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Chapter Text

Zylock. A stormy desert world with a hundred terrible legacies surrounding it. It has earned the reputation of being a destination of no return, as proven by the thousands of shipwrecks left by those who tried to navigate through the asteroids and perpetual darkness. It’s said to be where Time Lords fear to tread. And with good reason, for here lies the prison - or is it more of a lair? - of their most reviled citizen. His name was the Vamtreeian, a word that in ancient north Gallifreyan means ‘universal tyrannical overlord’. And boy oh boy did he take that meaning to hearts. For at this very moment in time, he was watching. The sight of the giant circle in the very centre of his dark, dingy and overall very scary-feeling throne room, retracted to watch the spectacle in the arena below – the sight of his brother, known as the Doctor, surrounded completely by a massive swarm of Lonely Assassins, alongside his latest young blonde companion, Ruby Sunday. His brother really did seem to have a thing for young blondes. The Vamtreeian fondly remembered all those wonderful encounters with Rose Tyler a couple of regenerations ago. But enough with the pleasantries. There was a scheme in motion, and the Vamtreeian had every intention of guaranteeing its success. His scheme being to use the Weeping Angels that populate Zylock to drain the Doctor’s energies to revitalize himself, after the ill-fated team up with the Master and Reznor, and their attempt to steal the Doctor’s identity and use it to spread chaos across the universe. Which only resulted in that body wearing out and forcing a regeneration in unsafe circumstances, which left his new body a Frankenstein. Then that one was destroyed by the Toymaker, and the Vamtreeian regenerated again, into his current body: that of an older chocolate-haired gentleman with deep set eyes and a manic grin. Oh, and there was the fact he was currently confined to his life support throne, as the sudden power drainage from that team up with the Master, coupled with the sudden loss of his new body when the Toymaker caught him cheating at cards, had left him unable to walk. Now he knows how Davros feels… Nevertheless, his devious mind could not be contained. He peered down to the sight of the Doctor dodging a blow from his lackey’s electric club while trying to maintain eye contact with every Weeping Angel at once. He gave an evil snicker.

 

“I think your chances of thwarting me this time are dropping exponentially, brother. Quite frankly, if you must insist upon preventing my return to full strength, you could at least make a fight out of it!” He gave a mocking yawn. “You’re boring me, Doctor.”

 

“Well, watching this space is a whole lot more… what’s the word? …Isolated, that’s it! …isolated than actually participating down here in person!” The Doctor’s words could not have been more accurate, as Ruby huddled tightly to his back, desperately trying to keep eye contact with the three Weeping Angels in front of her. The leading figure, a hulking dark green ogre wearing torn brown pants, continued his advance. His name was Drak. He gave a vicious laugh, knowing the Doctor wouldn’t be able to squeeze out of this one. If he moved, the Weeping Angels would get him and Ruby. If he stayed put, Drak would kill them instead. And if either of them blinked, it’s game over anyway.

 

“No more run-run, Doc-Tom!” Drak grunted. He pointed at them both with a sadistic smile on his face. “You – trap!” He laughed sadistically at his joke before raising his club again. This is bad news. Ruby’s already struggling to maintain eye contact, and the Doctor’s facing the wrong way to stop the Angels advancing when she inevitably has to blink.

 

“Now this is some sport, brother. Who will crack first, your girl or the locals? I shouldn’t doubt we’re going to find out shortly… and then the temporal energy from the lives you would have lived will flow through the Angels, right into their harnesses and grant me full mobility to conquer the universe once more. And you will not stop me, because you’ll be stranded in history without a TARDIS!” But even as the Vamtreeian began another evil laugh, he did not anticipate the sudden spectacle that was about to unfold before his eyes. A blue portal opened up, right in front of him, and to his surprise, a young redheaded woman wearing a blue and white bodysuit came flying out of it, kicking him in the stomach and giving them both an electric shock from the life support throne. The woman landed back on her feet in seconds, leaving the Vamtreeian to prop himself up in fury. “Bunnyx. I might have suspected you would find a way to interfere with my plans once again…”

 

“Time is a fragile thing, Vamtreeian. There are reasons why it cannot be altered for one’s sadistic amusement! Release the Doctor at once!”

 

“And deny myself the temporal energies necessary to complete my return to power? In essence, destroying my own plan? Ha ha ha. You always were good for a laugh. But alas, I have an… appointment to keep, and I cannot reschedule purely for your convenience. Quink?” The Vamtreeian turned to his left, towards his faithful Ood lieutenant. “Kill her.” The Ood nodded and rose his translator orb as he menacingly marched towards a retreating Bunnyx.

 

“My apologies for your untimely demise, Miss Kubdel, but my master depends your excruciating end. Goodbye.” He shot out his translator orb at Bunnyx, who managed to block it by opening her umbrella. It remained in motion for a few moments before Quink recalled it. “Your umbrella is an interesting contraption. I must look forward to recovering it for my master.”

 

“You’re going to be waiting a long time, Quink! But fighting you will have to wait. I’ve already noticed the Angels are closing in on the Doctor, I’ll have to save him first!” Quink was too slow in throwing his translator orb again, and Bunnyx escaped into another Burrow. Frustrating, but nothing too unworkable. Or rather that’s what they thought…

 

“Ruby, are you sure you’re overexerting your eyes, trying to avoid blinking?”

 

“You said not to blink! Ok, I could try winking or closing one eye and opening the other if that helps?”

 

“For a while it might, but it’s impossible to continually shut one eye and open the other for any period of time before closing both. It’s normally much safer to keep both eyes open than to risk it.”

 

“O…K… we could blindfold some perhaps…?”

 

“Do you really want to get close enough to a Weeping Angel to put a blindfold on them so they can’t see you blink? One wrong move and you could find yourself trying to invent the wheel or… whatever…”

 

“Err… oh! We could try what the Indians do to keep safe from tiger attacks and wear a human face mask on the back of our heads!”

 

“So the Angels would think they’d been spotted first…? Hmm… could be worth a try, but we haven’t got any human face masks, so we’re trapped…” Or so the Doctor feared for a moment, until another portal opened up right in front of them. An arm suddenly shot out and grabbed the Doctor by the jacket, pulling him in. Sensing the opportunity, Ruby followed suit. The Angels knew they were no longer being looked at and alongside Drak they rushed to attack, but the portal too quickly for even them, much to the Vamtreeian’s fury.

 

“Clever, Bunnyx… very clever…(!) Oh well… it just gives me more time to plan my revenge…”

 

(scene break)

 

“Woah! That was a close one! No need to thank me, Doctor, it’s just what I do!”

 

“Bunnyx… it’s been a while since I saw one of your kind in person. Not since my recorder days and that Yeti attack on Ben Nevis… ah, memories… So! Good to see you, Alix. Bit taller since last time I saw you, you had a growth spurt?”

 

“I’m a different Bunnyx to the one you usually visit, Doctor. I’m from her future. But I do remember all those adventures we’ve had so far… Daleks in New Shanghai, Cybermen on Venus, that business with the Sontarans and Slitheen at the 3024 Olympics…”

 

“Not to mention Autons in London, the Axons building the Great Pyramids of Giza… and I think there was something regarding the Wirrn in eighteenth century Madagascar…”

 

“Exactly, Doctor. We have had some fun.”

 

“Ok, can someone fill me in on all this, please?”

 

“I’ll explain later, Ruby. Firstly, let’s get Alix here back to her own time…”

 

(Doctor Who Theme Tune)

Chapter Text

Unbeknownst to anyone in that particular section of the French capital at that moment in time, specifically right across the way from the Dupain-Cheng bakery, there came a sound very familiar to people across the Channel, except slightly more menacing. There weren’t too many people around to witness the sight of what appeared to be a Portaloo randomly materialising out of nowhere. In seconds, an older chocolate-haired gentleman in a very high tech wheelchair, almost futuristic even, emerged from it, swiftly followed by his Ood henchman, who spent a few seconds more struggling to pull a rubber mask of a human face over his natural visage. The gentleman turned around to look at his pinnacle of technology for a moment, only to be swiftly disappointed.

 

“Really? Of all the items it could appeared as…” He gave a bitter sigh. “…at least this isn’t a music festival. Things could get messy otherwise…”

 

“And do bear in mind who would have the job of cleaning it up, sir.”

 

“Urgh, do keep quiet here, Quink. I don’t know exactly what twenty-first century viewpoints on manservants are… But enough of that. We are in the right time period, we are in the right location, and with any luck, that wretched girl will be coming passing us at any moment. Are you absolutely certain of your instructions?”

 

“But of course, master. Oh sorry, I mean Ian, for purposes of this disguise. When Bunnyx comes across that road over there, I press the button and summon our little friends to surround her.”

 

“Exactly. With any luck, she’ll soon be exactly where I want her – stranded in the past without her Miraculous. Then, not only will her future self who thwarted my rebirth cease to exist, but I will have her Miraculous for my own purposes. Now the trap is set. All we need to do now is wait.”

 

And so they did. For ages. And ages. Eventually it reached midday, and the mysterious wheelchair user grew bored. Where was she? Was she off sick today or something? Did he get the wrong location when he backtracked her entire existence to learn when to strike? What is he doing wrong?

 

“I am starting to wonder if we got the correct location, my friend. I was certain the bus would have come by now.”

 

“Oh, maintaining your disguise is hopeless at the moment, Quink. And I’m hungry. Looks like there’s a bakery over there, get me something to eat. Head to the drawing room and borrow a few credits from my private stash.” Quink gave a respectful bow.

 

“Of course, sir.” And so he walked back inside the Portaloo. Glaring around for a moment or two, his mysterious master began to contemplate the nature of this unforeseen delay. He was so certain that she would have passed them by now! And then Quink came back outside…

 

“I think I might have the answer, Ian. When did you remember to factor in the fact that today is a Saturday into your calculations?” The Vamtreeian facepalmed in annoyance.

 

“Just now…”

 

“If I might be so bold, there might be someone in the bakery who knows her.” His master was about to respond when the answer came into view. Two girls, neither the girl they were looking for, but both around the same age as she would be at this time, came strolling down that very street. One a bluenette of mixed heritage between France and China, and the other a darker skinned girl in a plaid shirt. That could be exactly what they needed to find Alix Kubdel and remove the threat she poses. Hence, Quink called out to them and, claiming to be an Egyptologist who’d come to meet with Alix’s father, asked them if they knew where the Kubdel residence was. The two girls were happy enough to provide directions for him. He thanked them kindly and left alongside his wheelchair-bound master. Both slipped into an alleyway…

 

“Now that was devious, Quink. I respect that. We have a location. We have our target. She cannot run, she cannot hide. And that infernal Doctor, my accursed brother, is none the wiser of the danger she is in. With her out of the way, my revitalisation plan will succeed, and then the real work can begin…” Quink tore his mask off as he gave a look in his eye that indicated he was thinking about something in particular.

 

“Shall I continue onwards to the girl’s residence, master? I could finish her in seconds.” The Vamtreeian shook his head. This must look like anything but a targeted execution. The Weeping Angel ploy would be much safer. No one ever suspects a statue after all. These days especially, they really shouldn’t take everything at face value. But thankfully no one ever learns that and so the Angels still have a food source. And when they find the girl’s location, boy will they feed. By this time tomorrow, Alix Kubdel will be stuck in the past, centuries out of time, and without her Miraculous way home. And with her present day incarnation stranded to live and die long before the Vamtreeian’s plans came into effect, her future self who foiled his plans would cease to exist. His complete revitalization will be accomplished, and then they can return to the matter of universal conquest! Or at least, that’s what he was hoping. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of someone watching them at the entrance to the alleyway. He turned around. It was the bluenette girl. Obviously all too eager to help, or perhaps she’d got something she thought might be of use to that Egyptology meeting Quink claimed to have, she’d followed them. And obviously noticed Quink removing his mask. Both figures stared at her. She quickly succumbed to fear and bolted. The girl might well have heard too much, she must be silenced in case she does know Alix Kubdel! His eyes beginning to glow red, Quink came running after her. The Vamtreeian himself remained hidden in the darkness of the alleyway, unwilling to risk his exposure so quickly…

 

(scene break)

 

It was fortunate for Marinette that Alya hadn’t gotten too far ahead of her in the time it’d taken her to pick up the keys she’d thought Quink had dropped, run in that alley after him to give them back and get terrified by the sight of his true face. Of course, the Ood are not a menacing force unless under the control of someone of great physic power, but Marinette did not watch a particular sci-fi show as much as Alya did and so did not know that. Though she did know enough about the show to recognise the figure chasing her as a monster from that show. So fortunate then that she managed to escape Quink by hiding behind a bush in a highly populated area. Unable to see her, he walked straight past her, at which point she climbed out and ran up to her best friend and engulfed her in a tight hug.

 

“Girl, you are acting strange right now. Is there something you want to tell me?”

 

“That British programme you’re such a fan of, Alya, what’s it called?”

 

“The Wheel, you mean? Actually girl, I much prefer our version…”

 

“Not that one, the science fiction show! The one with the time traveller in a blue box that’s bigger on the inside…!”

 

“Ah, I get you! So what’s got you into Doctor Who all of a sudden?” Somewhat frantically, Marinette explained what had happened, how she thought one of the men they’d helped earlier had dropped something, and how she discovered one of them was a squid-faced alien upon trying to give it back. Alya was not as surprised as Marinette thought she’d be. She correctly identified the creature Marinette had seen as an Ood, explaining to her friend that the Ood are not hostile unless someone else is controlling them, and if this one comes back, they might be able to reason with him and come to an understanding. Which came back to haunt her in just a few seconds, as Marinette screamed at the sight of Quink coming back. Hearing the noise, he looked their way. He began to approach.

 

“Ok… ok… this is bad! Super bad!”

 

“Don’t worry Mari, he’s probably just scared or something! Or maybe that guy he was with thought you’d seen something confidential… look, Ood aren’t invaders, ok?” Just as she finished saying that, Quink came within speaking distance.

 

“We are normally docile, it is true, but as your kind will enslave mine in a few thousand years, we are also content to serve. Just as I must ensure your young friend will not go warning Alix Kubdel about my master’s plans.”

 

“Ok, ok, let me try to understand this here. First off, what’s your name? I know Ood don’t usually require names but surely your master has some name for you…”

 

“You are knowledgeable of my kind. I admire that. I am referred to as Quink. My people live to serve. As for why I must end your friend’s life, my master is who you would refer to as The Vamtreeian.” Alya’s eyes went wide. Oh no… “Recently, the adult form of Miss Kubdel thwarted an attempt to use Weeping Angels to revitalise himself after the impact of his last encounter with the Doctor. My master did not like this. So we intend to prevent that outcome from coming to fruition.”

 

“You’re going to kill Alix, just so your boss can live? I’ve seen the show, Quink, I know what kind of man, or woman for that matter, the Vamtreeian is! If he thinks we’re going to let you murder our friend so his plans can succeed…!”

 

“That would seem doubtful. Because in the event that you or any of your friends attempt to stop us, I am authorised to ensure you suffer her fate as well. But do not worry. I am not going to kill you. Or Miss Kubdel for that matter. I am simply going to make sure her future self existed far too early for her to be able to stop us. And before you question how I intend to do this, I have some friendly advice for you both. Please refrain from blinking.” As Marinette shuddered even more, Alya’s eyes went wide as Quink pressed a button on his translator orb. Immediately, two stone statues, expertly carved in the shape of angels materialised in front of him. Alya gave a short yelp of fear. She recognised the Weeping Angels well. She knew what would happen if they blinked… and what would happen if they touched them…

 

“Oh no… oh no no no no no… Girl, listen to me, don’t blink! Blink and you’re dead!” Somewhat mockingly, Quink pressed another button on his translator orb, playing a recording of the remaining part of the Doctor’s warning about Weeping Angels…

 

“They are fast, faster than you could believe. Don't turn your back, don't look away, and don't blink!” …before he rose the orb above the pairs’ eyes…

 

“I’m afraid you must now disappear. My apologies for this development. I trust you will be comfortable whenever you are sent.” …and a blindingly white light erupted from it, only for a split second, but it was so bright to force Marinette and Alya to close their eyes, sealing their fate. Their screams filled the streets for the tiniest fraction of a second, before both their Miraculouses clattered against the sidewalk, their kwami power source drained.

 

(scene break)

 

Of course, the main reason why the Vamtreeian had been unable to find Alix directly was because, quite simply, she’d been kept home for a few days, helping her father and brother prepare the Louvre for a rather special event. Besides that, tomorrow was Nathaniel’s birthday, and with him obviously being busy tomorrow, and being the close friend she was, Alix decided to help him celebrate. The idea was that she and Nate would hang out for a bit, while the rest of the class helped decorate the Kubdels’ part of the Louvre for an epic arty party. Having known Nate longer than most of the others, Alix knew there weren’t a lot of things that mean more to him than art. So an arty party seemed like a pretty good deal. And of course, wanting to make it absolutely perfect for him, Alix needed extra time to arrange everything. Good thing it was half-term week as well… As such, matters were plentiful for the girl squad in the past few days. Even now, Alix was overseeing the final finishing touches to her room for tonight’s party. Overseeing in that it was mainly Kim doing all the work, given he’s much taller than her and the only ladders in the Louvre are in the actual museum, so she couldn’t reach the ceiling as easily to decorate. Plus he still technically owed her for that Timebreaker fiasco. Maybe she’d been wrong about the meathead all along, he does seem to be a decent electrician, given how well he’s putting up those lights…

 

“…and… check! That ought to do it! Perfect!”

 

“Let’s see them light up!” She flicked the switch, engulfing the room in sparkling lights. Kim stepped off the stool he’d used as a boost, evidently pleased with his work.

 

“Not bad for an amateur, eh? If my athletic career doesn’t take off, maybe I should go into the family business after all…”

 

“Yeah… don’t give up the day job, Kim. Still, thanks a ton for coming over at such short notice. Probably couldn’t have done it without you.”

 

“Hey, what are friends for? I mean, I’ve got nothing on until Tuesday and my workouts aren’t getting me the oomph I prefer anymore, so… meh. Plus we both know Nate’s a special case. First friend in the class, was it?” Alix nodded. “Thought so. I barely even knew he existed until a week or so before fourth grade. He blends in really well, doesn’t he?”

 

“Yeah well, most of the time he’s sitting behind Ivan, so that helps considerably. But we both know Nate’s emotionally fragile. You heard what happened when he first met Marc, right?”

 

“Yeah… never seen him do anything like that before…” Kim gave a contented sigh as he sat down on Alix’s bed. She quickly sat down beside him, taking a brief glance at the glowing energy cube with weird symbols on it on her bedside table that she used as a nightlight. “Memories… really takes me back, you know. To when there were fewer monster outbreaks and new heroes cropping up all over the city… Good times… You’d understand the value of nostalgia, wouldn’t you? Living in a museum and all that…”

 

“You’d think, Kim… you’d think so… But there’s still a part of me that thinks nostalgia isn’t always a good thing. I mean, you should see the things I’ve been dreaming about recently… one where I was some ancient Chinese chick and the original Rabbit Miraculous holder…”

 

“Hmm… I’m no analyst, I save that stuff for Max, but that sounds to me like you’re looking back on past lives. Interesting. You get any more of those, let me know, I’m actually interested.” Kim stood up and made his exit, presumably he had something else to do before the party tonight. Still, even then Alix felt some form of tingling in the back of her head, as if she felt Kim was closer to the truth than he realised. Could it be possible that she’s not only the current Rabbit Miraculous holder, but also the original too? And if that’s the case, is she every Rabbit Miraculous holder that’s ever existed? She did not know. Nor did she have any idea if she wanted to. But still, it was difficult not to think about. What had she done in her previous lives, if this was even true at all…?

 

The sound of hurried breathing cut her train of thought short. She looked around anxiously, before the familiar sight of a tomato-haired friend of hers came bursting through the door, slamming it shut behind him and hugging her tightly.

 

“Nate?”

 

“A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-A-Alix…” He was stuttering so badly it was a wonder Alix managed to make out anything he was saying. The words ‘statue’, ‘angel’ and ‘don’t blink’ kept cropping up. Hmm… these words meant something to her. They indicate Weeping Angels are in Paris. During all that time in the Burrow, Alix had run into the Doctor and his rogues gallery a few times, and she had indeed met the Weeping Angels before. But what would they want with Paris all of a sudden? Maybe they want to turn it into a battery farm, like they tried to do with Manhattan in the 30s? Or perhaps they want the Rabbit Miraculous so they could use its power to feed more efficiently? Alix didn’t know. And she didn’t want to find out. But why were they chasing Nathaniel of all people? Hmm… Before she could rationalise it in any way, a stone fist tore through her wooden bedroom door. Nate hid behind Alix as the Angel smashed its way through, quantum-locking just short of touching her head.

 

“Easy… easy… I know these guys from my time in the Burrow… it’s a Weeping Angel… just don’t take your eyes off it, don’t even blink, and we’ll be fine…”

 

“And how do we get rid of it?”

 

“Hmm… I’ll probably need my Miraculous… second drawer on the left, Nate. If I keep looking at it, you can grab my Miraculous and throw it to me.”

 

“Or I could use mine and create a screen of some kind! You know, so it can’t see us!”

 

“But then we couldn’t see it either! Unless you seriously know how to draw a two way mirror, so it can’t see us but we can see it…” Nath shrugged embarrassedly. Yes, that is the one flaw in his plan… While rushing to find Alix’s Miraculous for her, he suggested other ideas for something he could draw, like a blindfold so the Angel couldn’t see them blink. Alix shot down that idea because she for one didn’t want to get close enough to the Angel to put the blindfold on it. If she did, she might find herself back in the Jurassic era again. Except this time, without an easy way to get back to the future… Then, just as he knocked over her strange nightlight thing, and muttered something to the effect of ‘I can’t find it Alix, the Angel’s going to get us!’, something in the drawer caught Nate’s eye. Two fob watches? What’s this other one, golden with some weird symbols inscribed into its lid? It didn’t seem like Alix’s style… But he didn’t get much chance to think on that before remembering the Weeping Angel. He picked up both watches and ran back over to Alix, just as her eyes became too tired and she shut them. With Nate still looking at the Angel, it didn’t move, much to his relief. But then common sense obviously left him, as he handed Alix her Miraculous. In doing so, his head turned a couple of degrees too far for him to be looking at the Angel. Too late did he realise his mistake. He shoved one fob watch down his trouser pocket and hugged Alix tightly, just as the Angel tapped her head, making them both disappear.

 

(scene break)

 

From the interior of his TARDIS, a much darker and more sinister looking take on the one the Eighth Doctor had in the TV movie, the Vamtreeian was watching both encounters. He gave a devious smile. That’s two pairs down, and one of them featured Alix Kubdel, who now cannot exist at the correct time to thwart his rebirth on Zylock. But still, he was not entirely content. As a Time Lord, he was obviously very familiar with how time works. And there was something about an item in Alix’s room that he found familiar. That cube… could it have been a messenger? Could it somehow work in the same fashion the one that his brother used to summon the Time Lords just in time for his trial? Like the ones that House used to lure the Doctor into a trap? It’s possible. Too possible for the Vamtreeian’s liking. He began to think. In addition to that, he did see one fob watch hit the floor when the Angel got Alix and Nate, but was that the Rabbit Miraculous or the strange other one that Nath found? Hmm… it might be worth playing it safe on this one… There was talk of a party between the Chinese girl and the dark skinned one. Suppose it was at Alix’s place and one of their friends happened to find the Rabbit Miraculous? Then they might use to attempt a rescue, and so risk undoing everything he planned! His mind made up, he pressed a few buttons on the console. He was going to warn Quink at once. The full squadron of Angels would have to be deployed when this party was due to happen. With the partygoers stranded across time, there would be no one left to rescue Alix and allow her to become the woman who would thwart his revitalization. He would return to full strength and mobility! And then, he would finally have his revenge on the universe that spurred his genius!

Chapter Text

It was cold underneath when she finally re-awoke. Nate was already there, huddling her for warmth in this cold environment. Alix’s mind began to filter the possibilities. When did that Angel send them? She looked around at her new surroundings. They’re both propped up against the walls of a small cave on a cliff, overlooking what appeared to be a field of some sort. All covered in snow and ice. Hmm… that could indicate the Ice Age, but it could also be any time in winter, so that doesn’t really narrow it down too much. Then they heard a trumpeting sound, and turned to the cave entrance. They saw a herd of mammoths walk through the canyon far below. Definitely the Ice Age…

 

“The Ice Age. Why am I not surprised?”

 

“At least you’ve probably been here before, Alix, I haven’t!”

 

“I’ve visited many places on my travels through time, Nath, but this wasn’t one of them. We’re talking a cold comfort here alright…”

 

“Brrr… if you’re done punning, can we discuss the actually important things? Like what in the world was that thing?! And how are we going to get back home?!”

 

“Nath, I need you to calm down, shout too much and you might trigger an avalanche and then we’d never get home! As for what that creature was, I’ve met their kind before. Weeping Angels. A friend of mine calls them the most humane psychopaths in the universe. They send you back in time and feed on the potential energy of the life you otherwise would have lived. You can only stop them by looking at them. Doing so quantum-locks them, in essence they turn to stone for as long as anything, even another Angel, is looking at them. And they’re fast. And strong. And lethal. Even blinking gives them a chance to strike.” Nath shuddered, either with worry or cold.

 

“Then I guess we also need to ask why it went after us…”

 

“Meh, probably a survivor of a previous encounter I had with them. Wanted revenge, so it followed you to my place so it could send me back in time. And you were holding onto me when I got touched, so you came with me. Back in time to the coldest time in history. Still… that reminds me… we need to get back. Quickly. Ideally before we devolve into cavemen and spend the rest of our lives bashing rocks and the like… Did you get my watch?”

 

“One of them, at least. Funny thing, you know. I found both of them in your sock drawer…” He took out the fob watch from his trouser pocket. Alix gave an annoyed look. That’s not the right one, and where did this one even come from?

 

“Oh Nate, that’s not my Miraculous! You must have dropped it before we got hit! Oh, drat, drat, drat! We could be stuck here forever!”

 

“Hey… don’t worry too much, Alix… maybe this one’s got time-travelling powers too…” Alix gave a reluctant chuckle.

 

“Or maybe when the others arrive at that party I was planning for you, they’ll find the Miraculous, maybe the Angel too, and piece together what happened and come back to save us…” She gave a solemn sigh. “A girl can dream, can’t she?” She threw her head in her hands. “This week has just been one thing after another, Nath. First Alya drags me into another get-Marinette-together-with-Adrien meeting, then I have a near miss with the DJ bookings, and now my time traveling past catches up to me and hurls me back into a freezing climate! And that’s not to mention those strange dreams I’ve been having recently…”

 

“Whoa whoa whoa, back up, what’s this about strange dreams…?”

 

“Just some random things I’ve been seeing, Nath. Kim thought I was remembering past lives or something. Like, recently I dreamt I was the original Rabbit holder in the original Miraculous Order in Ancient China. And then another night I dreamt I was another Rabbit holder, this time a guy from the 1500s. Isn’t that weird?” Nath looked puzzled for a moment…

 

“Yeah… ok, the 1500s maybe not so much, you could honestly pass for either gender,” Alix gave another chuckle. Trust Nath to make her laugh out loud… “but it’s still something unusual…”

 

“That’s the other thing. Most dreams have a degree of outlandishness to them, or at least mine do, but these ones felt… real… like I actually lived as them once… I’m just not sure what to make of them…” Nath gave a shrug. Clearly he’s no more a psychoanalyst then Kim is a mermaid, as he freely admitted in an attempt to lighten the mood. That earnt a chuckle from both of them. But it didn’t last long. Nate’s jokes might well cheer her up, but they’re not getting them any closer to getting back home. Which is certainly a bummer, not just because it means wasting that awesome party she’d spent all week arranging, but it also means the only one of their friends they’ll see for the rest of their lives being each other. Which in of itself isn’t inherently a bad thing - Nate’s not bad company, far from it - but there are others they’ll never see again, like Marinette, Alya and Kim, and their respective families. So would they be able to find a way home, or would they be doomed to freeze to death long before their friends realised what happened? Then her eyes turned back to the fob watch Nate dropped down in front of them… “Where did you find that again?”

 

“Sock drawer. No idea what it was doing there, or why you’d even have something like that. Looks like it’d better suit Chloe than you…”

 

“Yeah… strange… Hey… you feeling that…?”

 

“What, the cold? How can I feel much else right now?”

 

“No no, I mean the sensation I’m feeling from it. I don’t know, it feels… familiar to me somehow… Which is weird, as I don’t remember seeing it before in my life…”

 

“Maybe it’s something from one of those previous lives? Who knows what could have happened between Ancient China and the 1500s?”

 

“I don’t know, Nath… but I’m feeling there’s something in there that I need to know… like a part of me that’s been missing for years…” Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Alix pried the lid open… and the golden lights inside illuminated the cave. To such an extent that Nath was forced let go of her and cover his eyes with both hands. The entire spectacle lasted for slightly longer than a second, before the light faded. When it had, Alix stared around her for a moment, lost in confusion, as Nath climbed back into position. Then she looked at him unfamiliarly, causing him to feel a little uneasy…

 

“A…lix…?”

 

“It is done. I… I remember now… The answer about those dreams… they were my past lives…” Her tone of voice now sounded slightly more formal and upper-class than before. Appropriate for a character whose official species was literally called Lord or Lady.

 

“Alix, what are you talking about?” She looked at him, somewhat confused. “Come on, you remember me… right? It’s me… Nathaniel… your best friend…?” That was the first time he’d actively referred to Alix as such. It was something of a shock for her to hear him refer to her as his best friend. Then finally, the warmth in her eyes returned, and she embraced him in a deep hug.

 

“I could never forget you, Nathaniel. Even as I return to my original breed, I still remember. I still retain my memories from when I was human… when I was completely Alix Kubdel.”

 

“Alix, you are totally confusing me now…”

 

“Huh. I guess I should explain then. A little basic trivia about the Rabbit Miraculous, Natheniel. It is unique in that it is the only Miraculous not to be created on Earth. It was instead created on another planet. My planet. Gallifrey.” Nath’s eyes went wide with realisation. He might not be a total Whoovian like Alya, but he’s at least familiar enough with the show’s lore to know exactly what Alix was referring to.

 

“Alix… are you trying to tell me… you’ve secretly been a Time Lord this whole time? I was so close to seeing the artistic beauty of the entire universe and I never realised until now?”

 

“There are other things that the universe heralds, my friend. To further explain, a few moments ago, I started to think I might be the only Rabbit holder, that I’ve been the holder who’s held the Rabbit Miraculous from the very beginning. Now I know it was true. Yes. I am a Time Lady. I remember it all so clear now… I foresaw the bloodshed miles away… his manipulations… to set the table for warfare… for the conflict that would devastate both races… even back then he worked… he was the one who convinced the High Council to send my uncle to murder them at birth, knowing he would be unable to go through with it… he was the one who told them about the attempt afterwards… and he was the one who manipulated both sides in seizing the Hand of Omega itself… all of that to ensure the endless, limitless, perpetual bloodshed would transpire… all that to ensure the destruction of time itself, if left unchecked. I was smart. I foresaw what my uncle was planning. I fled Gallifrey before the Etra Prime incident. And so I came to this strange world.”

 

“But Alix… how did you ever manage to pass as human then?”

 

“It is easier than you think. Long before you were born, I fought alongside the original Miraculous Holders in ancient China, and I was there during their final battle with Genghis Khan. That was when I first had to regenerate. I became a staple of each complete order. As the book confirms, there have been eleven Rabbit holders counting me throughout history. And yet there was only one. I cycled through regenerations rather quickly, for each full order I’d have a new face and personality. My current body, the one I wear now, is the eleventh. But, to answer how I passed as human, that requires some explanation. As my last body lay dying, long after the previous Order had fallen, I heard in the distance the telltale sound of an extermination. Exactly as I recognised that noise. I feared then that they would find me… destroy me… upon learning I was one of the last Time Lords. So… I used a chameleon arch during my previous regeneration. It’s a machine that rewrote my biology… to become human… like you, Nath. It was the only way to make sure they would never find me…” The terrible knowledge of her true self began to wear her down, as her eyes filled with tears. Nath held her even tighter.

 

“Alix… thank you for telling me. I’m so sorry you had to go through all that.”

 

“Huh, it matters not. Now what matters is I have returned. And now the matter becomes that of how we are to return home…” Her tone of voice became somewhat melancholy as she remembered their present situation… But then something went off in Nath’s tomato-coloured head. That cube he’d knocked over while searching for her Miraculous… he’d only seen it for about a second, but that was something that remained in his mind… the symbols… identical enough to the ones on the fob watch, or as he now knew it, a biodata module… He wondered…

 

“Actually… there could be one hope… you only said you’re ONE of the last Time Lords, right?” Alix nodded. “Then there are others… I saw that nightlight of yours. I knocked it over while I was trying to get your Miraculous. The symbols were close enough to the ones on here. Could that have been something from your own world…?”

 

“I recognise what you speak of… that’s a hypercube, a means of communication between Time Lords… yes, we might have a chance! If it heard you saying something… it might reach my uncle… and we might be able to get home…”

 

(scene break)

 

How fortunate that had indeed transpired, and the hypercube was indeed hurtling through the Time Vortex at this very moment…

 

“…so you’re telling me you actually taught Ringo how to play guitar?”

 

“Ah, you forget, Ruby love, I’ve been traveling these stars for a very long time.” The Doctor gave a whimsical smile as he stared longingly at the twinkling stars on the TARDIS computer screen. “So long in fact, many of them have burned out by now. Then it all returns to stardust, and the cycle continues.” He straightened up, flailing his arms around. “It’s not just Ringo I’ve met either. Houdini…”

 

“The magician, not the Dup Lipa song?”

 

“Of course! …although honestly I didn’t know that was a thing… Still, let’s not dwell on that! Houdini, Churchill, even the Loch Ness monster!” Ruby looked starstruck for a moment before chuckling.

 

“You haven’t!”

 

“Seriously, I have! Stopped the Zygons using it to destroy London one time! Actually that reminds me, I must go back and visit old Nessie sometime…” Before Ruby could respond, the sound of a door knock rang out through the console room. “Hmm, bit weird, not much that can find us out here…” The Doctor wandered up to the door and thrust them open, narrowly dodging being hit in the face by the hypercube that came flying in. It buzzed around Ruby’s head for a moment before she caught it. The Doctor shut the doors and sped back over. “Ah, that explains a lot!”

 

“Does it? What even is this?”

 

“Hypercube, a Time Lord’s form of long-distance communication! Oh this is so exciting, I’ve got mail!” His face quickly fell upon remembering what happened the last time he received a hypercube message. “Although it couldn’t hurt to recon first. Could be a trap. A TARDIS eating monster once tried that on me. It didn’t work out so well for him, mind, but… I don’t want to get my hopes up…” And then the recording played back. The sound of Nate warning Alix he couldn’t find her Miraculous, and then that of their screams as the Angel got them. That was enough to spark the Doctor into action. Sounds like there’s kids in trouble and that is all the call to adventure the Doctor needs!

 

(scene break)

 

And it certainly couldn’t have come at a better time, given the circumstances at the location from which the hypercube originated. Even as the TARDIS materialised in the Kubdel’s part of the Louvre, the place was already under siege from a strange man with a squid-like head. He menacingly circled the group of teenagers, and three young children as Nino had been babysitting Alya’s twin sisters at the time, and Manon told Marinette she wanted to come as well. Only the young twins and Nino were able to recognise him as an Ood, probably due to all those episodes of Doctor Who that Alya made them watch. Everyone else, baring Juleka who seemed in awe of this strange and scary man, shrank back in revulsion as he examined everyone closely, determined to ascertain if the Rabbit Miraculous is still in the building and if anyone here has it. If so, they’d all have to be disappeared…

 

“I will only ask this once more. Does anyone in this room have a fob watch like this?” He held up a printout of the Rabbit Miraculous. Everyone looked at each other worriedly before shaking their heads. “My physic abilities confirm this is the truth. But it does not mean you are off the hook.” He wandered up to Kim. “CCTV footage confirms you were seen leaving Miss Kubdel’s room shortly before Mr Kurtzberg arrived with my associate. You will know which room is hers. Please lead me to it. I must further my investigation.” Cowering in fear, Kim nodded and stuttered.

 

“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever you say, you’re the boss!”

 

“I do not understand. My kind are meant to serve, not to lead… oh wait, it is one of your human expressions, is it not? Very well.” Quink turned around to address the ensemble. “Everyone, please remain where you are until we return. I do not wish to have to harm anyone unnecessarily.” Quink took Kim’s shoulder and they began to walk out, until suddenly the halls echoed with the sound of a loud THWORP THWORP! sound. And then the iconic image of a 1960s police box began to materialize in front of their very eyes. Nino quietly muttered to himself that this was the perfect moment for him to appear, as the Doctor and Ruby emerged.

 

“Nobody panic, babes! The Doctor is in!” He gave a chuckle as he muttered to Ruby, “Oh I’ve been waiting to use that one for ages…”

 

“Doctor…” Quink snarled quietly as he released Kim, and the Vietnamese boy ran over to his friends.

 

“Ah, an Ood! That’s a race I’ve not seen in a while! Not all red eyed and dangerous, I’m hoping!” The Doctor turned to the crowd. “Oh don’t worry, Ood might look a little scary to you, but they’re nice! I mean, come on, what do you do think you look like to him?”

 

“That is a valid argument, Doctor. Although I must warn you about trespassing in this endeavour. As I and my master remember it, you were at our mercy until Miss Kubdel sabotaged my master’s return to full strength.” Every partygoer looked at each other, evidently confused. “To clarify, it was her future self who did this. Hence why she is not here in person. If one cares to examine the exhibits of this museum, one will find what became of her. And as my translator orb is detecting high amounts of magical energy from all of you, I can only assume that at least one more Miraculous is among your possessions. In which case, should any of you decide to transform, I shall have to do the same to you as well.” The partygoers started herding backwards towards the walls as the Doctor and Ruby advanced towards the menacing Ood, dashing in front of him and cutting him off from the classmates…

 

“I know it all, Quink. Weeping Angels. That’s how you did it, isn’t it? That’s how you displaced Alix in time.”

 

“Very clever, Doctor. But still, if you know so much about my friends, I’m sure you’d have no problem instructing these children on how to survive them. It’s becoming obvious I will have to destroy you now and finish my investigation once each of you has their own exhibit in this museum.” Quink pressed a button on his translator orb. Immediately, the room was bursting with stone statues, all expertly carved in the shape of angels.

 

“Weeping Angels, I knew it!”

 

“Less showboating, more helping!”

