Title: Stranger than fiction

Sam fumbled with the phone in his pocket. He was nervous. He'd never done anything like this before and yet somehow it felt right. It was all well and good to have the real journalists out there - the ones that wrote for Plexsys, Nexus and Fate - but they were missing the stuff that was going on in his home town. They had all kinds of articles, providing the evidence that NATO was secretly funding wars to remove dictators from power, and that nobody knew anything about these so-called nanogenes that were being put in everyday medicines to track people suspected of being aliens disguised as ordinary people. Of course they had all of the usual conspiracy guff as well, more alleged sightings of chupacabra in the American forests, two hundred foot long Amazonian anaconda that were responsible for eating whole river craft, and plenty of UFO pictures proving that they weren't in anyway modified by computer software to make them look legitimate.

Sam took their articles all in his stride. He knew which to believe and which were just put in there to give the magazines their lunatic credentials. It was a clever move on the part of the editors, keeping up the appearance that they served only the stupid and gullible. Anyone who was smart knew the real stuff was what they hid in between the outrageous.

But no matter how many editions he flicked through, however many podcasts he downloaded, everyone was silent on the one thing that should have been right at the top of everyone's list: Torchwood.

Of course, Sam had loads of friends online, all across the world. They hung out in chat rooms late at night and traded stories, theories and recipes for what to make when all you had left in the fridge was bread and eggs. He didn't know them by their real names, of course. They were simply BarnumBadger56, answerstoanything, and steelsidebender87. But they felt like friends, and whenever Sam entered the chatroom, under the pseudonym EyeOfProvidence, the conversation would inevitably end up on the subject of Torchwood. As a local Cardiff resident, that much they knew about him, they all wanted to know what he knew. Was Torchwood real (obviously), what did they do (cover up alien encounters), and who were they (still uncertain, but they did have a large black four wheel drive with their name on it).

BarnumBadger56: Your government is hushing up the whole thing.

EyeOfProvidence: Well, of course they are. That's what governments do. Did you see that story they put out last night? I sent you a link.

BarnumBadger56: What, the one about the scam diet pills? If I took something that made me puke my guys out, I'd lose weight too.

EyeOfProvidence: Yeah, except nobody mentioned that they went on an eating spree first. The kind that makes you want to eat your own flesh if there's nothing else. A mate of mine claimed he saw one of them being put in an ambulance, just a few doors down from his. The girl was missing half her arm, and screaming "just a few more bites" before they restrained her.

BarnumBadger56: No way! That's awesome! Plexsys should be gagging for that!

EyeOfProvidence: Except they're not. Real proper alien stuff is happening right here and no one is taking any notice.

BarnumBadger56: Well... Why don't you?

EyeOfProvidence: ??? Why don't I what?

BarnumBadger56: Start a blog, man! YouTube channel. Twitter. Bust this stuff wide open. Get it out there.

Sam didn't reply straight away. It was one thing trading conspiracies with friends, but publicly putting it out there on the web? Then again, he was here in Cardiff where it was all happening. If he didn't say something, who would?

EyeOfProvidence: What if they come after me?

BarnumBadger56: Then we'll know they're legit! C'mon. You could get a real gig with Plexsys if they see this stuff!

A job writing for Plexsys! That would be something! This sort of thing could get him noticed by the right people. No more hiring out DVDs at the local Blockbuster.

EyeOfProvidence: Alright, I'll do it.

The Eye of Providence. That had a nice ring to it.

BarnumBadger56: Awesome. Let me know when you're set up. I'll tweet everybody I know.

And so, Sam had spent the last few weeks setting up his blog, a Twitter account and a YouTube channel. If he was going to be taken seriously, he was going to have to put his face out there, and the meant a video blog, properly edited. Six hours of YouTube tutorials and three shareware downloads later, he had enough kit to get started. He'd done an introductory video entry, explaining who he was and what the vlog was all about. Within three hours it already had twenty four likes. Now all he needed was to find a story. With everything that happened in Cardiff, that shouldn't take too long.

