RIGSBY: Forgive me, Lizbeth. I'm feeling a little under the weather. I can't go there today.
LIZBETH: But it's the reason Churchill sent us to Berlin.
RIGSBY: I was thinking you could go.
LIZBETH: Me?
RIGSBY: We are equals, Professor Hayhoe.
DRIVER: This is as far as I can take you. Miss?
LIZBETH: Miss? Oh, sorry. I always drop off in cars. Did- I uh- Did I miss anything?
DRIVER: Gunfire, a Russian tank division knocking hell out of the Bundestag. What looked like a lynching.
LIZBETH: Jesus, I really can sleep through anything. Is this it?
DRIVER: I'm- I’m not allowed to come inside with you.
LIZBETH: That's, uh, that's fine.
DRIVER: Cigarette?
LIZBETH: I don't smoke.
DRIVER: Take one. Apparently in there it helps to take away the smell.
GERTA: You will forgive, it is only me. All the men have left. Welcome to Project Hermod.
LIZBETH: Impressive.
GERTA: It was once. We had glass in the windows. You sent your driver away?
LIZBETH: I’ll walk. Is there a problem?
GERTA: No one walks across Berlin. No woman. Russians.
LIZBETH: Oh. Lizbeth Hayhoe.
GERTA: Is Professor Rigsby no longer coming?
LIZBETH: He's, um, he's indisposed.
GERTA: Ah, you are his secretary.
LIZBETH: I'm here to meet the director.
GERTA: He hung himself in his cell last night. You get me. Hado, administrative support. We are secretaries together.
LIZBETH: I'm a fellow at Somerville College, Oxford.
GERTA: My mistake. So, just us. When you ask the men, they think we should stay at home, raise children. But it is amazing what they suddenly decide we are qualified for, when they can no longer stomach it.
LIZBETH: Professor Rigsby is ill.
GERTA: And you are loyal.
LIZBETH: I'm here to conclude the inventory.
GERTA: He had very thorough paperwork, your work?
LIZBETH: We're simply establishing what assets the British Crown has claim to.
GERTA: Everyone is sickened by what we do. Everyone wants what we do. The Americans have seized most of our papers, the Russians most of our staff.
LIZBETH: That should not have happened.
GERTA: It has happened. You are welcome to what remains.
LIZBETH: Very well. Lead the way.
GERTA: I presume you wish to examine dead specimens?
LIZBETH: Of course.
GERTA: This way.
LIZBETH: Wait, you said dead specimens.
GERTA: I did.
LIZBETH: Does that mean you have live specimens?
GERTA: We do.
LIZBETH: Can I see them?
GERTA: No one has asked to see them before.
LIZBETH: Well, I am.
GERTA: Here they are.
LIZBETH: Oh my God. There's something alive in there.
GERTA: Yes. The tanks used to be self-cleaning, but well, then we lost power.
LIZBETH: So what's in there? It's dead, isn't it?
GERTA: That one is dead, I think. You will forgive. I have not opened the tank to check, but these three inside... dry? See? They are waking up.
LIZBETH: Christ. What are they?
GERTA: Pilz. Mushroom? Is that the word?
LIZBETH: I can see that, but what...what have they been grown on? What is it that's...moving?
GERTA: I shall check. There are notes.
LIZBETH: Were they dogs?
GERTA: As I say, allow me to check.
LIZBETH: You did that to dogs?
GERTA: Well…
LIZBETH: They're still alive. Where do these spores come from?
GERTA: It will say somewhere, I'm sure of it.
LIZBETH: Cordyceps fungi can grow inside insects, consuming them alive. Then rupturing when they spore. But that's ants and spiders. But dogs? I wonder what the process was?
GERTA: The details, they are here.
LIZBETH: It’s Horrible. Still, did Hermod find these fungi or adapt them? Either way, it's impressive.
GERTA: Do not get too close. Here.
LIZBETH: Thanks. Ah, my German is not all it could be. “Grafted into the fertilizer bed,” nice term, “via incisions. But once you stabilize the cultures, a simple scratch could cause infection, maturing to produce spores, which could infect via inhalation.”
GERTA: Your German is commendable.
LIZBETH: How far have they got?
GERTA: I'm just a secretary. Realizing I was alone, I wondered what to do. I couldn't see a way to feed them. I thought they would die. They did not.