 

“Oh yes, thanks Ruby, I nearly forgot! Right, everyone, hear me out, this is an emergency! The Weeping Angels are among the most terrifying of predators, and an attack by them is among the hardest to survive, so listen to me very carefully – DON’T BLINK. Eyes open, keep them in your line of sight at all times! They’re faster than you’d believe and they’d catch you in the time it takes to blink, so don’t! Weeping Angels can only move if nobody is watching them, and looking at them quantum-locks them, meaning they turn to stone and can’t move. Their touch will also send you back in time with no hope of recovery - except when I’m around of course! - allowing them to feed on the potential energy of the life you’d otherwise have lived. So don’t take your eyes off them, and don’t let them touch you, don’t let any of them touch you!”

 

“Good advice, Doctor. But that is the game one usually plays with these creatures. When the Angels have in their possession someone capable of altering the odds in their favour… you are all doomed. Exhibit A.” Quink rose his translator orb above his head, causing the lights in the room to fail, engulfing the room in darkness for a second. When the lights came back on, the Weeping Angels had advanced a few feet. “I think the implication is quite clear by now.”

 

“You’re sick. A psychopathic, uncivilised monster!”

 

“Thank you, Miss Sunday. It comes with the team. Now, does anyone else want to risk a blink?” Nobody seemed eager to take Quink up on his offer… but then Kim stepped forwards, despite the Doctor’s warnings…

 

“You creatures don’t want to do this!”

 

“Give us one good reason why we shouldn’t.” Everyone was shocked. That wasn’t Quink this time. That voice was softer, like a fairy’s… and then the Angel continued. “Oh yes, we can use the consciousness of someone we’ve already killed to communicate with you. In this instance, it was Tiki, the kwami of Ladybug. You see, we found her in civilian form earlier this very day…”

 

“What did you do to her?!”

 

“Little girl, didn’t your mother teach you not to interrupt someone while they’re speaking?” Quink mockingly said to Manon, who shrank back behind the Doctor’s leg.

 

“And to answer your question: she wanted to how the original Order of the Miraculouses was formed in ancient China, so we gave her and her friend a front row seat! Both of them will now be stranded in ancient China, possibly right at the moment Genghis launched his first invasion, and they may well be standing right at the front!”

 

“But do not fear. There’s a possibility you will join them shortly. The Miraculouses will be invisible to you, as per their instructions, and each of you will arrive far away from the ones of the time as well. There will be no return trips back here. And just in case you get any ideas, Doctor…” Quink looked around suddenly, noticing the Doctor and Ruby had disappeared. Kim pointed them out to him: they’d fled back to the TARDIS while the enemy was distracted! Quink snarled and rose his translator orb…

 

“Ok ok, here’s why you shouldn’t come near us! You see, it’s all on Juleka over there…” Kim pointed backwards towards the purple-haired girl, who was clearly struggling to maintain eye contact with the Angels and didn’t appreciate what Kim was trying to imply, “…when she was akumatised, e.g. given superpowers, she became Reflekta, and she could turn people into clones of herself! She can do it to others too, you know, make other people look like whatever she wants! Oh and, there’s that mirror manipulation and generation trick, where she can generate massive mirrors out of nothing! Come any closer and she’ll bring up a mirror so large all of you will be quantum-locked forever!” That was a pretty good idea from Kim for once. Weeping Angels can be defeated by using a mirror to trap them with their own deadly stares. None of the Angels dared to make a move, allowing the class time to rest their eyes. Of course, what the Angels didn’t know was that most of the powers Kim claimed Reflekta had were complete fabrications, lies told to trick the Angels into thinking Juleka could destroy them all if she was pushed. But that only fooled the Weeping Angels themselves, not necessarily Quink himself. He lowered his translator orb and pressed the call button. He was obviously calling his master to validate Kim’s claims. The answer he got back sent a shiver down Kim’s spine.

 

“He is lying. Only one of the powers listed were utilised by Miss Couffaine as the supervillain codenamed Reflekta. There is no danger in proceeding.” He rose his translator orb in front of his head and prepared to press the button for the blinding light…

 

“Ruby, get in, emergency launch!”

 

“What?! Doctor, we have to help them!”

 

“And we can’t do that if the Angels get us too and separate me from the TARDIS! Again…” Accepting the Doctor’s argument, Ruby weakened and followed him in, apologizing profoundly to the class who were about to meet their maker thanks to Quink, who pushed the button and a blindingly white light erupted from it, only for a split second, but it was so bright to force the entire class to close their eyes, sealing their fate. Their collection of screams echoed through the halls of the Louve for the tiniest fraction of a second, before their Miraculouses clattered against the hard floor, their kwami power source drained.

 

(scene break)

 

“Excellent work, Quink. Excellent work.” The Vamtreeian seemed overjoyed with the progress of his objective. Inside the dark confides of his TARDIS, the villainous Time Lord began to send out a message. A message to each member of his so-called Coalition of Darkness, a powerful consortium devoted to the unifying desire of a number of the Doctor’s rogues gallery – revenge. The screens lit up with the faces of each member: Beep the Meep, Skavak, Prince of Skaro (although whether or not he is actually Davros’s son remains unverified), and his personal battalion of Daleks who fled the Time War, Ice Warrior warlord Akaszrin, the 150th Sontaran Technological Rapid Advancement in Warfare (STRAW for short) armada and their leader - Director of Advanced Weapons Research - Commander Strok, Emperor Grodast of the Zygons, an unnamed Terileptil criminal, a Kraal warlord and a tribe of Sycorax. “Attention all leaders of the Coalition of Darkness. This is the Vamtreeian speaking. A personal project requires your assistance. I have had my Weeping Angels displace a group of threats to my revitalising in time. I want you to make sure they stay that way. I am sending over a list of the years in which the victims were sent. Each of you has free reign to do what you like on Earth in that time period, provided our neutral enemy – the Doctor – is sufficiently delayed in rescuing them. All who succeed will collect the reward. Do not disappoint me.”

 

(scene break)

 

“Ok, flip a few switches, press a few buttons, pull that lever, babe,” Ruby did so. “…and we are in business!”

 

“Doctor, what exactly are we planning on doing? Those kids, we can’t just leave them!”

 

“Do I look like I’m abandoning them, Ruby? Huh? No no no no no, what I’m doing… is saving them. You see, normally when a Weeping Angel touches you, you get sent back in time without a trace. But if you’re wearing something magical when that happens… Aha, bingo! …it leaves an extended half-life of temporal energy. And that is our ace in the hole. Because… that means I can programme the TARDIS to track those energy signatures to the exact location we need to find them!”

 

“That’s… brilliant…!”

 

“Exactly, babe! Right, I just need that timey-wimey detector I built on a previous encounter with the Angels… should be in the drawing room, can you fetch it for me?”

 

“Err… I’ve not been there before.”

 

“Right, simple directions:” he pressed a button on the console, causing a tablet to drop out. “On here, like what you’re looking for.” Ruby nodded and hurried to obey. The Doctor called after her. “Be careful in there, that’s my private study, and there are things in there I don’t want to have to fix! Oh, especially anything behind a clock painting, be careful, we don’t want the Entity running free again!”

 

(scene break)

 

“Alix, do you have any idea how long it’d take for that hypercube to reach a… what did you call it again?”

 

“Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. TARDIS for short. Time and space machine. Awesome things to say the least. Of course, I don’t know exactly how long the duration would be before he took notice of us… but if all’s well, he’ll be here any moment…”

 

“Brr… at least you’re not freezing your butt off waiting for him!”

 

“I’m a Time Lady, Nath. I’m good with the cold. I can survive extreme temperatures that would kill human beings. And if needs be Nate, I’ll happily share my last two regenerations with you.”

 

“What do you mean last two, you’re coming to your end?”

 

“I can only regenerate twelve times, Nath. I can only lead thirteen lives in total. As I said, this one’s my eleventh. Meaning ordinarily I’d have two more to go, but since we’re friends, if you start dying before I do, I’ll let you have one of mine. I promise you, Nath, you’ve never felt what it feels to hold back death…” Nath was about to respond when a familiar sound rang out through the cave… “He is here…” The TARDIS doors flung open, and a familiar Time Lord stepped out.

 

“Ah, smell that, Ruby! The lovely fresh scent of prehistoric Earth!”

 

“Brrr… pretty cold…”

 

“Well, it IS the middle of the Ice Age out there…” His attention quickly shifted towards the two teenagers sitting opposite where he’d landed. “And we’re off to a good start, babe. Lookie here.” He knelt down. “Get down… alright, you, red hair, I got your message, I’m the Doctor.” He shot out a hand, which Nath accepted. “And you are…?”

 

“Nathenial Kurtzberg. So you’re the actual Doctor… I’m starstruck…”

 

“I get that a lot. So… Weeping Angels, huh? What’s a nice guy like you doing getting sent back in time by those humane psychopaths…?” Alix stood up suddenly.

 

“Hello uncle.” The Doctor looked at her suspiciously for a moment, as did Ruby, before something came back to him. Something familiar. Something he hadn’t felt since… Gallifrey. Is she…? He placed an ear to her chest. Yes… one, two, three, four, the heartbeat of a Time Lord! Then he remembered something else… Irving… yes, his oldest brother… Irving Braxiatel… and his grin became uncontainable.

 

“Kubdel… little Kubdel… you’re Irving’s daughter, ain’t ya?”

 

“Alix, what is he… Oh wait, is that your real name? Is Kubdel actually what you’re called?”

 

“The Alix part was added by the chameleon arch. My real name is Kubdel, yes. Kubdel Braxiatel.”

 

“Yes… daughter of Irving Braxiatel, my oldest brother… ah, man, you were graduating the Academy when I last saw you, man how you’ve grown!” Then he remembered neither of them had actually regenerated at that point and so the point might be moot. Still, worth pointing out.

 

“Ka-hem, don’t forget, kids to save!”

 

“Oh yes, thanks for reminding me, Ruby! Again… So, might as well bring you two up to speed: we’ve got a rescue operation and a race against time to start. It wasn’t just you two those Weeping Angels got. Everyone at that party got caught. Your entire class is displaced in time, and if we don’t act fast, their new lives will become fixed points in time! So… I think we’ve got some work to do, don’t you, Kubdel?” Kubdel nodded and climbed aboard her uncle’s Tardis, swiftly followed by Nath and Ruby. “This one’s going to be one for the history books, I can just tell it! If we don’t end up in those history books, mind… Ah, think positive, man! I can only imagine the history project this’ll make…!” And so the doors closed, and the familiar sound of a dematerialising Tardis soon echoed throughout the cave…

Chapter Text

220 BC. About two thousand years out of time. During the reign of Qui Shi Haung, the first emperor of China. When the Great Wall was being finalised. This is where they had been sent by the Weeping Angels. This was where they were trying to hide from the soldiers patrolling the streets of Xianyang. In an alleyway, the two time-displaced girls hid to plan their next move in either staying ahead of the soldiers or finding the original Order of the Miraculous, ‘borrow’ the Rabbit Miraculous and get home. Of course, both were aware that in the latter case, borrowing a Miraculous of the past might count as it being removed from existence, so they’d lose the one in the future which they’d be hoping to use to return the one from the past, which might well count as a paradox. Which is highly confusing. Not to mention the fact they wouldn’t be able to recognise the Miraculouses anyway, thanks to the Angels’ additional stipulation. They were lucky arrived where they did. It could’ve easily been somewhere else, somewhere even worse than this… Boy, did Marinette wish she still had Tiki to turn to… But instead, all she’s got is her best friend, a poorly sketched map of the city, a few time period appropriate disguises and a couple of daggers for self-defence should things get really desperate.

 

“Ok… so we’re about… here… and the major guard routes are here, here and here…”

 

“I still don’t see how this is going to get us home, girl.”

 

“Quiet, you’ll alert the soldiers! Right… so… we’ve got a problem. That Angel sent us back so many years, I can’t even keep track. We need to find a way to get home, or failing that, take the hint and get used to this…”

 

“Urgh… at least you look good as an ancient Chinese peasant, I don’t. And I’m half blind as well, given my glasses didn’t come back with us…!”

 

“Probably some corrective tactic to make sure the impact our displacement made was as little as possible… I get why you called them the most humane psychopaths in the universe now…”

 

“Ha ha, so funny(!) Mari, what are we going to do? Neither of us are good enough with history to blend in probably, certainly not forever at least…”

 

“I know traditional baking methods too, Alya. I’ll be fine, I’m just not sure about you. I can’t see too many outlets for a budding reporter in this day and age…” Alya gave another sigh. This is going to be a nightmare to try and navigate. In a low tech setting like this, there’s almost nothing they can do to survive. And they wouldn’t be able to find the Miraculouses of this era to get back home either! An infuriating combination. Alya could practically hear that smug Ood laughing in her head right now…

 

“Urgh… I’m fine, Mari. It’s just that… we’re in a completely different world. A world where nearly everything we’re used to doesn’t exist yet. And there’s no way home. Honestly girl, you’re going to fit in here a lot more than me, you’re already half-Chinese…”

 

“But that doesn’t mean I can sustain the illusion for long. Err… sorry, poor choice of words! I’m not fully Chinese, and looking around us, there’s only so long we can blend in before people start getting a little too suspicious for comfort…”

 

“So what are we going to do?”

 

“Ok, I’ve got a couple of ideas… you might not like them though…”

 

“As long as they don’t involve us starting a pig farm, I’m fine.”

 

“I was actually thinking more in terms of farming in general. Become farmers, earn a decent living, get accustomed to this new world. Might as well, right? We’re probably going to be here a while, if not the rest of our lives… alternatives, we either start walking until we reach Europe, preferably to whatever will become Paris so we could leave a clue for one of the others – they’ll want to try to find us, I’m certain of that – or, and this is one we really need to keep quiet about, assassinate the Emperor and take over. Now, before you start screaming, if this works, I’ll be able to order the Miraculous Order of this time to come before us, and we’ll have the Rabbit Holder send us into the Burrow, and from there we can find our way home.”

 

“And how’s history going to change if that works? Anything we do that big will rewrite history, girl. And then even if we do get back to the future, something’s bound to have changed dramatically! Urgh… I’ve seen Doctor Who, I know about fixed points in time, girl. If we change too much…”

 

“Yeah, everything goes wrong and the universe ends. So that leaves us with either option A or B. And I think I know what my vote’s going to be…”

 

“So… what? We’re going to become farmers?”

 

“Well, between that, going nomad to keep ahead of the soldiers, or very likely die from exhaustion by walking across two whole continents, I’d much prefer farming to be honest. And anyway, there’s only so much more food I can steal for us before I get caught and possibly executed. Urgh, now I know how Aladdin felt…”

 

“Yeah… decent future ahead of us both, now we’re reduced to street rats. What did I ever do to deserve this…?”

 

“I’m just not going to answer that. Still… something’s bugging me… do you think they actually got Alix too? I mean, that guy did say she was the main target. Do you think she’s somewhere around here?”

 

“Meh, I wouldn’t object to seeing another friendly face around here, but Alix is the central link in all this. If they wanted to stop her becoming the Bunnyx who ruins their plans, they’d have definitely struck hard at her. For all we know, she could be dead and buried right underneath our feet at this very moment in time…” But just then, before Marinette could respond, a sudden noise caught their attention. The noise of marching feet. Oh no. Had the soldiers found them already? Instinctively, Marinette drew her dagger from under her tunic, only to realise it wasn’t going to do her much good. It wasn’t the type of solider they were expecting. It was tall and rocky, like it was carved from… terracotta… Marinette instantly realised what this meant. The Terracotta Army. A collection of terracotta sculptures in the shape of men, designed to protect Qui Shi Haung in the afterlife. But as of when the pair were in time, the Emperor of China was still alive. And Marinette was pretty sure there weren’t meant to move. The soldiers must have been turned into terracotta puppets! But for what purpose? And who could be the twisted puppeteer?

 

(scene break)

 

From his makeshift lair in what would ultimately become the Great Wall of China, the answer was watching the scene with great malicious interest. A small creature, no taller than the Doctor’s hips, with beautiful white fur and deep reddish-brown eyes. The malevolent Beep the Meep. Through a computer screen, and various examples of technology the primitives of Earth wouldn’t see for centuries, the Meep observed the sight of both girls cowering for their very lives at the sight of his mighty Terracotta Army.

 

“The two-hearted man is about to pay very dearly for his interference in our plans. He will come, the Meep foresees it, and once he’s finished mourning over what will be their headless corpses, once my puppets are finished with them, he will be bound and returned to Zylock for his demise! And then I shall collect the reward, and then send forth all of my psychedelic puppets to the four corners of this world! Before this night is through… all on Earth shall hail to the boundless glory of the Meep!” At which point, one of the console started beeping. A call, most likely. The Meep grumbled as he activated it. A visage of the Vamtreeian appeared.

 

“Beep the Meep. I trust your arrival in China was to your liking?”

 

“I’ve had far better journeys across the stars than this, Vamtreeian! But I am content to make do with what I have to achieve victory! Because even now, I have enthused a number of warriors that humans call ‘Terracotta’ with the energy of my psychedelic sun! Their numbers are beyond anything I’ve seen, and with my additional boost, they’ll be unstoppable! When the Doctor comes to rescue the girls, the Meep will strike! I will destroy them all, behead them all, eat them all! Even now I can scarcely imagine the taste of their bloody corpses!” The Meep licked his lips ravenously. The Vamtreeian seemed unconcerned with the Meep’s violent tendencies. He’s a wild card, is the Meep, but he has his uses.

 

“You have a lot to learn in the way of manners, Beep the Meep, but your results are undeniably effective. But be absolutely certain that your plan goes off without a hitch! Remember, you only need to delay the Doctor until time sets around his young friends. Once that happens, any attempt to rescue them will risk the collapse of the universe. But if the Doctor and his young wards should meet with an… accident… all the better for me…” He hung up, leaving the Meep to grumble angrily. Who does this man think he is, daring to boss around the Beep of the Meeps?! The Beep of all Meeps would much rather devour him for his boldness! But working with him does present some benefits. So he will make sure that his goals are ultimately served… His bargaining chips must remain intact. Although equally plausible for their use is as a food source. Excellent. Hence why he waddled over to a small metallic crate and removed the lid… revealing the very worried looking trio of human children inside, up to their waists in some form of alien vinegar. For clarity’s sake, they had not been transported to the same point as Marinette and Alya intentionally. They actually ended up in Mongolia, where the Meep landed originally. From there, he decided to utilise them. Either as a bargaining chip if all goes wrong, or as a food source should he be here long enough. The Beep of all Meeps gave a long look over the children. Hmm… needs more marinating, he thought and closed the lid. If the Doctor and his friends don’t yield, the children will die. And if they fall in combat and the Meep claims the Earth, even better. In which case, the three children will make a most appetising victory dinner…

 

(scene break)

 

“T-T-T-This is… unusual…” Marinette’s comment as the Terracotta Warriors continued to advance was something of an understatement. All of them had their weapons drawn, all prepared to strike the fatal blow and finish them off, two thousand years before they were even born, when suddenly, that familiar sound rang out and a familiar blue box separated the girls from the Terracotta Warriors. How fortunate it actually materialised around them, and they both suddenly found themselves in the familiar white room…

 

“And two more in the bag! This is easier than I thought… which means we can expect trouble sometime soon…” Nath and Kubdel were with the Doctor on the main walkway as the Tardis materialised around Marinette and Alya. It took a couple of minutes for them to get their attention as they looked around, evidently confused. Eventually Nath climbed down and thrust a hand onto one of their shoulders. That caught their attention.

 

“Mari, Alya, glad to see you’re alright!”

 

“Nathaniel!” And then Marinette’s blue eyes caught the sight of the skater girl skating down to their level. “And Alix!” Unable to contain themselves any longer, Mari and Alya dashed forwards and engulfed Kubdel in a warm hug.

 

“Ah, thank goodness you’re ok, we were so worried the Weeping Angels got you too!”

 

“I dread to think how you’ll handle the news of a further troubling development then…” Marinette and Alya stared at Alix for a moment. Her tone sounds different now, slightly more formal. That was not something they’d associate with the Alix they knew. It fell to Nate to answer that question.

 

“O…k… I guess we’ve got some explaining to do… and we’re going to have to do so for everyone we rescue, oh this is going to be fun(!) Ok… long story short, me and Alix got sent back to the Ice Age. Before that, I was trying to get her Miraculous. I find another fob watch in her sock drawer, and when we ended up in a frozen cave, she opened it. It wasn’t the one we thought it was…” Kubdel cleared her throat, wanting to take over.

 

“It was my biodata module. That which contained my true Time Lady identity when I became human at the end of my last regeneration. Now I am myself again. Alix is dropped from my name once more. Now I am my true self once again.” Alya seemed the more interested by this development of the two. Marinette simply stared mouth agape.

 

“Wait, wait, wait, let me get this straight… Alix, you’re really…?”

 

“A Time Lady? Yes, I am. And by the way, my name is not Alix anymore. But feel free to keep calling me that if it’s easier for you. My real name is Kubdel. Kubdel Braxiatel.”

 

“O...k… that’s a bit of a mouthful, mind if we just call you Kubdel?”

 

“If it’s easier for you, feel free to keep calling me Alix.”

 

“This day just gets stranger and stranger…”

 

“Meh, can’t beat spending just under a week hiding from Chinese soldiers, girl.” Kubdel and Nate looked confused for a moment. It had only been a couple of hours for them, and yet it had been just under a week for Marinette and Alya? Hmm…

 

“Perhaps my uncle can shed some light on this…” And so Kubdel skated back up to the console level, where her uncle was still looking at the controls, probably looking over where they’d likely be heading for next. Kubdel asked him about the difference in time between her account and Alya’s. Without even looking up from the computer, the Doctor reminded her that time is a fickle thing, and in cases featuring magic artefacts and Weeping Angels, what passes as an hour for one person could easily be a decade for someone else. All of which makes it crucial to find the others before too long. When Marinette inquired why, the Doctor responded that if he’d arrived much later, the lives she and Alya would’ve had to live in ancient China would have become a fixed point in time, which basically means he wouldn’t be able to rescue them without major consequences for the universe. Furthermore, that time limit he’d discovered applies to everyone they’re trying to save. 48 hours from arrival to save them, or their new lives become fixed and they can never be rescued. Whether or not they’d actually be aware of such was yet to be determined, and the Tardis crew did not fancy finding that out. They’d have to hurry. But just before they were able to depart, a loud thud against the Tardis doors caught their attention. Oh yes, in all the excitement, they’d nearly forgotten. Two of the Terracotta Warriors burst into the Tardis, weapons drawn.

 

“Ah, Terracotta Warriors! I should have known, ancient China and all…”

 

“Mari, you didn’t say anything about these guys!”

 

“You didn’t ask, Nath! And anyway, more importantly, I don’t remember an version of history detailing the Terracotta Warriors coming to life, they’re meant to be statues, right?” Nathenial nodded as the Terracotta Warriors marched towards the console. Now this was problematic. As Kubdel knew, the Doctor only resorts to violence when there is no other solution. As such, the chance of them finding anything to defend themselves with in the Tardis was somewhat remote. At which point, the voice of their twisted puppeteer blared through the console…

 

“Doctor…” Everyone turned to the Doctor, as the recollection of this enemy swept over him…

 

“The Meep…”

 

“So you remember me. How delightful, I won’t have to waste time explaining and delaying your demise at the hands of my soldiers of the psychedelic sun! Before this year ends, the Beep of all the Meeps shall rule over this planet, soon to be a world of Terracotta!” The transmission cut off as the Meep burst into villainous laughter. The Doctor sprang into action and rose his sonic screwdriver, emitting a frequency that froze the Terracotta Warriors in place momentarily. That gives them some time to think anyway… Ruby was the first to speak up.

 

“Doctor… I think I speak for all of us when I ask… who was that?”

 

“The Meep. I’ve met him before. Not too long ago actually. Last survivor of a race driven mad by a psychedelic sun. They captured the Galactic Council, beheaded them and ate them.” The Doctor’s description of the Meep’s history quickly made all four human travellers cover their necks in fear. “The Wrarth Warriors were summoned, and only one Meep, the one you’ve just heard, survived the ensuing conflict. He recently tried to destroy Earth in a bid to escape the Wrarth Warriors. Didn’t work, of course. Still waiting for his boss to take a shot at me though…” The Doctor cleared his throat. “What I want to know is why now? Why would the Meep take a pot-shot at such a critical time…?”

 

“Perhaps if… no, maybe not…” Nath was unable to work out an answer, as was Marinette and Alya. For about a minute, when Marinette suddenly remembered something Quink had said… If he’d been hunting Alix specifically, and his master was as much a master of time as he thinks…

 

“What if… that squid man sent him?” Everyone looked at Marinette confused. “Bear with me here, that man sent the Weeping Angels to attack Alix, right? And he also sent them after me and Alya because he thought we knew too much. Well, what if he knew about the time limit to rescue us? What if he sent the Meep to slow the Doctor down so he’d miss the deadline and we’d be stuck in the past forever?” Everyone looked at each other. It was certainly plausible, and they didn’t have anything to counter with. That seemed the likeliest outcome.

 

“I could see that… If he knew about the deadlines to rescue us, that would explain why the Meep chose now to attack. He must want to stop us rescuing each other. Urgh, but then it becomes a question of who sent that Ood to attack us in the first place…” Nath’s words were met with approval from those around him. Then the answer hit them, as Alya remembered that Ood’s name...

 

“Of course, the Vamtreeian! That’s got to be it! He wanted to stop Alix from becoming the Bunnyx who’d stop him revitalising himself or something, so he sent the Weeping Angels to send her back in time and avert that outcome!”

 

“That makes a lot of sense, and it certainly sounds like something he would do…”

 

“And of course, he’s always been something of a perfectionist. So when he realised my Rabbit Miraculous was still in a position where somebody at the party I’d been planning for Nate could’ve picked it up and attempted a rescue, he ordered for the Weeping Angels to displace every partygoer as well.” Kubdel’s assessment caught Marinette and Alya by surprise. The Doctor and Ruby’s confirmation of the Angel’s success didn’t help either. The rest of their class had been displaced as well? That could be disastrous! History isn’t a strong suit of any of them, besides Alix of course, so they’d never be able to blend in properly! Besides that, if they didn’t keep their Miraculouses, that leaves the door open for anyone to find them and use them to wreak havoc! Though Alya recovered quickly enough to continue her point.

 

“Yeah, yeah, except the Vamtreeian didn’t bank on Alix secretly being a Time Lord, or even his own niece! If he didn’t know about that, he wouldn’t have feared this outcome! So somehow Alix got a message to the Doctor, and now we can mount a rescue operation! …right?” The Doctor looked down at his new companions. Yes, that was the intention, but this also presents its own problems. The Vamtreeian is obviously banking on the fact that the Doctor can never ignore the call to adventure. Or to ensure that history unfolds the way it is meant to. They all knew the world wasn’t enslaved by Terracotta Warriors animated by the Meep in 220 BC, and that is how it must remain. Therefore, as much as they’d like to work out the next destination and leave ancient China behind them, they’ve also got to make sure the monsters the Vamtreeian puts between them and the displaced don’t alter history too badly. And if the Meep succeeds now, the displaced will likely cease to exist anyway, since the timeline in which the Weeping Angels go them has to exist for that to happen. Which honestly sounds like the start of a paradox, as Ruby pointed out, so the Doctor cut himself off and called his guests up to the console.

 

“Can’t deny, that certainly sounds doable. But like most things involving time travel, it’s not that simple. Yes, we’ve only got so long to save your friends, but if we’re looking at roadblocks from the Meep, and likely not just the Meep, could be the whole Coalition of Darkness for all I know - I’ll explain who they are later – there’ll be alterations to history that we cannot allow. Too much changes and at worst, you lot might cease to exist entirely. Still, positives! We need to stop the Meep before he conquers the ancient world and puts the future in jeopardy. So… as opposed to tracking the next displaced classmate through the half-life of their Miraculous’s energies – couldn’t find them in person though, by the way, kwamis won’t recover until this crisis is concluded – a few random button presses, and it’ll trace the energy of those psychedelically animated Terracotta soldiers to the ends of the earth! Ok, simple enough to do: Kubdel, third panel on the left, red and blue buttons, turn the rightmost dial 270 degrees anti-clockwise, redhead, pull that lever on the underside! Ok Rubes, disconnect my timey-wimey detector for a moment, put it somewhere safe – be careful with it though, we’ll need that to find the next classmates once we’re done here! And now all that’s left to do… dematerialisation lever…” The iconic sound began to blare out. “…and Bob’s your uncle, we’re off! Ok, now we’ve got to work out a game plan for when we arrive…”

 

(scene break)

 

“Ok, open door…” Right into the sight of a Terracotta Warrior drawing its sword. “…and close it! Ok, slight problem, we’re in the right place obviously, but we’ve got a Terracotta infestation to worry about…” The Doctor’s words did not improve the mood of his comrades, even as Kubdel began dashing around the console, as if preparing to dematerialise before the Terracotta Warrior broke through. “Whoa whoa whoa, hold it for a moment! Firstly, we need to work out where here is. I mean, we can be sure it’s the same time period as it would be inconceivable that the Meep, a species with very limited time travelling capabilities, could mastermind such a ploy from the 21st century…” Nath and Alya turned their attention to the various screens of the TARDIS as the Doctor continued rambling. 220 BC. Ok, that’s still the same year they started in, so that’s something. Nothing too much indicating where they’ve gone though… until Marinette stumbled across the answer from basic recollection of the brief glance of the outside she’d gotten before the Doctor shut the door. Looked plausibly like the interior of the Great Wall of China, construction of which was finished this year. Everyone seemed to agree that her assessment was logical, except for Alya who seemed far more interested in potentially piloting the TARDIS herself than in what her BFF was saying. Then came the rapid beeping from the disconnected timey-wimey detector, catching the Doctor’s attention once more. “Ah. That’s odd… I thought you two were the only ones sent to this time period… detector’s going haywire… must be something wrong with it… or there’s still someone left to rescue…”

 

“Who else is there? You got me and Mari over there, there’s no one else!” Nath shook his head as he looked over the screen near him again, thinking he’d spotted something the others had overlooked. Indeed they had, as the screen was picking up three more blips on the radar. That indicates at least three more people to recover while stopping the Meep. Relaying this to the others, they eventually concluded that the investigation should be left to the original displaced and the Doctor. So that volunteers Mari and Alya going with the Doctor for this one. How much help they’d be without their Miraculouses, they did not know, but they nevertheless accepted. At which point, the mood became somewhat grim, as they questioned how to get to the Meep for them to stop him. To which the Doctor responded:

 

“Knock politely.” Before the others could protest, and after Mari and Alya had already bolted towards him, the Doctor threw the doors open, exposing the sight of the Terracotta Warrior, now with a sizable backup force behind him. “Hello! Sorry about earlier, strangers and all that, I’m the Doctor, these are Marinette and Alya. Take us to your leader.”

 

(scene break)

 

“Ah… Doctor… the two-hearted man who ruined my Dagger Drive and led me to capture…”

 

“Which reminds me, how did you actually manage to escape the Wrarth Warriors? I know for a fact they’re far from the most incompetent of the Shadow Proclamation, but still…” The Meep cut him off with a mocking laugh before he could finish.

 

“It would have been the highest security area of the Nitro 9 prison planet for me, all 10, 000 years of a sentence due, if your much more sympathetic brother hadn’t paid my bail! There are two people in this universe you just don’t cross. One of them is my boss, intergalactic mobster,” the Meep gave the name of his employer, which neither of the two humans facing him could pronounce, “the other, the Vamtreeian. He very generously paid my bail and got me a pardon, a payment for services due. And now at last, vengeance shall be mine, on you Doctor, and both of your vile accomplices who I was instructed to make sure never leave this time period! Oh yes… I can almost taste your adrenaline now… as you sweat and wonder how you’ll stop me giving rise to the age of Terracotta without your magic jewels! Oh, the look of fear on you both, you insufferable journalist with your biracial friend!” Clearly the Meep likes to insult those around him, as he gave a devious smile as Alya edged forward to her friend’s defence.

 

“Don’t. You. Dare!” The Meep cackled much like a witch.

 

“Oh, I dare!” he barked, raising his blaster at her head. “If you will not hail to the Beep of all the Meeps, you shall join your kind as my victory banquet!” He pointed to the crate he was standing on, before jumping off and pressing a button on the lock. The heroes’ eyes went wide as the sight of the very worried looking trio of human children inside, up to their waists in some form of alien vinegar. These three the Doctor had not yet had the pleasure of meeting, but his companions had quite the reaction to his intended feast…

 

“Manon?!”

 

“Ella, Etta?! Those are my sisters, don’t you dare hurt them, you monster!” The Meep laughed triumphantly as he pointed his blaster at the crate, his captives desperately calling out for their friends.

 

“Ha ha ha! My bargaining chips, or even better, my victory dinner! Take another step towards me and your halflings will die! For they are currently marinating in pickled Moxolon Swamp Viper innards, a rare delicacy in my section of the galaxy. Very highly flammable and explosive, you know. One simple discharge and your halflings will be blasted into bloody pieces! Hmm, that’ll save me having to dismember them! Hmm, although then I’ll have the added task of separating the remains of their clothes from the meats…” Per the Doctor’s instructions, Marinette and Alya reluctantly backed down, for fear of provoking the Meep into taking a potshot. At which point his Terracotta Warriors forced their hands behind their backs with one hand and placed a sword to their throats with the other. “Do not try to be brave, Doctor. After last time, I have cross-referenced every detail about you and how you operate! Nothing you can do will surprise me anymore! And this time, you’ve none of that stupid woman with her weird child to ruin my work! You have no way to thwart my advance this time, two-hearted fraud! Now at last, victory is within my gasp! Hail to the Beep of all the Meeps!”

“Hail to the Most High! Hail to the Meep! Hail to the Most High!” The stoic responses from the Meep’s Terracotta army only served to worry Marinette and Alya even more. How can they get out of this one? They’ve no Miraculouses, no superpowers, no weapons… wait… no weapons…? That isn’t strictly true, is it? There is one form of defence that the Meep hasn’t noticed yet… Something Marinette suddenly remembered was she and Alya had been stuck in the past for a week, and they’d taken the opportunity to score themselves some more period-appropriate clothing. Except while they’d been in the TARDIS, they hadn’t thought to take advantage of the wardrobes. As such, they’re still in their ancient Chinese peasant outfits. And what did Marinette have with her when this day started? A poorly sketched map of the city and a couple of daggers for self-defence… yes, there’s still likely to be… yes! She still had her dagger concealed under her tunic, which she discreetly slid into her hand. And Alya never unsheathed hers, so she’ll still have hers as well! So that’s one problem solved. But there’s still how to utilise them for best effect… Throwing it at the Meep might solve the Terracotta problem, but neither of them are very good at darts or knife throwing. So if they miss there’s the chance one of them might throw it back. Not to mention if they don’t hit a vital area, the Meep might fire his blaster as he died, taking Manon and Alya’s siblings with him. But it seemed even that might not be strictly necessary, as the Doctor began to chuckle ever so calmly. Such earnt him the confusion of his comrades, and the frustration of the Meep.

 

“What is he doing…?”

 

“No idea, girl…”

 

“WHY. AREN’T. YOU. TREMBLING?!”

 

“Because I’m clever. Cleverer than you, obviously. You see, for one, the human race are tremendously adaptable. High pressure jets of water should be enough to dissolve your army, even with their psychedelic strength! You might bring the invention of the hose forward a few hundred years. Also, the Terracotta Warriors won’t be enough for the whole ancient world. Ok, it might be, but I think you’re underestimating just how much of the Earth is water. Quite a sizable amount of land is islands when you think about it. And there’s only so far you’ll get before you run into the watery borders. You’ll never reach America or Australia or any of the more remote parts of the world. But in particular, the reason I’m so much cleverer than you… is common sense. For example, if I were using the energy of a psychedelic sun to animate the Terracotta Warriors, I wouldn’t have placed those canisters of psychedelic energy so close to the crate filled with pickled Moxolon Swamp Viper innards. You know, I’m pretty sure allowing any type of creature animated with psychedelic energy to come into physical contact with pickled Moxolon Swamp Viper innards is a very. Bad. Idea. Like for example… one of these bad boys.” Before the Meep or his soldiers could react, the Doctor whipped his sonic screwdriver from his jacket pocket and sonic-ed the crate containing the children marinating in pickled Moxolon Swamp Viper innards. The crate burst open in seconds, causing all three children to flow out right onto the legs of their close friends, and to the Meep’s horror, realising too late the truth in the Doctor’s words, right underneath the feet of the Terracotta Warriors restraining them. The explosive reaction transpired almost immediately, barely giving Marinette and Alya time to jump free with their young friends, as the explosive chain reaction darted across the Wall. Recognizing his conquest had been thwarted once more, the Meep growled and darted off, debris separating him from the Doctor’s party before they could see where he was going. The three children hugged their friends closely as the teens caught their breath.

 

“Nice work, Doctor! I would never have worked that one out!”

 

“Schoolboy error on the Meep’s part, girl. That’ll show him, don’t mess with a Time Lord!”

 

“Ah yes, yes, yes! The reaction will spread like wildfire, probably set construction on the wall back a few weeks but it should still be finished on time… talking of which…” The Doctor rose an arm and snapped his fingers, and suddenly before his comrades’ eyes, his faithful time and space machine began to materialize, just as the explosions began to catch up with the party. The doors flew open, and the heroes darted inside, ushering their newcomers in as quickly as possible before the TARDIS made its escape from the burning wreck that would become the Great Wall of China.

 

(scene break)

 

“Ok… Ruby, are we absolutely sure we’ve got everyone now? Because I don’t fancy our chances of getting back to Ancient China if we’ve missed anyone else…” The Doctor started as he rested against a railing, watching Ruby going over the TARDIS controls, in particular the timey-wimey detector that she’d thoughtfully reconnected, while the three young children who they’d just rescued stared at their new surroundings, awe-struck.

 

“Ok, timey-wimey detector’s not picking up anyone else, so looks like we’re good.”

 

“Excellent! Just time for a short break before we leap into the next perilous situation to rescue the next displaced classmate or two! Tell you what Ruby babe, meet me in the drawing room, cafeteria’s the room opposite, I’ll have some tea and cake ready for us.”

 

“I much prefer coffee.” The Doctor gave a brief shrug and made for the door, while warning Ruby to keep her coffee off the console, an obvious reference to the damage Donna caused to the console recently when she spilt coffee on it not too long ago. As Ruby began to follow him, a red-headed teen in a classic swashbuckler outfit came sliding down the railings to where Marinette and Alya were standing with their young friends.

 

“Avast ye, mis amigos! Ha ha!”

 

“Nath? What are you doing?”

 

“Oh Alya, always the inquisitor. I was just in the TARDIS wardrobe helping Alix – errr, I mean Kubdel – pick out a new outfit. She fancied a change of pace with her memoires back…” Before Nate was able to finish, the newly reawakened Time Lady in question came strolling down to the console as well. Her new outfit seemed a far cry from the one they were more familiar with her wearing: she was now wearing a dark green minidress over a white sleeveless dress shirt, paired with cyan leggings and what appeared to be green wedged shoes, probably capable of converting into roller skates knowing her tastes, alongside cyan opera gloves that seemed a little out of place with her new look. Though it might have been her wearing her hair down that seemed the biggest change.