Sam's journalistic attempts had been hampered at every turn. There'd been loads going on, but he'd only heard about it long after Torchwood had left the scene, covering up whatever it was that really happened. All Sam could do was maintain a daily report, and it was important to do it daily, so that people didn't lose interest. Who knew which vlog entry might contain a juicy tell all about the world's least investigated branch of the unexplained!

"Hi all, Sam Hallett here giving you your daily fix of the Eye of Providence. Torchwood continues to be active within the Cardiff area. A brief spike in the numerous of cold and flu cases across the city has been linked to a suspected infection of alien origins. I'm currently monitoring my temperature and will get back to you if I find out more.

Also, news just in, a reopening of the oldest cinema in Cardiff, locally known as the Electro, has been cut short. The cinema was due for demolition back in August 2007, because let's face it, the place was a dump, like, quite literally falling down. That was, until a local Cardiff history buff and his wife purchased the property. Bit of a weirdo, but I suppose if that kind of thing floats your boat... Here I have a flyer from their opening night program, advertising a run of historical film clips from the local area." Sam held up the A4 photocopy on yellow paper. "Only, they didn't make it past opening night. Twenty four hours later, both of them were found dead in a car accident. A patch of slippery road, they said. Believe that if you will, since it was raining pretty hard the night before, but I went down there and saw the Torchwood four wheel drive parked outside. Coincidence? Not likely. Were they aliens using the cinema to run subliminal programming on their patrons? The Eye of Providence will continue investigating.

Until then, this has been Sam Hallett. Stay alert. Stay informed."

A few weeks passed and not much happened in between, but Sam was determined to keep it going, poring over every last conspiracy website and magazine, news blog and Twitter account, looking for any trace of Torchwood going around the city. He'd even spent three nights in a row stalking out the bay area because that's where people pointed when you asked them if they knew about Torchwood. Sam didn't find anything though. All he had for his troubles was frozen fingertips, because the weather had taken a turn for the worse, and a pocketful of breath mints from some nice bloke who ran a pokey little tourist bureau along the quayside. Poor bugger looked lonely sitting there, Sam thought, wondering if he should suggest that this wasn't really a very good spot for attracting tourists looking for information.

ColonelCustersLuck265 suggested to Sam that maybe it was a front or a secret entrance to their lair, but Sam snorted and dismissed the idea. A secret lair, what like, under the bay? No way could you hide something like that!

Sam was almost about to give up hope. Especially since his Google Analytics page told him his vlog had only attracted seventeen views in the last thirty days, five of which he was pretty sure were him checking on it. How was he going to get people to take him seriously if he didn't have a serious following?

Wandering the street that night, pondering how he was going to get a break, one found him. A loud engine roared along the road and came to a screeching halt just behind him as the two car doors slammed open and shut, and the occupants breezed past him on the street, paying him no mind whatsoever. One was a tall man in an army surplus great coat that looked totally wicked even if it was out of date. The other was a woman in skin tight jeans and a leather jacket. She was fit as, and that arse, which he had a perfect view of as it swayed a few feet in front of him, was to die for.

He almost didn't look back over his shoulder, but he was curious what kind of car had an engine that roared like that. He nearly ripped over himself when he saw the black four wheel drive. Torchwood! That was them, he realised, spinning back around. He pulled out his phone and took a couple of quick snaps of the back of the pair of them, and the car, watching as they slipped through the doors of the Brampton Hotel. They did not, Sam decided, look like two people knocking off for a pint after work. Their strident air clearly said, we're on a case. A case!

He could go in there after them. He could be eyes on the ground right at the heart of it. He had to talk hismelf into it, since it felt mad and a little bit risky. Then again, it was a pub. Pub was short for public, meaning anyone could go in there. It was the thing he'd been trying to find for weeks and here it was, happening right in front of him. And he should probably move quick before they decided to lock him out.

He swiped to the voice recorder on his phone, turning it on and shoving it back in his pocket. He scurried after them, slipping inside and trying to look casual as he sidled up to the bar, quickly ordering a pint so it didn't look like he was stalking them. This was going to be awesome!

