The Apocalypse Element throws everything at the wall—Daleks, Gallifrey, Romana, time travel shenanigans—and hopes it all sticks. As a sequel to The Genocide Machine and the second chapter in Big Finish’s loose Dalek Empire trilogy, this one ups the scale considerably.The Daleks invade Gallifrey itself (yes, and years before this became something which happened in every other series finale); Romana returns after decades as their prisoner, and Evelyn finds herself in the middle of all the chaos, trying to keep up with the technobabble. It’s a bold story on paper, and it definitely doesn’t lack ambition.

The problem is, it’s just too much. There’s barely a second to breathe between scenes of Daleks shouting, Time Lords bickering, and everything exploding.The invasion of Gallifrey should be huge, but it flies by in a blur of noise without landing any real emotional weight.Romana’s return has great potential (her being held captive for decades is a brilliant hook, and Lalla Ward screaming “I am NOT Unit 117” lives in my head rent free), but the story barely explores what that means. Instead of digging into character or building tension, the script just keeps ramping things up until it all becomes exhausting.

There are some strong ideas here, likethe Daleks using time-sensitive slaves and the broader implications of Gallifrey’s vulnerability, but they’re drowned out by relentless action and overloaded plotting. This is a story that really wants to be a blockbuster, but audio just isn’t the right medium for it. It’s not unlistenable, and fans of large-scale lore-heavy chaos might find it fun, but for me, it felt like listening to The Invasion of Time on fast-forward. With someone shouting “EXTERMINATE” in your ear the whole time. And we all have our kinks… but that isn’t one of mine.

Winter for the Adept starts strong: a haunted Swiss boarding school, weird poltergeist activity, snowstorms, creepy headmistresses… it should be right up Big Finish’s alley. And for the first episode or so, it kind of is. But then the wheels start to wobble. The Doctor barely shows up early on, Nyssa’s in a mood, and the spooky atmosphere slowly gives way to a much more generic alien invasion plot. Honestly, it’s a bit like being promised a ghost story andending up with homework from the Spillagers.

Yep — the ghosts aren’t ghosts, just psychic aliens trying to break through a wormhole. The twist could work, but it all happens so fast in Part Four that it feels like the story’s taken a hard left turn into Saturday morning cartoon territory. The schoolgirl romance subplot is meant to add emotional depth, but mostly just drags. You can feel the potential in here, but it’s buried under a script that can’t decide what kind of story it wants to be.It’s also the second body-snatcher story in a row, and this one doesn’t land nearly as well.

There are some nice touches. Sally Faulkner (from off of The Invasion) adds a bit of classic Who cred, and Peter Jurasik from Babylon 5 turns up doing… well, an accent, but your guess is as good as mine as to which one… but the cast can’t rescue what’s essentially a mess of cool ideas that don’t go anywhere. It’s not terrible as much as just deeply frustrating. I’m still a Davison stan holding out hope for his Big Finish breakthrough, but this probably isn’t it. More like a lukewarm cup of tea than a spine-tingling ghost story.

The Spectre of Lanyon Moor is a gothic-tinged delight that plays like a lost story from the Hinchcliffe era, with its Cornish legends, shadowy manor, and mist-drenched moorland. It’s atmospheric from the outset, blending folklore and horror with classic sci-fi tropes, and the first half of the story in particular is a masterclass in building suspense. The sound design adds to the immersive feel, making Lanyon Moor feel like a real, lived-in location rather than a typical Big Finish backdrop. While the plot follows familiar beats, its confident execution and rich setting make it feel fresh and engaging.

The biggest success here is the unexpected but brilliant pairing of Colin Baker’s Sixth Doctor and Nicholas Courtney’s Brigadier. On paper, it shouldn’t work—this most bombastic of Doctors facing off against the cool, collected UNIT veteran—but in practice, it’s a joy. The Brigadier tempers the Doctor’s more abrasive instincts, while Baker brings a warm energy to their scenes that suggests long-standing mutual respect. It’s a pairing that leaves you wishing it had happened on television. Add in Evelyn Smythe, already shaping up to be one of Big Finish’s best original companions, and you have a character trio with real spark. Her scenes with the Brigadier are especially charming and unexpectedly poignant.

The story stumbles slightly in its final stretch. The villain, Sancreda, is far more effective as a lurking threat than as a raving megalomaniac—and once he starts delivering overwrought speeches, the tension built up in earlier episodes deflates. There’s also a brief detour to Greece that adds little to the plot and distracts from the rich atmosphere back in Cornwall. Still, these missteps are minor in a story that gets so much right. The Spectre of Lanyon Moor is not only one of the strongest early entries in the Monthly Adventures range—it’s also a celebration of good storytelling, smart character dynamics, and the joy of a well-chosen pairing.

Red Dawn has all the ingredients of a classic Doctor Who setup: NASA astronauts landing on Mars, ancient alien ruins, and a lurking Ice Warrior menace… but it never quite manages to turn its premise into something compelling. The pacing is sluggish, the dialogue often clunky, and the plot feels stretched thin over four episodes. The result is a story that drifts past without ever making a real impact, more background noise than gripping drama. Even the “base under siege” format, usually a reliable source of tension, is handled with a lack of urgency or atmosphere.