“I’ve told you Nate, you can keep calling me Alix.”

 

“Alix… whoa…”

 

“I hope my new wardrobe isn’t too much to your discomfort, my friends.”

 

“Oh, excuse Mari, she’s probably never seen you in a dress before. You look good, Kubdel. Or do you prefer Alix still? I’m good either way, I just want to err on the side of caution.”

 

“Either is fine, Alya. As much as I liked the skater girl look, I couldn’t help feeling it wasn’t really appropriate for a Time Lady. I was always much more into the formal look back at the Academy, you know… it’s been so long…” She then turned to the TARDIS console eagerly. “Alya… I’ve just thought… would you like to have a go piloting the old girl?” Alya’s smile went wider than Marinette had ever seen before. She eagerly dashed over to the controls. Despite Marinette’s warning that the Doctor might not be too happy if she meddles with his spacecraft, Alya still reminded her that Kubdel had likely seen her fair share of TARDISes in years past and could help her fly the old girl without too much difficulty…

 

(scene break)

 

Even with Alya piloting, it was only a short trip in the Tardis to the next location. Where exactly it was wasn’t immediately clear as the Doctor stepped out, swiftly followed by Ruby, Marinette and Kubdel. Then they noticed the wooden logs making up the building surrounding them. That still doesn’t narrow it down too much. Then came the sound of voices, grumbling something incoherent. Recognizing this could mean trouble, the Doctor ushered his companions back inside the Tardis for safety. The two men wandered up to it and examined it carefully. A brief glimpse through the keyhole gave the Doctor a look at them, and both gave him cause for concern. They’re definitely in the Caribbean, during the Golden Age of Piracy. The left man was a British-Indian who appeared to be the captain, as he was dressed as a stereotypical pirate captain, with a tricorner hat, a black naval jacket with a white French dress shirt, dark trousers torn off just below the knees and tall cavalier boots. And wearing a very obviously fake beard. The man standing opposite was a slightly shorter man with brown hair and similar fashion sense, at least in trousers. His shirt was simple and striped, and he was barefoot, presumably to give him better foothold on deck or when climbing the rigging. He also sported a black bandana and an eyepatch over his left eye. From what could be made out, he also seemed to be holding a hook in one hand. Both definitely pirates. Still, the Doctor couldn’t shake the feeling he knew those two from somewhere, and probably not from a pirate movie…

 

“Aye captain, I was certain that wasn’t here when I was checking supplies for launch…”

 

“Hmm… it certainly doesn’t fit in with the rest of the base… almost as if it’s meant to change depending on its surroundings but its chameleon circuit is busted…” That caught the attention of the heroes inside the Tardis. This captain fellow knows about the Tardis’s chameleon circuit problem? Very suspicious. There’s only one time of person who’d know about how a Tardis works… “Nevertheless, bring her aboard, Ronzer. I can already imagine the help they’ll be in finding the greatest treasure of them all…” Ronzer nodded. The Doctor looked worried, which spread the look to his companions as well. Not only that, but what did the captain call him…? Ronzer…? Wait… what’s Ronzer spelt backwards…? Hmm… the Doctor’s suspicions grew even more.

 

(scene break)

 

The Tardis does not weigh as much as you’d think. If it did, it would create a crater on landing. Still, it was heavy enough to necessitate four members of this motley crew to carry it aboard the ship, clearly formerly of Spanish heritage by the look of her, with the sails painted black and purple, and the Jolly Roger up top replacing its crossbones with swords instead. The crew dropped it down and the Doctor and his crew fell out in a heap on the deck.

 

“Aye lads, look at what the tide washed up. Doctor. I knew it.”

 

“And you are…?”

 

“Stemar, lad. Captain Edward Stemar, at your service.” He tipped his hat to the ensemble as his crew helped them up. “I am the captain of this here vessel. At least, officially. It makes for better imagery these days to have a man be the face of the crew, if you want to be taken seriously. And me and my boys sure do want to be taken seriously. I trust you’ve seen Skeleton Port?” He turned their attention to the island behind them, with a mountain that had a section that made it resemble a skull. “It’s our home away from home, our drydock. And soon to be the centrepiece of the biggest pirate empire the world has ever seen! Aye, just wait and see, Doctor. When I hold the greatest treasure of them all… the very waters you look upon now will be ours to command.”

 

“’Ours…?’”

 

“Ha ha ha, of course, you daft lad! Nice hair colour though, red really suits ya.” Nath gave a slight shrug. “Of course, when I say ‘ours’…” A new voice cut Stemar off before he could finish.

 

“…You mean mine, Stemar!” The door to the captain’s cabin opened, and a very familiar face marched out. The Tardis crew seemed shocked to see her. Tall cavalier boots, unfolded to thigh height. White shoulder-less dress shirt with a back fluttering down to her ankles, and seemingly acting as a bra to an extent. Black leather corset around her waist. A vicious looking rapier scabbarded in her belt. Long black hair reaching her midback, a couple of long strands drifting over her face, slightly hardened by the harsh reality of pirate life. Among other accessories, a golden hoop earring in her left ear and a tricorner hat like Stamer’s atop her head, except hers had a skull and crossbones on the front. But the copper eyes were a dead giveaway, as was the once-purple streaks of her hair now a dull white with only hints of the vibrant colour it once had. And yes, she looked a fair bit older, around five years older than she did when Marinette and Alix saw her last, and that was only half a day ago now…

 

“Juleka?!”

Chapter Text

“Juleka?!”

 

This was not quite what any of them had expected to see when the Tardis brought them to the Golden Age of Piracy. Course, the Doctor was completely aware at this point that the Tardis doesn’t always bring him to where he wants to go, but it always takes him to where he needs to go. Which he suspected it had done here when he laid eyes on this girl, who only a few hours earlier he’d seen as a teenager, now as an adult. But then the question becomes why? Why did he end up landing the Tardis at a point approximately five years after Juleka arrived back here? Shrugging, the Doctor suspected he’d find out soon. At which point, the apparent pirate queen marched up close and personal to the Tardis crew as her crew hauled them up, getting particularly close into Marinette’s face, as if startled slightly by what she had called her.

 

“You… that is a name I have not been called in a long time… Mm… Stemar, remove the man and the blonde and get them bound to the sails. I foresee a storm blowing tonight, it may not be wise to proceed with our search as scheduled. But then again, I’m certain the winds will be drawn from their sails quite adequately.”

 

“Aye aye, mi’lady.” Stemar replied, lifting his hat over his chest in respect. “And what of the other bilge rats, it seems unwise to leave them running free?”

 

“Find Mr Ronzer and have him escort them to my cabin. There is something about these prisoners… I cannot quite put my finger on it…” She gave a shrug and shook it off. “Arrr… tonight’s launch to begin the search must not be affected.” Stemar nodded and hurried to obey, tearing the Doctor and Ruby off their comrades despite their protests, as Ronzer himself rejoined proceedings with a half empty bottle of rum in one hand. He accepted his orders and rounded up the remaining Miraculers, calling in a few crewmates to finish the job.

 

(scene break)

 

“Aye, and the lot of you will be staying put in there until the pirate queen be ready for ya! No trying to escape, lads, there ain’t no place you can hide on board the Black Tiger’s Liberty!” Ronzer’s half-drunken laughter as he locked the cabin door behind him echoed throughout the cabin. The Miraculers took the opportunity to look around. Like most examples of such in media, this one seemed significantly more elegant than they expected the crew’s quarters to be, and yet infinitely more spooky too, probably owing to the lack of any natural lighting, as the whole room was lit entirely by candlelight. They all huddled around the table on which was a map of the Caribbean islands, with a series of dashes in the rough shape of an arrow pointing towards a somewhat poorly drawn X. X marks the spot, as every one of them knew…

 

“Ok, first things first, we need to know what’s going on here!” Marinette’s attempt to take charge of the whole affair was met with murmurs of agreement and concern. “Certainly the first priority is hoping Juleka can explain all this… and why she’s suddenly aged five or so years in… how long did you say it’s been for you again, Nath?”

 

“Same as Alix, about half a day. I’m wondering that myself. Could it be…?” He trailed off, not really being able to think of anything that would explain all this.

 

“I think I might remember something from the show that might explain things…” Everyone turned to Alya. “In The Doctor’s Wife, where the Tardis takes human form briefly, I think she says she always takes the Doctor where he NEEDS to go, not necessarily where he WANTS to go. So with that logic, there must be something specific happening right now that we need to stop. And if you look at the map again, you’ll see its dated 1668, so we’re guessing it’s something big happening this year.”

 

“So if this is right, we can assume Juleka got sent back to five years ago from this present, went into piracy, teams up with those cheesy chaps out there – honestly, they give me the creeps – and… well, what’s happening next, I suppose?”

 

“Your point is good, Nath. I’d recommend keeping a close eye on Captain Stemar and Mr Ronzer. I’m getting the strangest feeling I know them from somewhere off planet…” The sound of the door unlocking cut Kubdel off. Their captain walked into her cabin, a strange mixture of both eagerness to speak with her captives, and displeasure at the same time. The Miraculers scuttled to the sides to let her through, and she threw her hands on her table, her hair flowing over her map. No one dared speak for a moment as the captain rose her head and glared unfamiliarly with each of them, before her gaze softened and she gave an ever so slight smile. It was Nath who broke the silence.

 

“So… Juleka…” The girl in question turned to him with confusion and frustration.

 

“If you knew my current story, you’d know it’s Moonlit Spectre now. That’s what they call me. Because of the way the Black Tiger’s Liberty vanishes in the moonlight, like a ghost. Huh. You don’t seem all that impressed. Then again, at least one of you I have the strangest feeling I know…” She turned her eyes towards Marinette. “You… Marinette, isn’t it?”

 

“You remember me? Oh, thank goodness, I thought you’d forgotten us for a moment there…!”

 

“Only extremely vaguely. Be thankful I even recognise you at all. Take it from a pirate queen, my schedule’s been full these past few years. Which kind of begs the question… how come you look the same as I vividly remember? It’s been five long years for me and you’re looking exactly how I remember you…”

 

“It’s a long story, short answer, we got rescued way sooner than you. It was just under a week for me, Alya and the kids. Only a couple of hours for Alix and Nath. I’ve no idea what caused us to get here so late for you, though we do have some suspicions…” At which point Alya decided to interrupt.

 

“Still, you’re not the only one with questions, Juleka. Or Spectre, I suppose, yeah I’ll call you Spectre. What’s all this business we’ve been dragged into? And why did you choose piracy of all careers, that often carries a death sentence!”

 

“Like you’re in any position to debate morals, Alli or whatever your name is, I honestly can’t remember. My mom acted like a pirate, you all know that. Hence why some of you might remember I followed suit when Wishmaker attacked. Hang around a mother like mine, it’s a natural consequence, kids are dumb like that.” Her apathetic comment earnt a few hurt looks from the younger members of the party. “The Angel that got me, it didn’t send me here exactly. It sent me back to 1663, in London of all places. Couldn’t have been Paris or anywhere I might be able to remember, no it’s London, with its plagues and criminals and witch-hunts. You just imagine that for a moment, waking up in a city you’ve never been to in your life, hundreds of years before you were even born, with no one you remember to help you through the pain. It’s difficult, isn’t it? That’s what I had to fight through. The streets were my home for a while. For a year or so. Nothing I knew how to do would be of use in this time. Modelling, music, nothing works. Music round here’s way too traditional for my tastes, so that’s that ruled out, and modelling isn’t an option either. So I resorted to just surviving. Just about the only time I’ve been glad no one ever notices me. For about a year, I lived off the streets, stealing whatever I needed to survive. Early on I learnt I’d have to gain some confidence if I wanted to survive. There would be those who wouldn’t be so understanding of my plights. I had to learn to be ruthless, to plan and scheme with a fox’s cunning, all to make sure I got what I needed and avoided the gallows. So much had been taken from me, I became all too eager to take it all back. That was how I lived for one year, before I got too overconfident, became too sure of myself. I got caught. The magistrate was a hanging judge, he swore he’d send me to the gallows! But I managed to escape. I knew the law wouldn’t stop until I was recaptured, so I did the only sensible thing. I ran. I hid around the docks for a while, I overheard two men, who I now know to be Stemar and Ronzer, talking about something. I was intrigued. I tried to listen in, but I ended up giving myself away. Fortunately both of them had criminal experience as well. Stemar invited me to run away from London with him. If I’d stayed, I would’ve been hanged. I went with him. We sailed away, to here, to the Caribbean. And this has been the best time of my life, believe it or not. Wasn’t easy at first, becoming a proper pirate. Women aren’t usually allowed on board, but Stemar made an exception for me. When the crew protested, it led to a mutiny. He had two of the ringleaders beheaded and the other marooned. That taught them. Still, I had to pull my weight around here. Powder girl for a time being, then I worked my way upwards. Unlike other female pirates, who had to hide their femininity to fit in, I embraced mine, and eventually I became who I am today. And then I learnt something else. I learnt I really like being a pirate: raiding ports, robbing ships, sacking towns… and burning those who cross me alive!” The Miraculers looked at each other uneasily. It was obvious from how she’d described her experiences since getting stranded in the past that the whole experience had affected her mind quite badly, but this was disturbingly causal, the way she spoke about her crimes at sea. “Juleka Couffaine is now just another name in Davy Jones’ Locker to me. Now I am the Moonlit Spectre, the queen of the pirates. And soon to be the queen of the oceans as well. As for the treasure I seek to claim, you might remember it from the film. Here.” She picked up a small chest and opened the lock. Inside was a scroll of paper. Unrolling it, there it was. There was what she and Stemar were searching for – the Trident of Poseidon itself. “Whoever wields the trident shall command the very waters on which we float right now. There will be no stopping us! I will become more than a pirate queen, I shall be a pirate empress! Empress of pirates… oh, I like the sound of that…!”

 

“Juleka, I can’t help but worry you might be going a little crazy…” Marinette’s comment caused a sudden state change in Juleka, who suddenly shrank back down to her original introverted self, her eyes awash with complete and utter remorse.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I probably am losing my mind. Sorry, going through everything I’ve been through the past few years really does a number on your sanity… Still, if you came to bring me home, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you. As much as it makes me into an evil monster, I just like the thrill of piracy too much. I don’t want to come back to the 21st century. I want to stay here.”

 

“I strongly suspected such would befoul us sooner or later. That a classmate enjoys their new life so much they never want to leave. I for one will not force you, Juleka. If you are content to remain here, I will offer no resistance.” All Kubdel’s speech did was make Juleka stare wide-eyed at her for the longest moment.

 

“Is Alix alright?”

 

“Kubdel. It’s Kubdel now. Let’s just say she had a little… revelation about her true origins recently.” Nath shot Alya a look that implied he’d prefer if they saved the complex explanations until they’d rescued everyone from now on, to which she nodded.

 

“The fact remains. I want to stay here. I’ve been stuck here five years - FIVE YEARS! – so long in fact the Caribbean became my home. It didn’t take long for me to adapt to this strange new world. Now anything that came back with me is foreign to me. I won’t return with you. The lure of the power I will herald when the Trident of Poseidon itself is in my grasp… it intrigues me so…”

 

“Nothing we can say will convince you, huh?”

 

“Even the notion that Stemar might be using you as much as you’re using him? Because I get the strangest feeling I’ve met him before…” Juleka boisterously laughed off Marinette and Alix’s concerns.

 

“Do not delude yourselves. I am completely aware of the treachery that undoubtedly lies in his heart. For instance, long before I met him, I had another partner in crime to aid me in pickpocketing. And it was he who sold me out. Left me to hang while he walked free. I learnt the truth of a person’s heart that day. Any man who works with me may well eventually betray me. Of course I would suspect such treachery from my own quartermaster…!”

 

“Yes, that was what I was afraid of… for the man I was referring to called himself that as well…” Alya and her sisters turned in Kubdel’s direction. From their experience watching the show, they knew exactly who she was referring to – The Master. The Doctor’s sworn nemesis. Kubdel would’ve known about him through her relation with her uncles. And indeed, as Kubdel remembered while Juleka called in her crewmates, she had indeed fought him once before, years ago when the Doctor was only number seven and her number eight…

 

(scene break)

 

“Ha ha ha, you’re getting old, Doctor, your will is weakening dramatically.” This was what she remembered him declaring when she’d met him last, when his body had dark brown hair and a black goatee beard, and wore a black collarless silk jacket, a navy blue shirt with an ivory collar, a midnight blue bow tie, black trousers and shoes, a silver waistcoat with the collar coming out over the collarless jacket, and a belt with a dragon-shaped buckle. On this very planet, that of Clargh, a gaseous giant populated by floating cityscape islands and, at this moment in time, a rather severe Krynoid infestation, this was the man who stood opposite her, as the short Scotsman in a chocolate brown jacket kneeled in front of her and his Cockney companion.

 

“You won’t win. There are countless champions of good in the universe besides me who will never allow your delusions of grandeur to come to pass!”

 

“You are mistaken. When the Krynoids make their way through the city and feed off of Clargh’s natural gases, I’ll have created an unstoppable botanical force that will infect the entirety of the human empire and turn it into the empire of the Krynoids! Humanity destroyed, the end of your favourite species in the universe, Doctor! Now that would be a reward in of itself…”

 

“That’s your problem. You always have to find some way to hurt people. To strike a decisive blow against me. And you call yourself the Master…!” The Master’s eyes went narrow with fury at the Doctor’s declaration, switching aim of his Tissue Compression Eliminator from pointing towards Ace’s head to that of the Doctor’s.

 

“And you hardly show the intelligence of a doctor! After everything we’ve been through, do you really think it wise to anger me at such a decisive moment?! I think not! And as for your little niece over there,” he pointed towards Kubdel – in this eighth incarnation, a young blonde girl of approximately the same age as most of her contemporaries in the present situation, who bore a tremendous resemblance to the Alice as illustrated by Sir John Tenniel - sat bound to the Doctor’s right, with his free hand, “I am sorely tempted to destroy her right here and now for her interference in my rather brilliant plan. But… I am content to wait for Reznor to return with the means to control the Krynoids. And then at last Doctor, you and Ace will at last be out of my hair… forever…”

 

“If your intent is to hurt me emotionally, then kill her! Kill her now, I demand it!” Ace looked shocked at the Doctor’s outburst, although realistically by now she should be used to it, while Kubdel’s expression did not alter, even as the Master turned to her with the TCE. She knew her uncle had a plan to get them out of here…

 

(scene break)

 

“Just out of interest, how did that one end? I never saw an adventure like that on TV.” Alix turned towards Alya as she gazed out of a porthole in the crew’s quarters, watching the endless ocean waves shoot up like mountains and splash back down with the force of a meteor as the ship sailed onwards. Against Juleka’s wishes, Stemar had decided to proceed with their search regardless. Perhaps he knew something about the Trident that she didn’t?

 

“I switched around the machines while Reznor was distracted by a thieving little boy. The colony didn’t make it, unfortunately, but the Krynoid infestation went up in smoke alongside the Master’s evil scheme. Though quite how he and Reznor managed to escape in all the excitement still eludes me…” At which point their jailer, Ronzer came below deck. Having become a little hard of hearing, which the cannon fire would do to you if they fired on a regular basis, he must’ve thought they were calling for him. Half-drunkenly, he strode up to them and grumbled.

 

“What are ya talking about, egghead, prisoners ain’t supposed ta talk!”

 

“The cannon fire must be affecting your hearing, Mr Ronzer. I was just regaling my friends with a story from the stars.” Ronzer looked at Kubdel suspiciously, before she continued, referring to the Krynoid incident on Clargh, which caught Ronzer by surprise, although he tried hard not to show it. She knows of that unfortunate bit of history? What else could she know about…? He grabbed her by the neck, picked up a length of rope and climbed back up top.

 

(scene break)

 

“Ronzer, I hope this is important, the winds are picking up violently like Moonlit Spectre said!”

 

“Can we risk a keel hauling in this weather, Captain?” Ronzer lent in close to Stemar to whisper something to him. In doing so, Kubdel felt a strange sensation when she put both her hands to each man’s chest in order to steady herself. One, two, three, four. For both of them… Two hearts in all likelihood. Oh no… oh no no no, this was not good. “She knows about Clargh.” Stemar’s eyes went wide. “I worry what else she might know.”

 

“A troubling development. Get to work on the sails and make sure the Doctor can’t weasel his way down. And take your little friend with you! I’ll see what Couffaine says about this, see if we can risk a keel hauling or kill her and throw her overboard as shark bait.” Ronzer nodded and dragged Kubdel off, still trying to protest.

 

(scene break)

 

“Captain, if I might interrupt, we have a development.” The Moonlit Spectre stood upwards, gazing deeply into the fireplace for a moment before turning back to her desk with the map on it.

 

“Have we reached the legendary Dead Man’s Cove already? I thought it would take longer…”

 

“In order for the way to appear, there must be a storm on the way, Captain. I shouldn’t doubt the map’s value is not overstated. But no, what I hoped to say is…” Stemar looked furtively around the cabin to make sure no one was listening in. “the stowaways… the one with pink hair knows far too much. Ronzer tells me she knew of an encounter I had with one of her kind before you joined the crew.”

 

“What type of encounter?”

 

“Five years ago, I led a raid on Port Royale. Unfortunately, the king’s men were plotting against us, like the Catholics did with his grandfather sixty years ago. They had prior warning of my attacks from somewhere. They inserted a spy within my last crew. We were betrayed on our way back home. The navies swarmed us. I was the only one who managed to escape. Everyone else was captured, taken to Grand Bahama and hanged. That spy girl dedicated herself to finishing the job, to hunting me down like a dog and ending me as well. I have likewise become determined to kill her. It took her only a few words to bring me to the peak of ruin, imagine what she could do now. The king must want the Trident for Britian, hence why he sent the girl to Skeleton Port. That we cannot allow. If old Charlie gets the Trident of Poseidon, just think of what he could do to us! Piracy, trade… all would have to go through Britian. That is too much power for one country. The girl must die before she has the chance to inform her masters!” The Moonlit Spectre considered Stemar’s story closely. While he has a reputation for paranoia, such has proven very useful in rooting out traitors and mutineers. This story did seem a little exaggerated in places, most notably how Stemar escaped the ambush when his entire crew didn’t. It leaps out at her to be a fabrication, a ploy by Stemar to discredit the girl and get her to warrant an execution. But on the other hand, the Trident is a powerful relic that anyone with the nautical expertise could hunt for. Could she really afford to take the chance that the girl was not who Stemar said she was?

 

“Take no chances. Do whatever is necessary to protect our interests.” Stemar nodded, bowed and walked out, a sadistically wide smile on his face.

 

(scene break)

 

“Ha ha ha. The die roll themselves in my favour, little girl. And don’t you dare move, I know for a fact we’re presently in the middle of a shark migration, you’d have a significantly higher chance of survival firing yourself out of a cannon!” Ronzer gave another laugh as he began to climb the rigging, leaving Kubdel on the deck under the crew’s watch. Ronzer had no doubt about her true origins by now, and he intended to keel haul her from stem to stern if only to ensure she wouldn’t tattle on him and his captain. To be honest, he was thinking of doing the same thing to the two bound to the sails at this moment.

 

“So we meet again, Mr Ronzer. I don’t suppose your captain has changed her mind about leaving us to the elements?”

 

“Ha ha hardy ha! You’re too optimistic for your own good, matey. If it were up to me, you’d be sulking seaweed on the ocean floor! But alas, the captain wants you to remain out of harm’s way for a little longer. And so I have to make certain you’ll stay put!”

 

“You’d better know a decent knot then, I once spent a long hot summer with Houdini, you know!” Ronzer did not respond. He simply took an extra length of rope from his belt and bound it around Ruby’s wrists...

 

“Let’s see if Houdini taught you a way out of this one!” ...before he slid down the rigging and attached the other end of the rope to a cannon, rendering the two even more immobile. “And as for your flipping niece down here...!” Ronzer suddenly cut himself off, upon noticing Kubdel was not where he had left her. He gave a very intense growl of frustration as he drew a workman’s spike from the back of his belt. “Where have you gone, little landlubbing knave? Come to Uncle Ronzer! If you come out, I won’t hurt you... too badly!” He snarled animalistically just as a barrel suddenly collided with the back of his head. The Doctor barely managed to turn his head to see his attacker. Kubdel, alongside the remainder of her team.

 

“An excellent move, Marinette. We may have scored a valuable point over Stemar and his crew. How fortunate that he didn’t know Stemar ordered me keel hauled. Then you’d still be prisoners of the lower deck.” Kubdel was about to continue when a loud crash of thunder shook the skies. Stemar and the Moonlit Spectre hurried above deck at the sound. And there it was seen: the rising spectacle of a rocky crag, in the shape of a hand, dramatically poking through the majestic dark blue oceans. Both senior pirates looked at each other in awe and growing cruelty.

 

“There she is. The Dead Man’s Cove. Where the legend resides. It seems our treasure is within reach at last. Haul hard, lads! Board!”

 

(scene break)

 

It took not long for the Black Tiger’s Liberty to sail through the cave’s waters, unseen by the many eyes watching them from the waters. Eventually the ship came to a halt just short of the entrance to the chamber they sought. The gangplank fell, and the crew disembarked, at least two of which with a gun in the backs of their captives. Just short of the door, the Moonlit Spectre addressed her ensemble.

 

“Our time has come. Within this chamber lies a relic that will grant me dominion over the very waters this planet consists of! I will be the empress of pirates at last, and an empire to dwarf those of Charlie of England, Louis of France, Charlie of Spain and William of Holland will be mine! Stemar, take one of our prisoners and usher them in front!”

 

“At once, mi’lady, no sense risking men’s heads in a potential trap. Ronzer, bring the pair with the dark skin and the horse-headed poser in the dodgy jacket!” The Doctor winced in annoyance as he was ushered forwards, alongside Kubdel, tied to his back, Ella and Etta. From behind, Alya was practically flooding in worry, even as the Doctor bent downwards to comfort her sisters, assuring them everything would be fine. Then, at Stemar’s urging, he stood up and knocked gently upon the door. Slowly but surely, it began to open, and there, atop a golden diamond pedestal, stood the prize their enemy was looking for. Instinctively Stemar stepped forward, perhaps a little overeager to claim the Trident, and suddenly a flurry of darts shot out from either wall, narrowly missing him.

 

“Intruders! You who would dare to claim the sacred Trident of Poseidon, I urge you to abandon your wicked ways and leave this place!” Before anyone else could move, atop the pedestal appeared a figure, from the sound of her voice, evidently a young woman, wearing a tattered brown hooded robe and defiantly wielding a battle-worn spear.

 

“The Trident has a guardian. You really should have anticipated that, Stemar.” Stemar grunted at the Doctor as he drew a flintlock pistol from his belt. But before he was presented with the opportunity to fire, the Moonlit Spectre marched forwards.

 

“You are the one who dares to stand defiant against the Moonlit Spectre? How unfortunate for you. Stand down and I will spare your miserable life.” The hooded figure said nothing, merely acknowledging the prisoners of these intruders. She ushered for them to come forwards. To the pirates’ reluctance, they did, allowing the hooded figure a good long look at them.

 

“You... I remember you... so many lifetimes ago...”

 

“You remember us?”

 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng... it is you... and your friends, Alya, Alix and Nath. It has been a very long time since we last spoke...”

 

“I’m beginning to piece things together... you’re another of our class, aren’t you?” The hooded figure nodded slowly at Alya’s inquiry, before slowly lowering her hood. Revealing a blonde blue eyed woman who just hours ago was the same age as them, but now looked as if she’d aged at least four decades in her time in the past.

 

“Rose...”

 

“I’ve been in this cave so long I forgot my own name years ago... Rose... I like it...” This revelation evidently caught the Moonlit Spectre off guard, as she froze in place despite her best efforts. Rose... she remembered Rose, even after all this time...

 

“Whatever became of you, old friend? Pale, withered, stuck guarding a cave where no one knows exists.” Kubdel’s question was met with confusion from the older Rose, as if she was no more aware of how she’d ended up here than they were.

 

“I have no recollection of how I came to this strange place. All I can remember is a storm, a shipwreck, and nothing else. For years, I alone have guarded the Trident of Poseidon from those who would seek to use it for evil.” Before she was able to continue, the Moonlit Spectre finally worked up the courage to step forwards.

 

“Rose...?” And despite having aged considerably since they last saw each other, the older woman recognised her former flame instantly.

 

“Juleka. I remember. It has been a long time. I wish I could say it is a pleasure, but... that would be a lie. For now you stand to seize a treasure that I have guarded against villains for years. Despite my pleasure at seeing you again, I cannot allow you to take it.”

 

“That is indeed unfortunate. But unfortunately, Edward Stemar is not a man to surrender. My sincerest apologies for having to cut this long-awaited reunion short, but we will be taking the Trident now.” Nonchalantly, Stemar fired his shot, striking Rose between the eyes and knocking her body into a fallen flaming torch. Every one of those who the Weeping Angels displaced succumbed to horror, sorrow and vengeance at the sight of it. Indifferent to their expressions, Stemar ushered Juleka forwards alongside Ronzer, indicating towards the Trident. The rest of the crew seemed concerned about the emphasis on the Trident and not the treasure they’d been promised. To which Stemar turned backwards momentarily, and gave a sharp whistle. The Doctor’s expression spoke for everyone: he’s clearly trying to summon something! His fears were well-justified. For even as these strange creatures, resembling starfish except much, much more ferocious, began to swarm through the cave, the sight of Marinette and Nath desperately trying to protect Manon, Ella and Etta became further and further away as the Doctor jogged towards the sight of the Moonlit Spectre and Ronzer wrestling to lift the Trident.

 

“Juleka, please, listen to reason! Can you not see what he just did to Rose, what he’s doing to his own crew? He’s going to betray you and take the Trident for himself!” It was not an attempt to separate their enemy as she believed, but a statement of fact. Stemar didn’t really strike them as the type to share power with anyone, even someone so close to him like Juleka. Her cold, steely expression turned into horror when Ronzer nodded in response to the Doctor’s warning.

 

“Did you have to spoil the surprise, old friend?” Stemar muttered, clearly annoyed. Juleka looked back at him in confusion as Ronzer pushed her off the pedestal, over the burning corpse that was once her girlfriend back in the future. Stemar placed his sword to Juleka’s throat before continuing. “I think this round is unanimously in my favour, old friend. Those creatures are called Roguestars, a race of mostly parasitic creatures I discovered somewhere in the Pacific Ocean. I’m confident a cluster of them must’ve hitched a ride on a meteor that hit the oceans some years ago, sending them dormant. They’re nowhere as sentient as some of the other species I’ve worked with in past years, but we still found a way to communicate. Now, some basic trivia. The species thrives in aquatic environments, mass-replicating asexually until the entirety of the ocean is home to only them. On a planet such as Earth however… with the Trident of Poseidon at hand, they will take the whole planet! Humanity will disappear beneath the waves, right into a ravenous horde of starfish maws. I estimate they’ll barely make ten seconds.” The Doctor glared at his nonchalant captor, with Kubdel still bound behind his back trying to do the same, as the other captives looked on, worried beyond comparison.

 

“Who even are you? Because historical records don’t pinpoint a pirate called Edward Stemar being active during this time period. And definitely not one with such technology that Earth shouldn’t have access to for centuries… Who are you…?” Stemar simply gave a chuckle at his captives’ obliviousness. Circling them with a causal menace, he scabbarded his sword and took something from his breast pocket. An antique lighter was it…? Or was it something else entirely…?

 

“Your obliviousness to my true identity, Doctor. And after all those good times we shared back on Gallifrey too! I am hurt!” That remark suddenly got the Doctor’s attention. Gallifrey… that explains a lot…

 

“Gallifrey…?” Kubdel’s comment only served to motivate Stemar into pressing his chest against the Doctor’s ear. 1, 2, 3, 4, the heartbeat of a Time Lord!

 

“Two hearts… that explains a lot… you’re a Time Lord, aren’t you? B-B-B-But… which one…?”

 

“The one you left for dead! Repeatedly!” His accent finally dropped completely in his brief moment of anger, and that was enough for the Doctor and Kubdel to connect the dots. Oh no… oh no, no, no… Stemar continued as he locked eyes with the Doctor. “Heh. All that business with your brother, Doctor… I’ve got no part in that. I couldn’t care less about his little contest. You know why?”

 

“Yes, why? Why Stemar, you said you wanted to help me! You said we could rule the oceans together!” Stemar snarled viciously as he drew his sword again and pointed it to his gothic accomplice’s throat.

 

“I say lots of things, I don’t always mean them. Now if I may continue: there’s one thing he can’t do that I can. He can’t get under your skin like I can, can he?” That was everything they needed to hear. Minus Juleka, still squirming with terror at the realisation that everything she’d worked on for years was a lie, everyone else now knew who this man was, and it was nobody they’d want to meet in this situation! “That’s because he’s an idiot. It takes a certain degree of… cunning and… manipulation of everyone around you to TRULY get under someone’s skin. He doesn’t have it. He’s an amateur. Whereas when it comes to getting under your skin in particular…” Every fibre in their bodies was desperately hoping they were wrong, but deep down they all knew he was about to confirm their fears, as he whispered into the Doctor’s ear… “…I am, quite simply… the champion! Ha! That wasn’t what you were expecting me to say, was it?” Every set of eyes he was taunting went wide with realisation and horror as he tore off his hat. “Hi. I don’t understand how you didn’t work it out sooner. This beard… you’re losing your touch, old friend.”

 

“Ok, what is even going on?! You treacherous knave, Stemar! I trusted you, I helped you build up everything from nothing…!”

 

“ENOUGH WITH THE STEMAR TALK!!!” His sudden burst of fury shut Juleka up. “That never was my name. A lie. So convincing, I even fooled myself for years…”

 

“Then who are you? And why would you betray me after everything we’ve done together?”

 

“You call yourself a captain, Couffaine. You’re wrong, of course. For all your talk of growing up on board a houseboat and knowing everything about nautical work, you never bothered to take note of the single most important rule of piracy.” He sniggered evilly as he dug the blade in slightly deeper, causing a thin line of blood to trickle down her breasts.

 

“A-A-A-A-And that is…?” Her confidence having completely evaporated by this point.

 

“Never trust the quartermaster.” That shocked everyone. Everyone had already worked it out by now, but this truly was confirmation! “Or should I have said… quarter…” He paused dramatically for a moment, clearly savouring the moment of horror and realisation going through everyone’s minds. “…Master?” There it was. Final confirmation. Yes. This was indeed the Doctor’s sworn nemesis tearing off that fake beard. He’s back… Out of all of them, it was Alya who had the biggest reaction, desperately pushing her siblings back in fear for their lives. They’d not seen a Master episode of Doctor Who before. Alya had. Enough times to know that when the Master’s about, trouble isn’t far behind.

 

“Girl… get Manon back to the ship! I can handle my sisters!”

 

“Alya, are you sure?”

 

“He’s the Master, girl! The greatest threat the Doctor’s ever faced! Whatever he’s planning will spell doom for us all!”

 

“My reputation proceeds me as usual. Hi. Yes indeed. That’s Reznor up there, I’m the Master.”

 

“You look more like a weasel with a throat infection.” The twins soon learnt to regret their joke as both were struck by that classic red laser, and both suddenly found themselves the size of a Polymouse clone. Alya backed away in fear as the Master causally strolled forwards. He rose his foot above them…

 

“Well I’m the Master.” …and much to Alya’s horror, stomped down hard on them both. Everyone watching was in shock and fear. The Doctor’s usual cheerful expression turned deadly serious at the sight of another murder, this one so petty and senseless – and of children at that! – committed by his greatest enemy.

 

“You…!” The Doctor stuttered out his words, consumed by rage and despair. “How…? Y-Y-You can’t be here…!”

 

“Oh I can. And I am. Very much so. And you lot are in a spot of bother, I’d say. Reznor, lift the Trident and meet me on board the ship for the main event.” Reznor nodded and obeyed. The Master lowered his sword and kicked Juleka into the cavern walls. “When the Roguestars finish their work turning all of you into sliced salami, it’ll be a kneel hauling to remember! And of course, then comes the flood, and the end of your favourite species, old friend. As for Miss Couffaine, her usefulness has officially expired. I’m sure the kid will be happy to play with her… if they can find a dollhouse to keep her in!” The Master gave a sadistic chuckle at his little joke as he playfully tossed his Tissue Compression Eliminator, between each hand, before clearing his throat and pointing it at Juleka as she gasped for every ounce of life she could, before he fired, shrinking her down as well. He sniggered evilly and turned his weapon back to the ensemble. “Of course… I can’t exactly let you lot spoil the games, can I? So I’m not going to kill you… in person. I’m going to shrink you all and use you to line our hooks! If it’s any consolation, you’ll probably taste terrible. I get fish for tonight’s dinner, and you out of my hair at last!” Everyone huddled behind the Doctor in fear as the TCE began to charge another blast… “Goodbye, Doctor. I’ll treasure our memories fondly.”

Chapter Text

How fortunate that he didn’t get the opportunity to fire. Immediately after his boast, Reznor called over to him, reiterating the problems with sailing a ship undermanned in stormy weather, and advising that they should leave before it kicks up any more. Annoyed, the Master barked an order to mind his own business. Nevertheless, it did provide the Doctor with an opportunity to roll himself and Ruby of the way while he was distracted. A pity the rest didn’t catch on quickly enough. With a single shot, all of them were shrunken. And then the Master turned his attention back to the Doctor, just as he and Ruby scrambled on board the Black Tiger’s Liberty. It was obvious they were planning to strand them here! It didn’t work of course, as they’d clearly forgotten about Reznor, and were naturally underprepared for when he shot out the rope ladder on board, causing both of them to plummet onto the hard rocks below, both rendered unconscious.

 

“Good move, Reznor! With those two down, there will be no further obstructions to our plans!” The sinister subordinate nodded as he bent down to pick up the spare rope ladder.

 

(scene break)

 

“...urgh... urgh, that hurts... never gets more pleasant. How long have I been out, Doctor?”

 

“Same as me, Ruby love, about an hour. And even now I dread to think what he could’ve gotten up to in the meantime...”

 

“I take it you’ve met before then? It sounded like he knows you.”

 

“The Master, Ruby. My greatest adversary. Former friend of mine, went crazy, wants to rule or destroy the universe. The reason we’re the last of our kind again. He’s bad news. Last I saw him, he tried to steal my body and use my name for his evil crusade. Didn’t work, obviously. And now he’s back. If he’s after the Trident of Poseidon, we need to stop him.”

 

“That would be advisable, uncle. I remember how Koschei has previously manipulated people in accordance with his evil ambitions. If he was to destroy the species that we have such affection for, it would be a terrible tragedy.” Kubdel chipped in, solemnly shaking her head as the Doctor managed to work his way loose of his bonds.