The tall guy in the coat walked up to the bar and leaned over it, right next to Sam. He quivered at being so close, risking a look at the man through the mirrored splashback behind the bar. He was good looking with perfect teeth and perfect hair. What caught Sam by surprise was the accent. American, cool, calm and collected. 'Your boss called about a poltergeist?' he said, as casually as if he'd said "you boss called about a delivery of little bags of peanuts?" The barman nodded and rushed off to find his boss.

The woman hovered next to him. Sam looked straight at her and tried to smile. God but she was gorgeous! Even more when she gave him a friendly little smile in response. Was she single, maybe? He should have checked for a ring on her hand but it didn't occur to him until after she'd wandered off, giving the place a scrutinising eye until the tall American called her back over. Without noticing, the local publican had appeared and was chatting to the American in hushed tones, so quiet Sam hadn't even realised they were both hunched over the bar in conversation. He'd been too busy watching the woman. Perhaps his phone had picked up part of the conversation Sam had missed. Sam saw the American nod in the direction of the stairs, indicating that was where the pair of them should go. Poltergeist? Nah. Alien, Sam figured. And it was up there, somewhere in someone's room.

Sam's eyes flicked between his lager and the bar top. He had to find an excuse to go up there and follow them, but how? They were sure to notice him if he got up now and went in the same direction. He looked around, even as the last flash of army surplus coattails disappeared up the narrow stairs. Think!

He cast his gaze around the bar, spotting the snug booths under the windows, the billiard table under dusty, muted lamplight, the cigarette vending machine right next to a cash point, both of which were right next to the entrance to the toilets, and then he saw it. The innocuous little sign hanging from the ceiling, green with its little man frozen in a runner's pose. The exit sign. Only it wasn't the proper exit. It was the fire exit, which no doubt was connected to the fire stairs. The stairs that would lead up as well as out.

He took a few sips of his lager, Dutch courage he told hismelf, and then slipped off the stool and worked his way as casually as he could toward the far corner of the room, turning around and leaning back against the door as he tried the handle behind his back. It moved and with a quick motion that he would later recount on his vlog as being "just like James Bond", and he disappeared through the gap.

One thing he knew about the pub was that it was old. Only three storeys, the pub on the ground floor, and a few rooms on the two floors above, plus probably an office. He skipped up the concrete steps to the first floor and paused by the heavy door. He pushed it open just an inch or two and listened. Sam heard a heavy boot moving down the corridor. The carpet was so threadbare and worn that even the rubber underlay was now perishing and providing a sticky surface for unsuspecting shoes to get caught in.

'Urgh,' Sam heard the man groan. 'Who stays in dumpy hotels like this anymore? I mean, they were hip forty years ago but...'

There was a tinkling little laugh from the woman. 'Bet you were here all the time back then, dividing and conquering.'

'I did my share. I didn't mind being the one divided and conquered either, though.'

'Maybe another time for those stories, though, hey?'

Oh my God, Sam thought. They're really here. I'm really here. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, trying to angle it so that he could get the camera part through the gap in the door but it was too hard. Someone was going to see it so he let the door close back an inch and simply held the microphone on the side right up against the gap.

'So, what did he say?' she asked him. 'It's not really ghosts, is it?'

Sam could also hear the man shrug. 'Wasn't a lot to go on. Just complaints from some of the guests about strange voices haunting the halls. From what he told me, they sounded like locals, Welsh accents, a few English. And,' he added, 'talking like they were guests. Asking for extra towels, complaining about the maid disturbing them.'

'The maid? Does this place even have a maid?'

'Not for years, apparently. They don't get a lot of custom, mostly backpackers these days.'

'Okay. Well... I'm not getting any readings of Nelson Seepage.'

Sam nearly dropped the phone. Nelson Seepage? He'd never even heard of it. Man, this really was legit! He pressed closer to the door jamb, hoping they didn't stray too far.

'Anything on your end, Jack?' she asked him.