LIZBETH: Sorry (cough) that's not what I asked. Have you a light?
GERTA: Of course.
LIZBETH: Cheers.
LIZBETH: I don't normally, but…
GERTA: The smell is unfortunate.
LIZBETH: How far have they got with the experiment?
GERTA: Professor Ange would know.
LIZBETH: Can I see him?
GERTA: He... Ah, Borneo, I believe.
LIZBETH: I see, I see. Taking all his notes with him.
GERTA: Indeed. As the Russians advanced, the men vowed to stay and fight. The bitter end. Ha, they all left so quickly.
LIZBETH: Mm.
LIZBETH: God, you poor doggy. I guess you took them off the streets.
GERTA: I would have to check my notes.
LIZBETH: I guess it was intended as a weapon sprayed from the air. Mind you, the resulting creatures would be pretty invincible. Mushroom soldiers. Everything we get up to fight and we never dreamed we'd be up against a mushroom reich. What kind of a dog is that?
GERTA: The notes.
LIZBETH: You know full well. It's not a dog. It's a fucking child!
RIGSBY: You've burnt it down? All of Project Hermod? The Americans are very upset.
LIZBETH: You sent me in there alone, Reginald.
RIGSBY: Why shouldn't I? We're both heads of department.
LIZBETH: Alone! That hellhole!
RIGSBY: I did go in first.
LIZBETH: You soared in looking for glory, took one look then sent me. While you what?
RIGSBY: Indisposed, a cold.
LIZBETH: Drunk. Christ alone knows your hangover. Still, the Yanks have got all the aspirin, so no doubt you'll be popping over to make a report.
RIGSBY: You didn't have to burn the place down.
LIZBETH: Those things were children. They were screaming.
RIGSBY: Information has been lost. Whitehall are very disappointed.
LIZBETH: Ugh, told them already, have you? Don't care. Project Hermod is scattered to the ends of the earth. Hunting down the remains can be some other poor sod's job.
RIGSBY: This will be a black mark against your name. Afraid I'll have to tell the Americans.
LIZBETH: Have to?
RIGSBY: Procedure? Oh, forgive me, but if you want to succeed, Lizbeth, you'll have to learn decorum.
LIZBETH: They were using children as compost bags.
RIGSBY: Ah, there you are Lizbeth. Punctuality really isn't a strong suit.
LIZBETH: What the hell's happened to my lab?
RIGSBY: Had you been here at nine, you'd know.
LIZBETH: What, I could have watched you steal my team.
RIGSBY: Ever since the end of the war.
LIZBETH: Oh, hello!
RIGSBY: We've worked together in parallel. You've led our research unit, and me alien acquisitions. Over the years, bar the odd bump, a satisfactory arrangement. However, our guards higher up the ladder feel that a breath of fresh air and a clean sweep is called for.
LIZBETH: You're lost in your conceit!
RIGSBY: Oh, forgive me, there's no need to get personal.
LIZBETH: Conceit is a literary term, Reginald. It's an extended metaphor. You had guards up a ladder sweeping fresh air.
RIGSBY: Apology accepted.
LIZBETH: Where are my staff?
RIGSBY: Reallocated. I felt it was important that we had some science brains at the White Hot Coalface.
LIZBETH: Here we go again.
RIGSBY: A better utilisation of their skills and appetites than in your, forgive me, ivory tower.
LIZBETH: Ivory tower? A draughty room in an old button factory overlooking a Chinese restaurant?
RIGSBY: Resources were felt to be being lavish.
LIZBETH: By you and lavish, we've got mice. We've had broken windows since the actual blitz.
RIGSBY: Needless to say, once I put my case to your team, they jumped at the opportunities laid before them.
LIZBETH: They heard you got a working radiator.
RIGSBY: I wish we could have made separate appeals to them, alas, you weren't here.
LIZBETH: I wasn't told!
RIGSBY: Forgive me, that's not my affair.
LIZBETH: So what? I build up the finest team of exoscientists in the empire and you whisk them away? Fine. But you've taken all my kit. We were so close to a breakthrough.
RIGSBY: Not regrettably in the view of those higher up.
LIZBETH: Oh, that's it, isn't it? You'd heard about Rogers and Clyde's breakthrough and you've stolen them and the credit.
RIGSBY: Paranoia, Elizabeth.
LIZBETH: It's fine. Take them. I don't care about the credit. I'll carry on, even if I have to go and buy a boy's science kit from a toy shop.