 

“Just a little something Houdini once taught me. Still leaves us with a conundrum going forward though. He TCEd Marinette, Alya, Nath and the kids. And Juleka as well. Rose doesn’t count because he shot her with a flintlock. The former seven... Tissue Compression Eliminated. Killed by drastically shrinking them to the point that life functions cease. Never gets any more pleasant.”

 

“It is still upsetting, uncle. Nath and Mari were among my closest friends.” Kubdel was about to continue when suddenly a series of miniscule voices reached her ears. Confused, she looked around, eventually settling on the exact spot where her friends had been standing when the Master fired that shot. Yes, that did appear to be where the sound was coming from... and looking down at the spot where her friends had been standing, there they were. Tiny. Almost inaudible. But very much still alive.

 

“Alix!” There was the one in front of the others. Nath. Kubdel knelt down to communicate. “Oh thank goodness, I thought you couldn’t hear me!”

 

“I am not so deaf as I am confused, Nathaniel. I have never seen a person survive a direct hit from the Tissue Compression Eliminator before.”

 

“Travel as long as I have, babe, you see a couple of things. This isn’t completely uncommon to me.” Boyed by the Doctor’s ‘optimism’(!), Nath gave a cough, attracting the attention of the rest of those shrunken by the Doctor’s nemesis. They all turned to the giant Kubdel kneeling before them.

 

“I’ve seen several episodes where the Master shrinks someone. I never thought I’d get shrunk by him myself.” Marinette turned towards her friend frustratedly. They’ve been shrunk to the size of dolls and she’s thinking of episodes she’s seen! Nath decided to speak up.

 

“I wasn’t envisioning rescuing Juleka going like this.” His eyes briefly turned back to the gibbering wreck sunk in a heap at Marinette’s feet.

 

“None of us did, young friend. I wonder if this will change her mind about leaving.” They didn’t sense a question mark at Kubdel’s statement. The obvious statement.

 

“What do you think?” the miniscule gothic girl murmured incoherently. “I had no idea about any of this, I thought he wanted to rule the oceans and establish a pirate legacy that would last forever! I had no idea he was going to use it to flood the planet! You have to believe me!” Her confidence evaporated just as quickly as it had sprung up. “Why would you? Why would anybody?” Her voice went on the verge of breaking as her eyes filled with tears. “I’m a monster! I got the one person I’ve ever loved killed and the world’s going to drown and it’s all my fault!” She finally broke down, leaving her friends in silence. The Master’s manipulations have left her a gibbering wreck. It was the Doctor who finally spoke up.

 

“That much is true. This is your fault. So what exactly are you going to do about it?”

 

“It’s my mess. The least I can do is help fix it.”

 

“Good answer.” With that, the Doctor snapped his fingers, and his famous craft began to materialise...

 

(scene break)

 

“The Trident of Poseidon. Nearly all of the planet under my control. Whoever thought infiltrating a pirate crew and seizing this prize would be so fulfilling?”

 

“Well I did, it was my idea.” The Master turned around, with a frustrated expression, whipping out his TCE at Reznor, causing him to fearfully add, “although thinking about it, I probably stole it from you!” Content, the Master lowered his weapon.

 

“Good. And the Doctor is stranded in a cave that’s soon to be flooded. If the waters don’t get him, the Roguestars will. There will be no one to save the Earth this time. And then I will finally take my position as master of the universe!”

 

(scene break)

 

Little did the Master know that his frequent nemesis was not so adequately destroyed as he thought. The TARDIS hurtled through the Time Vortex, faster than most had seen it fly before. This was of course natural, as when the Master’s about, trouble isn’t far behind. Even now, the Doctor’s mind was awash with the variously haphazardly brainstormed ideas for thwarting his arch enemy’s latest scheme. Thinking tends to be harder to do when you’re already hurtling from era to era to find displaced urchins. Even more so when an old enemy plans to fill the Earth’s oceans with carnivorous starfish creatures and raise the sea levels so they devour humanity. But thinking under pressure is one of the Doctor’s specialities, so a solution shouldn’t be too improbable.

 

“Flick that there, pull that lever… Kubdel, Atom Accelerator, get it going! We need to be prepared for anything this time! Should be a button or two for underwater mode if needs be under the third panel on the left!” And so on and so forth through various commands. Ruby turned to the watching Miraculers on the railing. They could see her worry, she’d never seen the Doctor like this before.

 

“Doctor, are you sure you’re not overdoing it?”

 

“What are you on about, Rube? This is the Master we’re facing, one of the greatest villains in the universe! Ok, I might be acting weirder than normal, but the Master is no one to underestimate!”

 

“I will back my uncle up on that, Miss Sunday. Koschei has never been one for restraint in his transgressions against the universe. What he cannot conquer he destroys, as he intended to do to Earth on numerous prior occasions. I also remember an incident involving my uncle’s handsome gambler incarnation and Koschei’s feline-ese body where he attempted to mutate his fellow Time Lords into Racnoss and destabilise the web of time, or was that when his heavily decayed incarnation broke Axos free of the time loop and led the parasite to Gallifrey?”

 

“Definitely the vengeance of Axos incident, I remember. Never did get those Axon guts out of that jacket, and Charley was livid about what that did to her hair… oh, rambling! The Master’s bad news, and we have to stop him! Which means we have to get the Trident back from him – fast!”

 

“Looks like we’ve got a lock on where he’s hiding, uncle.”

 

“Excellent! And don’t worry, titchies, we’ll get you back to normal size soon enough. Right now…” He looked back at the console. “…we’re back to Skeleton Port. Hopefully same time period, in time to stop him…”

 

(scene break)

 

Immediately after stepping out of the Tardis, the Doctor was proven correct. Barely. Wherever they’d landed, the time was correct, given he’d just stepped right into the barrel of a pirate’s flintlock pistol. And if that wasn’t enough, said pirate bore a startling resemblance to Reznor. Such a resemblance in fact that it wasn’t even worth doubting this was the real deal.

 

“Reznor. You sure seem to get around. Last I saw you… flooding cave, middle of open ocean…”

 

“I knew you’d find a way to escape our trap, Doctor.” Reznor interrupted. “Hence why you might count the number of guns on my person. 14 in total. Well, flintlocks aren’t the easiest guns to fire, many drawbacks. But this many, well, one’s got to work eventually, right? Or I could just throw them at you. But no. This ends now, Doctor.”

 

“Hold yourself, Reznor.” The two Time Lords turned around to see a third one, the Master, approaching. “This is going to be an epic victory over you, Doctor. I can’t just let you miss it. We’re not going to kill you and your friends right now. We’re going to make you watch your favourite species in the universe get eaten alive by the Roguestars. And then we’ll kill you. Still though… there’s time yet for a pleasant conversation. And well, Doctor, I shouldn’t doubt you’ll have questions.”

 

“Oh yes, I’ve got a whole boatload of questions! First of which, how in the heck are you still here?”

 

“You saved me from the Toymaker.”

 

“I saved the universe from the Toymaker!”

 

“Collateral damage.”

 

“Another thing I’ve observed about your current face, old friend. You’re unbelievably petty. A scheme this grand just to annoy me? I’m starting to think you’re losing your touch.”

 

“That was not a very clever thing to say, Doctor. Particularly when I’m holding one of the most powerful artifacts on the planet in my hand. Or are you still sore about that Timeless Child nonsense?”

 

“Nonsense? So…”

 

“Well, half-truth, let me put it that way. It turns out I was wrong, and it was a different species that did everything I thought we did. And even worse, you weren’t actually the Timeless Child after all. Meaning everything I thought it meant - the twisted link between us – didn’t exist. I destroyed Gallifrey for nothing!” The Doctor wavered slightly. After all that, what he’d learnt about his origins was a lie after all? “Still, every cloud and all that. On the plus side, it must surely hurt to know the only lie of the Time Lords was itself a lie. That I made us three the last Time Lords in the universe again, because I saw something in the Matrix that made me think there was a twisted link between you and me, only to find out there wasn’t. The harsh truth of nothingness, the knowledge that what I did was simply the result of random bad luck… that’s got to hurt. And watching you hurt is a reward in of itself.”

 

“You won’t win. There are still people in that Tardis that can and will find a way to stop you.” The Master gave a wicked chuckle.

 

“I don’t think so. I’ll think they’ll be fish food before long. The Roguestars are getting hungry, and your friends will be their appetiser! Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ve got our quick getaway to materialise. Reznor!” Reluctantly, Reznor lowered his pistol and re-holstered it, grumbling to himself as he followed the Master down the corridor. The Doctor gave a sigh of relief. OK, there’s still time to claw this back. At which point a certain rapid discharge of a flintlock pistol cut his thoughts off. He looked down the corridor to see Reznor and the Master engaged in some form of combat with something minuscule. The Doctor caught on quickly enough. Had the Master TCEing Kubdel’s friends backfired on him? It appeared so, as the classmates seemed to be using their new smaller sizes to their advantage, crawling over their adversaries like lice, much to Reznor’s discomfort in particular. Annoyed and clearly suspecting something, the Master took out his TCE and activated it again, this time using the reverse function as the seven victims instantly returned to normal size, all knocking Reznor down in the process. The Master gave a minor smirk as he prepared to fire again, only to take a flintlock shot to each hand. His former captain gave a cheeky smile as the others dashed back to the Tardis, as one of the kids sneakily swiped the Trident on the way. The Master didn’t notice for a moment, but Reznor did catch a glint of gold in the corner of his eye, which was enough for him to fire at Manon, narrowly missing thanks to the Doctor’s quick reflexes. Immediately he ushered her into the Tardis and the craft dematerialised, much to the intense frustration of the two villains.

 

“She’s gone! They’ve gone, they’ve got the Trident!”

 

“Shut it Reznor! You didn’t help by getting them on you! Hmm… that rules out an easy victory… oh, why am I overthinking this? You, to the Tardis – my Tardis! Quick style! If I know the Doctor, I know exactly where he’ll be planning on going…”

 

(scene break)

 

“Ok, atomic batteries full charge, turbines to speed… voila, we’re on our way!”

 

“Where exactly, Doctor? What is your plan here?”

 

“Simple, Ruby, love. The Master’s plan came into existence because he recruited the younger Juleka into his pirate crew in 1664. But that can’t happen if Juleka only spends marginally less than a year in the past.” The onlookers quickly pieced together what the Doctor was saying. He’s planning on heading back to before the Master recruited Juleka and rescuing her before the Master gets to her. But this did come with one inherent drawback – one which Marinette was quick to voice…

 

“Err, excuse me, one thing I noticed… if we rescue the past Juleka before they bring her on board… won’t that mean,” she pointed at the present Juleka, “she’d cease to exist?” Kubdel was the one who elected to answer.

 

“It is true, unfortunately. If the past Juleka is removed from the past, the Juleka we have with us now would become a paradox, she shouldn’t exist but she would continue to do so because the Tardis would protect her.”

 

“She’s right. But that protection can only last so long…”

 

“It doesn’t matter, Doctor. You’d expect me to be obstructive to you rescuing the past me, knowing if you save her, I’d cease to exist. After everything that’s happened though… I don’t care anymore. At least if I fade out of existence, I’ll know I’d still get my life sorted out… maybe find Rose as well…”

 

“She’ll be next. Once we stop the Master…” The Doctor trailed off as a sudden bump shook the Tardis. They’d arrived. Excellent. “Ok, let’s only do this once. Interacting with your past can have serve repercussions for the future. Trust me, I’m talking from bitter experience. Ruby, you’d better stay behind and guard the Tardis, I’ve got more experience in this situation than you anyway. Probably should bring a couple of you with me, just in case, might actually help convince her. Mari, Kubdel, you want to come?” Both of his temporary companions nodded. The older Juleka offered to come as well, but the Doctor didn’t think that was a good idea. As he’d said a moment ago, interacting with your past can have serve repercussions for the future. Nevertheless, he did advise her to watch the Tardis doors. She was currently the most combat-capable of the lot of them, after all. And then, taking a deep breath, the Doctor stepped out into the streets of London.

 

(scene break)

 

“Ah, old London town! Never gets old seeing the old girl…” He was cut off by Marinette suddenly gagging.

 

“Urgh… the smell…”

 

“Of course, it’s 1664. You don’t think they’ll get the plague next year because everything was clean, do you?”

 

“Plague…?”

 

“Don’t worry, I’m a doctor. And we won’t be here long. Not if I have anything to say about it. Now, come along, you two! Sooner we get this sorted, the sooner I can rescue Rose as well, and then maybe we’ll have some tea and cake before the next search, wonder who’ll be next, that is an interesting question…”

 

(scene break)

 

The Doctor and his friends had landed on London Square, roughly where the Doctor had encountered the Sontarans, the Rutans and Guy Fawkes four incarnations ago. Whereas their opponents were arriving elsewhere, at the bottom of London Bridge, with nets full of the starfish they were intending to cast out in the present day.

 

“The Roguestar, Reznor.” The past Master picked one up and held it in his hand. Its maw snapped at him. “An aquatic predator unlike any other.”

 

“I still don’t see how these things are going to help us destroy the Doctor’s favourite species.” The Master looked at his henchman scrutinisingly.

 

“That’s because you have a rather limited view on the situation, Reznor. The Earth is approximately 71% water. Vastly insufficient for a full-scale global flood, the perfect sustenance for our little friends. But there’s where our pirate disguises come in handy. I've heard of an artefact that can raise the oceans and submerge the lands. No more dry land, nowhere to hide from the Rougestars! Humanity will fall.” The Master was so preoccupied with his gloating, he did not notice the attempts by his comrade to the sudden materialisation of a mysterious craft right behind him. Said craft took the form of a statue of King Charles, and from behind it stepped a pair of gentlemen, both of whom had a startling resemblance to the men opposite.

 

“A bit of a bumpy ride, but we’re here! Reznor, draw flintlock and scan the area for the Doctor! We’re getting that Trident back if it’s the last thing we do!” The past Master and Reznor stood up suddenly, catching the attention of their future selves. “Ah. I remember this moment. Long story short, I’m you, from five years ahead in the future. Your plan worked, but the Doctor stole the Trident of Poseidon before you could use it! And now he’s here to remove a crucial detail of our plans to negate us getting it in the first place! Work with us and we can stop him!” Experience with time travel taught them that this situation was indeed worth taking seriously. Of course the Doctor would get involved with their affairs again… Both of them gave the nod.

 

(scene break)

 

“Ok, we do have one problem here, don’t we? Juleka didn’t say where we could expect to find her.”

 

“Certainly true, Marinette.” Though there was one crumb of comfort. Yes, as Kubdel confirmed, they didn’t know the past Juleka’s whereabouts at this moment, but the Doctor had been here before, when during the Gunpowder Plot, when it was hijacked by the Rutans. He’d probably be able to remember the details. Right now they’d reached about where he’d met Alice Flowers and got that sleeping draught for Catesby.

 

“Not seeing a flash of purple around here. Feasibly she’s somewhere else. Then again, purple isn’t a common hair colour in this time period, so…” He paused suddenly as a soldier passed by, giving him a rather unsavoury look in the process. “Oh yeah, black guy in Stuart era London, totally not inconspicuous(!)” He grumbled. “Where was I? Oh yes, young lady, unusual taste in fashion, penchant for thieving…” Just then, a sudden yelp caught his attention, from the alleyway he’d caught young Barnaby on his previous visit. He turned around to see Marinette with her ankle snagged on a rope trap, much like the one he’d used to catch young Barnaby and recover that parliamentary seal he’d stolen. Kubdel was struggling to undo the knot. “Ah another trap, I made one similar, you know…”

 

“All due respect, uncle, could we focus on the immediate problem? How are we going to get Mari free? We stand a better chance of finding Juleka with all three of us.”

 

“Good point. Hmm. Better go and see if I can find a knife. Should be someone around here…!” He suddenly was pushed into the wooden fence by a sudden new arrival. Unable to get a good look at her in the dark, Kubdel shot a leg out, tripping the newcomer up, and making her crash onto her face. And then the three time travellers actually bothered to look at her, and their luck was in. Vague hint of a purple stripe in her hair, that was all they needed.

“Juleka…?” The newcomer nodded, struggling to get back to her feet. She looked around in a panic like a deer in the headlights, before gazing back to Marinette and relaxing.

 

“Marinette…? Is that you?”

 

“Unfortunately. Is this your doing?” She pointed to her ensnared leg.

 

“Oh. Yeah. Sorry. Lawman problems, I set that trap in anticipation. I’d run through here, they set it off, I get away. Wasn’t expecting it to snag you. I wasn’t even expecting to see you ever again. Did you get sent back here as well and I’ve just never noticed until now?”

 

“Err, more on the scale of ‘I got rescued before you and we’re trying rescue the others before things go south’. Good to see my luck holds up even here. We were just looking for you, hopefully stop the world flooding while we’re at it.”

 

“Sounds a little unpredictable, how does rescuing me stop the world flooding?” Kubdel was the one to dignify her with an answer.

 

“We initially got to you five years in the future, when you’d have joined a pirate crew and set out to find the Trident of Poseidon. It was guarded by Rose, for quite a while actually. She’d aged at least four decades when we encountered her in that cave. And then trouble kicked off. Did I mention that your captain turned out to be the Master in disguise? My uncle’s arch-enemy.” She pointed to the Doctor. “He briefly held the Trident, but we managed to recover it from him. If we know him, he’ll likely be pursuing us here as we speak.”

 

“That much should be obvious, old friend.” The future Reznor blocked the entrance to the alley, flintlock drawn. “Good idea, but flawed execution. And speaking of executions…”

 

“As if I didn’t know what you’re planning, Reznor. Stand down. This doesn’t need to end in violence.”

 

“To you maybe, Doctor.” They turned around. Standing behind Juleka was the future Master, a maniacal grin on his face. He turned to his right briefly to fire his TCE at a passerby. “To me, not so much. So… young Ms Couffaine. Not quite the dreaded Moonlit Spectre from my present. A pity. I know what you’re trying to do, Doctor. If she doesn’t join my crew, I can’t find the Trident, can I? Temporal paradox though, Doctor. If I don’t herald the Trident, what need have you to come back here to stop me?”

 

“The girl. Juleka. She’s been the victim of a Weeping Angel attack, displaced several centuries out of time, if I don’t rescue her, she’ll be stuck here forever!”

 

“Like I could care less! In a couple of moments, when you tell me where the Trident is, this entire planet will be underwater!” He placed his TCE to the young Juleka’s head. “Tell me where it is, or the girl gets it.”

 

“My Tardis. That’s all you’re getting out of me. And you don’t know where I’ve parked the old girl.”

 

“We can find out. Reznor, open fire! And aim for both hearts! For both of them!”

 

“Both hearts?”

 

“He means Alix, she’s a Time Lord like these three.”

 

“The blue-haired boob speaks the truth. And it ain’t saving you from…!” A sudden impact to the back of the head cut Reznor off. He fell down in a heap as another figure spun her flintlocks around theatrically.

 

“Never count me out of the game, Stemar. Or should I say… Master?”

 

“Couffaine…” He spat. “Temporal paradoxes, remember? Something happens to her, you cease to exist.”

 

“Like I could care less after what you did to me!” The past Juleka just stared at her future self in shock and awe.

 

“I never thought I’d age that well…”

 

“Oh shut up, you big girl!” The Master grunted as he pushed his way through the alley. “I could kill you right now and then do it again with her. So you had better…!” The Master suddenly took a stone to the back of the head, knocking him out. Thank goodness for Kubdel’s impeccable timing… Seizing the moment, the Doctor and Kubdel dashed off, as the future Juleka cut Marinette free from her past self’s trap. They were soon on their way as well, as the Master and Reznor got back up. “You are not escaping me so easily, Doctor!”

 

(scene break)

 

“Ok, we’re back at the bridge. Any luck, we should be able to get her away from the Master before anything major happens.” The Doctor quickly stumbled over to the railing and paused to catch his breath… just as the Thames far below him turned dark with ravenous maws. The Roguestars! They’re being released early, this could be disastrous!

 

“Your friends are kapoot, Doctor. One TCE is something…”

 

“…two is another.” The Doctor turned around. Both Masters and Reznors were cutting him off from the Tardis, with both Julekas held between them.

 

“The other two are in our crosshairs. Make one move and they get a bullet in their heads.”

 

“Tough talk, Reznor. Well… I guess I’m outmatched.”

 

“Correct, Doctor. Two of us, one of you. Your chances are not that favourable. The Trident is in your Tardis, and you’re cut off from it.” But strangely enough, the Doctor did not seem so fazed.

 

“Are you completely sure about that? One thing you’re neglecting. My Tardis isn’t the only thing I have that’s bigger on the inside.” As if by magic, he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the very relic the Master’s genocidal plans depended on. He held it over the edge. “Take your best shot.”

 

“The Trident?!” Both Masters exclaimed in shock. The Doctor had it with him this whole time?! That means he’s lost another battle! Enraged by that thought, the future Master gave a feral screech of anger as he charged forwards suddenly, quickly followed by the future Reznor. All sense had evidently left them both, as the Doctor seized his opportunity, tossing the Trident into the air, right over the edge of the railing. The Master and Reznor leapt over the railing to grab it, but in their haste, they’d misjudged where the support barges were located. Realising this too late, the Master gave one last scream as they both fell down into the ravenous maws of the Roguestars.

 

“Destroyed by your own evildoing. A fitting end. So…” The Doctor turned back to the remaining Master and Reznor. “…are you going to continue?”

 

“You might have beaten them, Doctor, but I’m still here! I’m the one from the present, so he’ll cease to exist anyway. Now I think it’s time to end this. Ok, so you've delayed my plans. Certainly annoying, but the key word is delayed. Because this particular species is known to have a rather extended life span. I hypothesise that by the events of your present day, humanity's obsession with triggering global warming will have done the job for me. The oceans will raise and the Roguestars will follow! But first – you die!” But before he could fire the TCE, the adult version of the girl he’d manipulated sidestepped in front of him. Holding the very relic he needed. How had he not noticed the string tied around the handle? So the Trident had been yanked back in! He gave a snarl…

 

“Doctor, get mini-me back to the Tardis! I’ll keep them busy!” Nodding in agreement, the Doctor made his move as the adult Juleka bolted away with the Trident, closely pursued by the Master and Reznor…

 

(scene break)

 

“The Duck and Drake, and the steps down to the barges. And to her demise!” Juleka had been pausing for breath as the Master and Reznor burst in. She saw them. They saw her. Reznor opened fire and got her in the spine as she fell down the stairs… right into a storeroom. Packed with gunpowder for whatever reason. Mortally wounded, Juleka struggled to look up at her attackers as they entered themselves.

 

“Lights out Couffaine. I am not the sort of man you want as an enemy. Now you’ve proved it.”

 

“It isn’t over until the fat lady sings. And I’m too thin to count. Also, I’ve still got one trick!” Struggling to prop herself up, she drew her flintlock pistol and fired a shot, narrowly missing the Master and knocking a flaming torch on the wall behind him to the ground…

 

“Ha ha ha ha! You thought you could beat me?! You can’t even aim straight! I mean, a shot like that in an enclosed space! And that only sets a light burning through these floorboards, right onto that minuscule trace of gunpowder leaking from that barrel…!” He broke out in evil laughter for a moment, before quickly realising what was happening. “Oh no…”

 

(scene break)

 

From up on the bridge, the Doctor and his crew watched the sight of that pub, and the Trident, going up in the biggest explosion any of them had ever seen.

 

“And the adult Juleka chose to destroy herself and the enemy, and the Trident with them. Can’t say I’m too surprised. That is most annoying. But then, I can’t save everyone as much as I’d like to… at least the resulting paradox this will generate should save Alya’s sisters… As for the Roguestars, I’ll have to notify UNIT when we get back. Hopefully they’ll be able to find the starfish creatures and stop things from going too far.”

 

“Still Doctor, an explosion like that… it looks like we’ve met the Master and Reznor for the final time.” Alya turned to her friend as she re-entered the Tardis.

 

“Don’t count on it, girl…”

 

(scene break)

 

But even as the Tardis dematerialised, there was still some minimal action taking place in the ruins of that port. For suddenly, through the charred rubble of the main port shot an arm, and through it quickly crawled the Master, sluggishly followed by Reznor, both badly burnt from the explosion.

 

“The Trident of Poseidon, it will be a perfect opportunity to hurt the Doctor(!)” The Master grunted mockingly. Reznor simply shrugged as he clutched his side in pain. “And now we’re stranded here. All thanks to you and your so-called ‘brilliant’ idea!”

 

“It wasn’t so much my fault. T’was Couffaine, setting off the gunpowder, catching us in the blast…”

 

“Yeah, but I bet the Doctor put her up to it!” Reznor gave a frustrated sigh. “Still, your point stands. And is this the third or fourth time in a row I’ve been upended by a woman? A woman!”

 

“A girl might be a better term, Master.”

 

“Say what you will, Reznor! A girl… argh! How inappropriate! Then again… it’s worse for you, Reznor. You really don’t like what’s about to happen to us, do you?” Reznor shook his head worriedly. He knew exactly what the Master meant. “Ever since my first alliance with the Nestene, and until the Time War, you’ve only regenerated once. Then you did so again, into your current body. Your stinginess complicates undercover missions well! And now we’re both about to change, a process you so despise.”

 

“W-W-W-W-We’ve got to regenerate, haven’t we?”

 

“Oh, we don’t HAVE to! But I’ve not taken the liberty of finding a way back this time, so if we don’t, we stay down. And that’s not an option I’m taking. Not before I get my final revenge at least… and if the Doctor and his snivelling niece of a companion can be young and powerful…” He gave a feral smirk as the golden energy began to engulf his hands. Instinctively he grabbed Reznor’s hand, and his body began illuminating too. “…so can we!”

 

“Master… you know I hate this…”

 

“And I hate the Doctor. And so the game continues. Him, me… and you - reborn!!!” Bursting into maniacal laughter, the golden energies shot outwards, engulfing the surrounding area in golden light. The Doctor’s old enemies were not quite vanquished for good as Marinette had believed…

Chapter Text

“OK, so after so many trips, we’ve recovered...” The Doctor trailed off as he did a quick head count. “...Kubdel, Nath, Marinette, Alya, the twins, Manon, Juleka and Rose... that’s nine so far. Not entirely confident how many we’ve got to go, but any progress is good progress. So... Ruby, where is the timey-wimey detector sending us now?” Ruby took a look at the screen.

 

“Looks like we’re heading back to France. So many years out of time, mind. Back when it was called Gaul. Wonder who’s had the gall to get stranded here?” She gave a chuckle at her little joke, which the Doctor took a moment to catch onto.

 

“Oh! Oh yes, very good. As for the target... ah. That can’t be good.”

 

“What can’t?”

 

“Kubdel, Juleka, get your things. The Romans could be in more trouble than they realise.”

 

(scene break)

 

“Levels of sentience are scarcely within acceptable parameters. The human population of this time period are not sustainable as a substitute for your species’ soliton gas suppliers.” His contemporary gave a low grunt of frustration. He should’ve known it wouldn’t be this easy.

 

“Then our original intention is void Kigterggon. Conversion of human matter into a viable alternative to my people’s dependence on soliton gas is not workable. To substitute, your scientific minions must develop a new plan for this planet.”

 

“The Kraals are not the slaves of the Terileptils, Braloc. At least we are not hounded by law enforcement whilst trying to find a viable replacement for Oseidon.” The Terileptil criminal folded his arms and snarled venomously.

 

“That was not a wise choice of phrase. If you knew half of how excruciatingly difficult escaping Raaga was, you would be paranoid about pursuers as well! But that is irrelevant. What are you planning on doing?”

 

“The answer is dependent on a full environmental survey and assessment carried out by a probe. I will have to have one prepared at once. I would expect the results in two days.”

 

“Two days? No quicker?”

 

“One if we hurry, but the results might not be satisfactory to formulate a plan. I would strongly recommend you demonstrate patience if you have any form of common sense.” Reluctantly Braloc backed down, just as an alert popped up on the computer screen. “Proximity alert. Likely another group of locals seeking one of the several hundreds we had to capture for the failed experiments. Don’t worry. I’ll have a guard exterminate them, then I can think in peace.” Kigterggon grumbled as he stormed over, loading his blaster in the process. He viciously slammed a hand into the handprint scanner, grumbling about his luck downward spiralling since he agreed to the Vamtreeian’s competition offer. And then he noticed he’d been so engulfed in his grumbling that he hadn’t noticed he’d pressed the scanner for the door rather than the one to signal the guards. And gazing up at him was the very target they’d been ordered to make sure didn’t make it back to the future. “You...”

 

“Err... I mean you no harm... I’m just a lowly peasant...”

 

“That’s what they all say! Braloc, get your soldiers over here! As the Chief Scientist of Oseidon, I know experimental potential what I see it! We were given very specific instructions to make sure she remains in the past. If my tests prove too much for her, at least she will never make it back to the future!”

 

(scene break)

 

How fortunate for Mylene that the Kraals weren’t aware of the blue phone box materialising near to a village near her current location. The Doctor stepped out and sniffed the air.

 

“Yes, this is definitely Gaul. I can see that much from here. Because that,” he pointed a Roman building project out to no one in particular, “unless I’m very much mistaken, appears to be a Roman work camp. Hmm, impressive how they managed that with the primitive tools of the day...” Kubdel and Nathaniel came out after him.

 

“Uncle, Juleka feels a little uncomfortable after that flight and being filled in on everything. Nath has volunteered to substitute.”

 

“I thought you volunteered me because you wanted some one on one time?” Kubdel gave him an elbow to the stomach.

 

“Whatever. I trust I don’t need to explain the backstory of the invading force this time? It’s the Kraals. It’s been a while since I last encountered them. Highly technologically advanced aliens, evicted from their home planet by intolerable levels of radiation, which forced them to find new planets to inhabit. They’ve come to Earth before, but I thwarted their invasion. And then there was some business with them and the Master regarding their home planet of Oseidon. I wonder what they want here. Hmm, probably the Vamtreeian’s competition, I suppose, keep me from...” He was suddenly cut off by a familiar face...

 

“Doctor! What are you doing here?”

 

“Captain Jack Harkness, fancy meeting you! What are you building out here then?”

 

“A road, Doctor. It’ll lead straight to the city of Rome, and the coliseum.” Just then, there was a fanfare of trumpets. “Ah, just in time. Here comes the Emperor. We always put on a little show for him.” Jack blew a whistle. All work stopped. Then one man held up his thumb and another sighted an instrument at it. Jack winked. “Lining up the road.” Kubdel and Nathaniel looked at the road that had already been built. It was the straightest road either had ever seen. “It keeps the Emperor entertained, and we get a break.” Jack was about to blow his whistle again, when the Emperor called out to them.

 

“Gladiator,” he began, clearly taking notice of Nate’s choice of costume, “bring those two fellows to the arena. They should amuse us.”

 

“What does he mean?” Nath wondered aloud. Kubdel was the one to answer.

 

“Certain Roman Emperors collected men to fight the gladiators. I think now he wants our friends.” Neither the Doctor nor Captain Jack seemed too bothered, although it was likely because they were both used to being in this sort of situation by now.

 

“I’d forgotten that gladiators fight...” Nath embarrassedly admitted.

 

“Yes, trust the Romans – an era of wonder and magnificence in architecture – to turn murder into a sport. Fighting is silly.” The Doctor commented.

 

“And so say all of us.” Jack agreed.

 

(scene break)

 

“Experiment protocol 34534. Subject still refuses to cooperate. I think I may have to pick her brain. Will signal for the cranial dissector once Braloc gets back.” Kigterggon switched off his recording device and turned back to his prisoner, uncomfortably strapped to his surgical table. “There is still one thing I have managed to get from you. Your real name. You are not a very good liar. Mylene Harple, I believe you were called in the future?”

 

“If we’re introducing ourselves...?”

 

“I am Kigterggon, Chief Scientist of the Kraal species. I am here to assess this planet’s potential as a replacement to my home planet of Oseidon, which is currently experiencing radiation levels too severe for my people to withstand. I am also instructed to make sure you don’t make it back to the future, per my agreement with the Coalition of Darkness. The quality of your demise is, of course, up to you. Now…” Kigterggon gave a harsh growl as he drew his torture tools. “…tell me what I want to know!”

 

(scene break)

 

As the Doctor, Kubdel, Captain Jack and Nathaniel walked behind the Emperor, they got their first glimpse of the arena. It was the tallest building in the nearby city.

 

“Roman artictechture, Captain. Does it ever get more beautiful?”

 

“You’d be surprised, Doctor. Whole load of beauty in the Roman world.” Jack agreed. Nathaniel and Kubdel walking behind them were understandably less enthusiastic about potentially having to fight in the arena completely inexperienced.

 

“Kubdel, important question. If we get eaten by lions or something… would you lend me one of your regenerations?”

 

“We’re friends, Nath, you can have both of my last two regenerations.” Nath gave a look of appreciation, and then said nothing more until they’d arrived…

 

(scene break)

 

When they got there, Jack and Kubdel were put with the other prisoners. The Doctor and Nathaniel went into a room full of worried-looking gladiators.

 

“Hello. I’m the Doctor, this is Nathaniel…”

 

“A doctor? Thank Aesculapius!”

 

“Roman God of healing, right?”

 

“Correct.” The gladiator looked over Nathaniel suspiciously for a moment. “Your hair… dyed with blood, is it?”

 

“Yeah, this shade of red’s not a common hair colour in these parts. I get that. But then, we’re not exactly from this time period, believe it or not.”

 

“We do not believe it.”

 

“I would not expect you to. All you need to know is I am a harbinger of the wise god of time, Janus himself.” The gladiators looked at the Doctor in awe and disbelief. “There is someone from years ahead in the future of the Roman Empire who has been displaced in history. Nathaniel and I have been sent to recover them. If you are in any way able to help, Janus and I would be eternally grateful.”

 

“As humble mortals, we would be honoured to aid your mission, oh nuntius of Janus, but our freedom is lost to us as gladiators.” The lead gladiator spoke respectfully.

 

“You don’t look very happy, I’m guessing you’ve got a problem with having to fight.” The gladiators nodded at Nathaniel’s question. “If you’re so worried about it, why fight? Oh wait, because of the Emperor – do as he says or it’s thumbs down. If that happens, it’s a squidging for someone. Thumbs up, they go free. Then there are the lions.” The Doctor looked at Nathaniel. “Studying art, you learn a lot about other aspects of history.”

 

“How awful. Hmm… I’m very good with thinking under pressure, I’ll think of something.” Then, just as the Doctor was about to speak, a mysterious figure appeared in the doorway.

 

“Doctor. We meet again.” The Doctor gave a low grunt.

 

“Braloc. I remember your kind. What, might I ask, do the Terileptils desire in the great and beautiful Roman Empire? I sincerely doubt you will be looking to return to the far-off land of Raaga.”

 

“You speak wisely, Doctor. Raaga is nowhere to want to return to.”

 

“Your red-headed contemporary speaks of wisdom, Time Lord. Terileptil law states that imprisonment on Raaga is for life. I can never return to Terileptus, nor can my group. So this empire is about to become our new home.” The gladiators promptly drew their weapons. “Strike me and I will have to destroy you all. My weapons are vastly superior to yours.” The Doctor agreed with Braloc and the gladiators redrew their swords. “Excellent. Heed my warning, Time Lord. This world’s days are numbered. Per my alliance with the Kraals, this world will fall. And it will be your Emperor’s fault. I simply came to gloat. Goodbye.” He left, leaving the Doctor and the gladiators to discuss this development.

 

“So both the Kraals and the Terileptils are working together. A recipe for disaster. This will be a challenge. Or will it, I’ve taken on bigger odds over the years…”

 

“Doctor, what manner of inhumane creature was that? And what did it mean by this world’s days are numbered?”

 

“A Terileptil. All you need to know is they’re the enemy. But my plan will stop them, don’t worry.”

 

(scene break)

 

The Doctor and Nathaniel sneaked back to where the prisoners were being kept.

 

“You were right, Jack. Nobody wants to fight. But they’re going to have to. The Kraals and Terileptils are collaborating. We need to do something.” The Doctor explained his plan. “Nathaniel, get back to that road and get the man with the sighting instrument. He is a crucial aspect of my plan.”

 

(scene break)

 

It took Nath a while to reach that road. Fortunately the sight of a blue police box tends to stand out. Immediately he ran up to it and knocked the door. Not only did it attract the attention of several workers, but it also brought Juleka and Rose darting out.

 

“Nath. Has the rescue gone smoother than we thought?”

 

“Slight complication, Jul. Two alien races are competing for Earth this time. And I’ve not seen any of the others yet. But that’s beside the point, we’re in need of…” Nath cut himself off upon noticing the man with the sighting instrument. “Bingo! Just the man I was looking for!” He promptly explained the Doctor’s plan again, just as the sound of marching echoed across the road. Oh perfect…(!) A group of Roman soldiers, albeit slightly off-putting ones, were marching towards them. This was enough to make Juleka and Rose to dash back inside the TARDIS for safety. Nath and the man with the sighting instrument quickly dashed in the opposite direction. For three seconds, before the soldiers fired eye lasers at them. One caught Nath under his foot and made him trip onto his face. “Quickly, I’ll hold them off! Get to the Doctor in the city – black guy with a burnt orange jacket!” The man nodded and bolted, as Nath was suddenly picked up by the neck by one of the soldiers. A sudden electric shock surged through his body, rendering him unconscious.

 

(scene break)

 

“Braloc, I’m hoping this is important! I am in the middle of a very interesting dissection session with our visitor from the future.”

 

“Worry not, Kigterggon. One of our creations has located another visitor from another time period.” He dragged the unconscious Nathanial in, escorted by Roman soldiers. “Maybe she knows him.” Mylene forced her eyes open as Nathaniel was strapped the surgical table next to her.

 

“Nathaniel…”

 

“He was caught trying to locate a man with a sighting instrument. What exactly he is intending to do with it is unclear. But nonetheless, the contingency plan proceeds. Enough lowly peasants have been converted to make a satisfactory move on the Emperor. The old fool, he thinks we’re helping his soldiers conquer the entirety of the known world!”

 

“And he doesn’t suspect a thing. That once we have the Emperor’s armies converted, we are going to wipe out humanity and repopulate this planet ourselves. Unfortunately, these two buffoons are in no shape for conversion, certainly not the girl I’ve been torturing. Never mind, preventing their return to the future will be satisfactory. Leave those two strapped down and prepare a conversion kit. By the time the sun sets, this planet will be ours.”

 

(scene break)

 

How fortunate for Nathaniel that the man with the sighting instrument had reached the Doctor in time. They now stood outside the arena.

 

“You’ll be up there on top of the arena wall. In front of the emperor and where he can see you. You know what you have to do. I’m off to see the Emperor.”

 

(scene break)

 

The Doctor was not one to linger. He quickly found Emperor Commodus, about to head to his show ready for the next show. “And bow. The road is being built in your honour, oh legendary Commodus…” he began, before Commodus silenced him with a wave of his hand.

 

“The gladiators tell me you are a nuntius of Janus. That you seek someone from the future who has been displaced. As an incarnation of Hercules, I know better than to act against a fellow god’s wishes. In any way I can help, I will.”

