Sep. 5th, 2005

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The room is by now covered in paper. Dates, facts, figures and hundreds of photocopies of old newspaper articles cover the floor. And in the middle of it is Guppy, highlighting some sheets, discarding others, and collating the information on a large sheet in the middle. Scampi hops around the room, hiding under some sheets and playing with the screwed up balls of waste paper in the bin.

Finally Guppy sits back and surveys the master sheet in the middle. On it there is a calender, the highlighted areas showing the dates of departmental deaths and major incidents in Holby. His eyes fall on the area that has been bothering him for some time. Almost all of the major incidents lie between the first and third weeks in September. As if this was not disturbing enough, most of them fall on saturdays.

"I live in a city that has to have a major terrorist attack on it every few years because each terrorist attack is one season of the show...It's just really, really galling to realize that all the gratuitous death and destruction around you is just happening to entertain people on TV in another universe"

He can't forget what Castle said, despite the assurance from Ray and Asar-Suti that it worked the other way around, and that people just took inspiration from his world rather than controlling it. Just as well he doesn't know about the 'viewer's decide who gets a transplant' episode. He scritches Scampi absently, thinking, then grabs a pen.

'1. The show is seasonal. It starts in September and finishes between July and August.
2. Therefore it is not a soap (yes!)
3. Therefore my chances of getting killed off are extremely high in September, July, August and at Christmas, although it can happen at other times of year.
4. In general, people killed off are popular, lively, outgoing people. They also tend to have been in the department for a while. Therefore it is less likely to be me. But not impossible.'


He reads through what he's written for a moment, trying to convince himself that he is not going to be killed off. Then he gets up and looks out of the window.

It's the fifth of September. Just before the start of the danger zone. He had thought doing this would make him feel better; he'd expected to find nothing. Now it just made him feel a whole lot worse. The statistical odds showed that something was bound to happen within the next two weeks, and he couldn't do anything about it at all. He couldn't tell the police or the government, because they would think he was mad if he explained about the television show in another universe. Telling Abs wouldn't achieve anything, and telling the media would be the last thing any sensible person would do. It would just cause panic in some and be ignored by others. But... he could make sure he'd had plenty of sleep to be at his best for whatever was thrown at him. Statistically, the tenth and the seventeenth were the most dangerous days of the year until Christmas.

He gathers up the papers and goes to feed the kitten.

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