RIGSBY: As you will, there are no calls at present on the room. Oh, forgive me, Elizabeth. Must push on. If you need to discuss this further, just put a call through to my secretary.
LIZBETH: You there! Stop kicking the Skylon! What the hell do you think you're doing?
NORTON: Er, waiting for you, ma'am.
LIZBETH: Ma'am? Am I getting ma’amed now?
NORTON: Yes, ma'am. Er, I've the list of additional requirements you asked for, came through as priority.
LIZBETH: Thank you, and judging by the look on your face, you don't agree.
NORTON: Er, well, uh-
LIZBETH: You're one of Rigsby's bright boys, aren't you? Better things to do with your time than loiter around a Waterloo building site?
NORTON: Ma'am-
LIZBETH: How diplomatic. Time was Rigsby to have come down to argue with me himself. Now that pales with the pleasures of lobster at the Savoy. Instead he sends me some poor National Service tyke. Parsons kid?
NORTON: Er-
LIZBETH: It's in the posture, you all creep.
NORTON: Ma’am-
LIZBETH: That thing's the Skylon. You know much about modern art?
NORTON: Well-
LIZBETH: Me neither. And there's a reason the Skylon looks like a rocket ship. It's a UFO. And those wires are the only thing keeping it tethered. Torchwood's contribution to the Festival of Britain. Bugger all use to us without a compatible power source. All we can do is tie it down before the Festival opens to the public. Where's that cable?
NORTON: In the van, ma'am.
LIZBETH: And? Are you going to fetch it?
NORTON: Oh, I was wondering, perhaps-
LIZBETH: These builders are busy building. Fetch.
NORTON: Ma'am.
LIZBETH: Shoo.
LIZBETH: Can someone put together another cage?
LIZBETH: Poor sods, of course someone had to steal their faces before the coronation.
MAN: Ma'am.
LIZBETH: No, away! You want orders? Go to Westminster Abbey. That's where everyone above me is. Bother the vicar or Rigsby or even Folgate.
MAN: But ma'am, what should we do?
LIZBETH: This warehouse is full. I'm not taking on anymore. No, leave me to spend the day here with the other faceless nobodies. Find someone else. Someone who matters.
LIZBETH: What? Oh, it's another youngster with a crate. Put it over there and I'll get to it, whatever it is. If it's come to Room 13, it can't be important.
NORTON: Ahem, actually...
LIZBETH: What? Don't I know you?
NORTON: Folgate. Norton Folgate.
LIZBETH: Ha! So now the vicar's dead, you're at the top. And what, you've come to close me down? Finally. Give me a quarter of an hour to pack my bag.
NORTON: Ah, no.
LIZBETH: What, you're keeping me on? You’ve a reputation for ruthlessness, Folgate. I can't imagine you'd keep a dead end like Room 13 open now you're in charge.
NORTON: Actually, I've been sent to join you.
LIZBETH: Ha!
NORTON: Ugh.
LIZBETH: Crumpet?
NORTON: Are you going to smoke that disgusting pipe?
LIZBETH: Are you going to use that awful squeaky voice?
NORTON: There's nothing sq- Yes please, to the crumpet.
LIZBETH: There's fresh butter on the windowsill.
NORTON: After the pigeons stole the last lot.
LIZBETH: This place, it's
LIZBETH & NORTON TOGETHER: the Savoy.
LIZBETH: Sort the post out, would you?
NORTON: (groan) Ancient wreckage of one, two, three crashed spacecraft in Sri Lanka, Borneo, Bavaria. What is it with aliens? Can no one fly a spaceship?
LIZBETH: Dispatch an agent to Bavaria. We've a string in Sri Lanka. Use them.
NORTON: Borneo?
LIZBETH: Too expensive. File it.
NORTON: Filed. Imagine that, travelling millions of light years, possibly the last of your species, crashing on our world, lying undiscovered for centuries, and we can't even be bothered digging you up.
LIZBETH: The government can't afford cheese, UFOs seem a luxury.
NORTON: Imagine if it was full of bacon.
LIZBETH: Then you'd have a case.
NORTON: Is this all we do? Send other people to look at stuff, occasional cover-up?
LIZBETH: That's it. The excitement of Torchwood happens to other people.
NORTON: Norton's bored, Lizbeth, Norton is so bored.