 

“Short of cancelling the show because the gladiators don’t want to fight.” The Doctor affirmed. “But I should further clarify. This land is also under threat from creatures beyond mortal’s understanding. I would suspect that the displaced and them are connected.” Commodus gave a laugh as two of his bodyguards arrived.

 

“These creatures I know. The Kraals and the Terileptils are Rome’s allies. These soldiers they have provided me with will finally secure that there will be no road that doesn’t lead to Rome. While our warriors stand, Rome shall stand. When these warriors fall, Rome shall fall.”

 

“That is not destined to happen for years, Commodus, I am begging you, do not trust the…!” A sudden blast to the back of the head ended the Doctor’s argument. The figure responsible gave a vile laugh as he approached the Emperor.

 

“Excellent work, Braloc. He was really an offence to my divine eardrums. Are the soldiers prepared for the march towards the barbarians tomorrow?”

 

“They are ready, Commodus. These gladiators will be unstoppable. They will be your spearheads, to destroy all enemies of Rome and conquer the entire planet. Of course, my ally informs me that the current number of gladiators will be insufficient to conquer the world in your lifetime. To offset this, we will need greater numbers. The next show, I trust, is set to be a record breaker?”

 

“Attendance will be maxed. Every citizen in Rome will be watching the games.”

 

“Then their enforced service will begin within the hour. The conversations will begin. And like your idol of Hercules, you will raise a new world order.”

 

(scene break)

 

The roar of the crowd was a living thing—throaty, ancient, and hungry. Dust swirled in golden shafts as the gates creaked open, revealing the Colosseum’s brutal grandeur. Beneath the marble arches, the gladiators stood in a loose formation, their armor mismatched, their expressions tighter than their grips on rusted blades. The Doctor was shoved forward, his coat torn, sonic screwdriver confiscated. He stumbled beside Kubdel, who was already bleeding from a shoulder gash, and Captain Jack, who wore a borrowed cuirass like it was a nightclub accessory.

 

“Tell me this isn’t your idea of a holiday,” Jack muttered, scanning the arena’s perimeter.

 

“I was aiming for Pompeii,” the Doctor replied, eyes flicking toward the imperial box. Commodus stood there, radiant in gold, flanked by two shadowed figures—one hunched and scaled, the other rigid and metallic. Braloc and Kigterggon. The Terileptil and the Kraal. Kubdel hissed through her teeth. “They’re broadcasting something. I can feel it—like static in my skull.”

 

The Doctor nodded grimly. “The hybrid signal. They’re syncing it with the games. Every transformation trial, every death—it’s feeding the grid.”

 

A horn blared. The crowd surged. Below the imperial box, a gate began to rise. Lions.

 

The Doctor turned to the gladiators. “Listen to me. You’re not just fighting for survival. You’re fighting for memory. For identity. They want to strip you down and rebuild you as something hollow.”

 

One of the gladiators—a wiry man with burn scars—snorted. “And you’re what, our harbinger?”

 

The Doctor’s gaze sharpened. “Janus walks with me. I see what was, and what must be.”

 

The lions emerged, sleek and starved. The gladiators braced. Jack cracked his knuckles. “Let’s give them a show they’ll never forget,” he said, and charged.

 

(scene break)

 

The hum of alien machinery was low and constant, like a heartbeat buried beneath steel. Mylene blinked against the harsh green light, her limbs heavy, her thoughts fogged. Beside her, Nathaniel stirred, groaning. “Where are we?” he rasped.

 

“Kraal ship,” Mylene whispered. “They took me a while ago. I think they’re prepping us for conversion.”

 

Nathaniel sat up slowly, eyes darting to the consoles lining the walls. Symbols pulsed across the screens—Kraal script, cold and clinical. “They’re routing the hybrid signal through Roman infrastructure,” he said. “Aqueducts, roads, even temples. It’s all part of the grid.”

 

Mylene’s fingers found a loose panel. She pried it open, revealing a tangle of wires and a pulsing core. “If we disrupt the signal here,” she said, “we can break the sync. The transformations will destabilize. The grid will collapse.”

 

Nathaniel hesitated. “It could kill us.”

 

“It could save them,” she countered. “The Doctor, Jack, Kubdel… they’re in the arena. If the signal spikes during the games…”

 

He nodded. “Then we spike it.”

 

They moved quickly, fingers dancing over alien controls, rerouting energy, corrupting data streams. Mylene’s hands trembled, but her focus was razor-sharp. A warning klaxon blared. The ship shuddered. “They know,” Nathaniel said.

 

“Let them,” Mylene replied. “We’re not just test subjects. We’re the glitch in their system.”

 

(scene break)

 

Outside, the transformation grid began to flicker. Inside the Colosseum, the lions paused mid-charge. Commodus leaned forward, confused. Braloc hissed. Kigterggon’s eyes narrowed. And somewhere in the dust and blood, the Doctor smiled.

 

The hybrid soldiers began to twitch. It started with a shimmer—like heat haze rippling across their armor. Then came the spasms. One dropped his spear, clutching his head. Another screamed, voice warping into static. The transformation matrix was unraveling, corrupted by Mylene and Nathaniel’s sabotage.

 

In the imperial box, Commodus snarled. “What is this treachery?”

 

Braloc hissed, already descending the steps. Kigterggon remained still, eyes narrowing as data streamed across his visor. Commodus didn’t wait. He vaulted over the balustrade with theatrical flair, landing in the dust with a roll and a flourish. His golden robes billowed as he stormed toward the Doctor.

 

“You!” he bellowed. “Harbinger of rot! You’ve poisoned my ascendants!”

 

The Doctor backed away, hands raised. “I merely disrupted a signal. You’re the one who invited aliens to rewrite your empire.” Behind them, Jack was locked in combat with Braloc, blades clashing, sparks flying. Kubdel tried to intervene but was knocked aside by a hybrid convulsion. Then came the lions. They prowled forward, muscles rippling, eyes locked on the Doctor and Kubdel. The crowd had gone silent, sensing something off-script. The Doctor turned, palms still raised. “Hold on, hold on a moment!” The lions paused. “You lions are supposed to be king of the beasts, right?” They tilted their heads. One gave a low, affirmative growl. “Well then,” the Doctor continued, voice smooth as silk, “if you’re really kings, you really should be having an emperor for dinner instead of a load of measly gladiators.” The lions blinked. Contemplated. Turned. Commodus froze.

 

“No,” he whispered. “I am divinity incarnate. I am—” The lions pounced. The crowd erupted. Some screamed. Others cheered. Braloc faltered, distracted. Jack seized the moment, driving his blade into the Terileptil’s shoulder.

 

Kubdel helped the Doctor to his feet. “Did you just negotiate with lions?”

 

“Cats are cats,” the Doctor said, brushing dust from his coat. “You just have to speak their language. And appeal to their sense of drama.” Above them, the hybrid grid flickered again. The soldiers collapsed, twitching, their transformations reversing in bursts of light and memory. And somewhere deep in the Kraal ship, Mylene smiled. Kigterggon’s voice crackled across the arena, cold and metallic, amplified through unseen speakers embedded in the Roman stone.

 

“If the Kraals cannot claim this world,” he intoned, “then we shall be the ones to end it. Omega Desolation activated.”

 

Above, the Kraal ship shimmered, its hull splitting open like a mechanical flower. Energy surged along Roman aqueducts, roads pulsing with alien light. The amphitheatre trembled. Statues cracked. The hybrid grid began to overload. The Doctor didn’t flinch. Jack, bloodied and breathless, drove his blade deep into Braloc’s chest. The Terileptil shrieked, convulsed, and collapsed in a heap of twitching scales and shattered ambition. “Nice timing,” the Doctor said, brushing dust from his lapel.

 

“Had to finish the dance,” Jack replied, panting. “What’s that ship doing?”

 

“Trying to rewrite the planet’s molecular structure,” Kubdel said grimly. “It’s a full wipe.”

 

(scene break)

 

Mylene’s fingers flew across the console, sweat streaking her brow. Nathaniel was rerouting power, his voice tight. “We’re out of time!”

 

“I know!” she snapped. “Just keep the core stable!” The ship groaned, systems buckling. Alarms blared. The omega protocol surged toward critical mass. Mylene yanked a cable, slammed a fist into the override panel, and— Silence. The lights dimmed. The hum died.

 

Nathaniel exhaled. “Did we stop it?”

 

A new alarm chirped. Mylene blinked. “Wait… that’s a distress signal.”

 

Nathaniel leaned over the console. His eyes widened. “Oh no. We just pinged the Shadow Proclamation.”

 

(scene break)

 

The Doctor, Jack, and Kubdel stood amid the wreckage. Hybrid soldiers lay unconscious. The crowd had fled. Commodus was nowhere to be seen—only a trail of golden fabric and lion prints. Above them, the Kraal ship flickered, then went dark. The Doctor’s sonic screwdriver buzzed. He checked the readout, then grinned. “Well. That’s awkward.”

 

“What?” Jack asked.

 

“We’ve just summoned the Judoon.”

 

Kubdel groaned. “They’ll quarantine the entire region.”

 

The Doctor turned, coat flaring, eyes twinkling. “I think that’s our cue to leave. Before the Judoon show up.”

 

(scene break)

 

The TARDIS stood nestled between crumbling columns and scorched marble, its blue frame incongruous against the Roman ruin. Smoke curled from distant fires, and the sky was beginning to bruise with Judoon arrival protocols—dark clouds forming in geometric patterns, like the universe itself was bracing for bureaucracy. The Doctor unlocked the door with a flick of his wrist, Kubdel trailing behind, limping but upright. The hum of the ship greeted them like an old friend. From the far end of the forum, Nathaniel and Mylene emerged, breathless and dust-streaked. Mylene’s eyes lit up at the sight of the TARDIS, and something in her shoulders finally unclenched. Jack was already stepping back, his arm slung around the man with the sighting instrument—an old Roman engineer with eyes that had seen too much and still wanted more.

 

“We’ll stay,” Jack said, voice low but resolute. “This road’s not done with us yet.”

 

The Doctor nodded. “You’ll keep the story alive.”

 

Jack grinned. “Always do.”

 

Kubdel clasped Jack’s forearm. “Try not to get arrested by the Judoon.”

 

“No promises.”

 

They parted with quiet nods and a shared glance that said more than words could. Nathaniel helped Mylene up the steps, and the Doctor held the door open like a gentleman from a different century. “Welcome aboard,” he said softly.

 

(scene break)

 

Inside, the console glowed. The hum deepened. The TARDIS felt like motion even before it moved. Mylene turned, her voice barely above a whisper. “Has Ivan been rescued yet?”

 

The Doctor’s expression shifted—gentle, resolute, threaded with time. “Not yet,” he said. “But he’s next.”

 

The door closed. The engines stirred. And the stars waited.

Chapter Text

The drawing room of the TARDIS was unusually quiet. Not the silence of peace, but the kind that settled after too many stories had been told and no one quite knew what to say next. Mylène sat cross-legged on the edge of a sunken couch, her fingers curled around a mug of something warm and blue. The others were scattered across the room like fragments of a broken mirror—each one reflecting a different century, a different trauma. Kubdel had claimed the armchair nearest the fireplace, legs slung over one side, her Time Lady fob watch dangling from a chain around her neck. Nathaniel perched beside her, sketchpad open but untouched, his eyes still distant from the Ice Age. Marinette and Alya sat shoulder to shoulder on the floor, backs against the wall, a scroll of ancient Chinese calligraphy unfurled between them. Alya had annotated it with red pen. Marinette had added doodles of Beep the Meep. Juleka stood near the window, half-shadowed, her pirate coat still damp from sea spray. Rose leaned against her, one hand resting lightly on the trident-shaped pendant at her throat. It pulsed faintly, like it was listening. The Doctor was the only one moving. He paced in slow, deliberate circles, sonic screwdriver spinning between his fingers like a nervous tic.

 

“So,” he said finally, voice pitched somewhere between casual and catastrophic, “we’ve got mammoths, animated warriors, compasses, and a trident that may or may not be sentient. Anyone fancy a holiday?” No one laughed.

 

Mylène cleared her throat. “They weren’t just sending us back. The Angels. They were... feeding. On something. Time, maybe. Or memory.”

 

Nathaniel nodded. “They feel on the potential energy of the lives their victims would have lived.”

 

“Someone with a taste for chaos,” Juleka murmured. “The Master found me before I even knew where I was. Reznor gave me a compass that pointed to betrayal.”

 

Rose’s fingers tightened around the pendant. “I think I died. I don’t remember how I got the trident. Just... drowning. And then waking up in a cave.”

 

The Doctor stopped pacing. “Right. So. We’ve got a pattern. Displacement, manipulation, extraction. Someone’s building something. Or breaking something.”
Kubdel tilted her head. “And now we’re all back. Which means it’s not over.”

The TARDIS jolted. Not violently—but enough to spill Marinette’s scroll and send Nathaniel’s pencil rolling across the floor. The lights flickered. The hum changed pitch. The Doctor snapped upright. “Oh. That’s new.” He darted to the console, fingers flying across switches and levers. The screen lit up with a map—Scandinavia, 9th century. A red pulse blinked near the coast. “Vikings,” he said. “And something else. Something... not Viking.”

 

Alya squinted at the screen. “Is that a ship?”

 

“Not one they built,” the Doctor muttered. “Too sleek. Too... bone-like. Hollowed out meteor, I’m certain of that.”

 

Kubdel stepped forward. “It looks like a Sycorax warship.” Everyone turned to her. She blinked. “I saw one. Just for a second. I thought it was a dream.”

 

The Doctor didn’t answer. He was already pulling levers, setting coordinates. “Everyone hold onto something,” he said. “We’re going Viking.” The TARDIS groaned, the floor lurched, and the drawing room dissolved into light.

 

(scene break)

 

The TARDIS landed with a reluctant groan, half-buried in snow and silence. Outside, the wind howled like something wounded. The landscape was stark—white hills rolling into jagged fjords, pine trees black against the sky, and a village crouched at the edge of the world. Smoke curled from longhouses. Shields hung from posts like warning signs. And bones—bones were everywhere. Mylène stepped out first, her boots crunching against frost. She pulled her scarf tighter, eyes scanning the horizon. The air smelled of salt and ash. Behind her, the others emerged one by one, blinking against the cold.

 

Kubdel adjusted her coat, fob watch tucked beneath layers. “Definitely ninth century,” she muttered. “And definitely not friendly.”

 

Nathaniel was already sketching the skyline, his fingers red from the chill. “There’s something wrong with the proportions,” he said softly. “The buildings are... off. Like they’re built around something.”

 

Marinette and Alya flanked him, eyes sharp. “That’s not architecture,” Alya said. “That’s avoidance. They’re building around something they don’t want to touch.”

 

Juleka lingered at the TARDIS door, her coat catching the wind. Rose stood beside her, one hand on the trident pendant. It pulsed faintly, like it was sensing something buried. The Doctor stepped out last, his coat billowing, sonic screwdriver already humming. He knelt, scooped a handful of snow, and let it melt in his palm. “Bone dust,” he said. “Mixed with ash. Someone’s been burning remains.”

 

They approached the village slowly. No one greeted them. No one spoke. The villagers watched from behind fur-lined curtains and shielded doorways, eyes wary, hands on hilts. A child darted past them, barefoot in the snow. She paused, staring at Mylène, then whispered a single word before vanishing into a longhouse:

 

“Boneless.”

 

The group froze. Mylène turned to the Doctor. “They know him.” The Doctor didn’t answer. He was staring at a totem near the village center—tall, twisted, carved from bone and driftwood. It resembled a spine, but not a human one. Symbols were etched into it—Viking runes fused with something alien. Sycorax script.

 

Alix stepped closer, her breath fogging. “They’ve been here.”

 

“Or they never left,” the Doctor murmured.

 

A horn sounded in the distance—low, mournful, and wrong. It echoed across the fjords like a dirge. The villagers began to move, gathering weapons, lighting torches, whispering prayers. Alya grabbed a passing elder. “What’s happening?”

 

The woman’s eyes were clouded with fear. “He comes at dusk,” she said. “The Boneless. He bends like water. He breaks like thunder.”

 

Juleka’s voice was barely audible. “Ivan.”

 

Rose touched her shoulder. “We’ll find him.”

 

The Doctor turned to the group. “We need to split up. Find the shrine. Find the source. And find Ivan—before the Sycorax do.” Mylène didn’t move. She was staring at the bone totem, her fingers trembling. She could hear it whispering.

 

The sun was beginning to sink behind the fjords, bleeding orange into the snow. The village had grown restless. Fires were lit, shields stacked, prayers whispered in old tongues. Children were ushered indoors. Warriors stood in silence, their breath fogging in the cold, their eyes fixed on the northern ridge. Mylène stood near the bone totem, scarf wrapped tight, heart thudding. The whispers had stopped. That was worse. The Doctor paced along the perimeter, scanning the horizon with his sonic screwdriver. “Something’s coming,” he said. “Not just footsteps. A pressure. Like the air’s bracing for impact.”

 

Kubdel crouched beside a carved stone, fingers tracing runes. “They call him Ivar. But the symbols say ‘the one who bends.’ That’s not a name. That’s a warning.” Nathaniel had stopped sketching. He was staring at the snow, where the wind had begun to shift—no longer random, but rhythmic. Like breath. Alya climbed the watchtower with Marinette. From the top, the view stretched across the valley. And there—just beyond the tree line—figures began to emerge.

 

Not marching. Not riding. Flowing.

 

A line of warriors, cloaked in furs and bone-plated armor, moved like a tide. Their steps were synchronized, but not human. Their limbs bent too far, too smoothly. Their helmets were carved from skulls—some animal, some not. At the center of the formation, taller than the rest, walked a figure draped in black and bone. His armor shimmered with Sycorax script and Viking runes fused into one. His gait was fluid, unnatural. His arms hung loose, his spine curved like a serpent. He carried no weapon. He didn’t need one.

 

“That’s him,” Marinette whispered. “That’s Ivan.”

 

“No,” Alya said. “That’s Ivar.”

 

The warband stopped at the edge of the village. No one moved. No one spoke. Then Ivar raised his hand. The warriors behind him knelt in perfect silence. He stepped forward alone. The villagers parted like reeds. The Miraculers held their ground. Mylène took one step forward, scarf fluttering. Ivar’s head tilted. His eyes—dark, unreadable—landed on her. For a moment, the wind stopped. Then he turned away, walking toward the central shrine. The bone totem pulsed.

 

The Doctor exhaled. “He’s not attacking. Not yet.”

 

Juleka’s voice was hoarse. “He doesn’t recognize us.”

 

Rose touched her pendant. “Or he does. And he’s choosing not to.”

 

The warband remained at the edge of the village, unmoving. Like statues. Like terracotta warriors waiting for command. The sun vanished behind the fjords. And the Boneless stayed.

 

(scene break)

 

The shrine’s interior swallowed sound. Even the wind, which had howled through the village moments before, seemed to pause at its threshold. The brazier burned low, casting flickering light across the bone-laced walls. Shadows stretched and recoiled like living things. Ivan stood at the far end, facing a carved altar made of fused vertebrae and driftwood. His armor shimmered with runes—some Viking, some Sycorax, all etched with precision and pain. He didn’t move when Marinette stepped inside. She hesitated, then crossed the threshold. Her boots echoed against the stone floor, each step deliberate. Mylène followed, slower, her scarf trailing like a tether to something softer.

 

“Ivan,” Marinette said, voice steady but low. “It’s us. You know us.” He didn’t turn. “I know you remember,” she pressed. “You were one of us. You—” He turned sharply, the movement fluid and unnatural. His eyes locked onto hers, dark and unreadable.

 

“You speak as if I owe you recognition,” he said. His voice was calm, but there was something brittle beneath it. “I owe nothing.”

 

Marinette stepped closer. “You’re not Ivar. You’re Ivan Brunel. You’re—” His hand shot out, gripping her wrist—not violently, but with enough force to silence her. His fingers were cold, the pressure precise.

 

“Ivar does not remember the past,” he said. “Ivar buried it.”

 

Marinette’s breath caught. She didn’t pull away. “Then why are you still wearing his pain?” Before he could answer, Mylène stepped between them. She didn’t push or plead—just placed one hand gently on his chest, above the bone-plated armor.

 

“Ivan,” she said softly. “It’s been a while.”

 

He froze. The grip loosened. His breath hitched. The shadows around him seemed to recoil. He looked at her—really looked. The scarf. The eyes. The voice.

 

“Mylène,” he said, and for a moment, the name tasted like warmth. “You survived.”

 

She smiled, tired but true. “I became a Roman peasant. You became a Viking warrior. I’m jealous.”

 

He stepped back, gaze lowering. “Ivan Brunel is long since gone,” he said. “I am Ivar the Boneless.” The brazier flickered, casting his face in fractured light. Mylène didn’t argue. She didn’t correct him. She simply nodded, as if accepting both truths at once.

 

“Then let Ivar remember what Ivan loved.” He didn’t speak. But he didn’t leave. Behind them, the shrine pulsed—bone and memory, waiting. The shrine pulsed. Not with light, but with memory—bone-deep, ancient, and wrong. The brazier’s flame flickered in unnatural rhythms, casting shadows that bent against the laws of physics. The walls, stitched from vertebrae and driftwood, seemed to breathe. Ivan stood at the altar, unmoving. His armor shimmered faintly, the Sycorax script glowing in response to the shrine’s heartbeat. Mylène watched him carefully, her hand still resting against his chest. Something was happening. The Doctor stepped inside, eyes scanning the structure. His sonic screwdriver buzzed, then sputtered, then fell silent.

 

“This place isn’t just a shrine,” he said. “It’s a conduit. A Sycorax memory vault. It’s feeding him.”

 

Marinette frowned. “Feeding him what?”

 

“Legacy,” the Doctor murmured. “Pain. Identity. It’s rewriting him—layering myth over memory until he forgets which is real.” Ivan didn’t speak. But his fingers twitched, and the runes on his armor flared. The Doctor stepped closer. “Ivan, listen to me. This shrine was built to honor a tribe that no longer exists. A Sycorax faction wiped out decades ago—on Earth. They’re using you to resurrect their legacy.”

 

Ivan’s voice was low, distant. “Ivar is chosen. Ivar is remembered.”

 

“No,” Mylène said gently. “Ivan is loved.”

 

The shrine pulsed again—harder this time. The brazier flared blue. The walls groaned. And then the air split. Two figures stepped through the threshold, tall and cloaked in bone-etched armor. Sycorax warriors. Their helmets resembled skulls, their robes stitched with sinew and teeth. They moved like statues come to life. The Doctor stepped forward, hands raised. “I know what you’re thinking. But I wasn’t responsible for what happened to your people. That was a different time. A different war.”

 

One of the Sycorax tilted its head. Its voice was dry, like bone scraping stone. “You misunderstand, Time Lord. We do not blame you. We blame Earth.”

 

The second warrior stepped beside the first. Its eyes glowed faintly beneath the helmet. “Your planet destroyed our tribe. Your species rejected our offer. Your warriors slaughtered our emissaries.”

 

The Doctor’s jaw tightened. “That was centuries ago. That tribe was threatening Earth—blood control, mass execution. Humanity defended itself. I admit, in very dishonourable circumstances, the tribe had agreed to leave Earth in peace…”

 

“And now,” the first Sycorax said, “we will defend ourselves. By erasing the threat before it ever rises.”

 

Mylène’s breath caught. “You’re going to destroy humanity?”

 

“Not all,” the second warrior said. “Just enough. Just early enough. So that the tribe lost in the Christmas Invasion will never be challenged. Never be erased.”

 

The shrine pulsed again—this time in agreement. Ivan stepped forward, eyes flickering. “You want me to lead this?” The warriors bowed.

 

“You are the Boneless. The chosen. The echo of our vengeance.”

 

The Doctor stepped between them. “You’re rewriting history. You’ll fracture the timeline. You’ll destroy more than just Earth—you’ll unravel everything.”

 

The Sycorax didn’t flinch. “Then let it unravel. We are also instructed to stop him returning to the present.” The shrine had gone quiet. Not peaceful—just waiting. Ivan stood between the altar and the Sycorax warriors, his armor pulsing faintly with runes that didn’t belong to Earth. His breath was steady, but his eyes flickered. The brazier’s flame cast fractured light across his face, illuminating the war between memory and myth. The Doctor watched from the edge of the shrine, tense but silent. Marinette stood beside him, fists clenched. Mylène remained where she’d always been—close enough to touch, but not reaching.

 

Ivan’s voice was low. “You want me to lead your vengeance.” The Sycorax bowed.

 

“You are the Boneless. The chosen. The echo of our tribe.”

 

He turned to the Doctor. “You said they were destroyed.”

 

“They were,” the Doctor said. “On Christmas morning. Earth defended itself. You weren’t there.”

 

Ivan looked down at his hands—scarred, calloused, trembling. “I could stop it. Rewrite it. Make sure they survive.”

 

“No,” the Doctor said. “You’d be rewriting us. Humanity. Yourself.”

 

Ivan’s gaze drifted to Mylène. She hadn’t spoken since the shrine pulsed. She hadn’t moved. But her eyes—her eyes were full of something ancient and fragile. Longing. Not for the warrior. For the boy who used to sketch her in the park. For the friend who gave her a scarf before the Angels took him. Ivan stepped toward her. The Sycorax didn’t stop him. “Mylène,” he said, voice cracking. “Do you remember me?” She nodded. “I don’t,” he whispered.

 

She reached out, fingers brushing his wrist. “Then let me remember for both of us.”

 

The armor dimmed. The shrine pulsed once—then stuttered. Ivan turned to the Sycorax. “I reject the mantle.” The warriors didn’t move. “I am not your echo,” he said. “I am not your vengeance.” The brazier flared—blue, then black. The Sycorax stepped forward. One of them held a vial.

 

“You misunderstand,” it said. “You were never meant to choose.”

 

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “No—”

 

“We have your blood.” The vial glowed. Sycorax script ignited across the shrine walls. The bone totem outside groaned. Ivan staggered. His body jerked—once, twice—then froze. His eyes went glassy. His limbs twitched.

 

The Doctor rushed forward. “Blood control. It’s a bluff. It’s hypnosis. It can’t override survival instinct—”

 

“Unless we have all of it,” the second warrior said. “And we do.” Ivan dropped to his knees. Mylène screamed. The shrine came alive. Ivan collapsed to his knees. His body convulsed once, then froze—limbs locked in unnatural angles, eyes wide and glassy. The Sycorax warriors stood motionless, their bone-etched armor gleaming in the shrine’s flickering light. The vial of blood hovered between them, glowing with Sycorax script that pulsed in time with Ivan’s heartbeat.

 

Mylène dropped beside him, hands trembling. “Ivan—look at me. Please.” He didn’t blink.

 

Marinette rushed forward, grabbing his shoulders. “We have to break it. There has to be a way.”

 

The Doctor was already moving, sonic screwdriver buzzing erratically. “Blood control’s ancient Sycorax tech. It’s not just hypnosis—it’s ritual binding. They’ve encoded his blood with command phrases. He’s not just being controlled—he’s being rewritten.”

 

Kubdel burst into the shrine, fob watch swinging. “We need to disrupt the signal. Sever the link between the shrine and the blood.”

 

Nathaniel followed, sketchpad forgotten. “What if we overload it? Feed it too much memory—too much identity?”

 

Juleka and Rose arrived last, Rose’s pendant glowing violently. “The trident’s reacting,” she said. “It wants to fight.” The shrine pulsed again—harder. The brazier flared blue, then black. The walls groaned. Bone totems outside cracked.

 

Ivan’s mouth opened—but no sound came out. Mylène pressed her forehead to his. “You’re not Ivar. You’re Ivan Brunel. You gave me this scarf. You made me laugh. You were scared of heights and loved bad poetry.”

 

The Sycorax stepped forward. “He is ours now.”

 

The Doctor snapped. “Not yet.”

 

He turned to the group. “We need to sever the shrine’s influence. It’s acting as a relay—amplifying the blood control. If we collapse the shrine, we break the signal.”

 

Marinette nodded. “How?”

 

The Doctor pointed to the brazier. “That flame is the anchor. It’s burning Sycorax memory dust—bone fragments encoded with ritual commands. We overload it with contradiction. With identity.”

 

Kubdel stepped forward, fob watch in hand. “I can open a fracture. Feed it temporal noise.”

 

Nathaniel tore a page from his sketchpad. “I drew Ivan. Before all this. Let it see who he was.”

 

Rose unclasped her pendant. “The trident chose me. Let it choose him.”

 

Juleka unsheathed her dagger. “He saved me once. I’ll return the favor.”

 

The Doctor assembled the items around the brazier—fob watch, sketch, pendant, dagger, scarf. He adjusted the flame, sonic screwdriver buzzing in protest. “Everyone step back,” he said. “This is going to hurt.” The shrine screamed. Not a sound—an emotion. A wave of grief and rage and memory that slammed into the room like a tidal force. The walls cracked. The runes flared. The Sycorax staggered. Ivan gasped. His body jerked—once, twice—then collapsed. Mylène caught him. His eyes fluttered open.

 

“Ivan?” she whispered.

 

He blinked. “I remember.”

 

The shrine collapsed. The Sycorax vanished. The flame died.

 

(scene break)

 

The shrine was gone. Not destroyed—collapsed. Its walls had folded inward, the bone totems cracked and scattered like brittle teeth. The brazier lay cold, its flame extinguished. The Sycorax warriors had vanished into mist, leaving only the echo of their threat behind. Ivan lay in the snow, breathing shallow but steady. The runes on his armor had dimmed, the Sycorax script faded to ash. His limbs no longer twitched. His eyes—when they opened—were his. Mylène knelt beside him, her scarf trailing across his chest like a lifeline. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. Ivan blinked slowly, then turned his head toward her. “Did I hurt anyone?”

 

“No,” she said. “You scared us. But you’re back.”

 

He tried to sit up. Marinette and Nathaniel rushed to help, flanking him like old friends reclaiming their place. Alya hovered nearby, arms crossed, eyes wet.

 

“You were terrifying,” she said. “But also kind of epic.”

 

Ivan managed a weak smile. “Ivar the Boneless. Sounds like a bad stage name.”

 

Juleka crouched beside him, her pirate coat still damp. “You saved me once. I owed you.”

 

Rose stood behind her, pendant dimmed. “The trident chose you too, I think. Just for a moment.”

 

Kubdel paced nearby, fob watch swinging. “The timeline’s bruised, but not broken. We got lucky.”

 

The Doctor stepped into the circle, coat billowing, sonic screwdriver tucked away. He looked at Ivan, then at the ruins of the shrine. “We need to go,” he said. “Before the Sycorax get that shrine working again.”

 

Ivan frowned. “They’ll come back?”

 

“Eventually,” the Doctor said. “But we’ve only got so long to rescue the rest of the class. I can come back with Ruby some other time to sort them out for good.”

 

Mylène helped Ivan to his feet. He staggered, then steadied. “Will they remember me?” he asked.

 

The Doctor tilted his head. “The Vikings? Oh yes. Ivar the Boneless will echo through their sagas for centuries.”

 

Ivan looked at Mylène. “But I’ll remember you.”

 

She smiled. “Good.”

 

The group turned toward the TARDIS, its doors already open, humming with readiness. Snow began to fall—soft, slow, cleansing. As they stepped inside, the wind carried a whisper from the broken shrine. Not a threat. A memory.

 

(scene break)

 

Zylock groaned beneath itself.
The obsidian cliffs trembled as another asteroid skimmed the upper atmosphere, its tail of fire briefly illuminating the graveyard of shipwrecks that littered the desert plains. The sky was a bruise—purple-black, veined with lightning that moved too slowly to be natural. Time here didn’t flow. It bled. Inside the throne chamber, the Vamtreeian sat hunched in his life support throne, a grotesque fusion of Gallifreyan circuitry and Sycorax bonecraft. Tubes hissed. Runes pulsed. The throne’s breathing matched his own—labored, rhythmic, resentful. Quink, his Ood adjutant, stood at the edge of the chamber, neural orb flickering with static. “Another rescue, my lord. The Boneless has been reclaimed.”

 

The Vamtreeian’s fingers twitched. “Ivar was meant to fracture the timeline. A myth weapon. And now he’s a memory again.”

 

Quink bowed his head. “Ms Kubdel’s interference continues to destabilize the past. Her fob watch pulses with Gallifreyan echoes. She is becoming... unpredictable.”

 

The Vamtreeian hissed through his mask. “She is a paradox. A walking contradiction. And the Coalition of Darkness was meant to scatter them, not shepherd them home.” He gestured to the holomap hovering before him. Red dots blinked out one by one, replaced by blue. The rate of rescues was accelerating. “They return,” he muttered. “And I remain.”

 

Behind the throne, the wall shimmered—just slightly. A crack ran through it, pulsing with black light. The air grew colder. A low growl rumbled from the depths of the chamber. Not mechanical. Not alive. Something older.

 

The Vamtreeian turned his head slowly, tubes straining. “I know,” he whispered. “I need to be at full strength to stop them coming through.”

 

Quink’s orb pulsed. “The seal is weakening.”

 

The Vamtreeian’s gaze lingered on the crack. It pulsed again—once, then twice. A whisper of something vast and wrong seeped into the room. “Let us hope,” he said slowly, “that the Doctor does not rescue anyone else. Or that Ms Kubdel gets herself killed doing so.” The growling intensified. “For the universe does not want to see what will happen if the seal breaks,” he whispered, “and the horrors of Mordor seep into this reality…” The throne pulsed. The crack widened. Quink did not speak. The Vamtreeian smiled—just barely.

Chapter Text

The River Ness ran black beneath the morning mist. It was quiet—too quiet for a river that fed the loch. Birds had fled. The wind had stilled. Even the trees seemed to lean away from the water, as if recoiling from something unseen. On the far bank, a crowd had gathered. Monks in rough robes, villagers clutching charms, children peering through trembling fingers. At the center stood St. Columba, tall and resolute, his staff planted firmly in the soil. The beast had already taken one man. It had risen from the depths without warning—serpentine, scaled, eyes like molten stone. It dragged the fisherman beneath the surface, leaving only blood and broken reeds. Now it waited. Columba raised his hand. His voice rang out across the water, clear and commanding.

 

“In the name of the Lord, I banish thee. Return to the depths. Trouble this land no more.”

 

The water churned. The beast rose—just slightly. Enough to show its ridged back, its gaping maw, its impossible size. Then it sank. Slowly. Quietly. Gone. The crowd erupted in prayer and awe. Some wept. Others fled. Columba remained still, his eyes on the river, as if knowing the silence was temporary.

And on the ridge above, watching from beneath a hood of midnight velvet, stood a woman. She did not cheer. She did not pray. She simply watched. Her face was lined with age and wisdom, her eyes sharp as flint. She held a staff of her own—twisted, bone-white, etched with runes that shimmered faintly in the mist. She spoke to no one. “This will be a day long remembered,” she murmured. “Not for its miracle. But for its failure.” She turned away from the river, her cloak billowing behind her like smoke. “For in the recollection of disasters,” she said softly, “this will be the first.” She vanished into the trees. The mist swallowed her whole.

 

(scene break)

 

Scotland, 1933. The Highlands breathed mist. Loch Ness stretched wide and still, its surface glassy beneath a sky the color of old parchment. The village of Drumnadrochit was quiet—too quiet for spring. Boats had gone missing. Livestock had vanished. And the earth beneath the loch had begun to tremble. Not violently. Just enough to be noticed. Enough to be feared. Nino Lahiffe stood at the edge of the water, notebook in hand, pencil tapping against his chin. He’d been displaced for weeks now—dropped into the past by a Weeping Angel, separated from the others, surviving on charm and borrowed bread. The locals liked him well enough. But they didn’t trust the loch. He scribbled down the latest readings from the borrowed seismograph. The needle had jumped again—three times in the last hour. Something was moving beneath the surface.

 

“Not a tectonic plate,” he muttered. “Not a storm. Something alive.”

 

Behind him, the mist shifted. A man stood at the edge of the trees. Tall. Thin. Dressed in a black coat that didn’t belong to any century. His face was pale, almost translucent, with eyes too deep-set to catch the light. He didn’t blink. He didn’t breathe. He watched.

 

Nino didn’t notice. He turned toward the village, flipping his notebook shut. “Time to check the shoreline,” he said to himself. “Maybe someone saw the boat before it vanished.” The man followed. Not with footsteps. With presence. Locals turned away as he passed. Dogs whimpered. A child dropped her toy and ran. No one spoke to him. No one acknowledged him. Because he wasn’t there. Not really. He was a shadow stitched into reality. A dream given form. A nightmare waiting for a name. And he was watching Nino.

 

The TARDIS landed with a soft thud, half-sunken into the mossy soil of the Scottish Highlands. Mist curled around its base like curious fingers, and the air smelled of peat, pine, and something faintly metallic. The Doctor stepped out first, coat flaring, sonic screwdriver already humming. Kubdel followed, fob watch tucked beneath her scarf, eyes scanning the horizon. Marinette and Alya emerged next, boots crunching against damp earth, while Juleka and Rose lingered in the doorway, watching the loch ripple in the distance. Ruby Sunday hopped out last, already chewing gum and squinting at the sky. “Feels like a horror movie,” she muttered. The Doctor knelt beside a patch of disturbed soil, flicking his screwdriver toward a faint signal. “Nino’s trace is here. Faint, but recent. He’s close.”

 

Kubdel crouched beside him. “Where are we exactly?”

 

The Doctor stood, brushing off his hands. “Scotland. Near Loch Ness. And judging by the tech residue and the seismic readings—1933.”

 

Alya blinked. “Wait. Isn’t that—?”

 

“The year of the first modern sightings,” Marinette finished. “The Loch Ness Monster.”

 

The Doctor’s face darkened. “Which means it’s not a monster. It’s a Skarasen.”

 

Juleka frowned. “A what?”

 

“Bio-engineered creature,” the Doctor said. “Controlled by the Zygons. Shape-shifting aliens. Organic tech. Suckerheads.”

 

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “Suckerheads?”

 

“Literal suckers. On their heads. Charming bunch.” He turned to Ruby, already rummaging through a satchel. “I need you to find something. A ribbon or two—enough to tie around people’s arms.”

 

“Why?”

 

“To tell us apart from the Zygons,” he said. “Shapeshifters, those suckerheads are. They’ll copy anyone they get close to. And if we’re not careful, we’ll be fighting ourselves.”

 

Ruby nodded, already sprinting back into the TARDIS. “On it!”

 

The Doctor turned to the others. “Eyes sharp. If anyone starts acting off—too polite, too quiet, too... symmetrical—call it out.”

 

Kubdel smirked. “So not Nino, then.”

 

The Doctor’s expression softened. “Let’s hope we find him before they do.”

 

The loch rippled again. Far off, a boat engine sputtered. And beneath the water, something stirred.

