Originally aired on 10 July 2009, Children of Earth – Day Five is not just the conclusion of a story—it is the aftermath of an apocalypse. Following the catastrophic events of Day Four, this episode serves as both reckoning and requiem. It is arguably the bleakest hour of television in the Doctor Who universe, where no victory comes without unbearable cost. Rewatching in 2025, the impact remains as raw as ever. It is unflinching, uncompromising, and unforgettable.
The world has been laid bare. The 456 have delivered their ultimatum: hand over ten percent of the world’s children, or humanity will face extinction. Every mechanism of governance has failed. Every line of defence has been shattered. What remains is desperation, betrayal, and the slimmest hope of resistance.
At the centre of it all stands Jack Harkness. This is the episode where we see the consequences of immortality—not just the endless living, but the perpetual bearing of grief. Jack has lost Ianto. He has lost Clem. He has lost trust in humanity, and in himself. And now, he is faced with a choice so monstrous it nearly destroys him: sacrifice his own grandson, Steven, to create a feedback signal that will destroy the 456.
The scenes leading to that decision are some of the most difficult in the entire series. The science is irrelevant. What matters is the moral weight. Jack must use a child’s brain—a child he loves—as a weapon. It is the ultimate utilitarian choice, one which leaves him shattered. John Barrowman’s performance here is extraordinary, stripped of bravado and laid bare in agony. As Steven dies, Jack’s screams echo through the series’ history. There is no redemption in it. Only survival.
The 456 are defeated, but it is not a triumph. It is an obliteration of innocence. The story does not let us celebrate. Instead, we are made to sit in the silence of the cost.
The final scenes of Day Five are a study in ruin. Frobisher is dead. His wife and daughters, murdered in the name of mercy. Lois Habiba, once full of optimism, is silent. Gwen, pregnant and resolute, is the only one left who still believes in something better. And Jack? Jack leaves.
His farewell to Gwen on the hilltop is not dramatic. It is weary. He has seen too much. He can no longer stay. There is something unbearably human in his final flight—the need to run from pain too large to hold. As he steps into the stars, it is not the heroic departure of a legend. It is the retreat of a man who can no longer bear to be the hero.
Rewatching Day Five in 2025, it is impossible not to be moved by how boldly it closes the story. Children of Earth does not offer comfort. It offers reflection. It asks what we are willing to do to survive. And then it asks whether survival, on those terms, is worth it.
In five days, Torchwood transformed from an entertaining spin-off into one of the most searing explorations of power, ethics, and loss in science fiction. It never once blinked. It never softened the blow. And it never forgot the human cost.
Day Five is not the end of Torchwood. But it is the end of something purer. Of faith. Of idealism. Of the belief that the right people will do the right thing when it counts. And yet, even in that darkness, Gwen's closing voiceover leaves a flicker of hope—a reminder that someone, somewhere, might still be fighting.
But the scars remain.
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