LIZBETH: There's one thing, sort of allowed to be my brief, a joke of Rigsby's. When the war was ending-
NORTON: Oh, here we go.
LIZBETH: Rigsby and I worked on it together, closing down Project Hermod.
NORTON: Nazi Torchwood?
LIZBETH: It was a disaster, he was only interested in what he could plunder.
NORTON: Which was?
LIZBETH: Not much, by the time I'd set fire to the place.
NORTON: You scamp!
LIZBETH: Didn't matter. Most of Project Hermod was already scattered to the winds.
NORTON: The South American winds. And they're still out there?
LIZBETH: Never bothered doing anything about them. A bunch of filthy rich mass murderers, mad scientists and necromancers.
NORTON: Rich, you said?
LIZBETH: Of course you'd notice that. Each one's suitcase is bursting with bullion and alien technology.
NORTON: Which they're planning on using to start up again?
LIZBETH: By seizing control of a comet and a hank of the Führer's hair, they believe they can start the Fourth Reich.
NORTON: Good luck to them, crackpots. Like anyone will listen to Nazis ever again. Did they snaffle anything good?
LIZBETH: Horribly weird.
NORTON: Trust a Nazi to stockpile the mad stuff. But the money, Liz. The money. I bet they're soaked in it.
LIZBETH: Pots.
NORTON: So, if Norton had any luck, he could plough the loot back into Room 13?
LIZBETH: Ah, you could.
NORTON: I could, and it’d pass the time. In between sending people scouring mountains for alien scrap.
LIZBETH: Hunting Nazis. You must be bored.
NORTON: Totally. Besides, what's the harm?
NORTON: This has all been a trap, to get that package into Torchwood, into this room. Lizbeth, put it back before it hatches.
LIZBETH: It's not an egg, it's more like a mushro-
LIZBETH: Oh god. (coughing)
NORTON: Lizbeth? No, oh my God! No!
ANDY: Norton, take my hand!
NORTON: Andy?
ANDY: Now or you're dead!
LIZBETH: (gasping for air) Norton help me! Come back! Come back! Please!
RIGSBY, OVER SPEAKERS: Alert! Alert! Torchwood has been exposed to an exobiological threat. All operatives must proceed to Little Compton Street. All operatives.
LIZBETH: Help me! Help! Help me!
WOMAN: What's the matter, old gal? You've been in the wars? Come on, let's get you inside.
LIZBETH: Oh no, please! Help me
WOMAN: Stick by me.
LIZBETH: No!
LIZBETH: Please, I'm ill!
WOMAN: Want me to leave you out here, eh?
LIZBETH: No, no, get me- Get me help, please!
WOMAN: Fast, fast, fast, come along! Here we are! Now stop being a moaning minnie and come inside the bunker!
LIZBETH: Please…
WOMAN: Chop, chop! Looks like they're closing up!
LIZBETH: Please!
WOMAN: Splendid! Come on in!
WOMAN: There we are, snug as the proverbial ruggy bugs. Don't worry, it'll all be over in a tick. Probably some careless test tube waller. They'll be all over it with carbolic, and we'll be out in time for tiffin'.
LIZBETH: Oh, please. I'm ill. (cough)
WOMAN: (cough) Come to think of it, I'm not exactly top billing myself. Still, best not make a fuss. We're safe now. (cough) We're in the bunker.
LIZBETH: Rigsby?
RIGSBY: Forgive me, Lizbeth?
LIZBETH: We're all dying, Reginald.
RIGSBY: There are medics.
LIZBETH: They've gone.
RIGSBY: When will they be back- Oh.
LIZBETH: Yes, sorry.
RIGSBY: We need to summon help, leave the bunker.
LIZBETH: No. That would spread the infection further. This country's best chance is for us to stay in here.
RIGSBY: But- but- We'll die!
LIZBETH: Yes. Budge up. I'm not steady on my pins.
RIGSBY: I can't be dying. I'm in charge of Torchwood.
LIZBETH: I think that's why you're dying.
RIGSBY: No, no, no, no. Everyone here knows how important I am. The boffins, the bright lads, they'll be working on a cure. They'll come up with something at the last moment.
LIZBETH: Maybe you're right.
RIGSBY: Where... where are they?
LIZBETH: Over in the corner, coma. They're changing.
RIGSBY: Into what?
