutes before she got back to her apartment.
She figured if the man was still unconscious she would probably have to get him to a hospital. Even if he was still alive it probably wasn’t a good sign to be unconscious that long. Hell, maybe he had brain damage from the crash. That would’ve been bad if she had let him sit there for ten hours without calling an ambulance. It was another reminder of how deeply unqualified she was for this situation.
The song she was listening to came to an end, and if it wasn’t for the lull between songs she wouldn’t have noticed the screaming coming from the other side of the car. It was like someone was in the worst argument of their life. Amanda glanced over, seeing a large man being shouted at by a girl half his size. She was thin, only a little taller than Amanda, and in her early twenties. Amanda assumed the man had been harassing the girl, but she was starting to look alarmed, even scared, despite the size difference between them. And she was getting more animated, getting louder and louder as she screamed at the man, threatening to break her own voice. Amanda could even hear it through her own headphones and the song that had just started. Other passengers winced and covered their ears. The girl continued screaming until blood spurted from her mouth. Her face was turning startlingly red.
The man was trying to retreat from her. Other passengers were attempting to calm her down. Then, without warning, she shoved the people trying to help her aside and lunged at the retreating man. One of the passengers she had easily pushed aside flew into the side window, cracking it, before they fell to the floor, groaning. The angry girl ran and lept at the man, tackling him to the ground right in front of Amanda. The girl began hitting and clawing at the man while he screamed and tried to get the girl off of him.
Not knowing what else to do, Amanda rushed off her seat and tried to pull the girl off her potential victim. She didn’t weigh much at all; far less than someone that strong should’ve been. Amanda was able to drag her for a few feet before the enraged girl focused their attention on her. She was superhuman. Before Amanda knew what was happening, she had grabbed Amanda with both hands, lifted her several feet in the air, and tossed her across the train car.
Dazed, Amanda lied on the train floor with the wind knocked out of her. Her headphones had been knocked off and she could every shout and scream in the train car. It was a few seconds before she could re-orient herself and find her face to face with the crimson-faced girl, standing over her with wrath in her eyes. The girl was breathing heavily, her eyes were bloodshot, and blood was coming out of the sides of their mouth in a thin stream. They stared at each other, eye-to-eye, and she wondered if the girl was about to kill her.
But oddly enough, the girl seemed to reconsider. The car went silent, as if waiting to see what the girl would do next. But she just stood there panting. The girl shuddered, as if she had only suddenly realized what she was doing. Amanda was thinking of something she could say to further de-escalate the situation when the train came to a stop at the station.
The red-faced girl started, looking around the train. The other passengers were taking refuge best they could at both ends of the train, waiting for the doors to open so they could escape. The girl seemed to find her rage again and stomped toward the exit. The train car shook with every stop she took. The doors had only begun to slide open as she reached them. Without breaking her stride, the girl broke both doors apart with one push and leapt onto the L platform. Amanda heard screams and shouts as the intercom came on.
“Please watch your step when walking onto the platform.”
With a shout he came to his feet, checking his surroundings. Something had sent him into fight-or-flight mode, but he couldn’t find anything immediately dangerous. He reached for his screwdriver but it wasn’t where he had left it. Typical.
Where was he? Why did his feet hurt so much? And why was he thinking about beetles? The story about God having an inordinate fondness for beetles was true; he had never been on a living planet without some. But there were no beetles in front of him, he didn’t think. Regenerating was so irritating, even now he was still clearing the cobwebs.
His feet felt like murder. Looking down he saw that they were still wedged into the sensible heels he’d been favoring recently. They clearly no longer fit, and after a whole night squeezed into them he wasn’t sure how he was still able to stand.
After spending three minutes prying his feet out of the heels, he began to solve the next mystery: where was he? It appeared to be someone’s low-income apartment. Iit probably was someone’s low income apartment. There was no one around. All the lights were off.
No answer. He was probably alone. Walking to the blinds, he pulled them open and investigated the outside. All he saw was a parking lot, a wrought-iron fence, and a collection of industrial buildings and yards on the other side of it. All-in-all a fairly depressing view.
The light didn’t help clear things up. How had he gotten here? Taking in a deep breath through his nostrils, he tried to gather more clues.
Smelled like America, or maybe Canada, early-twentieth century, autumn, around 10 in the morning. The apartment belonged to a girl, early-thirties or late-twenties, who had recently made coffee. There was also an odd scent of dust and brick.
That narrowed-down where, now he needed to figure out how. Where was his Tardis, and who had brought him here? Taking another scan around the room, he saw the note taped to the and read its contents. The note was brief but it made his hearts sink.
Destroyed their home? That didn’t sound good, but the living-room and kitchen seemed fine. Then again, he hadn’t seen the bedroom. With dread he made his way to the bedroom door and looked inside.
What had he done? The Tardis was wedged into the far wall, and the girl’s bedroom was indeed destroyed. There were bricks and plaster and dust everywhere. The clean-up and damages would be thousands of dollars, during which she would be out of a home. How had this happened?
Carefully avoiding the shrapnel covering the floor, the Doctor walked over to the horizontal Tardis. Trying her doors, he found they wouldn’t budge. He placed his hand on the old ship. She buzzed warmly, but made no other move.
“Come on, old girl,” he said, “What’s going on?”
No response from her. He knew she was old, but she had flown wise and true for millenia. Even if she had been crashing, she should still have landed on her feet. Careening into a person’s home like this was completely unlike her.