 

(scene break)

 

The Zygon warship pulsed like a living wound. Its walls were slick with organic circuitry, veins of bioluminescent fluid coursing through the flesh-like panels. The air smelled of copper and decay. Every console breathed. Every corridor twitched. At the heart of the command chamber, Emperor Grodast loomed over his subordinates, his sucker-lined face contorted in a sneer of triumph. His armor was fused to his skin, a living exosuit that pulsed with command pheromones. “Soon,” he hissed, “we will turn this repulsive planet from a sad joke into New Zygor!” The Zygons around him roared in agreement, their voices wet and guttural. Grodast paced before the central bio-console, where a holographic map of Earth flickered—highlighting seismic activity around Loch Ness, heat signatures from the Skarasen pods, and a blinking trace labeled TARDIS. “The Doctor has arrived,” Grodast spat. “As expected. As always.”

 

A ripple passed through the chamber. The lights dimmed. And then—he appeared. From the shadows behind the throne, a figure stepped forward. His form shimmered, shifting between identities—Odd Bob the Clown, Elijah Spellman, the Pied Piper. His face was painted in grotesque cheer, eyes gleaming with ancient hunger. He did not walk. He glided. “Everything is proceeding as expected,” he said, voice like silk dragged across broken glass. “The Doctor and his little ensemble have arrived. The Skarasens stir. The fear begins.”

 

Grodast turned, not startled—just wary. “You were not summoned.”

 

“I am never summoned,” the Piper replied. “I arrive when the dread is ripe.”

 

He circled the chamber, trailing mist and whispers. Zygons recoiled instinctively, their instincts screaming against his presence.

 

“You will have your New Zygor,” he said. “But I will have my feast. The children. The dreamers. The ones who fear the dark and do not know why.”

 

Grodast growled. “You serve the Coalition.”

 

“I serve fear,” the Piper corrected. “And fear serves me.”

 

He paused before the Skarasen control node, where embryonic pulses throbbed beneath the surface.

 

“They will be ready soon,” he whispered. “And when they rise, the legend will be reborn. The humans will scream. And I will eat.”

 

Grodast narrowed his eyes. “Do not interfere.”

 

The Piper smiled.

 

“I do not interfere. I encourage.”

 

He vanished into mist. The chamber pulsed once. Then again. And far below, in the loch’s deepest trench, something ancient opened its eyes.

 

(scene break)

 

The mist had thickened. Nino trudged along the loch’s edge, notebook tucked under his arm, boots damp from the morning dew. The seismic readings were getting worse—spikes every few minutes now, like something massive shifting beneath the water. He’d tried warning the locals, but they’d only muttered about old legends and locked their doors. He was starting to feel alone. Until he saw her. “Alya?” he called out. She stood near the old boathouse, half-shrouded in fog. Her silhouette was unmistakable—ponytail, jacket, stance. She turned slowly, smiling.

 

“Nino,” she said. “You found me.”

 

He blinked. “Wait—how did you get here? I thought you were still displaced.”

 

She stepped closer. “I landed here days ago. Been looking for you.” Her voice was right. Her face was right. But something was wrong. She didn’t hug him. Alya always hugged him.

 

“You okay?” he asked, stepping back slightly. “You sound... off.”

 

She tilted her head. “Just tired. It’s been a long few days.”

 

He frowned. “What’s the name of the café we used to sneak into after school?”

 

She paused. Too long. Then: “Le Petit Délice.”

 

Correct. But her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

 

Nino’s heart thudded. “What’s my middle name?”

 

She blinked. “You don’t have one.”

 

Also correct.

 

But her stance shifted—just slightly. Too symmetrical. Too still.

 

Nino took another step back. “You’re not Alya.”

 

She smiled wider. “Of course I am.”

 

Then her skin rippled. Just for a moment. The texture shifted—organic, wet, wrong. Nino turned and ran. The mimic didn’t chase. It watched. Its face melted, reforming into something else—someone else. And in the trees nearby, the Nightmare Man watched too. Smiling. Nino ran. The mist clawed at his face, the loch’s edge blurring into shadow and stone. His breath came in ragged bursts, notebook forgotten, boots slipping on wet moss. Behind him, the mimic didn’t chase—but he could feel its gaze, cold and calculating, pressing against his spine. He didn’t stop until he saw the blue. The TARDIS. And then—voices. “Doctor!” he shouted. “Alya!” The group turned as one. Marinette was the first to sprint forward, arms wide, eyes wet. Alya followed, skidding to a halt beside her.

 

“Nino!” she cried. “You’re okay!”

 

He nearly collapsed into their arms, clutching Alya’s wrist like a lifeline. “You—you’re real, right? You’re not—”

 

She nodded. “I’m real. I promise.”

 

The Doctor stepped forward, scanning Nino with the sonic screwdriver. “You’ve seen one. A Zygon.”

 

Nino nodded, still shaking. “It looked like Alya. It knew things. But it didn’t feel right. It smiled wrong.”

 

Ruby Sunday handed him a ribbon, already looped around her own arm. “Tie it on. Fast. We’re marking ourselves.” Nino obeyed, fingers trembling.

 

Kubdel stepped beside him. “Did it follow you?”

 

“I don’t think so,” Nino said. “It just... watched.”

 

The Doctor’s face darkened. “Then it saw us.”

 

High above, on the ridge overlooking the loch, the Zygon mimic stood motionless. Its form had shifted again—now resembling a local fisherman, face blank, eyes gleaming. It turned without a word and vanished into the mist. And beside the ridge, half-hidden in shadow, the Nightmare Man watched too. His coat fluttered in wind that didn’t exist. His eyes gleamed with something ancient and hungry. He didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He simply smiled. Then he too was gone. Back to Zylock. Back to Grodast.

 

(scene break)

 

The chamber was carved from void. No walls. No light. Just a space between realities, stitched together by dread and memory. It pulsed with whispers—fragments of forgotten dreams, screams that never reached waking ears. The Nightmare Man stood at its center, coat billowing in wind that didn’t exist. His eyes gleamed with cold amusement, his fingers twitching with anticipation. Opposite him, Odd Bob the Clown pirouetted through the gloom, his painted face grinning wide, his voice a melody of menace.

 

“The Doctor has arrived,” Bob sang. “And with him, the little dreamers. So bright. So brave. So breakable.”

 

The Nightmare Man nodded. “He always arrives. That’s his curse. And ours.”

 

Bob giggled. “The Skarasens stir. The loch trembles. The fear begins.”

 

The Nightmare Man tilted his head. “And soon, the rift.”

 

A pulse of silence. Then—she appeared. No footsteps. No flash. Just presence. The woman from the ridge, cloaked in midnight velvet, eyes like dying stars. Her staff shimmered with runes older than Gallifrey, and her voice carried the weight of forgotten wars.

 

Odd Bob bowed low, arms outstretched. “Mother.”

 

The Nightmare Man inclined his head. “Matriarch.”

 

She stepped between them, gaze fixed on the void beyond. “The Skarasens are maturing nicely.”

 

Her voice was calm. Final. “Once the adult Skarasen stirs up enough power,” she said, “enough of a rift will open for me to unleash the ultimate storm upon this miserable planet.” The void pulsed. “The waters will rise. The humans will die screaming as the Skarasens feed.” Bob giggled again, twirling. “And when the waters recede,” she continued, “the Zygons will have their new homeworld.”

 

The Nightmare Man smiled. “And with humanity extinguished…”

 

“Unprecedented chaos will bloom.”

 

She turned to them both.

 

“You will feed. You will fracture. And I will reign.”

 

The void trembled. And far below, in the depths of Loch Ness, the adult Skarasen opened its eyes.

 

(scene break)

 

The loch was too still. The Doctor stood at the edge of the water, coat flapping in the breeze, sonic screwdriver humming low. The readings were inconsistent—spikes of temporal energy, then silence. Something was trying to push through. Something old. Behind him, the Miraculers spread out across the shoreline. Marinette and Alya examined the rocks for signs of Skarasen movement. Alix paced, fob watch pulsing faintly. Juleka and Rose kept watch on the treeline, where the mist never quite cleared. Ruby Sunday crouched beside the Doctor, eyes narrowed, fingers brushing the damp soil.

 

“Doctor,” she said quietly. “I’m getting a sense…”

 

He glanced at her. “Go on.”

 

She didn’t look up. “Something funny’s here. And not funny ha-ha.” The Doctor’s expression shifted—just slightly. Ruby stood, brushing off her hands. “It’s like… something I haven’t felt since the Beatles.”

 

He turned fully now, eyes locking with hers. “You felt it then too?”

 

She nodded. “Not the music. The moment. Like the world was about to split open and let something through.”

 

The Doctor looked back at the loch. “That’s not just intuition, Ruby. That’s resonance. You’re tuned to the fractures.”

 

She frowned. “Is that good?” He didn’t answer. Instead, he pointed to the water. Ripples spread outward—slow, deliberate, unnatural.

 

Kubdel stepped beside them. “The fob watch is reacting. Something’s pressing against the timeline.”

 

Marinette joined them, holding a stone etched with Sycorax script. “This was buried in the sand. It’s glowing.”

 

The Doctor took it, examining the runes. “They’re using the Skarasens to generate power. Enough to open a rift.”

 

Alya’s voice rang out from the ridge. “We’ve got movement!”

 

The group turned. The loch trembled. And beneath the surface, something vast shifted. The Doctor’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s beginning.”

 

(scene break)

 

The trench was deeper than it should’ve been. The Doctor led the way, sonic screwdriver pulsing with blue light, casting eerie shadows against the slick stone walls. The descent was slow, winding, and unnaturally quiet. The loch above had stilled, as if holding its breath. Marinette paused halfway down, hand against the wall. “Do you hear that?”

 

Kubdel turned. “Hear what?”

 

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Music. A flute.”

 

The others stopped. Alya frowned. “There’s no music.”

 

But Marinette wasn’t listening anymore. Her gaze had gone distant, her breath shallow. The melody was faint, lilting, impossibly old. It tugged at her memories—childhood fears, forgotten lullabies, the feeling of being watched in the dark.

 

Ruby stepped beside her. “Marinette. Stay with me.”

 

The Doctor’s face darkened. “The Piper’s begun.”

 

(scene break)

 

Behind them, Juleka and Rose had drifted further back, examining a cluster of bio-organic growths along the trench wall—pulsing sacs, Skarasen eggs, half-formed and twitching. “Guys?” Rose called out. “We’ve got movement.” But the others were already too far ahead. The mist thickened. And then—he appeared. The Nightmare Man stepped from the shadows, coat trailing like smoke, eyes gleaming with ancient hunger. The trench warped around him, stone bleeding into dream. Juleka froze. Rose stepped back.

 

“You’re not real,” Juleka whispered.

 

He smiled. “I am as real as your fear.” Rose reached for her pendant, but her fingers felt numb. The air had thickened—like syrup, like sleep.

 

“You fear being forgotten,” he said to Juleka. “You fear being unseen.”

 

He turned to Rose. “And you fear losing her.”

 

The trench twisted. The eggs pulsed. And the Nightmare Man stepped closer. “Let me show you what that feels like.”

 

(scene break)

 

Marinette’s fingers brushed the trench wall, eyes glazed, breath shallow. The Piper’s melody wound through her thoughts like smoke—soft, lilting, ancient. It wasn’t music. It was memory. A lullaby she’d never heard, but somehow knew. Her feet moved without command, drawn deeper into the trench’s curve. Ruby caught her arm. “Marinette. Hey. Stay with me.”

 

Marinette blinked, eyes clearing for a moment. “I heard him. The Piper. He’s not just in the loch. He’s in us.”

 

The Doctor turned sharply. “Where are Juleka and Rose?”

 

Kubdel scanned the trench. “They were just behind us.”

 

Alya’s voice trembled. “They’re gone.”

 

The Doctor’s face hardened. “No. Not gone. Taken.”

 

Before anyone could speak, footsteps echoed from the mist. Juleka and Rose emerged, calm, unbothered, ribbons still tied around their arms. “We’re here,” Rose said. “We just stopped to check the eggs.”

 

Juleka nodded. “Nothing unusual.”

 

The Doctor stepped forward, sonic screwdriver humming. “What did you see?”

 

Rose shrugged. “Just the trench. The loch. You.”

 

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. “And what did you hear?”

 

Juleka tilted her head. “Nothing.”

 

Marinette stepped back. “That’s not them.”

 

Ruby whispered, “They’re too still.” The Doctor didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

 

(scene break)

 

Paris was wrong. Juleka and Rose stood in the middle of Place du Trocadéro, but the Eiffel Tower loomed sideways, its iron bones warped into a spiral that reached into a sky of bleeding stars. The streets pulsed like veins. The buildings whispered names they’d never spoken aloud. Juleka clutched Rose’s hand. “This isn’t real.”

 

Rose’s voice trembled. “It feels like a dream.”

 

A carousel spun nearby, its horses twisted into screaming faces. Music played—off-key, slow, like a lullaby dragged through static. Then he arrived. The Nightmare Man stepped from the carousel’s shadow, coat trailing smoke, eyes gleaming with ancient hunger. His smile was too wide. His voice too soft.

 

“You dream of being seen,” he said to Juleka. “So I gave you a stage.” The plaza filled with faceless crowds, all chanting her name. Cameras flashed. Lights blazed. But every face was blank. Every cheer was hollow.

 

“You dream of safety,” he said to Rose. “So I gave you a world without war.” The sky turned golden. The buildings softened. The air grew warm. But the warmth was suffocating. The silence was deafening.

 

Rose stepped back. “This isn’t safety. It’s a cage.”

 

The Nightmare Man’s grin widened. “It’s comfort. Until it rots.” The Eiffel Tower cracked. Blood rained from the sky. Juleka turned to run—but the streets bent beneath her feet, folding into themselves. Rose tried to scream, but her voice came out as laughter.

 

“You fear being forgotten,” he whispered. “So I made you unforgettable.” He raised a hand. The crowd turned. Their faces were hers. Hundreds of Julekas, staring, smiling, weeping.

 

“You fear losing her,” he said to Rose. “So I made her impossible to lose.” Juleka multiplied—dozens of versions, each distorted. One sobbing. One screaming. One smiling with teeth too sharp.

 

Rose clutched her pendant. “We’re not staying.”

 

The Nightmare Man stepped closer. “You already are.” The carousel stopped. The music reversed. And the dream began to collapse.

 

(scene break)

 

The trench was quiet. Too quiet. Juleka and Rose had just rejoined the group, emerging from the mist with calm smiles and ribbons still tied around their arms. But something was off. Their movements were too smooth. Their voices too flat. Nino stepped forward, eyes narrowed. “Hey,” he said casually. “We’ve missed you. Thought you got lost.”

 

Rose nodded. “Just checking the eggs. Nothing unusual.”

 

Juleka added, “We’re fine.”

 

Nino smiled. “Cool. Just one thing.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded note. “What’s the name of the band we swore we’d never tell anyone we liked?”

 

Juleka blinked. “Uh… The Screaming Shadows?”

 

Nino shook his head. “Nope. It was The Glitter Rats. We made a pact. You cried when they broke up.”

 

Rose frowned. “I didn’t cry.”

 

Nino’s voice sharpened. “You did. In my kitchen. Over a bowl of cereal.” The group fell silent. Nino turned to Juleka. “What’s the name of the stray cat we fed behind the bakery?”

 

She hesitated. “Mittens?”

 

“Wrong again,” Nino said. “It was Grimey. Because he smelled like bin juice and bad decisions.”

 

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. Ruby whispered, “They’re not them.”

 

Nino stepped back. “Last chance. What did Rose say to Juleka the night of the meteor shower?”

 

The imposters looked at each other. Then one said, “She said… ‘I’m glad we’re here.’”

 

Nino’s voice dropped. “She said, ‘If the stars fall, I’ll catch them for you.’” The trench pulsed. The imposters shed their disguises in a wet ripple of flesh and light—revealing Zygon forms, sucker-lined and snarling.

 

The Doctor raised his sonic screwdriver. “Zygons.” Before anyone could react, tendrils erupted from the trench walls, binding wrists and ankles. The loch shimmered—and the team was swallowed whole.

 

(scene break)

 

They awoke in a chamber of bone and breath. The Zygon warship’s throne room pulsed with heat and pressure. Emperor Grodast loomed above them, flanked by Skarasen embryos twitching in containment sacs. And beside him stood the Matriarch. Cloaked in velvet, staff aglow, eyes gleaming with stormlight. She stepped forward, gaze fixed on the Doctor. “You’ve changed faces,” she said. “But the eyes remain.”

 

The Doctor frowned. “Have we met?”

 

She smiled. Then she laughed. A perfect arpeggio—middle C, octave higher. A sound like glass breaking in reverse. The Doctor froze.

 

“The giggle…”

 

His eyes widened.

 

(scene break)

 

Snow swirled across the Martian outpost. Ice Warriors marched in formation. The Third Doctor stood beside Jo Grant, sonic screwdriver raised. Across the battlefield stood three figures:
• The Pied Piper, playing a flute that made soldiers weep.
• The Nightmare Man, whispering dread into the minds of generals.
• And the Matriarch, cloaked in storm, laughing as the sky cracked.
“They’re not just invaders,” the Doctor had said. “They’re gods.”

 

(scene break)

 

Back in the present, the Doctor stepped forward, voice low. “I know who you are.” He turned to the Miraculers. “Back to the TARDIS. Now. No arguments.”

 

Ruby hesitated. “Doctor—”

 

“Run.” They obeyed. The Doctor faced the Matriarch. “I heard legends as a child. Whispers of beings from beyond the universe. The Pantheon of Discord.”

 

Grodast snarled. “My allies are gods.”

 

The Doctor nodded. “I’ve fought their shadows. Their changelings. I’ve seen the Toymaker play with time. I’ve watched the Trickster rewrite fate. I’ve heard Maestro bend reality with a chord.” He stepped closer. “There is the Toymaker, the god of games. There is the Trickster, the god of traps. There is Maestro, the god of music. There is Reprobate, the god of spite. There is the Mara, the god of beasts. And the threefold deity of malice and mischief and misery. There are gods of skin and shame and secrets. There are the brothers—Doubt, God of Anxiety, and Dread, God of Paranoia. And their mother, the God of Disaster.” He pointed. “And you, vile crone of the elements, I remember you—Incensor, God of Disaster!” The Matriarch nodded.

 

“At last,” she said. “You remember.”

 

(scene break)

 

The dreamscape twisted. Paris was gone—replaced by a void of fractured memories and echoing dread. The sky was a ceiling of eyes. The ground pulsed with heartbeat rhythms. Every breath Juleka and Rose took felt borrowed. The Nightmare Man stood before them, coat trailing smoke, smile carved from shadow.

 

Juleka stepped forward, voice steady. “Why are you doing this?”

 

Rose nodded. “What do you get out of it?”

 

The Nightmare Man tilted his head. “You ask as if I am a man. I am not.” He raised his hand. The void shimmered. “I am Dread, God of Paranoia. Brother to Doubt, God of Anxiety. Son of Incensor, God of Disaster.” The sky cracked. “We are the Pantheon of Discord. And we are going to aid the Zygons in conquering Earth. Humanity will be erased. And chaos will bloom across the stars.”

 

Juleka stepped back. Rose frowned. “Is your father the God of Fear?”

 

Silence. Dread’s smile faltered. The void dimmed. “The God of Fear is not part of the Pantheon,” he said slowly. “Not anymore.” His voice trembled—not with rage, but with something older. “Whatever I do to you is infinitely more preferable to what Phobia would do to you.” He said it with complete and genuine honesty. The dreamscape flickered.

 

Rose stepped forward, eyes bright. “Then you’re afraid.” Dread recoiled. Rose smiled. “You can twist dreams. But you can’t kill hope.”

 

Juleka joined her. “You feed on fear. But we’re not afraid anymore.”

 

The void cracked. The carousel melted. The sky turned blue. Dread screamed—not in pain, but in loss.

“You were mine!”

Rose shook her head. “We were never yours.” Light surged. The dream collapsed.

 

(scene break)

 

Juleka and Rose gasped awake, lying on the loch’s edge, ribbons still tied, mist curling around them. The Doctor knelt beside them, sonic screwdriver humming. “You’re back.”

 

Rose sat up, blinking. “We saw him. Dread.”

 

Juleka nodded. “He’s afraid of something worse.”

 

The Doctor’s face darkened. “Then we’re not just fighting gods.” He looked to the sky. “We’re fighting what even gods fear.”

 

(scene break)

 

The Doctor slammed the TARDIS doors shut, breath sharp, coat soaked with loch mist. “She’s not just a warlord,” he muttered. “She’s a god. And we’re out of time.” He darted to the console, fingers flying across switches and levers. The rotor groaned. The lights flickered.

 

Ruby Sunday steadied herself against the railing. “Where are we going?”

 

“Anywhere but here,” the Doctor said. “We need distance. We need strategy.”

 

But the TARDIS didn’t respond. The lights died. The hum stopped. And the air grew cold. Somewhere deep in the ship, a flute began to play. Soft. Uneven. Like breath caught in a panic attack. The Miraculers froze.

 

Kubdel turned. “That’s not the Doctor.”

 

Marinette’s voice trembled. “It’s him. The Piper.”

 

The corridors twisted. Doors slammed shut. The TARDIS fractured—rooms rearranged, staircases looped, floors multiplied. The Miraculers were scattered, each trapped in a different wing of the impossible ship. The TARDIS groaned. Its corridors twisted like intestines, rooms rearranged by panic. Doubt’s flute echoed through the walls—soft, uneven, like breath caught in a spiral of dread. The lights flickered. The console room was gone.

 

Marinette stumbled through a hallway lined with ticking clocks, each one counting down to something she couldn’t name.

 

Alya found herself in the observatory, where the stars blinked out one by one.

 

Ivan and Mylène were separated by a wall that whispered their worst fears.

 

And in a quiet, half-lit room filled with scattered sketchbooks and ancient scrolls, Nathaniel and Kubdel found each other. Nathaniel sat on the floor, knees drawn up, pencil trembling in his hand. He’d been trying to draw something—anything—but the paper kept warping, the lines twisting into faces he didn’t recognize. Kubdel entered slowly, her ribbon still tied, her breath steady despite the pressure in the air.

 

“Nathaniel,” she said softly.

 

He looked up, eyes wide. “Is this real?”

 

She knelt beside him. “I think so. Or close enough.”

 

He swallowed. “I keep seeing things. My old comics. But they’re wrong. The heroes lose. The villains win. And I’m the one who drew it.”

 

Kubdel reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. “That’s not your fault. That’s Doubt.”

 

Nathaniel blinked. “He’s making me afraid of myself.”

 

Kubdel nodded. “That’s what he does. But you’re not alone.” She pulled a folded page from her satchel—one of Nathaniel’s old sketches. A Miraculer team pose, bold and bright. “You drew this,” she said. “And it helped me believe in something bigger.”

 

Nathaniel stared at it. “I don’t even remember drawing that.”

 

“Then let’s remember together.” They sat in silence, the flute fading slightly, the room growing warmer. Outside, the TARDIS began to pulse—fighting back.

 

(scene break)

 

On the loch’s edge, the Doctor stood with Rose and Juleka, facing Incensor as the sky darkened. The storm was building. The Skarasens stirred. And the gods were no longer hiding.

 

(scene break)

 

Marinette stood in the TARDIS corridor, heart pounding, shadows pressing in from every angle. The walls whispered her failures—missed akumas, broken promises, the weight of leadership she never asked for. And then the flute began again. Soft. Uneven. Like breath caught in a spiral of dread. Doubt stepped from the shadows, face painted in grotesque cheer, eyes gleaming with ancient unease. “You fear letting them down,” he whispered. “You fear being the weak link.”

 

Marinette clenched her fists. “I’m not afraid of you.”

 

“You are. They all are.”

 

The corridor twisted. But then—laughter. From somewhere deeper in the ship. Marinette turned. In the TARDIS’s archive room, Kubdel and Nathaniel sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by glowing scrolls and half-drawn sketches. Nathaniel had just finished a doodle of Doubt slipping on a banana peel.

 

Kubdel snorted. “You gave him clown shoes.”

 

Nathaniel grinned. “And a tutu. With sparkles.”

 

Kubdel added, “He looks like he’s auditioning for Dancing with the Existential Dread.”

 

They burst into laughter. The walls pulsed. The shadows recoiled. Doubt staggered.

 

“Stop that,” he hissed. “You’re ruining everything.”

 

Kubdel stood. “You feed on fear. But we feed on each other.”

 

Nathaniel nodded. “And we’re hilarious.” They kept going—cheesy jokes, bad puns, exaggerated impressions of the Doctor’s technobabble. The laughter spread. Marinette joined in, giggling despite herself.

 

Alya’s voice echoed from the observatory: “Did someone say ‘existential dread’? Because I left mine in my other dimension!”

 

Ivan and Mylène reunited in the engine room, laughing as they rewired a console with bubblegum and optimism.

 

The flute cracked. Doubt screamed. The TARDIS lights surged. And with a final pulse of defiance, the ship expelled him—hurling the God of Anxiety into the Time Vortex, where laughter echoed louder than fear.

 

(scene break)

 

Kubdel stepped up to the console, fingers flying across the controls. Nathaniel stood beside her, sketchpad tucked under one arm. Marinette placed a hand on Kubdel’s shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

 

Kubdel nodded. “Let’s bring my uncle home.” The rotor groaned. The lights steadied. And the TARDIS turned toward Loch Ness—where Incensor waited, and the storm was about to break.

 

(scene break)

 

The loch churned like a living wound. Above it, the sky cracked open—lightning spiraling in unnatural patterns, clouds bleeding violet. The storm was no longer weather. It was Incensor, God of Disaster, incarnate. Her staff pulsed with rift energy, each strike tearing the fabric of reality wider. The Doctor stood at the edge, coat soaked, sonic screwdriver humming with urgency. Rose and Juleka flanked him, eyes locked on the Zygon warship hovering above the water. Inside, Emperor Grodast watched the storm unfold, his sucker-lined face unreadable. The Doctor raised his voice, amplified through the sonic. “Grodast! You wanted a new homeworld. But this—this is annihilation. Not just of Earth. Of time itself.”

 

Grodast snarled. “We were promised rebirth.”

 

Rose stepped forward. “And what will your children say, when they learn you traded the future for a myth?”

 

Juleka added, “You’ll be remembered. But not as a savior. As the one who broke the stars.”

 

Silence. Then Grodast turned to his crew. “Redirect the energy. Collapse the rift.” The Zygons obeyed. Their bio-tech pulsed, rerouting the storm’s feed. The Skarasen pods shrieked. The lightning reversed—spiraling inward, folding the rift into a singularity. Incensor screamed.

 

“You dare turn my disaster against me?”

 

The Doctor stepped forward. “You taught us how.” The vacuum surged. Incensor’s form began to unravel—cloak torn by wind, staff cracking, eyes blazing with fury.

 

“You think this is victory?” she spat. “The Pantheon will return. And when they do, you will beg for our mercy.”

 

The Doctor’s voice was quiet. “We’ll never beg.”

 

Incensor’s final words echoed through the collapsing rift: “Defeat us… and you doom the omniverse. We are the only ones who can stop the Exiled Sect.”

 

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “What’s the Sect?” But she was already gone. Consumed by the vacuum. The storm vanished. The Zygon warship imploded—silent, clean, final. And the loch stilled.

 

(scene break)

 

The storm was gone. The loch had stilled, the sky cleared, and the last echoes of Incensor’s scream had faded into the vacuum. But the Doctor stood frozen, eyes locked on the space where she’d vanished. “The Exiled Sect,” he murmured.

 

Rose stepped closer. “Who are they?”

 

The Doctor didn’t answer at first. He stared into the mist, as if trying to remember something he’d deliberately forgotten. “They were part of the Pantheon once,” he said finally. “But even gods have limits. And the Sect… crossed them.”

 

Juleka frowned. “What did they do?”

 

The Doctor’s voice dropped. “They didn’t just sow chaos. They unmade meaning. They turned entire timelines inside out. Broke rules even the Trickster wouldn’t touch.” He turned to them. “They were banished. To a planet called Mordor. Not the one from your stories. This one’s older. Hungrier. It became their lair.”

 

Rose hesitated. “Is Phobia one of them?”

 

The Doctor nodded. “The God of Fear. The one even Dread fears.” He looked away. “Most people think they were just another of the universe’s infinite myths. If only they were. The Exiled Sect are proper dangerous. And if they’re trying to break into the universe…” He trailed off. Then shook his head. “No. Not yet. One disaster at a time.”

 

(scene break)

 

The TARDIS had rematerialised, humming softly, its corridors restored to sanity. The Miraculers gathered in the console room, Nino at the center, still shaken but smiling faintly. Marinette handed him a ribbon. “You earned this.”

 

Alya grinned. “You out-Zygoned a Zygon.” Ivan and Mylène sat together, fingers intertwined. Kubdel and Nathaniel stood near the console, quietly proud. The Doctor watched them all, eyes soft.

 

“You did well,” he said. “You held together when the gods tried to pull you apart.”

 

Juleka nodded. “We’re used to chaos.”

 

Rose added, “But we’re not used to losing.”

 

The Doctor smiled. “Good. You’ll need that.”

 

(scene break)

 

Later, as the others rested, the Doctor stood alone in the doorway of the TARDIS, watching the loch shimmer under starlight. Ruby joined him, arms folded, gaze distant. “You knew her,” she said. “Incensor.”

 

The Doctor nodded. “A long time ago. She was different then. Or maybe I was.”

 

Ruby tilted her head. “You think the Sect is coming?”

 

He didn’t answer. Instead, he looked up at the stars. “If they are… we’ll need more than cleverness and sonic screwdrivers.”

 

Ruby smiled faintly. “Good thing we’ve got hope. And bad jokes.”

 

The Doctor chuckled. “And ribbons.” They stood in silence. The loch rippled once. And the stars kept watching.

Chapter Text

Victorian London, around about teatime. It was a dark night this night in Fulham. Certainly not exactly the sort of place you would want to be staking out. But with the arch criminal Dr Mould, arch nemesis of the Paternoster Gang, still up to his nefarious schemes, this dock would be a primary location for his criminal dealings. Hence why the short potato dwarf was watching the scene like a hawk.

 

“Strax Mission Update: All seems quiet, too quiet, tonight. Nothing suspicious.” He did a double take. “Apart from a pair of boots.” His blue haired contemporary in a similar manner of dress to him grabbed his shoulder.

 

“What’s so suspicious about a pair of boots?”

 

“Eyes like the avian creature you would call a hawk, Lukas. The tiniest detail can be vital in the work of a detective, or more importantly, in battle. Trust me, I’m a Sontaran. What I do not know about the art of war is not worth knowing. Now quiet, girl! I estimate those boots are property of one of Mould’s men, presumably taken off because the hard leather was harmful to his feet. I predict he will be exiting that dinery momentarily, at which point he will advance in the direction of those crates over there,” Strax pointed northwest with his cane, “and should, I suspect, slide an article into the crate precariously balanced on top of those other ones. An article, which will contain the details of Mould’s latest robbery. Incriminating evidence that will put Mould away for life, or equally satisfactory, before a firing squad.”

 

“I think you mean the gallows, Strax, executions in this time period tend to be hangings.”

 

“No fate is more fitting for a soldier than the firing squad, Lukas. Now hush! I can hear something!” Their eyes focused on the crates in front of them. It was to their immense surprise it was something else entirely that came hovering out of the Thames behind the dock. A silver sphere, clearly of alien origin, that landed on the dock in front of them. Strax pushed Luka behind him for his own safety. “I do not know whether to be glad or worried at this development.”

 

“As I don’t have a guitar, could you explain?”

 

“That object looks suspiciously like a Sontaran scout ship. My people are here. Whether that means I am to be rescued or your world is in great danger is anyone’s guess…”

 

“SONTAR-HA!” Both were stunned as the hatch on the ship opened up, revealing its pilot – a Sontaran marginally taller than Strax, equipped with black armour and a swagger stick. He climbed out, advanced forward and looked Strax over. “Commander Strax. The coward content to serve the weak and sick rather than fight in battle. To think your brothers of your clone batch pity you!”

 

“You know this guy, Strax?”

 

“I have no memory of meeting this Sontaran before.”

 

“Then perhaps your memory will be jogged upon seeing me open-skinned.” The Sontaran pressed a button on his gauntlet, and his helmet automatically retracted into his armour, revealing his true visage, and a notable burn scar on the right side of his face. Strax’s eyes went wide.

 

“Commander Strok… Director of Advanced Weapons Research… to what do I owe the honour of the presence of STRAW on this world?”

 

“STRAW? Really?”

 

“Less amusement, girl! It stands for Sontaran Technological Rapid Advancement in Warfare. I am Commander Strok, Sontar’s official Director of Advanced Weapons Research. I have business on this planet. Do not attempt to interfere.”

 

“With all due respect, Commander, I must insist on an answer! What does the 150th Sontaran Technological Rapid Advancement in Warfare battalion want with such a backwater planet as Earth?” Strok pointed his swagger stick to Strax’s throat.

 

“Do not try to be clever with me, vermin. But I might as well explain. A Time Lord calling himself the Vamtreeian contacted me, wanting me to make sure a bunch of half-forms his animated statues had displaced in time remained in the past…”

 

“One of them tall, purple hair? Named Juleka?”

 

“Silence, girl! Though yes, there was one matching your description. Stranded in your human time period of the 1600s, I believe. You, on the other hand, were not among them. But I have to assume you were also displaced. But back to the point. The opportunity was good, but greater prospects were available. The reptilian natives of Earth were awoken by my arrival, and I made them swear absolute loyalty to our project. They will have this world decontaminated of human filth, just as the universe will be decontaminated of the Rutan Host! As for you two, consider yourselves prisoners of war!” But before Strok could say anything further, a familiar rhythmic beating rang out, as a certain dark blue police box martialized around his intended prisoners.

 

(scene break)

The hum of the TARDIS console room was a strange comfort—organic, mechanical, timeless. Luka blinked against the golden glow, steadying himself on the railing as the spatial disorientation faded. The walls pulsed gently, like the breath of a living thing. He’d never seen anything like it. Strax, on the other hand, looked entirely at home.

 

“Ah,” he declared, puffing out his chest. “Clearly we have been extracted via emergency override. Standard procedure when high-value assets are threatened. I am the asset, of course.”

 

Luka gave him a look. “You’re a potato in a waistcoat.”

 

“A potato that has personally neutralized seventeen Rutans and once disarmed a Judoon with a butter knife. Show respect.” Footsteps echoed from the corridor. The Doctor strode in, coat flaring, Ruby Sunday at his side. Her eyes flicked between Luka and Strax, already calculating the emotional temperature of the room. Strax saluted. “Doctor. You’ve changed again. Like a shape-changing Rutan. For your sake, I hope you are not related to the Rutan Host.”

 

The Doctor grinned. “If I am, Strax old friend, I’ll let you serve as my firing squad.”

 

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bit dark.”

 

“Not for him,” the Doctor replied. “Strax considers firing squads a form of flattery.”

 

Before Luka could ask what exactly a Rutan was, another pair of figures entered—Kubdel and Marinette. Kubdel’s eyes locked onto Luka instantly, and his face softened. “I knew it,” he said quietly. “I told her you’d come back.” Marinette didn’t speak. She was already turning, already running. Luka’s heart thudded. “She’s gone to get Juleka,” Kubdel explained. “She’ll want to see you.”

 

Luka swallowed. “You’re here? All of you?”

 

“Not all,” Kubdel said. “Some are still scattered. But we’ve been gathering. The Doctor’s been helping. You’re not alone anymore.”

 

Strax looked between them, confused. “Is this a reunion? Should I prepare a tactical formation? Or perhaps a celebratory barrage?”

 

Ruby leaned toward the Doctor. “Who are they?”

 

The Doctor’s expression darkened. “Displaced. Victims of a Weeping Angel attack. Statues animated, identities fractured. The Vamtreeian scattered them across history like chess pieces.”

 

Strax’s eyes narrowed. “Then the Sontaran Director was telling the truth. The displaced are real. And if he’s allied with the Silurians…”

 

The Doctor nodded grimly. “Then Belfast is in danger. And we’re already late.”

 

A hush fell over the room. Luka stared at the console, the strange symbols, the impossible geometry. He felt the weight of time pressing in from all sides. But for the first time in weeks—maybe months—he wasn’t alone. Then came the sound of footsteps. Soft, hesitant. Luka turned. Juleka stood in the doorway. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, the universe held its breath. Juleka stood frozen in the doorway, her breath caught somewhere between disbelief and hope. Luka didn’t move. He couldn’t. The sight of her—real, alive, here—was too much. She stepped forward slowly, eyes scanning him like she wasn’t sure he was real.

 

“You weren’t at the party,” she said softly. “The one the Angels attacked. How did you get sent back?”

 

Luka swallowed. “You didn’t come home that night.” Juleka’s eyes flickered. “I waited. I called. I thought maybe you’d gone to Adrien’s or—” His voice cracked. “I went out to find you. I thought maybe you’d gotten lost, or hurt, or… I don’t know. I ended up near the old church. There was a statue I hadn’t seen before. I blinked and—next thing I know, I’m in a park in Victorian London.”

 

Juleka’s lips parted. “You saw an Angel.”

 

“I didn’t know what it was. I thought it was just… a statue. I didn’t even touch it.”

 

“You don’t have to,” she whispered. “That’s how they work.”

 

Luka looked down. “I didn’t even find you. I just vanished. Like I never existed.”

 

Juleka stepped closer, her hand brushing his sleeve. “You did. You do. I never stopped looking.” The hum of the TARDIS faded into the background as the two of them stepped aside, finding a quiet alcove near the console’s edge. The others gave them space—Kubdel with a nod, Marinette with a glance that said go. Juleka reached out, her fingers trembling slightly. Luka took her hand. “I thought I’d never see you again,” she said.

 

“I thought I’d never see anyone again.” They stood there, hands clasped, the weight of lost time pressing between them. Luka’s voice was barely audible. “I kept thinking… if I’d just stayed home. If I hadn’t gone out.”

 

Juleka shook her head. “You came looking for me. That’s not something you regret.”

 

“I don’t,” he said. “But I wish I’d found you before the Angel did.”

 

Juleka leaned her forehead against his. “You did. Just… a little later than planned.”

 

Luka leaned against the coral strut of the TARDIS, still trying to process the impossible reunion. “So I end up in Victorian London, meet up with Vastra, Jenny and Strax. What about you, Jul? Where did you end up?”