LIZBETH: It's a parasitic fungal infection, Rigsby. Airborne. Insidious. Something I thought we'd stamped out years ago.
RIGSBY: Well, if we've stopped it before, we can stop it again.
LIZBETH: Yes.
RIGSBY: You'll come up with something, you always do.
LIZBETH: Hmm.
RIGSBY: Some idiot brought this in. When I'm back on my feet, I'll read them the riot act.
LIZBETH: I'm sure you will.
RIGSBY: I know we've not entirely seen eye to eye, but... Bygones, Elizabeth, bygones. You'll see I pull through so I can look the feller in the eye.
LIZBETH: It was me, Reginald.
RIGSBY: What?
LIZBETH: The package from Project Hermod. I opened it, it caused this.
RIGSBY: And you- you came in here?
LIZBETH: I was asking for help and I just got swept in.
RIGSBY: You stupid, selfish woman! You've killed us all! You've killed me!
LIZBETH: Yes, Reginald. Yes, I know.
RIGSBY: They're coming for us. Any minute.
LIZBETH: Yes.
RIGSBY: They'll have noticed. Number ten, Her Majesty. Wheels will have stopped turning. They'll know. And they'll be coming to rescue me.
LIZBETH: Yes, Reginald.
RIGSBY: They won't let me die.
LIZBETH: No.
RIGSBY: I'll say this. You're a tough old bird, Liz. You're barely changed.
LIZBETH: Oh. I think they wanted me to watch.
RIGSBY: Or you're just lucky. You always were.
LIZBETH: Lucky.
RIGSBY: Talented and clever.
LIZBETH: Thank you.
RIGSBY: Clever, forgive me. Clever's not the same as smart. That's your problem. You should have seen this coming.
LIZBETH: I didn't.
RIGSBY: There we are, see? Women. Always a full cupboard and fresh sheets, but no good at chess. And yet, oh, people admired you. Taking staff off you, always a battle. They never wanted to go.
LIZBETH: Didn't they?
RIGSBY: But they were wasting their time with you. Couldn't have that happen.
LIZBETH: Because you stopped every project I worked on.
RIGSBY: Yes.
LIZBETH: You never forgave me for Project Hermod, did you?
RIGSBY: It would have been a quick little operation. Everyone fills their boots with faster rockets and better weapons, but no...
LIZBETH: I had to be clever.
RIGSBY: After you burnt Hermod down, you put me in bad odour with the Russians and the Yanks. Here's Madge. You were a bad influence. I had to hold you back, for your own good. Imagine if you'd run this place. And you would have.
LIZBETH: Really?
RIGSBY: Maybe. If a woman can rule an empire, maybe one can run Torchwood. Not you. But someday one will. (cough) Where was I?
LIZBETH: Listing my faults.
RIGSBY: Oh, harsh. I always saw you as an incubator, like a greenhouse. You'd find the right sort, you'd bring them home, then I could propagate them.
LIZBETH: You stole everything from me, Reginald.
RIGSBY: I made the most of it, that's all.
LIZBETH: And now look at us. You even stole this infection from me.
RIGSBY: I guess I did. But they're coming for me. Any moment. I'll be right as rain, you'll see.
LIZBETH: Yes.
RIGSBY: But I won't forget. You tried to destroy Torchwood. (coughing) Forgive me. What will happen to me, if rescue doesn't come? Which it will.
LIZBETH: The fronds sprouting from your skin, they'll multiply. The fungus will consume you, major organs first, then the brain. Take over your automotive functions. Then it'll get ready to spawn.
RIGSBY: It's happening to the others, but not me.
LIZBETH: No.
RIGSBY: There's some hairs on my arms, maybe. A few more than usual. Nothing to worry about. Maybe I'm immune.
LIZBETH: Yes, Reginald. I can barely see them.
RIGSBY: Forgive me.
LIZBETH: If that's what you want.
RIGSBY: Wake me when rescue comes, will you?
LIZBETH: I will, Reginald.
RIGSBY: Thanks, daddy.
LIZBETH: They're all gone.
NORTON: Hello, Lizbeth. How are you?
LIZBETH: Still alive. They're all dead.
NORTON: I know.
LIZBETH: How are you?
NORTON: Frightened.
LIZBETH: Take the bloody helmet off.
NORTON: I won't, thank you.
LIZBETH: Fairly sure I'm safe.
