Realism colour tattoo on an upper arm showing a man in a brown coat beside a blue police box, a Dalek and a Cyberman in a swirling blue vortex.

Sci-fi scene with police box and robots on upper arm

Realism · Upper arm · Mixed · Photo

A large sleeve tattoo shown from two angles, with a realistic portrait of a man in a brown coat holding a glowing object in the foreground. Behind him sit a blue police box, a brown Dalek and a silver Cyberman, set against swirling blue vortex lines and bright orange and white lightning. The portrait and robots are rendered in soft shading and fine detail, while the background uses saturated blues and oranges.

Realism Upper arm Police box Dalek Portrait Man Lightning Swirl Robot Figure

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A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Mara Vell had kept the signal tower at Corran Head for eleven winters, and she knew the sky over the bay the way other people knew their own kitchens. So when the storm came in green-edged and the lightning began to stitch the clouds together in orange, she did not reach for the flare gun. She reached for the logbook.

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The blue box was standing on the shingle when she climbed down at dawn, its paint scorched in a long curl along one side and its lamp dark. A man in a brown coat sat on the step with a small glowing thing cupped in his palm, turning it slowly as though listening to it. He did not look up. "Don't go near the door yet," he said. "It's still deciding where it is."

Up the cliff path, a metal shape rattled through the gorse, all bulbs and a single pulsing eye. Mara had seen the drawings pinned beside the tide tables in the harbour office. Cybermen, the notices called them, and the notices had never once been wrong about what came next. She picked up a spanner from the wreckage of a fishing skiff and stood between the two of them.

She climbed the one hundred and twelve steps of the tower two at a time, her lungs burning, and threw the big switch. The beam swung out over the bay and caught the spiral of cloud, and the lightning hesitated, then folded itself back into the sky. Below, the metal thing stopped mid-stride at the edge of the gorse, its eye dimming, as if it had been waiting for permission. When she came back down, the step was empty and the shingle held only two sets of footprints, one of them leading into nothing.