The one standout idea—that teenager Tanya Webster is part Martian, cloned from DNA found on an earlier probe—is a brilliant concept, but it’s introduced too late and without any narrative build-up. There’s no meaningful arcfor Tanya, and the reveal ends up feeling like an afterthought. Similarly, the Ice Warriors are present but uninspired, sticking rigidly to their usual honour-bound archetype without adding anything new. The story’s one moment of emotional depth comes in Part Four,when Zzaal, the Ice Warrior leader, is granted an honourable death beneath the Martian sunrise. It’s a poignant beat that hints at what Red Dawn could have been—but it arrives far too late to redeem the rest of the tale.

While the production values are decent and Peter Davison and Nicola Bryant give solid performances, even they can’t elevate the material. Justin Richards, usually a dependable writer with a knack for high-concept ideas (as seen in Theatre of War), delivers a script that feels more like a first draft. Director Gary Russell doesn’t bring much energy to the proceedings either, continuing the uneven tone of Big Finish’s early releases. Ultimately, Red Dawn is a forgettable entry in the Monthly Adventures—serviceable, but never inspiring.

After three episodes of moral grey zones and rising dread, Project Infinity arrives with the promise of revelation. And it delivers—sort of. This is the loudest, most action-driven chapter of the saga so far, wrapping up the immediate arc with gunfire, betrayal, and one last twist. But while it answers several questions, it also asks a few more, not all of which feel earned. As a finale, it’s functional and exciting, but it also feels like it’s in a rush to end one story and start another.

The title concept, Project Infinity, is suddenly important, but the explanation comes late and lands awkwardly.The rebellion, which has dominated the series so far, is revealed to be a decoy from the Daleks’ true goal: inter-universe conquest. The emotional and political heft of previous episodes is somewhat sidelined in favour of sci-fi spectacle. And while themultiversal cliffhanger is enticing, it lacks the weight of everything that’s come before.

Still, there’s a lot to admire here. Sarah Mowat and Gareth Thomas remain magnetic, even as Susan and Kalendorf unravel. Their final scenes together are weary, bleak, and honest—a portrait of two people who no longer believe in the cause but can’t stop fighting. Nicholas Briggs ramps up the tension with confidence, and the sound design goes big with space battles and Dalek armies in full force. But for all its scale, Project Infinity ends not with resolution, but with exhaustion. It’s not a finale—it’s a prelude. The final twist doesn’t offer closure, just a promise that the real story is still to come. And with three more Dalek Empire series to go, that may well be true.

Death to the Daleks! marks a striking tonal shift in the Dalek Empire saga. Where The Human Factor focused on private tensions and moral compromise, this third entry widens the lens to show us what those compromises have created. The revolution is here—or at least, something that looks like it. But this isn’t a triumphant uprising. This is a revolution that feels strangely off, stylised, almost performative. And that’s where the episode gets its bite.

Susan Mendes is no longer just a character—she’s become an icon. She’s mythologised, worshipped, misquoted. And she knows it. Sarah Mowat gives a subtly devastating performance: Susan is brittle and wary, painfully aware that the rebellion she’s helped build may be spiralling out of her control. Her speeches are echoed back to her in chants and slogans, her intentions warped by those desperate for hope. Gareth Thomas’s Kalendorf, meanwhile, grows colder.He’s not the architect of this new movement, but he might be its most skilled manipulator. The Daleks themselves fade slightly into the background here, but that’s the point—they’ve successfully driven their enemies to create a new orthodoxy in their image.

Briggs’ script leans into allegory and ambiguity. This is a story about belief as much as it is about power. The production style follows suit, with crowd scenes, echoing speeches, and theatrical flair dominating the soundscape. It won’t be for everyone, and structurally the episode does wobble—particularly as it pivots hard into setting up Project Infinity, a previously unmentioned MacGuffin that suddenly matters a lot. But what lingers is the mood: a creeping unease, the realisation that something vital has already been lost. The rebellion has become ritual. The leaders don’t believe anymore, but they can’t stop. And that’s where Death to the Daleks! really lands: in its portrait of people trapped inside the stories others have built around them.

With The Human Factor, Dalek Empire takes a sharp turn inward. After the blitzkrieg momentum of the opening episode, this second instalment slows the pace, tightens the focus, and digs into the ethical compromises that define Susan Mendes and her increasingly complex position in the Dalek-controlled galaxy. It’s a bold structural shift, and it works. This is the most emotionally resonant chapter of the series, where the horror comes not from the Daleks’ exterminations, but from the silence and surrender that surround them.

The strength of The Human Factor lies in its bleak, claustrophobic atmosphere. Most of the action takes place in just a few occupied zones, allowing us to watch Susan at work: using her ‘Angel of Mercy’ status to save lives, negotiate freedoms, and, slowly, lose her grip on what she’s actually achieving. Sarah Mowat is phenomenal here. Her performance captures a woman just starting to realise that even the smallest wins come at enormous cost. She isn’t naïve, but she’s desperate to believe that compromise is still resistance. Gareth Thomas’ Kalendorf, meanwhile, simmers with unspoken judgement, keeping his true agenda carefully obscured.