NORTON: Fairly sure you're not.
LIZBETH: Put some coal on the fire, would you? I'm cold.
NORTON: I always did like a good fire.
LIZBETH: I'd offer you tea…
NORTON: But I'd be dying before I finished the cup.
LIZBETH: And you used to say my tea wasn't that bad. Sit down. Closer. My vision. The damn stuff is growing through my eyeballs. I'm getting used to it. Getting used to that. Imagine.
NORTON: I'd rather not.
LIZBETH: Well, look at us. We finally got what we wanted, Torchwood.
NORTON: Lizbeth, I'm sorry.
LIZBETH: Bit of a pyrrhic victory, but a victory. Gods I’m cold.
NORTON: The heat will come through from the fire.
LIZBETH: Soon start to feel the benefit. My shoes are pinchy. Normally I'd ease them off under the desk, but the stuff, it's grown through the shoe leather. For as long as I live, and I hope it won't be for much longer, I'll be wearing the same damn pair of shoes.
NORTON: Oh, Lizbeth.
LIZBETH: If I'd known, well, I'd like to say I'd have picked a better pair. But if I'd known I was going to die when I came to work yesterday...
NORTON: You wouldn't have come to work.
LIZBETH: Exactly. This has all been about gaining control of Torchwood, you know.
NORTON: Has it?
LIZBETH: Poor old Rigsby. As he slithered his way to the top. I never gave up on the idea that I'd escape Room 13 and snatch it from him. This game of ours, it was going to be my chance. But my pride got in the way and it killed me.
NORTON: It wasn't your pride.
LIZBETH: Oh, it was. I shouldn't have taken over, stolen the credit from you. Then you'd be the one dying in this chair. We were all being so clever because we were all being played.
NORTON: Were we?
LIZBETH: Project Hermod, a nest of dying hornets. The more you poke them with a stick, the more they plotted this revenge. Flooding London with those packages, getting our attention.
NORTON: Every time I bumped one of them off, another package entered the system.
LIZBETH: Revenge served at its coldest. Attracting our attention. Getting us to seize the package. Bring it inside Torchwood. All those gangsters, those things in the mist, just tracer fire. Like doodle bugs are doom-draining closer and closer and closer until the engine stopped and it fell on us.
NORTON: I should have realised, I should have warned you.
LIZBETH: Such a clever weapon. Those poor screaming kids in Berlin. The first victims survive the longest so that they can spread it the furthest. And so I could watch, watch everything I have wanted die.
NORTON: I'm sorry.
LIZBETH: Talking of which, my bloody dog.
NORTON: I've not forgotten. I'll feed him.
LIZBETH: You better, or I'll haunt you. I swear.
NORTON: Don't worry.
LIZBETH: I'm breathing easier. Like menthol vapours.
NORTON: Yes, I put a little something in the fire.
LIZBETH: Came prepared, I wondered if you did.
NORTON: Cyanide.
LIZBETH: Put me out of my misery. I remember the vet shooting my first horse, poor thing, Glynarthen, had taken a tumble during a steeplechase. Mother was off arguing with the judges that I should at least get a rosette for effort, and I was just cradling his neck. He was in such pain, but I wouldn't let him go, poor thing. Veterinarian just patted my hand, slid the shotgun up behind an ear and bang. I promised I'd look at Glynarthen when he went, say goodbye properly. But of course, when that gun went off it was so loud I screwed my eyes tight shut and when I opened them he’d gone. You'll stay with me till I'm gone, won't you?
NORTON: Yes. You're the only reason I came back. I told the others there was something I needed from Torchwood, but it was just you. I needed to say goodbye.
LIZBETH: You always were a liar. Are you lying now?
NORTON: Please.
LIZBETH: Still, you got people helping you. That's good.
NORTON: Friends.
LIZBETH: I wonder, do you ever have friends?
NORTON: That's unkind. I'm here with you now, aren't I?
LIZBETH: You are, and I'm glad. But I wonder if part of this is because you're hiding away from what you have to do.
NORTON: There's time, plenty of time.
LIZBETH: I won't keep you long.
NORTON: No, this isn't what I planned. I'm sorry, Lizbeth.
LIZBETH: Don't be. It's you I feel sorriest for. While you've been wasting your time in here, the world is still in danger. And you... Ah, you're going to have to deal with that on your own. Because you're all that's left. You're Torchwood now.
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