 

Juleka’s gaze dropped, her voice low and steady. “London. But way earlier than you.” She paused, then continued, each word deliberate. “The Angel that got me… it didn’t send me here exactly. It sent me back to 1663. London of all places. Couldn’t have been Paris or anywhere I might be able to remember—no, it’s London, with its plagues and criminals and witch-hunts.” Luka’s breath caught. “You just imagine that for a moment,” she said. “Waking up in a city you’ve never been to in your life, hundreds of years before you were even born, with no one you remember to help you through the pain. It’s difficult, isn’t it?” Luka nodded slowly. “That’s what I had to fight through,” Juleka said. “The streets were my home for a while. For a year or so. Nothing I knew how to do would be of use in that time. Modelling, music—none of it worked. Music round there’s way too traditional for my tastes, and modelling isn’t even a concept yet.” She gave a bitter smile. “So I resorted to just surviving. Just about the only time I’ve been glad no one ever notices me.” Luka’s eyes softened. “For about a year,” she said, “I lived off the streets. Stealing whatever I needed to survive. Then it all got complicated. I got too confident. Nearly got sent to the gallows.”

 

“You escaped?”

 

“Barely. I knew the law wouldn’t stop until I was recaptured, so I did the only sensible thing. I ran. Hid around the docks for a while. That’s when I overheard two men—Stemar and Ronzer—talking about something. I didn’t know who they were. I just knew they had a ship.” She looked up, eyes gleaming with something fierce. “I joined their pirate crew. Rose through the ranks. Became a pirate queen.”

 

Luka blinked. “You’re serious.”

 

“Dead serious. Then came the hunt for the Trident of Poseidon. Stemar turned out to be the Master—yeah, that Master. He wanted the Trident to flood the planet. The Doctor stopped him. By going back in time and rescuing me before I joined him.”

 

Luka frowned. “But if you were rescued…”

 

Juleka’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It meant my older self had to sacrifice herself to stop the Master. She knew what was coming. She chose it.” Silence fell between them. “I’ve barely had time to unwind since then,” she said. “But seeing you here… it helps.”

 

Luka reached for her hand. “You survived all that. You became something. I’m proud of you.”

 

Juleka gave a small, tired smile. “I’m just glad you didn’t stop looking.”

 

While Luka and Juleka spoke in hushed tones near the edge of the console room, Strax marched up to the Doctor with the urgency of a soldier delivering battlefield intelligence. “There is great danger afoot,” he declared, voice booming. “The 150th Sontaran Technological Rapid Advancement in Warfare battalion is in this time period. They are allying with the natives of Earth to destroy its ape population—and the Rutan Host. You may want to investigate.”

 

Ruby raised a confused eyebrow. “Ape population?”

 

“Humans,” the Doctor clarified, arms folded. “He means humans. Of course. Good call, Strax. I think a visit to Madame Vastra is due.”

 

Strax saluted. “She will be most pleased to see me. I have not visited her since the incident with the exploding teapot.”

 

Ruby blinked. “Exploding… teapot?”

 

“Long story,” the Doctor said. “Involving a rogue Silurian chemist and a very unfortunate tea party.” Behind them, Luka and Juleka remained locked in quiet conversation, their hands still clasped, the weight of years pressing between them. But the moment was shifting. The air in the TARDIS had changed—war was coming, and the past wasn’t done with them yet. The Doctor turned toward the console, flipping switches with practiced ease. “Strax, prep your weapons. Ruby, get your coat. We’re heading back into the shadows of London.”

 

“And what of the young displaced?” Strax asked, glancing toward Luka and Juleka.

 

The Doctor looked over, his expression softening. “They’ve already survived the worst time has to offer. Now it’s time they helped us stop it.”

 

(scene break)

 

The Sontaran stronghold loomed over the Belfast docks like a metallic ulcer—brutalist, angular, and humming with unnatural energy. Inside, the command chamber was a shrine to militaristic excess: polished alloy walls, tactical schematics projected in midair, and a central dais where Commander Strok stood like a war-god surveying his empire. He was flanked by two Sontaran guards, their black armour gleaming under the harsh lights. Across from him, the Silurian leader Kimlara stood tall and poised, her emerald scales catching the glow of the superweapon’s core reactor behind them. Strok gestured grandly to the holographic map of Earth, red zones pulsing across the continents. “As you can see, our deployment is precise. The 150th Sontaran Technological Rapid Advancement in Warfare battalion has established control nodes in key sectors. The weapon—Project Purgefire—is nearing completion. Once activated, it will emit a planetary cleansing wave, targeting all non-Sontaran and non-Silurian DNA.”

 

Kimlara’s tongue flicked thoughtfully. “And you are certain this device will purge our rightful home planet of the stinking apes that dared to stake illegal claim to it during our hibernation?”

 

Strok turned, his burn-scarred face lit with pride. “Nothing short of that standard will be tolerated. Nor anything short of absolute perfection. I am Commander Strok, Director of Advanced Weapons Research. I do not hope for results—I engineer them.”

 

Kimlara narrowed her eyes. “We have waited centuries. I will not see this mission fail because of Sontaran arrogance.”

 

Strok stepped forward, his swagger stick tapping against the floor with each word. “Arrogance is the privilege of those who win. And we shall win, Kimlara. The apes will fall. The Rutans will burn. And Earth will be reborn under our joint dominion.” He turned to his guards. “Enforce morale levels upon the workers. No delays. No dissent. If they falter, remind them what failure costs.”

 

The guards saluted and marched out, their boots echoing like gunfire. Kimlara watched them go, then turned back to Strok. “You speak of rebirth. But I wonder—when the dust settles, will your kind leave room for mine?”

 

Strok smiled coldly. “That depends, Kimlara. On how well you perform.” Kimlara was satisfied and left. Then Strok muttered to himself. “Not that how she performs will be a considerable factor. When Purgefire is completed, the war with the Rutan Host shall finally end. And I will return to Sontar a hero, a legend!”

 

(scene break)

 

The fog hung low over Paternoster Row, curling around gas lamps and cobbled stones like a living thing. A horse-drawn carriage rattled past, its driver barely glancing at the strange blue box that had just materialised outside number 13. The TARDIS groaned into existence with its usual theatrical flair, startling a flock of pigeons and one very startled cat. Just as the final echo faded, Jenny Flint turned the corner, arms full of shopping bags and a loaf of bread tucked under one arm. She stopped dead in her tracks.

 

“Well,” she said, eyeing the box. “That’s either a very fancy wardrobe or the Doctor’s back.” The door creaked open. The Doctor stepped out, coat flaring, followed by Strax—already scanning the perimeter—and Luka, still adjusting to the time shift. Jenny raised an eyebrow. “I’ll assume you’re the Doctor. Changed again.”

 

“Time Lords are chameleons, my dear Jenny,” the Doctor said with a grin. “Though I like to think I’ve kept the charm.”

 

Strax stomped forward, nearly knocking over a milk crate. “Is Madame Vastra at home?”

 

Jenny blinked. “Yes, why?”

 

“There is a vitally important matter of strategical urgency I need to discuss with her,” Strax declared. “It concerns planetary annihilation, Silurian insurgency, and the possible deployment of a Sontaran superweapon. Also, I may require tea.”

 

Jenny sighed. “You always require tea.”

 

Strax nodded solemnly. “It is the only acceptable beverage for pre-battle briefings.”

 

Jenny turned toward the door. “Come on, then. She’s in the parlour. And if you’ve brought trouble, you’d better have brought biscuits.”

 

(scene break)

 

The parlour at number 13 was as Vastra had always kept it—elegant, austere, and faintly scented with jasmine and steel. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the carved wood panels and the polished tea service laid out with surgical precision. Madame Vastra stood by the window, her silhouette sharp against the fog-drenched glass. She turned as the Doctor entered, her reptilian eyes narrowing with recognition—and something softer. “You’ve changed again,” she said.

 

The Doctor smiled. “Time Lords do that. But I always come back.”

 

Vastra stepped forward, her voice low. “And you bring company.”

 

The Doctor gestured behind him as the displaced began to file in—Marinette, Alya, Nino, Ivan, Mylène, Nathaniel, Kubdel, Rose, and finally Juleka, who lingered near Luka with quiet gravity. “These are the ones scattered by the Vamtreeian’s minions,” the Doctor said. “Displaced across centuries. We’ve begun to gather them.” Vastra’s gaze swept the group, calculating and curious. She paused on Luka and Juleka, noting the way his stance subtly shielded her, the way her eyes flicked to him before settling anywhere else.

 

“A close friend of yours in the future, young Luka?” she asked. “Or… no, you mentioned a sister…”

 

Luka stepped forward, voice steady. “Madame Vastra, Jenny—meet Juleka Couffaine. My little sister. The Weeping Angels sent her to pirate times.”

 

Jenny blinked. “Pirate times?”

 

Juleka gave a small nod. “1663. I became a pirate queen. Long story.”

 

Jenny looked impressed. “You’ll fit right in.”

 

Before anyone could respond, Strax stomped into the room, his boots echoing like cannon fire. “This is no time for tea and sentiment!” he barked. “The situation is dire. The 150th Sontaran Technological Rapid Advancement in Warfare battalion is active in this time period. They are constructing a superweapon with the aid of Earth’s reptilian natives. The objective: total annihilation of the ape population and the Rutan Host.”

 

Vastra’s eyes narrowed. “Silurians allied with Sontarans?”

 

“Indeed,” Strax said. “And they are building something called Project Purgefire. We must act.” He gestured toward the adjoining drawing room. “All strategical minds, assemble. We require maps, tea, and immediate tactical planning.”

 

Jenny sighed. “I’ll get the biscuits.”

 

The Doctor turned to Vastra. “You in?”

 

Vastra nodded once. “Always.”

 

(scene break)

 

The drawing room had been hastily converted into a war council. Maps of Belfast and London were spread across the table, pinned with markers and scribbled notes. Jenny poured tea with the efficiency of a field medic, while Vastra stood by the fireplace, arms folded, her gaze sharp. Strax paced in front of the hearth, his boots thudding against the floorboards with every step. The displaced sat clustered near the window—Marinette, Alya, Nino, Ivan, Mylène, Nathaniel, Kubdel, Rose, and Juleka—watching the Sontaran with a mix of curiosity and dread. Strax stopped abruptly. “I have heard rumours of this weapon before. Project Purgefire.” The room fell silent. “The codename was whispered in the deepest vaults of Sontaran military lore,” he continued. “A legendary doomsday-level superweapon. Its power was beyond comprehension. Once activated, it would exterminate all non-Sontaran life on a planet.”

 

Ruby leaned forward. “All non-Sontaran?”

 

Strax nodded grimly. “Yes. But its effects were… horrific. The weapon did not discriminate. It did not cleanse—it erased. Entire ecosystems, cultures, species. Sontaran High Command, and General Sontar himself, were appalled. Project Purgefire was shut down. Locked away. Forbidden.”

 

Vastra’s eyes narrowed. “And now it’s being revived.”

 

“I suspect,” Strax said, “that the 150th Sontaran Technological Rapid Advancement in Warfare battalion is reviving the project without authorisation. They have allied with the reptilian natives of Earth—the Silurians—who believe it will destroy every human on this planet.” He turned to the Doctor. “But I know for a fact it will destroy all non-Sontaran life on Earth.”

 

The Doctor’s expression darkened. “Including the Silurians themselves.”

 

“Indeed,” Strax said. “They are being deceived. Or worse—sacrificed.” Juleka shifted closer to Luka, her hand brushing his. Marinette glanced at Kubdel, who was already scanning the map for patterns. Ruby looked to the Doctor. “So what do we do?”

 

The Doctor stepped forward, eyes blazing. “We stop it. We find the weapon. We dismantle the alliance. And we remind the 150th that Earth is not theirs to purge.”

 

Vastra nodded. “Then we begin.”

 

(scene break)

 

The TARDIS landed with a heavy thud on the edge of Belfast’s industrial quarter, its blue frame flickering slightly against the cold grey skyline. Smoke curled from distant chimneys, and the air carried the scent of oil, salt, and something faintly metallic. The door creaked open, and the group stepped out into the chill. The Doctor surveyed the surroundings with a practiced eye. “Right. We’re close. The stronghold’s somewhere beneath the docks. We’ll need to split up—two teams. One to infiltrate, one to sabotage.”

 

Vastra nodded. “I’ll take Jenny, Ruby, and Marinette. We’ll scout the perimeter and locate the weapon’s core.”

 

The Doctor gestured to the others. “Kubdel, Juleka, Luka—you’re with me. We’ll find the command centre and see what kind of mess the 150th has made.”

 

Strax stepped forward, already bristling with anticipation. “I shall accompany whichever team requires the most firepower. I am equipped with grenades, plasma rounds, and a particularly sharp spoon.”

 

Ruby smirked. “We’ll keep that in mind.” As the group began to move out, the Doctor paused, glancing at the schematics Vastra had pulled from the TARDIS database.

 

“I doubt the weapon will simply have an on/off button,” he muttered. “Not like a Sontaran.”

 

Strax turned, affronted. “Sontarans do not have an on/off button—” The Doctor reached out and tapped the probic vent at the back of Strax’s neck. Strax collapsed instantly, face-first into the gravel with a muffled grunt. The group froze. The Doctor gave a playful chuckle, crouched down, and tapped the vent again. Strax jolted upright like a wind-up toy, sputtering indignantly.

 

“Ha ha, very funny sir(!)” he barked, brushing dust off his coat. “A most dishonourable tactic. I shall report this to the Honour Council.”

 

“You don’t have one,” Ruby said.

 

“I shall form one,” Strax snapped.

 

The Doctor clapped him on the shoulder. “Come on, Commander. Let’s go stop a genocide.”

 

Strax straightened. “Sontar-ha.” The teams split, boots crunching against the gravel as they disappeared into the fog. Beneath the city, Project Purgefire waited.

 

(scene break)

 

The Belfast docks were quiet, but not empty. Vastra’s team moved like ghosts through the fog—Jenny at her side, Ruby and Marinette trailing close behind. The air was thick with tension and the scent of damp stone. They ducked behind a stack of crates as two Silurian patrol guards passed, their bio-sensors sweeping the area in slow arcs. Vastra held up a clawed hand, signaling silence.

 

Ruby leaned in. “They’re not just patrolling. They’re guarding something.”

 

Marinette nodded. “I saw a hatch. Looked like it led underground.”

 

Jenny whispered, “Then that’s our way in.”

 

Vastra’s eyes narrowed. “We move on my mark. And if we’re spotted—no killing. These are deceived allies, not enemies.” They slipped into the shadows, the hatch looming ahead like a mouth waiting to swallow them whole.

 

(scene break)

 

Meanwhile, beneath the city, the Doctor’s team had found something far worse. The chamber was vast—walls lined with humming Sontaran tech, glowing with unnatural energy. Luka and Juleka exchanged a glance as Kubdel scanned the room, eyes wide. Strax stepped forward, his expression darkening. “This… this is not standard battlefield equipment.”

 

The Doctor crouched beside a console, fingers dancing across the interface. “Temporal stabilisers. Phase anchors. This isn’t just a weapon—it’s a planetary synchroniser.”

 

Strax’s eyes widened. “Temporal technology. Of course. I’ve seen schematics like these in the vaults of Sontar.”

 

The Doctor looked up. “They’re planning to temporarily fuse Earth’s temporal coordinates with those of Ruta Prime.”

 

Luka frowned. “Ruta Prime?”

 

“The Rutan homeworld,” Strax said grimly. “If the planets overlap, even briefly, and Purgefire is activated…”

 

The Doctor finished the thought. “The blast will incinerate all non-Sontaran life on both planets.”

 

Strax staggered back, visibly shaken. “The Rutan Queen… Rutans are like what you humans call ants. If their queen was destroyed, the Rutans would be lost! The war that has lasted for millions of years would be over—victory for the Sontarans, but still…!”
He clenched his fists. “A war won in such circumstances, with unfathomable dishonour for the winners… Unthinkable! Commander Strok must be stopped!” He turned to the Doctor, voice rising. “And if nothing else, I would personally like to be the one to deliver him and his STRAW battalion back to Sontar for a full military trial—the only appropriate fate of dissidents!”

 

The Doctor nodded. “Then we’d better move fast. Because if they activate the synchroniser, we won’t have a planet left to argue over.”

 

(scene break)

 

The hatch groaned open with a hiss of steam and the scent of damp stone. Vastra led the way, her blade drawn but lowered, Jenny close behind with a lantern, and Ruby and Marinette flanking them in silence. The passage beneath the Belfast docks was narrow, carved from old brick and reinforced with alien alloys. The deeper they went, the more the air shimmered with unnatural heat. They emerged into a vast chamber—part bunker, part temple. Silurian banners hung from the walls, and at the far end stood Kimlara, tall and regal, flanked by her elite guard. Her armour gleamed with ceremonial gold, and her eyes burned with righteous fury.

 

Vastra stepped forward, unflinching. “Kimlara.”

 

Kimlara’s gaze narrowed. “Vastra. I had heard whispers you still lived. I did not expect you to crawl back into the light with ape filth at your heels.”

 

Jenny bristled. “Oi.”

 

Vastra raised a hand. “I came to speak, not to fight. You must reconsider this alliance. The weapon you’re helping build—Project Purgefire—it will not spare your kind. It will destroy all non-Sontaran life. That includes Silurians.”

 

Kimlara’s tail flicked. “Lies. Your mind has been corrupted by the stinking ape vermin. You’ve lived among them too long.”

 

“I’ve lived among truth,” Vastra said. “And I’ve seen what this weapon does. It doesn’t discriminate. It eradicates. You think you’re reclaiming the planet—but you’re helping burn it.”

 

Kimlara stepped forward, voice rising. “The Purgefire will destroy their filthy kind and reclaim the planet for my Silurian sisters!” The guards shifted, claws twitching. Tension crackled in the air.
Then Marinette stepped forward, her voice quiet but clear. “Are you prepared to take that chance?” Kimlara turned, startled by the interruption. Marinette didn’t flinch. “You say it will spare your people. But what if it doesn’t? What if you’re wrong? What if you light the fuse and watch your sisters burn with the rest of us?” Silence fell. Kimlara’s eyes flicked to Vastra, then to the chamber walls, then back to Marinette. Her jaw tightened. The fire in her gaze dimmed—just slightly.

 

“I… will consider your words,” she said at last. “But I will not stand idle while the apes poison our world.”

 

Vastra nodded. “Then stand with us. Help us stop the weapon. Help us save what’s left.”

 

Kimlara didn’t answer. But she didn’t give the order to attack. And for now, that was enough. Then suddenly, “Sontar-ho!”, that voice echoing off the stone walls like a war drum. The tension in the chamber was already thick when the air split with a mechanical hiss. A reinforced door slammed open, and Commander Strok strode in, flanked by his elite guard—six Sontarans in black armour, their visors gleaming, weapons already primed.

 

Kimlara turned sharply, her posture stiffening. “Commander Strok. We were just—”

 

Strok raised his swagger stick, pointing it directly at her chest. “Conspiring with the enemy.”

 

Kimlara’s eyes narrowed. “I was questioning the weapon’s reach. Vastra claims it will destroy Silurians as well as humans.”

 

Strok sneered. “Your mind has been poisoned by ape sympathisers. You speak of doubt. Doubt is treason.” He turned to his guard. “Repay her treachery as you would treachery against us!”

 

Kimlara’s voice rang out, sharp and defiant. “Guards! Defend me!”

 

But the Sontarans were faster. In a blur of motion, plasma rifles were raised and fired. The Silurian elite barely had time to react—two fell instantly, their bodies crumpling in smoke and silence. Kimlara ducked behind a pillar, hissing orders, but her forces were outmatched, outgunned, and outflanked.

 

Vastra grabbed Jenny’s arm. “We’re leaving. Now.”

 

Ruby pulled Marinette close as the four of them sprinted toward the exit, ducking behind crates and dodging stray blasts. The chamber lit up in flashes of red and blue, the screams of dying Silurians echoing behind them. Marinette looked back once, just as Kimlara was struck—her body falling in a spiral of gold and green.

 

Vastra didn’t let her stop. “We mourn later. We fight now.”

 

They burst through the hatch and into the fog, the sounds of slaughter fading behind them. The alliance was broken. The war had begun.

 

(scene break)

 

The group reconvened in a shadowed alley behind the Belfast docks, the fog thicker now, as if the city itself were mourning. Vastra stood apart from the others, her blade sheathed, her posture rigid. Jenny hovered near her, silent, knowing better than to speak.
Ruby paced, her hands trembling slightly. She’d seen battles before—she’d seen monsters. But this was different. This was betrayal. This was genocide. She turned to the Doctor as he emerged from the underground chamber, his coat dusted with soot, his expression already darkening.

 

“They’re dead,” Ruby said quietly. “Kimlara. Her guards. All of them. Strok gave the order. Vastra tried to talk her down. Marinette even got through to her. But it was too late.”

 

The Doctor froze. “Yet another opportunity,” he said, voice low and bitter. “Another chance to broker peace between the past and present rulers of Earth—and once again it ends in a bloodbath.”
His fists clenched. “I came so close last time. We had a deal. We had hope. And now…”

 

Kubdel stepped forward, placing a hand on Ruby’s shoulder. “He’s my uncle. I’ve seen him carry the weight of worlds. He’ll carry this too.”

 

Luka and Juleka exchanged a glance, then turned to Strax, who stood like a statue, his face unreadable.

 

Strax finally spoke, voice like gravel. “Commander Strok’s list of dishonourable actions grows by the second. Unauthorized deployment. Betrayal of allies. Use of forbidden technology. And now—massacre.” He looked to the Doctor. “When he is brought before Sontaran High Command and is ultimately repaid with the firing squad for his treachery, I hope to be there. Ideally as the one to fire the fatal shot.”

 

The Doctor didn’t flinch. He simply nodded, the grief settling into something colder. Sharper. “We mourn later,” he said. “Right now, we stop the synchroniser. We stop Purgefire. And we stop Strok.”

 

Vastra stepped forward, her voice quiet. “I failed her.”

 

The Doctor met her gaze. “No. You tried. That’s more than most ever do.”

 

Ruby looked up, her resolve hardening. “Then let’s finish this.” The fog parted slightly, revealing the path ahead. The final confrontation was coming—and this time, they wouldn’t be too late.

 

(scene break)

 

Deep beneath the Belfast docks, the command chamber pulsed with unnatural energy. The synchroniser’s core glowed a sickly blue, its temporal anchors humming in perfect alignment. The walls were lined with Sontaran tech—brutal, efficient, and utterly indifferent to the life it was about to erase. Commander Strok stood at the central dais, his swagger stick raised like a sceptre. Around him, his elite STRAW battalion moved with mechanical precision, locking coordinates, calibrating the Purgefire’s ignition sequence.

 

“Synchroniser online,” one barked.

 

“Temporal fusion stabilised,” another confirmed.

 

Strok’s eyes gleamed. “Purgefire is ready.” He stepped forward, addressing his troops with the fervour of a war prophet. “This is the final day of the war with the Rutan Host. No more skirmishes. No more stalemates. No more waiting for the tides of battle to shift.” He turned to the central console, his voice rising. “This time tomorrow, I return to Sontar a hero. A legend. Strok, the Victorious.”

 

The battalion roared in unison: “Sontar-ha!” Strok smiled, the glow of the weapon casting sharp shadows across his scarred face. He didn’t see the horror. He saw legacy. He saw victory. He saw the end of a war that had defined his species for millennia. And he didn’t care who burned to make it happen. The synchroniser chamber pulsed with unstable energy, the temporal fusion sequence nearing completion. The Doctor’s team burst through the side entrance—Strax, Luka, Juleka, Kubdel, and the Doctor himself—just as the final countdown began. Commander Strok turned, his swagger stick raised like a blade. “Ah, the traitors arrive.”

 

The Doctor stepped forward. “You’re about to incinerate two planets, Strok. Call it off.”

 

Strok sneered. “Victory demands sacrifice. And I will not be denied mine.”

 

His eyes flicked to Strax. “You, at least, understand. You were bred for war. You know the cost of weakness. These apes—these vermin—have corrupted your instincts. But you are Sontaran. Superior. You belong with us.” Strax hesitated. Just for a moment. The chamber’s glow reflected in his eyes. The promise of victory. The end of the Rutan war. The legacy.

 

But then Luka moved. He slipped past the console, fingers dancing across the interface. He remembered the drills Vastra had run, the sabotage techniques Jenny had taught him, the way Strax had once explained Sontaran redundancies with exasperated clarity. He found the failsafe. He triggered the override. The Purgefire core dimmed. The synchroniser stuttered.

 

Strok roared. “You dare!” He pointed at Luka. “Execute him!” But before the guards could move, the chamber door burst open again. Vastra, Jenny, Ruby, and Marinette charged in, weapons drawn, eyes blazing.

 

“Hold the line!” Vastra shouted.

 

The room erupted into chaos—plasma bolts, blade clashes, shouted orders. Luka ducked behind a console as Jenny kicked a crate into a guard’s path. Ruby grabbed Marinette’s hand and pulled her toward cover. Strok surged forward, fury incarnate. “You will not rob me of my victory!” He raised his weapon, stepping onto a loose plank in the floor—just as Jenny, with perfect timing, kicked the opposite end upward. CRACK. The plank flipped like a catapult, slamming into the back of Strok’s neck—right into his probic vent. Strok froze, eyes wide, then collapsed like a felled statue.

 

Strax blinked. “A most effective use of battlefield debris.”

 

The Doctor stepped over Strok’s unconscious form, checking the console. “Synchroniser offline. Purgefire disabled.”

 

Vastra looked down at the fallen commander. “Victory denied.”

 

Strax nodded solemnly. “Commander Strok will be returned to Sontar. And when he is brought before High Command, I shall request the honour of delivering the fatal shot myself.”

 

The Doctor sighed, the tension finally easing. “Let’s get out of here before someone decides to restart the apocalypse.”

 

(scene break)

 

The TARDIS hummed gently as it dematerialised from the fog-drenched streets of Victorian London, leaving behind the quiet silhouette of 13 Paternoster Row. Inside, Luka leaned against the console, watching the city fade from view.

 

“Thanks,” he said softly. “For everything.”

 

Vastra inclined her head. “You were a gracious guest. And a brave one.”

 

Jenny gave him a quick hug. “Don’t be a stranger. And tell Juleka she’s got pirate queen energy for life.”

 

The Doctor smiled, flicking a lever. “Back to the stars, then.” With a final wave, Vastra and Jenny stepped out into the London mist, the doors closing behind them. The TARDIS lurched into motion, and Luka turned to rejoin the others.

 

(scene break)

 

In the lounge, Ruby had gathered the displaced around the central table, a makeshift roster scribbled across a chalkboard she’d found in the storage room. “Okay,” she said, ticking names off with the chalk. “Marinette, Alya, Nino, Ivan, Mylène, Luka, Juleka, Rose, Nathaniel, Kubdel… oh, and Manon and Alya’s younger sisters, Ella and Etta. That’s all we’ve got so far.”

 

Kubdel leaned back in his chair, arms folded. “That’ll leave Max and Adrien. And Kim.” She smirked. “Might look for the meathead next, actually. I’m curious what he’s getting up to while he waits for us to rescue him. Probably arm-wrestling a dinosaur or something.”

 

Marinette chuckled. “Or trying to punch a time anomaly.”

 

Ruby grinned. “Let’s hope he hasn’t joined a gladiator cult.”

 

The Doctor stepped in, coat swishing. “Well, if he has, we’ll just have to crash the arena.”

 

Luka glanced at the board. “We’re getting close.”

 

Juleka nodded. “But not close enough.”

 

The Doctor looked around at the group—tired, scattered, but slowly reuniting. “We’ll find the rest. One by one. No one gets left behind.” The TARDIS hummed in agreement, its lights flickering gently overhead.

Chapter Text

The TARDIS landed with a reluctant wheeze, its engines groaning like old floorboards under a shifting house. Outside, the wind stirred—dry, restless, and heavy with the scent of scorched sagebrush. The console lights dimmed to a dusty amber, casting long shadows across the displaced ensemble. The Doctor stepped back from the console, coat swaying, eyes scanning the readouts with a frown that deepened by the second. “Arizona Territory,” he said, voice clipped. “Year’s 1871. Old West. And judging by the signal, we’re not the first ones here.”

 

Alya leaned against the railing, arms folded. “So we’re talking saloons and shootouts?”

 

“Possibly,” the Doctor replied. “But more likely body-snatching outlaws and memory suppression fields.”

 

Nino frowned. “You said someone from our class was sent here?”

 

The Doctor nodded. “One of the displaced. The Angels dropped them here, but the signal’s scrambled. I can’t tell who.”

 

Ivan stepped forward, his hoodie stained from Belfast, his boots heavy on the metal floor. “If we’re heading into town, we can’t exactly show up dressed like this.”

 

Mylène nodded beside him. “We’ll stand out. And not in a good way.”

 

Luka, quiet until now, tilted his head. “If they’ve been here a while, they might’ve gone native. We need to blend in.”

 

The Doctor hesitated. His fingers twitched against the console, calculating risk against time. “Every second we waste, the enemy dig deeper. Whoever’s here—whoever they’ve got—we need to reach them before the conversion completes.”

 

Kubdel Braxiatel stepped forward, her gaze distant, attuned to something deeper. “Let us change,” she said. “We’ll move faster if we’re not being stared at.”

 

The Doctor sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Five minutes. Wardrobe’s down the corridor, third door on the left. No corsets, no spurs, and no trying to ride the coat rack. It bites.”

 

Ella and Etta squealed in delight, already darting toward the corridor with Manon trailing behind, giggling. Rose and Juleka exchanged a glance—Rose beaming, Juleka deadpan—and followed. Alya lingered, scanning the console as if it might give her a name. Nathaniel clutched his sketchbook tighter. “Do you think they’ll remember us?”

 

The Doctor didn’t answer. He turned back to the console, voice low. “Five minutes. That’s all the time I can give you.”

 

Outside, the wind picked up, carrying with it the scent of gunpowder and something older—something wrong. The enemy was waiting. And somewhere out there, one of their own had already become legend.

 

(scene break)

 

The desert wind curled around the ridge like a serpent, stirring dry grass and whispering secrets to the stones. On a sun-bleached hill overlooking the town, two figures stood silhouetted against the dying light—one tall and languid, the other perched on a rock, legs swinging idly. El Señor Supremo struck a match against his boot and lit a cigar with theatrical precision. The flame flared, briefly illuminating the deep creases of his sun-worn face and the glint of something far too intelligent behind his lazy drawl. “Well now,” he murmured, exhaling smoke in a slow, deliberate spiral. “I do believe we have ascertained a location of the previously discussed valuable object.”

 

Donika Kola blinked, her parasol twirling absently in one hand. “We did?”

 

Supremo chuckled, low and cold. “Didn’t you notice, sugar plum? There are two TARDISes here. One of which is of obviously inferior workmanship and quality.” He handed her a pair of binoculars, polished and ornate, etched with symbols that didn’t belong to this century—or this planet. “The blue box,” he continued, gesturing toward the town below, where the TARDIS had just materialised in a shimmer of displaced air. “Materialisin’ right over yonder. That’s our cue.”

 

Donika raised the binoculars, squinting dramatically. “Ooh, it’s cute. Like a little toy. Do you think they brought snacks?”

 

Supremo didn’t answer. His gaze was fixed on the town, calculating, dissecting. The cigar smouldered between his fingers, forgotten. “It appears,” he drawled, “our plans will have to be accelerated.”

 

Donika lowered the binoculars, her smile wide and vacant. “Accelerated like... fast?”

 

“Precisely,” he said, voice sharpening beneath the accent. “Give the message to the Shoal. Tell them the hunt begins now.” Donika hopped off the rock, twirling once before pulling a compact communicator from her garter. Her fingers danced across the interface with practiced ease, her expression still dreamy. Supremo turned away from the ridge, his coat catching the wind like a banner. Behind the drawl and the swagger, behind the cigar and the Southern charm, something ancient stirred—something cruel, clever, and very, very familiar.

 

(scene break)

 

The corridor to the TARDIS wardrobe was a winding, wood-panelled thing—part Victorian haberdashery, part interdimensional closet. The walls shimmered faintly, adjusting to the temporal coordinates like a living museum of fashion. As the ensemble spilled into the space, the lights brightened, casting a warm glow over racks of coats, shelves of boots, and drawers that whispered open as if they’d been waiting. Ella and Etta darted ahead, squealing with delight as they unearthed matching prairie dresses—ruffled, ribboned, and entirely impractical. Manon found a bonnet and immediately declared herself “Sheriff of the TARDIS,” brandishing a feathered fan like a badge. Alya pulled a long, wine-coloured skirt from a rack and paired it with a corseted bodice that shimmered faintly with protective thread. “No corsets,” she muttered, quoting the Doctor, then smirked. “He should’ve known better.”

 

Nino found a faded duster and a wide-brimmed hat, spinning once in front of a mirror. “I look like I’ve been chasing tumbleweeds for a decade. Perfect.” Ivan and Mylène coordinated without speaking—he in a rugged vest and boots, she in a layered skirt and embroidered blouse. Luka chose a long coat with silver buttons and a scarf that trailed like music behind him. Rose emerged in a pastel ensemble that looked like it belonged in a saloon painting, while Juleka found a black lace number that made her look like she’d stepped out of a ghost story. Nathaniel, after much deliberation, settled on a sketchbook holster and a waistcoat with ink-stained pockets. Kubdel Braxiatel stood apart, selecting a tailored coat with Gallifreyan embroidery hidden in the lining. Her boots clicked with quiet authority, her eyes scanning the room like she was already halfway to the next century.

 

They reconvened in the console room, a parade of anachronistic elegance and rebellious flair. Spurs clinked. Corsets creaked. Hats tilted at rakish angles. The Doctor didn’t look up from the console. “I said no corsets. And no spurs.”

 

Alya twirled. “We heard you.”

 

“I knew you’d ignore me,” he sighed, finally glancing up. “I just hoped you’d do it with less glitter.”

He took in the ensemble with a resigned nod, then gestured toward the door. “Right. Let’s go find out who the Angels dropped here. And let’s try not to get arrested for fashion crimes.” The door creaked open. Sunlight spilled in. The wind carried the scent of dust and danger. And somewhere out there, one of their own was waiting.

 

(scene break)

 

The sun hung low over the horizon, casting long shadows across the cracked earth as the TARDIS crew stepped into the town. Dust clung to their boots, swirling around them like memory. The buildings were worn and leaning, their wooden frames groaning in the wind. A saloon sign creaked overhead, and somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once and fell silent. The ensemble moved cautiously, their period clothes drawing curious glances from townsfolk who had long since stopped expecting strangers. Alya scanned the storefronts, noting the absence of modern tech. Ivan kept close to Mylène, while Luka drifted near the edge of the group, eyes scanning for threats. Juleka stepped out last, her black lace dress trailing behind her like smoke.

 

On a ridge overlooking the town, El Señor Supremo watched through his binoculars, the cigar smouldering between his fingers. Donika Kola stood beside him, parasol twirling, her gaze fixed on the group below. She stiffened. “That one,” she hissed, pointing. “The girl in black. That’s her. Juleka Couffaine.”

 

Supremo didn’t lower the binoculars. “Ah. The Caribbean incident.”

 

“She killed me,” Donika snapped, voice rising. “Or at least the version of me that wore stripes and a bandana and didn’t need shoes to climb rigging. She lured us into that powder trap and blew us sky high.”

 

Supremo finally turned, his drawl slow and deliberate. “Now, now, sugar plum. The Doctor doesn’t realise who he’s dealin’ with yet. We should make sure he remains that way.”

 

Donika pouted, her grip tightening on the parasol. “But she planned it. She knew exactly what she was doing. That wasn’t a lucky shot—it was execution.”

 

Supremo chuckled, low and cold. “If you were lookin’ to punish Ms Couffaine for what she did to us in the Caribbean... remember, it ain’t murder without witnesses.”

 

Donika blinked, then smiled—slowly, sweetly, like a snake curling around a branch. “No witnesses,” she echoed, voice syrupy. Below, Juleka paused, sensing something. Her eyes flicked toward the ridge, but saw only wind and dust. Supremo turned back to the town, his gaze narrowing. “Let the Doctor play his little rescue game. We’ll be waitin’. And when the time’s right... we’ll take back what’s ours.” Donika twirled her parasol once more, humming a tune that hadn’t been heard since the Caribbean burned.

 

(scene break)

 

The Dodgecliff train station loomed like a forgotten promise—its timbers sun-bleached, its tracks rusted and half-swallowed by sand. The TARDIS crew passed it in silence, boots crunching on gravel, eyes scanning for signs of the displaced. Nathaniel paused first, tugging Luka’s sleeve. “There.”

 

A wanted poster flapped lazily on the bulletin board, its corners curled like old parchment. The image was crude but unmistakable: a man with a jagged scar running from temple to jaw, his eyes hollow, his expression blank.

 

“Definitely whichever enemy we’re facing,” Luka murmured. “That scar’s not natural. That’s cranial seamwork.”

 

“The Shoal of the Winter Harmony.” The Doctor grumbled. “It’s been a while since New York…”

 

Ivan leaned in. “So they’re here. But who’s hunting them?” No one answered. The wind carried the question away.

 

(scene break)

 

Inside the saloon, the air was thick with smoke and suspicion. Marinette and Alya sat at a corner table, their dresses dusty from travel, their expressions sharp beneath the lace and ribbon. A piano played somewhere in the background, off-key and half-hearted.

 

Alya leaned forward, voice low. “We need intel. Anything unusual. Anything that screams ‘enemy.’”

 

Marinette scanned the room. “Or anyone who might’ve seen someone like us. Someone... out of place.”

 

The bartender eyed them warily but said nothing. It was the patrons who whispered. “Scarface Gang,” muttered a man nursing a glass of something amber. “They come in the night. Leave bodies with holes where their minds used to be.”

 

“Bounty hunters after ’em,” said another, voice barely audible. “Two of ’em. One’s quiet. The other’s worse.”

 

Alya leaned in. “Names?”

 

The man hesitated. “Scratch. And Primate.”

 

Marinette’s breath caught. “Primate?”

 

Before Alya could respond, the saloon doors creaked open. They didn’t slam. They didn’t need to. Two figures stepped inside, framed by the dying light. The first was tall, broad-shouldered, with a weathered coat and a revolver slung low. His hair was dark, swept back with the kind of careless precision that spoke of long rides and longer grudges. His face was all angles and quiet fury—Arthur Morgan reborn in brunette. Scratch. The second was leaner, younger, but no less dangerous. His eyes scanned the room with surgical precision, calculating exits, threats, and weaknesses in a single sweep. His hair was dark and tousled, his stance coiled and ready. He wore no Miraculous, but his presence was unmistakable. Kim. Primate. Marinette froze. Alya’s hand found hers beneath the table. Neither bounty hunter looked their way. But Kim’s eyes lingered on the piano. On the dust. On something he couldn’t name. And then they moved—silent, deliberate—toward the bar. The legend had arrived.