He must have been reviewing some kind of specialised equipment of his own because there was a pause. 'Nothing. No. Wait. Ah, just a flicker but it was there.'

'Where?'

There was another pause as the man, Jack, tried to pinpoint whatever it was he'd picked up. God, Sam hoped it wasn't him and his phone they'd discovered. 'Nope. It's gone again.'

'Jack? This door doesn't have a number on it. Storage perhaps?' There was a sound of jiggling doorknobs. 'It's locked. Well, not for long.'

Sam risked pushing the door open a little wider, hoping their attention was focused on the locked door. He saw just a tiny sliver of the pair of them, with the woman working something into the lock.

'Ah, there we are,' she said, giving him a smile, just like the one she'd given Sam downstairs. 'Not locked anymore.'

Jack leaned against the wall. 'Has Ianto been teaching you how to pick locks again?'

'Jealous?'

'Only a little, Gwen Cooper. Now, let's take a look inside. I'm hoping for those little packets of cookies. They always skimp on the cookies.'

'No cookies,' she reported, 'but that looks very, very alien,' she said, pointing at something out of Sam's line of sight.

There was a little chuckle of mirth. 'What did I tell you, Gwen?' Jack said. 'No ghosts haunting an old pub. Just your basic twenty-fifth century alien projection unit.'

'And what does one of those do?'

'They pick up on the energy of spent life-force, reintegrating it into the space continuum for a brief time. Like a ouija board, but with visuals. Talk to the dead and all. Just don't expect to know which dead you're gonna pick up and from what time period. Like flipping open a phone book and picking a name at random, without the picking part. Only good for a hour or so and then the life-force is gone forever from that place.'

'Sounds creepy. Not sure I want to talk to the dead. Even for an hour.'

'These things were bigger than YouTube in their day. At least until someone used one in the council chambers for the intergalactic equivalent of the House of Commons. Only thing worse than a room full of politicians is a room with a few extra thousand projections of dead former politicians, all who decided to weigh in on the matters being discussed. You should have seen the carnage. Only two councillors made it out of there alive after arguments got a little, well, shall we say, heated? After that, they were banned in twelve of the fourteen major conglomerate regions.'

'They were all killed by holograms of dead people?'

'Dead people with laser guns that transcend the normal laws of physics. Something that council banned a few hundred years ago. They got through a whole lot more passing of law once they were no longer allowed to shoot the opposition.'

'You know, Jack Harkness. I do wonder about the future sometimes. It doesn't sound quite as modern and advanced as I imagine it.'

'Sometimes it's the least evolved worlds that prove the saying "keep it simple stupid". Not every advancement ends up being for the better.' He took the device in his hands. 'On this occasion, I think we can spare a grubby old pub from visitations of its former guests.'

'Agreed. And maybe we don't let Tosh tinker with this when we get back?'

'Absolutely. There are a few ex-Torchwood employees I definitely do not want visiting me. Gods alone know Emily would have a pistol loaded and ready for me in a heartbeat. Dead is exactly how I want her to stay.'

'I was more thinking Lisa or Mary, but sure, we can make this about you.'

'Put my big bossy foot in it again, did I?'

'It's what you do best. But for now, let's just get this out of here and go home.'

Sam nearly squealed in delight. This was brilliant. Beyond brilliant. All of their conversation was right there on tape, in his pocket. He even had their names, or some of them at least. He owas going to blw Torchwood wide open! The Eye of Providence was going to go gangbusters after this!

'Sounds like a plan,' Jack said. 'Just one more thing before we go, though.'

Sam, excited by everything that was happening leaned closer to the door again. He was so lost in the moment that he didn't hear the way Jack's boots thudded louder down the hall in his direction. Jack threw open the fire escape door and Sam jolted at being found crouching there by the door.

'Hi there,' Jack said. 'Can we help you?'

Sam froze like a deer in the headlights. 'Oh, Um, no. Just hanging out.'

Jack gave him a skeptical look. 'Do you often hang out in stairwells?'