But she wasn’t just old, she was ancient and more. She had been an old model when he acquired her, and he had certainly run her ragged since then. Was she finally on her last legs, breaking down forever? That was something he didn’t want to contemplate. She was the last of her kind, truly irreplaceable. Not that he would ever replace her, but even if she needed a specific part replaced, he probably wouldn’t be able to find one.
These were worries for later. Right now the Tardis was probably regenerating as well, and would open when she was good and ready. What he needed to do was find something new to wear.
The closet was right next to the Tardis. Stepping in, he looked for something that might fit him. Unfortunately this girl’s wardrobe would fit his previous body far better than his current one. After a few minutes of fruitless searching he settled on a pair of sweatpants and a large, bright-blue t-shirt with some boy-band on the front. After slipping on a pair of flip-flops he was at least able to move freely again. He felt a little bad about stealing this girl’s clothes after destroying her bedroom, but need’s must.
He walked out of the closet and out of the bedroom. On his way back to the living room, he passed the open bathroom door and caught a glimpse of himself in the bathroom mirror. Retreating back and stepping into the tiny bathroom, he turned on the light and took his first look at his new face in the dirty mirror.
He was male, for sure. A round, pale, mildly handsome face in its mid-thirties looked back at him. His black hair was long, reaching all the way to the bottom of his neck. Humans would assume he was East-Asian. All-in-all, everything was where it was supposed to be, and there was nothing to complain about.
He’d done this so much that seeing a new face hadn’t been the shock that it used to be.
He’d even lost count of which face this was for him. Was he the 73rd Doctor? The 112th? The 433rd? Probably not that high but he really didn’t know, especially since so many of his memories got erased or buried in the back of his mind.
Oh well, forward on.
What next? The note had asked him to stay but he couldn’t do anything from here. Who knows how long it would take for this girl to get back, and he couldn’t just sit around doing nothing! At the very least he could break in the new body and find out where he was. With that, the Doctor decided to take a walk.
Amanda barely remembered walking out of the train station and down the block. After getting out of the train car all she had really noticed was the loud noises, the screaming and the smashing. Luckily she had managed to escape the train station before the police pulled up. They would’ve wanted to question her and the meltdown she was currently going through would not have allowed her to talk to them, even if she did ever want to talk to cops. Right then and there the only thing she could do was put one foot in front of the other and make her way home.
That girl had nearly killed someone, had nearly killed her. She had ripped two train doors apart. Amanda could still hear screams and wreckage as she ran down the block. A few minutes later she heard gunshots. They hadn’t stopped until she was out of ear range.
Why was all this happening? With the man, her bedroom, and the enraged girl, something was going on in Chicago and it seemed to all be happening to her. She was barely able to handle ordinary day-to-day life, let alone the kind of ridiculous nonsense that she’d gone through in the last twelve hours.
She was coming up on her apartment block when she saw someone coming out of the front gate. Before she recognized him she recognized the One Direction shirt he was wearing. He turned left, away from her, and started walking down the street.
She wanted to shout after him, but was unable to. Since she became an adult her meltdowns had become less about screaming and thrashing and more withdrawing and going silent. That had been an improvement in some ways, but right then she really wished she could scream.
The man was strolling right down the street, a block away from her. He was wearing her clothes and walking away from her. If she didn’t cross the street and catch him she would lose the man before she got any sort of explanation from him.
He turned right, around the corner and out of sight.
She was at a crosswalk. Looking both ways, Amanda had to wait for an infuriatingly slow prius to pass by before she could cross. Running wasn’t one of her talents, but she made it down the block as fast as she could. Rounding the corner, she tried to find the map who had destroyed her life.
It was a lovely day. It was fall, nearly winter, but the temperature hadn’t dropped below 20 degrees…oh wait, he was in America, so 70 degrees. He had figured out he was in Chicago, a city he hadn’t visited in over a century, but he remembered it well enough. He should really remember to grab some deep dish while he was there.
Speaking of which, he was feeling rather peckish, and he could really go for a cuppa. Luckily he was coming up on what appeared to be a cafe on the other side of the street. The white and red sign read Bean Busters. Okay, the name wasn’t great, but beggars and choosers. Ignoring the honk from the prius he had walked in front of, The Doctor walked towards the coffee shop.
He heard someone come up behind him, coming to stop with two heavy feet on the ground.
The Doctor turned and found a panting, breathless woman standing on the street opposite him. She was short and little pudgy, with curly brown hair and large glasses. She was trying to catch her breath and waving her hands back and forth rapidly. The Doctor realized she was stimming, and that he recognized her. He had seen her in that apartment last night.
She appeared to be trying to say something, but possibly couldn’t. The Doctor waited patiently for her to get herself calm and able to get a word out. She seemed able to start her sentence when a loud crash sounded behind him, coming from Bean Busters. They both turned to the shop.
The window had been shattered, presumably by the large table lying broken in the street. Loud, horrible screeches emanated from inside, and more screams and shouts followed. Before he could investigate, two figures lept from the broken window. They were a man and a woman, and they looked horrible. Their faces were crimson red, redder than a human’s face should’ve been, and their mouths were speckled with blood. They look enraged, like they were carrying more anger than any human actually could carry at one time.They were also wearing barista uniforms…
The first thing the two cafe workers noticed were the Doctor and the girl, standing in the street in front of them. With a throat-breaking wail, the two wild baristas advanced towards them both.
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