Don't go into the moors — It's a gloomy, dark night on the moors. A young woman is driving down a lonely country road with the radio blasting while gabbing on her cell. One of the wonderful things about the sticks being its craptastic cell coverage, she loses her call. A stone's throw later, her headlights illuminate a large lump laying in the road ahead. The girl stops in front of it and gets out to investigate.

I'm not the kind of person who yells at the screen, but in my head, I'm thinking, "Don't do it! Have you not seen even one horror movie? Get back in your car, stupid."

She can't hear me. She bends over what appears to be a body. All she can see is a jacket with a hood and some pants. She pokes it with a baseball bat that she just happens to keep in her car for such occasions. It doesn't move. It's a dummy, dummy. The "head" in the hood is a soccer ball.

Behind her back, a figure runs across the road and quickly disappears into the pitch black night. The girl spins around, scared out of what little wits she has. There's no one there, naturally.

The girl frantically gets back in her car. The keys are gone. Gulp. Suddenly, something bangs on the roof of the car. She locks the doors. Something or someone unlocks them.

The girl screams hysterically as she's pulled violently out of the car by a dark figure, never to be seen again. Anyone want to buy an abandoned Mercedes? Low mileage and just a little pee on the driver's seat — make your best offer.

A day in the country — The Torchwoodmobile races down that same lonesome stretch of highway, the kind where you hope you don't run out of gas, get a flat or hit anything on four legs. I used to have a ride just like Torchwood's wheels. Mine didn't have computers and satellite maps built into the cup holders like theirs does, though. Instead of being engineered for battling and chasing aliens, mine was great for doing donuts in the parking lot because yeah, I'm that kind of idiot.

Always the happy camper, Owen is complaining about being so far from the nearest sushi bar and adult book store. He likes civilization, thank you very much. The countryside is "unhygienic," "disgusting" and frankly, smells like doody.

The country does smell like doody on occasion. But in this case, it's not manure. Gwen informs Owen that the unfamiliar odor is grass. Owen prefers his jungles made of concrete.

The team pulls the car over. They are in the middle of nowhere. And I mean No. Where. There isn't a gas station, 7-Eleven or billboard as far as the eye can see. Inexplicably, there is one lonely food truck sitting in the middle of this vast expanse. Why ask why?

Torchwood is the only customer of the day week month. Ianto really is Alfred the butler; he buys everyone cheeseburgers and serves them on the hood of the car. Meanwhile, Jack has spread a big map out and surveys the area.