'I was just... Um... Off to my room for the night. Only, there's been these funny ghosts there at night. Kind of gives me the creeps. Thought I'd wait here and see if I could hear them before turning in.'

'Right... Well , you'll be happy to know we've sorted out your poltergeist problem. You should sleep like a baby tonight.' He turned to Gwen. 'Hey, didn't the hotel owner say there was a free round of drinks for all the guests to apologise for the disturbance?'

'Yeah.' She nodded. 'Why don't we go down for a quick pint? Settle the nerves?'

Sam stuttered. 'Y-Y-you mean, go have a d-drink. With you?'

Jack clapped him on the shoulders. 'I wouldn't knock it back. Sexy woman like Gwen offers you a drink, you take it. What's your name, kid?'

He felt very small, standing there as the pair of them watched him. 'S-S-Sam.'

'Okay, Sam. I'm Jack. This is Gwen. And this,' Jack said, holding up the cuboid shaped metal box, 'is all your ghost headaches going away,' he announced, flipping a switch on the side of it and tucking it under his arm. 'Let's go get that drink.'

If he'd been nervous before it was nothing compared to how he felt now. Gwen was so nice and friendly it was a wrench not to want to ask her everything about Torchwood, even though he wasn't supposed to know about them. She asked him all kinds of questions, where was he from, since he didn't have a Welsh accent, why was he visiting Cardiff, just a visit to a cousin who promised to take him to a game on Saturday, he lied, hopefully smoothly. She was just so easy to talk to he almost wanted to level with her and tell her all about The Eye of Providence and how he wanted people to understand what Torchwood did, not just be another conspiracy nutter. He didn't dare put his hand anywhere near his pocket lest Gwen realised he was still recording. God, how was the life on his phone battery going? He hadn't checked it. Please still be working!

He noticed Jack nursing a tall glass of clear liquid. It was way too much to be vodka and it didn't have any bubbles so it wasn't a club soda. 'You're not drinking?'

'Never do. Not on the job,' Jack replied.

'You get rid of ghosts for a living?'

Jack just smiled at him. 'That and more. I'd love to sit here all night and tell you about it but you look dead on your feet. Must be all those sleepless nights catching up with you.'

Sam yawned widely. He was really tired. 'Yeah,' he said slowly.

Jack drained the rest of his glass of water. 'C'mon, let's take you back up to your room.'

Sam didn't argue with them. God he was tired. He didn't even have the energy to remember that he didn't have a room, or consider what he was going to do when they asked him which number and why didn't he have a key. Jack's arm was simply around his shoulders, guiding him up the narrow stairs until he could barely put one foot in front of the other, his eyes slipping heavily shut as Jack took the rest of his weight.

Jack sighed. 'Great, now I've gotta lug him all the way back down again.'

Gwen smiled back at him. 'Well, you were going to have to get to the first floor in order to go out the back fire stairs anyway. I'll bring the SUV around into the alley and meet you out back.'

'Awesome,' Jack groaned. 'Thanks for the assist.'

'Oh, and check his pockets. His phone has been recording for the last hour. He was at the bar when we came in.'

Jack frowned. 'Who is this kid, anyway?'

She shrugged. 'Dunno. Just some Torchwood groupie, probably.'

'Groupies? Since when do we have groupies? Time was when people didn't wanna know what we did.'

'Yeah, well it was fine until nutters like that George Wilson started going on about aliens and conspiracies and all that rubbish. They're like a bloody cult, those people. Mind you, if the best they can manage is a phone recording I don't think we've got much to worry about. See you soon. And check him for ID andan address. I'd like to get home some time tonight before Rhys has binged the entire series of Find My Family.'

Jack chuckled as he watched Gwen flit down the fire stairs. He dropped Sam to the ground and rifled through his jacket until he located the phone, wiping the recording and flicking through his wallet for his driver's license. 'Did you hear that, Sam? Gwen doesn't think we have to worry about you. I guess it's lucky you won't remember her in the morning. She's a hard woman to get over. And that's the official word.'