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𝐋𝐈𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐄𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐘 not meant to be in the office on a Saturday afternoon, but with a mountain of tasks looming and less than ideal working conditions at home, she saw no other option. Lips pursed and fingers scrolling through a window on her computer, she frowned. All of the usual printers were no longer listed, yet they had been the night before. She connected to another printer that was new to her but was apparently already recognised by her computer.

A window popped up on her screen. Printer not found.

Libbie's shoulders slumped.

Ensure printer is connected and power is on.

She groaned, running her hands through her hair. It was bad enough being in here alone on a Saturday, but having to go down to the basement to check that the printer servers were online was worse. Begrudgingly, she got up, and made the long trek down to the lower level. After a badly designed network of unfinished hallways and empty rooms, she finally found what she was looking for, and pressed the green power button on the side of the printer. It booted up with a soft metallic purr before the light of the screen was visible.

"Lifeform not recognised," the printer unit spoke in a deep robotic voice and Libbie stared at it.

"What?" she muttered. She tapped at the screen again but nothing happened.

"Lifeform not recognised," it repeated. "Destroy." Libbie's eyes widened as she was backed against the wall and she saw a small metal tube extend from the paper tray.

Someone grabbed her hand and Libbie froze before their face entered her field of view. Her eyes widened at the sight of her madman standing next to her. "Run," he warned, dragging her by the hand.

A high-pitched whistle filled the hallway and Libbie winced before looking back just in time to see a flash of light blast from the small silver pipe, the impact causing the wall she had been standing in front of to darken and crumble. She continued running with him down the hall until their path was blocked by the large metal security door, which Libbie knew to be locked. The man let go of her hand and leaned down to fiddle with the lock before finally taking his green-light device out of his jacket.

"Are you stalking me or something?" Libbie confronted, watching him.

"Of course not," he said, not looking up from the door that he was buzzing with his weird little light-stick.

"What even is that thing?" she asked, narrowing her eyes before being surprised as the door opened with a short puff of air.

He straightened, showing her the device. "Sonic screwdriver," he explained.

Libbie was even more confused than before. "What does it do?"

"Everything," he explained, badly. "Except wood. Doesn't do wood. I've been meaning to invent a wood setting. Haven't had the time." He grabbed her hand again. "Come on, time to go."

They were going to run, but the open door now revealed another killer printer, weaponised paper tray engaged.

"Ah, right," the man acknowledged. "Not good."

Libbie grabbed his hand that was still holding the sonic screwdriver and pushed his thumb to the main button, pointing it at the printer. The green light lit up and the screwdriver whirred, and the printer fizzed and sparked until the lights on the screen turned off, and it powered down. She looked at him. "Not wood, right?"

"I was going to do that," he whined.

"Well, do it faster, you maniac!" She grabbed his free hand and ran through the maze of halls towards the lobby.

"What are your printers connected to?" he asked, stopping in the middle of the lobby and staring about the room.

Libbie was desperate to be free of this madman and the killer printers, but she was more intrigued than she was frightened. "Uh, they're wireless. They're connected by the internet."

He looked at her. "Where does your internet come from?"

"Um," Libbie stuttered before pointing toward the opposite hall to the electrical closet. "Down there." The man hurried off, leaving Libbie in the lobby, mouth agape and fighting hard not to follow him.

But she did anyway.

He stood in front of the mix of cords and wires that stretched the height of the walls, his eyes studying each and every one. "Someone's made a right mess of you, haven't they?"

"They've been like that for a while," Libbie explained. "We've tried to get people in to fix it but they say there's nothing wrong."

The man looked at her. "That's because they can't see it." He tapped his screwdriver to a small keypad next to one of the control panels. "A cleverly disguised perception filter. A perception filter with a perception filter."

Libbie stared blankly at him in the hopes that he would elaborate.

"Tricks your mind into thinking there's nothing there."

"Then why can I see it?"

He blinked before looking her up and down again. "I don't know. And I really hate not knowing." He turned back to the tangle of wires and pursed his lips. "Now, internet... Internet, internet, internet..."

Sighing, Libbie pointed to the modem clearly labelled J&H WiFi.

He looked at her again. "Perception filter," he argued.

"Mhm."

He whipped out his screwdriver again before pointing it at the modem and giving it a zap. It sputtered and jolted like the printer had earlier before finally shutting down. "That should do it," he confirmed, tucking the screwdriver into his pocket for a final time. "Although, you'll definitely want to get someone to look at that now."

Libbie's confused frown tightened, and she couldn't take it any longer. "Who the hell are you?" she asked.

"I'm the Doctor," he replied plainly.

"Doctor of what?"

He blinked again, studying her. That wasn't the usual response he would receive. "Of everything," he answered.

"Where'd you get your doctorate of everything?"

He dug into one of his pockets and retrieved a small black ID holder, flipping it open and showing her a small white card.

She frowned. "There's nothing on there."

He turned it over and looked at it before showing her again. "Doctorate of everything, University of Oxford."

She shook her head slowly. "That's just a blank piece of paper..."

He tilted his head to the side, shoving the wallet back into his pocket. "What's your name?"

"What's yours?"

"I told you, I'm the Doctor."

"Okay, the Doctor," she indulged him. "I'm Libbie. Do I need to call the police? Did you escape from somewhere?"

"In a way," he shrugged. "Is Libbie short for something?"

She hesitated before answering. "Elisabeth."

"It should be short for Libertarian," he pondered, "or Liberace. Something staring with 'Lib' at least, don't you think?"

Her dark brows seemed to be stuck in her confused expression. "Who are you really, Doctor?"

He swayed back and forth on his feet. "I'm a Time Lord."

"What's a Time Lord?"

He smiled. "Have you ever looked up at the stars and wondered if there was more out there?"

Libbie nodded.

"Time Lords watch over the more out there."

"Sounds like a big job," she hummed. "How many Time Lords are there?"

"Just me."

Libbie watched his expression fall ever-so-slightly. So slight in fact that even he didn't notice. "Must be lonely."

He met her gaze. "It can be."

"So," Libbie mused, "are you an alien?"

"To you."

"And you travel in space?"

"And time."

Libbie exhaled. "Jeez. Okay. And do you have a spaceship, madman?"

The Doctor nodded. "Do you want to see it?"

She laughed. "I guess. This day can't exactly get any weirder, can it?"

He checked his watch. "It's only half past two. Still plenty of weird left in the day yet."

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