It's a street. And clearly a London street - one that sparks something in his memory, even. But he can't deny the flash of sorrow that it's not Manchester. There's a thought - one he hadn't formulated consciously before this moment, before he was faced with it - that he hoped Manchester would be his future. Perhaps it's just a desire to be home that he'd thought he'd outgrown.

He pushes the notion away, and looks around. It's dark, dimly lit by faint orange streetlights that should really be casting more light. Shops are interspersed with houses, and something that looks like a community centre of some sort, though the sign on the front is in Arabic. He doesn't recognise any of the names on the shops, and the few cars parked on the side of the road seem strangely alien. Shapes he doesn't recognise, designs that haven't been thought of yet, in his time.

Well, this is the future. He shouldn't be surprised. But he is, and is immediately uncomfortable.

'Nothing to see, then? Great, we can go.'

There are voices, though. He can't see who they belong to, but they're up ahead, either in the darkness or somewhere past it.