Alby’s subplot—trapped behind enemy lines, desperate to reconnect with Susan—doesn’t always carry the same weight, and at times it drifts a little into generic sci-fi territory. But even these scenes have an undercurrent of urgency. We’re watching a resistance movement begin to fracture before it’s even fully formed. Briggs’ script is tight, the pacing precise, and the sound design restrained. By the end, The Human Factor has set up not just a war, but a crisis of identity. If rebellion means working with your oppressors, is it still rebellion? And if survival is the goal… what are you actually surviving for?

The opening chapter of Dalek Empire is an ambitious, sometimes unwieldy blend of space opera, character drama, and relentless momentum. Nicholas Briggs wastes no time throwing the listener into the chaos: Earth is on the brink, and the Daleks have begun their most brutal conquest yet. In place of a traditional Doctor figure, we’re introduced to Alby Brook, a space pilot with a tragic past, and Susan Mendes, a geologist-turned-revolutionary whose transformation becomes the spine of the saga.

What works best here is the way the story uses its Big Finish DNA to craft something distinct. This isn’t a standard Doctor Who audio—it’s more akin to Blake’s 7 filtered through Dalek logic, with humans pushed to the brink and forced to compromise. Sarah Mowat’s performance as Susan is the standout, giving real depth to a woman who sees survival as the only form of rebellion. The introduction of Kalendorf,the mysterious Knight of Velyshaa, adds a layer of ambiguity, suggesting bigger games being played.

But the cracks are already visible. There’s a heavy reliance on coincidence to pull the threads together—Susan just happens to meet Kalendorf, who just happens to be the man Alby was sent to find. Some of these overlaps feel unnecessary, bordering on contrived. Still, there’s an energy to Invasion of the Daleks that carries it through. It’s brutal, fast-paced, and occasionally harrowing. As a starting point, it sets the tone for the series: messy, bold, and not afraid to look at what happens when the Daleks win.

The Genocide Machine is a landmark in Big Finish history as their very first Dalek story and, for the most part, it knows it. The first half is packed with atmosphere and tension, from the jungle planet setting of Kar-Charrat to the creeping threat of the Daleks as they close in on a vast library of knowledge. Mike Tucker’s script draws on classic Who beats, particularly the Pertwee era, and delivers an excellent midpoint cliffhanger. The Daleks are used with impressive restraint at first, and when they do show up, the moment lands with all the impact you’d hope for.

Unfortunately, the second half doesn’t quite live up to the promise. The story starts piling on ideas—data ghosts, sentient water-dwellers, a rogue Dalek, even a philosophical epiphany—and the result is a resolution that feels rushed and a little too convenient. The Doctor becomes oddly passive, andseveral plot elements appear just in time to undo the Daleks’ carefully built threat. It’s not that these ideas are bad individually, but they don’t gel into a satisfying climax, especially after such a strong start.

Still, there’s plenty to admire, including the inspired (if underused) concept ofa Dalek-duplicated Ace, and a genuine sense of scale. It’s not a classic, but it is a bold swing—and a significant moment in Big Finish history. For fans of the Seventh Doctor and Ace, it’s a must-hear, even if it doesn’t quite fire on all available cylinders. As a debut Dalek tale for the audio range, The Genocide Machine doesn’t hit perfection, but it absolutely hits potential.

The Marian Conspiracy marks a major turning point for Big Finish’s Monthly Adventures—and for Colin Baker’s Sixth Doctor. Jacqueline Rayner’s confident, tightly structured script gives Baker the material he never quite got on television, allowing his Doctor to be witty, warm, and wonderfully sharp without the abrasive edge that once made him a harder sell. The story balances historical detail with compelling character work, and never overstays its welcome. It’s the first time the range really feels like it knows what it’s doing, and the result is a polished, engaging audio drama that still holds up brilliantly.

At the heart of its success is the introduction of Evelyn Smythe, a sharp, no-nonsense history professor brought to life with irresistible charm by the late Maggie Stables. Unlike many companions before her, Evelyn doesn’t scream, swoon, or ask too many questions—she challenges the Doctor intellectually and morally, and their chemistry is immediate. Their opening conversation alone is a joy to listen to, setting the tone for a partnership built on mutual respect and gentle bickering. It’s refreshing to hear a story where so much of the drama comes from the characters themselves, rather than technobabble or alien threats.

Though it plays with a sci-fi conceit—Evelyn’s existence being threatened by a time anomaly—this is essentially a pure historical, and one that uses its setting with real intelligence. Tudor England is rendered vividly, and Queen Mary is written as a complex, sincere figure rather than a stock villain. A standout moment sees the Doctor challenge her beliefs without resorting to moral grandstanding, a testament to the script’s subtlety. By the time the story finishes, it’s clear that Big Finish has found its voice—and that the Sixth Doctor has, at long last, found the companion who brings out the best in him.