 

Kim—Primate—stood at the bar, silent as the dust settling around him. The saloon’s low light caught the edge of his profile, casting half his face in shadow. Marinette couldn’t breathe. He looked older. Not just hardened, not just tired—older. A year, maybe more. His jaw was sharper, his shoulders broader, his stance heavier. The boy they’d known had been fast and impulsive. This man was deliberate. Coiled. Dangerous. His outfit was a patchwork of survival and precision. A dark, weathered coat hung from his shoulders, stitched with reinforced seams and faded from sun and grit. Beneath it, a charcoal shirt clung to his frame, sleeves rolled to the elbow, revealing forearms marked by old burns and fresh scars. His trousers were fitted, tucked into worn boots that had clearly seen desert, canyon, and blood. A bandolier crossed his chest—not for bullets, but for tools. Hooks, wire, a compact blade. No Miraculous. No trace of magic. Just steel and silence. His belt held a revolver, but it was the knife at his hip that drew the eye—curved, serrated, and polished to a mirror shine. It wasn’t for show. It was for finishing. Marinette’s hand trembled against her skirt. Alya leaned closer, voice barely audible.

 

“That’s Kim.”

 

Marinette nodded, eyes wide. “But... he’s older. The TARDIS must’ve brought us after.”

 

“Like what happened with Juleka…” Kim didn’t look their way. His gaze was fixed on the bartender, who slid him a glass without a word. Scratch stood beside him, posture relaxed but eyes alert. The two moved like a unit—no wasted motion, no unnecessary speech. The saloon had gone quiet. Even the piano had stopped. Kim took a sip, then turned slightly, scanning the room. His eyes passed over Marinette and Alya without recognition. Or maybe he saw them. And chose not to react. Outside, the wind howled. The enemy was stirring. And the bounty hunter had no time for ghosts. Marinette couldn’t stop staring. Kim—Primate—stood at the bar like a ghost made flesh, older, sharper, wrapped in silence. Alya nudged her gently, eyes flicking toward the bounty hunters.

 

“Now or never,” she whispered. Marinette nodded, rising slowly. Her boots echoed softly on the saloon floor as she crossed the room, Alya a step behind. The air felt heavier with each stride, like the walls themselves were watching. They reached the bar. Scratch turned first. His gaze was slow, deliberate, and entirely unimpressed. He looked like he’d been carved from canyon rock—brunette Arthur Morgan in every line and shadow.

 

“Didn’t ask you to sit, darling,” he said, voice low and dry.

 

Marinette froze. “My apologies, sir.” Kim turned. His eyes met hers. And for a moment, the saloon disappeared. The dust, the piano, the bounty hunter persona—all of it fell away. His expression didn’t change, but something flickered behind his eyes. Recognition. Memory. Pain.

 

“Perhaps I should walk the lady home,” Kim said, voice calm but edged. “We all know these streets are dangerous.” Scratch lit a cigar, the flame briefly illuminating the scar on his jaw. He gave a slow nod, exhaling smoke like a signal. Kim stepped away from the bar and offered Marinette his arm. She hesitated, then took it. They slipped outside, the saloon doors creaking behind them. Alya watched them go, heart pounding. Scratch didn’t move. He just smoked, watching the dust settle.

 

(scene break)

 

The stars hung low over Dodgecliff, flickering like distant lanterns. The wind had softened, brushing against wooden beams and whispering through alleyways. Kim and Marinette walked side by side, boots crunching on gravel, the silence between them thick with memory. Kim glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “How are you holding up?”

 

Marinette gave a small, tired smile. “Getting sent back in time really does a number on your mind.”

 

He nodded, eyes scanning the horizon. “Yeah. It scrapes things out of you. Leaves the rest rattling around.”

 

She hesitated. “How long have you been here? I have to ask because—funny story—Juleka ended up in pirate times and we got to her five years late.”

 

Kim chuckled, a low sound that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re improving then. Best guess is I’ve only been in these parts a year. Long enough to stop waiting for rescue.”

 

Marinette looked down. “We didn’t know. Not until the signal came through.”

 

“I figured,” he said. “Tech’s good at hiding things. Especially people.” He paused, then turned to her more fully. “You found Max yet? I’d love to see him again.”

 

“Not yet,” Marinette admitted. “But if all’s well, he’s likely our next stop.”

 

Kim nodded slowly, the wind tugging at his coat. “If you’re wanting me back, I’m game.” She looked up, surprised. “But,” he continued, “there’s a gang of scarred outlaws roaming these parts I wanna stop first. They’ve been carving up minds and leaving husks behind.”

 

Marinette’s breath caught. “The Scarface Gang.”

 

“Exactly,” Kim said. “If you’re willing to join our posse... well, you know what they say about strength in numbers.” She smiled, soft and steady. “Then let’s ride.” Kim didn’t smile back. But he looked at her—really looked—and something in his stance shifted. For the first time in a year, he wasn’t alone.

 

(scene break)

 

The group had gathered near the edge of town, just beyond the Dodgecliff train station, where the wind carried the scent of rust and old stories. Alya spotted Marinette first, striding back through the dust with Kim at her side. The others turned—Luka, Ivan, Mylène, Juleka, Rose, Nathaniel, Kubdel Braxiatel, and the younger trio trailing behind. Their expressions shifted from surprise to cautious hope. Kim didn’t speak right away. He stood beside Marinette, scanning the group like he was memorising them all over again. “These are friends,” he said finally. “They’re here to help.”

 

A voice cut through the wind. “Help with what, exactly?” Scratch emerged from the alley behind the saloon, coat flaring slightly as he walked. His boots hit the ground like punctuation. He stopped beside Kim, eyes flicking across the group with the weariness of a man who’d seen too many good intentions go bad.

 

Kim didn’t flinch. “The Scarface Gang. They’re an enemy of the black man with the dodgy coat. These people know how to fight them.”

 

Scratch lit a cigar, the flame briefly illuminating the scar that ran down his jaw. He took a long drag, then exhaled slowly. “I might not be too fond of people,” he said, voice low and dry, “but I am too fond of you, partner.” He turned to the group, gaze steady. “If this lot are friends of yours, they’re fine by me. Provided they’re willing to pull their own weight.”

 

Ivan stepped forward. “We’ve fought worse.”

 

Juleka didn’t speak, but her eyes locked on Scratch’s with quiet defiance.

Kubdel tilted her head, sensing the tension beneath the words. “We’re not here to slow you down.”

 

Scratch nodded once, then turned back to Kim. “Then let’s ride.” The wind picked up, carrying the scent of gunpowder and something older. The posse was forming. And the hunt was about to begin.

 

(scene break)

 

Shadowscar Gulch had once been a tourist draw—“a must-see around these parts,” as the faded sign still insisted. But the cholera outbreak had turned it into a no-horse zone, and now the wind carried only silence and rot. The buildings leaned like drunks, their windows boarded, their doors hanging loose. Even the vultures avoided it. In the hollowed-out town hall, the Scarface Gang gathered. They were wrong in ways that defied anatomy. Each wore a face marked by a diagonal seam—some jagged, some surgical, all unnatural. Their movements were stiff, their expressions hollow. They were vehicles, not men. At the head of the room stood El Señor Supremo, coat immaculate, cigar smouldering. He surveyed the gang with the air of a man inspecting livestock. “I want a full assessment,” he drawled. “How are your vehicles performing? Will they be satisfactory for our purpose?” The leading Shoal stepped forward, his host body tall and gaunt, the seam across his face pulsing faintly. He reached up, pressed two fingers to the temple, and the skull split open with a soft hiss. Inside, nestled in the cavity where a brain should have been, was a vial—glass, sealed, and faintly glowing.

 

“Given the cholera outbreaks in this part of the Wild West,” the Shoal said, voice calm and clinical, “a few minor tweaks will augment the effect of the disease quite appropriately.”

 

Supremo’s eyes gleamed. “And you are absolutely certain it will prove infectious enough to spread like wildfire across Earth, rendering the entire human species extinct within weeks?”

 

“I have every confidence, El Señor Supremo,” the Shoal replied, replacing the vial and sealing the skull with a click. “There will be no more vehicles with brains inside them. The Harmony of the Winter Shoal shall inherit their bodies.” He stepped back, spine straight, voice rising. “We shall have this planet—and you will have your revenge.”

 

Supremo smiled, slow and cold. “Then let’s begin.” Outside, the wind howled through the empty streets of Shadowscar Gulch. And the plague was ready to ride.

 

(scene break)

 

The posse gathered at the edge of Dodgecliff, where the desert began to whisper in a language no one wanted to understand. Shadowscar Gulch lay ahead, sunken and silent, its buildings slumped like forgotten memories. The wind carried the scent of rust and something faintly sour—like sickness buried too shallow. Scratch crouched beside a crate, spreading out a rough map of the gulch. “Used to be a tourist draw,” he muttered. “Then the cholera hit. Now it’s a ghost town. No horses, no law, no reason to go near it—unless you’re hiding something.”

 

Kim stood beside him, arms folded, eyes fixed on the horizon. “The Scarface Gang’s been using it as a base. I’ve tracked them there twice. Both times, they vanished before I could get close.”

 

Marinette leaned over the map. “So what’s the plan?”

 

Scratch tapped the paper. “Two entrances. One’s collapsed. We go in through the stable ruins. Quiet. Fast. No heroics.”

 

Ivan nodded. “We can handle that.”

 

Juleka didn’t speak, but her grip on her blade tightened. Rose hovered near her, whispering something soft.

 

Nathaniel frowned. “What if they’re expecting us?”

 

“They’re always expecting someone,” Kim said. “But they don’t know we’re coming. Not yet.”

 

Kubdel Braxiatel stepped forward, her coat catching the wind. “There’s something off about that place. I can feel it. Like time’s been bruised.”

 

Scratch raised an eyebrow. “You one of those psychic types?”

 

“Something like that,” she said.

 

Alya glanced around the group. “We’re not exactly a trained unit. We’ve got kids with us.” Ella and Etta were already trying to peek at the map. Manon was drawing in the dust with a stick.

 

“We’ll keep them back,” Marinette said. “They’re not coming into the gulch.”

 

Scratch stood, brushing dust from his coat. “I’m not fond of people. But I am fond of my partner. If you’re friends of his, you’re fine by me. Provided you pull your weight.” The wind picked up, carrying the scent of old wood and something faintly rotten. No one knew what waited in Shadowscar Gulch. But they were about to find out.

 

(scene break)

 

The posse moved through the ruins of Shadowscar Gulch like ghosts. The stable entrance had half-collapsed, forcing them to crawl through broken beams and dust-choked rafters. The air was thick—too thick. Not just with decay, but with something wrong. A sourness that clung to the back of the throat. Scratch led the way, revolver drawn, eyes sharp. Kim followed, silent and coiled. Marinette and Alya kept close, while the rest of the group fanned out behind them, boots muffled against the warped floorboards.

 

Juleka paused near a shattered window. “It smells like something died here.”

 

“Something did,” Luka murmured. “But it didn’t stay dead.”

 

(scene break)

 

Inside the town hall, the Scarface Gang were gathering. They moved like puppets—too smooth, too synchronized. Their faces bore the signature diagonal seams, some fresh, some crusted over. One leaned against a wall, coughing into a cloth. When he pulled it away, the fabric was flecked with something dark and viscous. El Señor Supremo stood at the head of the room, arms folded, watching them with clinical detachment. “We begin tonight,” he said. “The test run. I want full dispersal across the outer perimeter. No witnesses. No survivors.”

 

The leading Shoal stepped forward, his host body twitching slightly. “The bacterial strain is stable. The vehicles are holding. We’ve begun minor field trials—symptoms manifest within hours.” He reached up and pressed a finger to his temple. The skull split open with a soft hiss. Inside, nestled in the cavity, was a second vial—this one pulsing faintly, as if alive.

 

Supremo nodded. “And you are absolutely certain it will spread?”

 

“With precision,” the Shoal said. “The Harmony of the Winter Shoal shall inherit their bodies. And you, El Señor Supremo, shall have your revenge.” Outside, the posse crept closer. Inside, the infection waited. And somewhere between the two, the wind began to whisper in a voice no longer human.

 

(scene break)

 

The posse crept through the outer ruins of Shadowscar Gulch, boots silent against warped floorboards and dust-choked stone. The wind had gone still. Even the insects had stopped singing. They reached the town hall. And froze. The Scarface Gang stood in formation—faces split by diagonal seams, eyes glassy, movements too smooth. Their bodies were wrong. Too stiff. Too synchronized.

 

The Doctor stepped forward, breath catching. “No. No, no, no.”

 

Marinette turned. “What is it?” He didn’t answer. Just stared. One of the gang reached up and pressed his temple. With a soft hiss, the skull split open. Inside, nestled where a brain should be, was a vial.

 

The Doctor’s voice was low. “Shoal.”

 

Scratch raised his revolver. “Then we shoot.”

 

The gang turned in unison. Chaos erupted. Ivan and Luka opened fire, forcing the Shoal hybrids back. Juleka lunged with her blade, slicing through one host’s arm—but the creature didn’t flinch. Alya dragged Ella and Etta behind cover, while Kubdel Braxiatel scanned for exits. Then the ground shook. A mounted turret roared to life atop the town hall balcony, its barrel swivelling with mechanical precision. Donika Kola stood behind it, parasol discarded, eyes gleaming.

 

“Well, well,” she purred. “Look what the wind blew in.” The turret fired. Wood exploded. Dust filled the air. The posse scattered, diving for cover as bullets tore through the ruins.

 

“Into the shaft!” Kim shouted, pointing to a half-collapsed mineshaft behind the stables. The group bolted, ducking gunfire, dragging the youngest behind them. Scratch covered the rear, firing in bursts, until the last of them slipped into the darkness. Above, Donika watched them vanish. She smiled, slow and sweet.

 

“I think it’s time the gloves come off,” she said, voice echoing across the ruins. “The Doctor and his friends are exactly where we want them.” The turret powered down. And the Shoal began to move.

 

(scene break)

 

The mineshaft twisted deeper than expected, its walls narrowing, its air thickening. The lanterns flickered against damp stone, casting long shadows that moved when no one did. Ruby paused near a side chamber, her voice hushed. “Doctor… you need to see this.”

 

He stepped beside her, brushing aside a curtain of cobwebs. Inside, on rusted shelves and cracked pedestals, sat jars—dozens of them. Each filled with a pale, viscous fluid. And inside each jar floated a brain. With eyes. The Doctor’s breath caught. “Shoal.”

 

Marinette stepped closer, horrified. “What are they doing here?”

 

“They haven’t found vehicles yet,” the Doctor said. “These are dormant. Waiting. But not idle. Shoal brains can communicate even in stasis. They’re listening. Learning.”

 

Kim narrowed his eyes. “So they’re not just hiding. They’re multiplying.”

 

The Doctor nodded grimly. “And we’re standing in their nursery.”

 

A sound echoed down the shaft—footsteps. Too many. Too synchronized. The posse turned. A group of Shoal-in-vehicles emerged from the shadows, faces split by diagonal seams, eyes hollow. Behind them strode El Señor Supremo and Donika Kola, flanked by townsfolk staggering like puppets—piloted by the Harmony of the Winter Shoal. Supremo’s voice rang out, theatrical and cruel. “The Shoal and their biological terror are pupating well, Doctor. This time I cannot fail. Disheartening, isn’t it? That you crossed the oceans of sand and dust only to fail at the final hurdle. And my victory is absolute.”

 

The ensemble cowered, the sight of the townsfolk—once human, now hollow—too much to bear. Only the Doctor stood tall. “You know something, Supremo?” he said, voice sharp. “All this time, all these faces, and you’re still bone-dead stupid.”

 

Scratch stepped forward, gun raised. “You know these two, Doctor?”

 

“Unfortunately, Scratch. The slight matter of his ego. It speaks wonders about who he is. There’s only one person I know whose ego exceeds the weight limit of even the largest planet in the universe. And anyway, the name. You’re not even trying anymore, old friend. El Señor Supremo. El, the Spanish word for ‘the’. Señor Supremo – Supreme Lord.”

 

Kubdel blinked. “Uncle… are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

 

“Yes indeed, Kubdel. In laymen’s terms, what word means lord? And starts with M.” The group fell silent. Supremo and Donika exchanged a glance—tight, uncomfortable. “I wish I could say it’s a pleasure… Koschei!”

 

The TARDIS crew gasped. Supremo’s scowl twisted into a grin. He began to clap, slow and mocking. “Quick off the mark as ever, ‘old friend’. How unfortunate it won’t save you.” Immediately Scratch drew his gun to get off a shot, but Supremo fired a shot at him quicker, the blood red blast erupting from his cigar. In seconds, Scratch had been shrunken to the size of a plastic figurine. That was enough for everyone to connect the dots.

 

“Tissue Compression Eliminator. I knew it.”

 

“Indeed Doctor. And you, Miss Couffaine, do not think Reznor and I have forgotten what you did to us back in the Caribbean. Or London, regeneration makes memorising events complicated…”

 

“I would say I’m surprised, but honestly after this many times, I’m not. I figured you’d be back eventually. Can’t say I’m too thrilled at seeing you again, mind…”

 

“I care not for the particularities of this meeting either, Doctor. Not that it matters. As you can see for yourselves, the Harmony of the Winter Shoal amass even now in sizable numbers, and our ultimate weapon is about to be deployed. Finally, your favourite species will be destroyed, Doctor. And that will be a considerable emotional blow to your morale. I will be victorious! And you will watch as the one species you care about most in the universe, for some inexplicable reason, finally expires! This day you fail, Doctor, and the Master will reign supreme!”

 

“You’re outmatched, Supremo. Guess that’s what happens when you mess with a superior intellect.” But Kim was quickly disarmed by a blast from his opponent’s weapon. Cackling insidiously, El Señor Supremo strode forwards, staring inhumanely into the Vietnamese boy’s eyes.

 

“You are an idiot, boy. You’re down a partner, and your rescuers are prey for the vultures. And you are going to help me make sure they stay that way.” He raised his ringed hand. “Tremble before me, heed my commands! I am the Master, and you will obey me!” Kim’s eyes widened. And the ring began to glow.

Chapter Text

Kim’s hand moved like a machine. His revolver was drawn, arm steady, eyes glazed with unnatural calm. The barrel pointed directly at the Doctor.

 

“Kim, no!” Marinette shouted, stepping forward. He didn’t blink. The Master—El Señor Supremo—smiled, his ring still glowing faintly. “You see, Doctor? Even your precious survivors can be turned. It’s almost poetic.”

 

The Doctor raised his hands slowly, eyes locked on Kim. “Now, now. Let’s not be hasty. You’re a bounty hunter, Kim. You know better than anyone—never fire before you’ve read the bounty.” Kim hesitated. The Doctor took a step forward. “And I’m afraid you’ve misread this one. I’m not your target. He is.” Kim blinked. The Doctor lunged—not at Kim, but at the lantern hanging above them. It shattered, plunging the chamber into darkness. “Move!” he shouted. The posse scattered, diving into side tunnels and alcoves. Alya dragged the younger trio behind a collapsed beam. Juleka and Luka flanked Marinette, blades drawn. Scratch—still pocket-sized—was scooped up by Nathaniel and tucked into a satchel.

 

The Master snarled, but the sound quickly turned to a chuckle. “Well played,” he murmured, brushing dust from his coat. “But ultimately irrelevant.” He turned to Donika, who was already scanning the shadows with a predator’s patience. “I think one of the Shoal might be about to find a new vehicle,” the Master said, voice smooth and cruel. “Well, it’s not like we’re going to run out…” Behind him, one of the dormant brains twitched in its jar. And Kim, still under the spell, stood motionless—waiting for orders.

 

(scene break)

 

The tunnels beneath Shadowscar Gulch twisted like veins—narrow, damp, and echoing with distant footsteps that might not have been real. The posse had scattered during the escape, but now they converged in a hollowed-out chamber lit by a single flickering lantern. The Doctor paced, coat trailing behind him like a stormcloud. His expression was tight, his voice clipped.

 

“Right. Everyone breathe. Everyone listen.” Mylène, Ivan, Nino and Luka exchanged glances. They hadn’t seen the Caribbean. They hadn’t seen London. They hadn’t seen him. The Doctor turned to them. “You four missed the last time this lunatic showed up. Let me catch you up.” He gestured toward the dust-choked tunnel behind them. “That man—El Señor Supremo—isn’t just a Shoal collaborator. He’s the Master. My greatest enemy. A Time Lord with a flair for melodrama and a pathological need to win.”

 

Ivan frowned. “So he’s like you?”

 

The Doctor gave a bitter smile. “Only in the sense that a virus is like a cell. He’s clever, cruel, and utterly obsessed with proving he’s better than me. And now he’s working with the Shoal.” He turned to the group, voice rising. “This has just gone from a localised case of stopping the Harmony Shoal’s plans to a potentially horrific case of intergalactic terror.” The lantern flickered. “Everyone with a weapon,” the Doctor said, “keep an eye on Juleka.”

 

Juleka blinked. “Me?”

 

“If the Master and Reznor are back,” the Doctor continued, “stands to reason it’s you they’ll be after in particular. You did cause their regenerations, after all.” Rose shifted closer to Juleka instinctively. Luka’s hand went to his blade. “And I know for a fact,” the Doctor added, “Reznor has regenerationophobia.”

 

Ruby tilted her head. “What’s that a fear of?”

 

The Doctor didn’t miss a beat. “Take a wild guess, Ruby.” The group fell silent. The wind moaned through the tunnels. And somewhere above, Kim waited—gun drawn, mind not his own.

 

(scene break)

 

The tunnels pressed close, the air thick with dust and dread. Juleka sat against the stone wall, blade resting across her knees, eyes locked on the flickering lantern. Her breath was steady, but her fingers trembled. “They’re after me,” she said quietly.

 

Rose knelt beside her. “Then they’ll have to go through all of us.”

 

Luka crouched on her other side, hand on her shoulder. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You survived. That’s what they hate.”

 

Ivan stood nearby, arms folded. “They want revenge. Let them try.”

 

Mylène nodded. “We’ve faced worse. We’ll face this.”

 

Juleka looked up, eyes rimmed with shadow. “I didn’t mean to cause their regenerations. I was just trying to stop them.”

 

The Doctor stepped forward, voice low. “You did stop them. And that’s why they remember you. That’s why they fear you.”

 

He turned to the group. “Stay close. Stay alert. If they’re targeting Juleka, they’ll try to isolate her. We don’t let that happen.”

 

The lantern flickered again.

 

And somewhere deeper in the gulch, the Master waited.

 

(scene break)

 

The chamber was cold—unnaturally so. The walls were lined with dormant Shoal jars, their contents twitching faintly in anticipation. Kim stood in the center, motionless, eyes glazed, revolver holstered.

 

Reznor paced slowly, arms folded. “I was so sure we had them…”

 

The Master didn’t look up. He adjusted the vial in his hand, watching the bacteria swirl inside. “The Doctor is frustratingly difficult to pin down, Reznor. I’d have thought that was obvious by now.”

 

Reznor scowled. “He always slips through.”

 

“Not this time,” the Master said, voice calm. “Every cloud and all that.” He turned to Kim, studying him like a specimen. “Once the virus is unleashed, his favourite species will be destroyed. And right now, a critical blow to his morale in such a fashion…” He smiled—barely. “That would make me very happy indeed.” Kim didn’t move. The Master stepped closer, raising the vial. “And you, dear boy, are about to become very useful.”

 

(scene break)

 

The posse emerged from the tunnels into the half-collapsed ruins of the Dodgecliff freight yard. Moonlight spilled across broken crates and rusted tracks, painting everything in shades of ash and silver. The air was clearer here, but the tension hadn’t lifted. The Doctor paced in a tight circle, coat flaring with each turn. His eyes were sharp, his voice clipped. “Right. Listen up. We’ve got maybe an hour before the Shoal deploy their virus. Maybe less.”

 

Ivan checked his rifle. “So we hit them first?”

 

“Not yet,” the Doctor said. “We need precision. The Shoal aren’t just hiding—they’re growing. And we’re not just fighting bodies. We’re fighting brains.” He turned to the group, gesturing with both hands. “The Harmony Shoal are disembodied brains with eyes. They pilot human hosts—vehicles, they call them. But here’s the good news: they’re vulnerable.”

 

Mylène leaned forward. “How?”

 

“They need those bodies,” the Doctor said. “Without them, they’re just twitching jelly in a jar. Sever the connection, and they lose everything—mobility, influence, coordination.”

 

Ruby frowned. “So we aim for the brains?”

 

“Not quite,” the Doctor said. “We aim for the seams. Every Shoal host has a diagonal cranial split. That’s where they open up. That’s where they’re weakest.”

 

Nathaniel nodded slowly. “So we target the seams. Disrupt the control.”

 

“Exactly,” the Doctor said. “And if you find a jar—smash it. Fire, acid, sonic disruption. They’re fragile outside their hosts.”

 

Juleka stood, blade in hand. “And what about me?”

 

The Doctor turned to her, voice softening. “You’re the reason they regenerated. That makes you a symbol. And a threat.”

 

Rose stepped beside her. “Then we protect her.”

 

Luka joined them. “We don’t let them near her.”

 

The Doctor nodded. “Good. Because if the Master and Reznor are back, they’ll want her first.”

 

Ivan raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

 

“Because Reznor has regenerationophobia.”

 

Ruby blinked. “What’s that a fear of?”

 

The Doctor didn’t miss a beat. “Take a wild guess, Ruby.”

 

The group fell silent. Juleka didn’t flinch. “Let them come.”

 

The Doctor smiled faintly. “That’s the spirit.” He turned back to the map, eyes scanning the terrain. “Now let’s make sure they regret ever crawling out of their jars.”

 

(scene break)

 

The freight yard became a war room. The Doctor stood at the center, sketching routes into the dust with the end of his sonic. “Three strike groups. One to hit the Shoal nursery. One to intercept the viral dispersal unit. One to draw attention and keep the Master guessing.”

 

Ivan nodded. “I’ll take the dispersal team.”

 

“Good,” the Doctor said. “You’ll need speed and precision. Ruby, Mylène, go with him.”

 

“Nursery’s mine,” Marinette said. “I know how to break containment.”

 

“Take Luka and Nathaniel,” the Doctor said. “And Juleka.”

 

Juleka didn’t flinch. “I’m ready.”

 

“Distraction team’s me, Alya, and Braxiatel,” the Doctor said. “We’ll keep them busy.”

 

Scratch—still pocket-sized—was tucked into Alya’s satchel, muttering tactical advice like a very angry action figure. The teams split, slipping into the ruins like shadows. But the Master had already anticipated it.

 

(scene break)

 

The command chamber beneath the town hall was colder than the desert had any right to be. Shoal hybrids lined the walls, silent and waiting. The Master stood at the center, hands clasped behind his back, eyes fixed on the map etched into the stone floor. Donika—Reznor—approached, her voice low and composed. “They’ve split. Three groups.”

 

“Of course they have,” the Master said, without turning. “It’s what I would have done.” He gestured to the map. “Every entrance to the mine is now guarded. Every tunnel rigged. They’ll find nothing but dead ends and ambushes.”

 

Donika nodded. “And if they break through?”

 

“They won’t,” the Master said. “But if they do…” He turned to her, eyes gleaming faintly. “Make sure the contingency plan is primed and ready. If they reach the dispersal chamber, I want the failsafe active.”

 

Donika’s smile was thin. “It will be done.”

The Master stepped closer to Kim, who stood motionless in the corner, eyes still glazed. “And you,” he murmured, “will be my final blow.” He raised a hand, brushing Kim’s temple with the ring. “Let’s begin.”

 

(scene break)

 

Ivan’s strike group moved swiftly through the outer ruins—Ruby, Mylène, and Ivan weaving between collapsed buildings and rusted freight cars. The dispersal chamber was close, tucked beneath the old water tower.

 

Kim met them halfway. He looked pale, shaken, but lucid. “I escaped,” he said, breathless. “They were distracted. I know a shortcut to the dispersal chamber.”

 

Ivan hesitated. “You sure?”

 

Kim nodded. “Trust me.” They followed. The path twisted through a narrow alley, then down a collapsed stairwell into a storage vault. The air grew colder. The walls slick.

 

Ruby frowned. “This doesn’t feel right.”

 

Kim stopped. “It’s just ahead.” Then the vault doors slammed shut behind them. Gas hissed from the vents. Mylène coughed, stumbling. Ivan tried the door—sealed. Ruby backed into a corner, eyes wide. Kim turned slowly, eyes gleaming with unnatural calm. “I’m sorry,” he said. “But you’re exactly where he wants you.” Above them, Shoal hybrids began to descend. And the trap was sprung.

 

(scene break)

 

The nursery was buried beneath the old municipal archives—a vault of cracked stone and forgotten records. Marinette led the way, blade drawn, Luka and Nathaniel flanking her. Juleka moved silently at the rear, eyes scanning every shadow. The air grew colder as they descended. Then they saw it. Rows of jars lined the walls, each filled with pale fluid. Inside floated brains—some twitching, some still. Eyes blinked slowly from within the glass, watching.

 

Juleka swallowed. “This is it.”

 

Marinette nodded. “We smash them. Fast.” Nathaniel raised his crowbar. Then the exit slammed shut.

 

A figure stepped from the shadows—heels clicking, posture perfect. Donika Kola. Or rather, Reznor. Her voice was calm. “You’ll make fine vehicles for the Shoal.”

 

Luka raised his blade. “You’re not getting near her.”

 

Reznor smiled faintly. “Oh, I think I will. You see, the Master’s plan is already in motion. The virus is ready. The dispersal unit is primed. And once it’s released, the Doctor’s favourite species will begin to die.” She stepped closer, eyes gleaming. “But that’s not the best part. The Doctor will watch. He’ll feel it. And that emotional blow… that will be exquisite.”

 

Nathaniel growled. “You’re insane.”

 

“No,” Reznor said. “I’m evolved.” She gestured to the jars. “These are the future. And you—especially you, Juleka—are going to help us reach it.”

 

Juleka stepped forward, blade steady. “You’ll have to kill me first.”

 

Reznor’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh, we don’t need to kill you. Just hollow you out.” The jars began to twitch. And the nursery pulsed with anticipation. The nursery erupted into chaos. Marinette struck first, slicing through a jar with surgical precision. Fluid splashed across the stone, and the brain inside twitched once—then stilled. Luka and Nathaniel followed suit, smashing shelves, kicking over pedestals, driving the Shoal into panic. Reznor hissed, stepping back as the room filled with shattered glass and shrieking fluid. “Stop them!” she barked. Shoal hybrids surged forward, but the group fought like a unit. Marinette ducked under a swing, Luka drove his blade into a host’s seam, and Nathaniel hurled a broken jar like a grenade.

 

“Juleka, move!” Marinette shouted. Juleka turned to follow—but a shot rang out. She collapsed, clutching her ankle, blood blooming across her boot.

 

Reznor advanced, calm and composed, as the others scrambled for the exit. Luka hesitated, but Marinette dragged him back. “We’ll come back for her. We have to regroup.” The door slammed shut behind them.

 

Juleka lay on the cold stone, breathing hard. Reznor knelt beside her, voice low and venomous. “You caused my regeneration. You tore me apart. And now, I return the favour.” She stood, brushing dust from her coat, and walked to a support beam. A frayed rope hung from a rusted pulley. “Ever wondered what it must have felt like for Guy Fawkes during his final moments?” she said, tying the rope into a noose with slow, deliberate movements. “Well, Juleka…” She turned, eyes gleaming. “…you’re about to find out.” Juleka didn’t scream. She reached for her blade.

 

(scene break)

 

The Doctor froze mid-step. A tremor passed through the ground—subtle, rhythmic, wrong. He turned, eyes narrowing, sonic already in hand. The readings were spiking. Shoal activity. Viral pressure. And something else. Pain. He spun toward Alya and Braxiatel. “They’ve sprung the trap.”

 

Alya’s eyes widened. “Which group?”

 

“Both,” the Doctor said. “Kim’s been turned. Juleka’s injured. Reznor’s closing in.”

 

Braxiatel stepped forward. “How do you know?”

 

“I don’t,” the Doctor said. “I feel it.”

 

He turned to the others as they regrouped—Marinette breathless, Luka bloodied, Nathaniel pale. “We need to move. Now.”

 

Marinette nodded. “Juleka’s still down there. Reznor’s got her.”

 

The Doctor’s voice sharpened. “Then we get her back. And we stop this madness before the Shoal hatch their final horror.” He turned to the group, voice rising. “This is no longer a rescue. It’s a counterstrike. The Shoal are preparing to unleash a virus that could wipe out entire species. And the Master—Koschei—is orchestrating it with surgical precision.”

 

Ivan rejoined them, coughing, eyes red. “Gas trap. Kim led us into it.”

 

The Doctor didn’t flinch. “He’s compromised. But not lost. Not yet.”

 

Ruby stepped forward. “So what do we do?”

 

The Doctor looked at each of them—young, scarred, defiant. “We fight smart. We target the seams. We sever the brains from their bodies. And we get Juleka out before Reznor finishes what she started.” He turned toward the mine entrance. “Because if we don’t, the Master wins.” The wind howled. And somewhere below, the Shoal pulsed with anticipation.

 

(scene break)

 

The Shoal dragged Juleka through the dust-choked streets of Shadowscar Gulch, her injured ankle trailing blood across the cracked stone. She didn’t scream. She didn’t beg. But her grip on the blade had loosened, and her breath came in shallow bursts. They reached the town gate. A rusted beam jutted from the archway—once part of a freight pulley, now repurposed. A frayed rope hung from it, tied into a noose with cruel precision. Reznor stood beneath it, coat immaculate, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. “You’d never believe this town didn’t have a gallows,” she said, voice calm. “Annoying, but I’ve learnt to make do with what I’ve got.” She turned to the Shoal hybrids. “Hang her.” Then, almost as an afterthought: “While I cut her open and feed her innards to the vultures. Making sure she stays alive long enough to watch.” The Shoal moved without hesitation. Juleka was hoisted upright, the noose tightened around her throat. Her feet barely touched the ground. Her blade was kicked away. Reznor drew a scalpel. Then the air shifted. The Master arrived. He stepped from the shadows, his new outfit catching the moonlight—a darker, more sinister echo of the Eighth Doctor’s velvet and brocade. Black silk, high collar, silver trim. No flourish. No smile. Just cold calculation. He surveyed the scene with quiet interest.

 

“Is your part of the plan completed?” he asked.

 

Reznor didn’t look up. “The Scarface Gang will be riding to Dodgecliff within the hour. They’ll spread the augmented cholera virus through the water lines and livestock. It will infect the citizens, mutate, and continue to spread.” She glanced at Juleka, then back to the Master. “Within weeks, the only life left on Earth will be the Harmony Shoal in the victims’ bodies.”

 

The Master nodded once. “Good.” He stepped to the side and opened a leather case. Inside was an old-fashioned camera—brass fittings, cracked wood, a lens that gleamed like an eye. He adjusted the tripod, focused the frame. “Ms Couffaine’s demise,” he said softly. “I want to make a film of it.” Juleka didn’t cry. She stared into the lens. And waited.

 

(scene break)

 

The wind shifted. Dust curled at the edges of the town gate as the Doctor stepped into view—alone, unarmed, coat trailing behind him like a shadow. His eyes swept the scene: the noose, the camera, the Shoal hybrids, and Juleka, suspended but still breathing. He didn’t flinch.

 

The Master turned, expression unreadable. “Keep a close eye on him,” he said to the Shoal. “The Doctor is most dangerous when unarmed and alone.”

 

The hybrids tightened their formation. The Doctor stepped forward, hands in his pockets. “How much longer does she have?” The Master tilted his head. “You’d delay an execution to pull the wings off a fly,” the Doctor said. “So I imagine you’ve got a timetable.”

 

The Master’s voice was quiet. “How much time she has left is up to me.”

 

The Doctor nodded slowly. “Of course it is.” He glanced at the camera, then at the rope. “You always did enjoy a spectacle. But this—this is different. This isn’t just cruelty. This is curation.”

 

The Master didn’t blink. “You call it cruelty. I call it clarity.”

 

The Doctor stepped closer. “You’re orchestrating genocide. You’re turning Earth into a Shoal hatchery. And for what? To prove a point?”

 

“To correct a mistake,” the Master said. “Humanity was a failed experiment. Sentimental. Self-destructive. Loud.”

 

“They’re brilliant,” the Doctor said. “They’re messy and flawed and alive. They build things. They hope.”

 

The Master’s gaze didn’t waver. “They decay.”

 

“Everything decays,” the Doctor said. “But not everything dreams.”

 

Reznor stepped forward, eyes narrowing. “He’s stalling.”

 

The Master nodded. “Of course he is.” He raised the Tissue Compression Eliminator, the red glow pulsing faintly. “If you care for her safety so much, Doctor,” he said, “perhaps you’d be willing to trade yours for hers.”

 

The Doctor smiled faintly. “You’d be hanging me for weeks.” He stepped into the light. “How many regenerations I’ve got left… your guess is as good as mine.” The wind howled. And the Shoal waited.

 

(scene break)

 

The strike teams moved like ghosts. Marinette’s group reached the nursery first, slipping through a collapsed wall into the vault of jars. The Shoal hybrids were distracted—focused on the gallows spectacle outside. Luka and Nathaniel began smashing containment shelves, fluid splashing across the stone, brains twitching and dying.

 

“Keep moving!” Marinette shouted. “We need to collapse the whole chamber!” Juleka’s blade—recovered by Luka—was used to sever the support beams. The ceiling groaned.

 

(scene break)

 

Meanwhile, Ivan’s team reached the dispersal unit beneath the water tower. Ruby and Mylène worked fast, rerouting pressure valves and overloading the containment seals. The virus chamber pulsed ominously, its glow flickering. “We’ve got minutes,” Ivan said. “Maybe less.” Then Kim arrived. He stumbled into the chamber, eyes wild, breath ragged. The Shoal inside him was fighting—his movements jerky, his voice fractured.

 

“I—I can help,” he said.

 

Ruby stepped forward. “Kim, you’re compromised.”

 

“I know,” he whispered. “But I’m still me. Enough to finish this.” He looked at the dispersal unit, then at the explosives Mylène had rigged. “I can trigger both,” he said. “The nursery and the virus. But I have to be close.”

 

Ivan hesitated. “You won’t survive.”

 

Kim smiled faintly. “I’m not supposed to.” He turned to Ruby. “Tell the Doctor… I remembered.” Then he ran. Through the tunnels. Past the hybrids. Into the nursery.

 

Marinette saw him coming. “Kim—!” He didn’t stop. He planted the charges, linked the dispersal unit remotely, and stood in the center of the nursery—surrounded by twitching jars and pulsing Shoal. The hybrids turned. The Shoal inside him screamed. And Kim pressed the detonator.

 

(scene break)

 

The explosion tore through Shadowscar Gulch like a scream. The nursery collapsed. The dispersal unit ruptured. Shoal brains boiled in their jars. The virus chamber shattered. And Kim—quiet, defiant, burning—was gone.

 

(scene break)

 

The smoke curled into the sky like mourning veils. The Doctor stood at the edge of the ruins, coat dusted with ash, eyes fixed on the crater where the nursery had been. Shoal fluid steamed across the stone. The dispersal unit was gone. The virus—neutralized. But Kim was gone too. The Doctor didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched the wind carry the last traces of Shoal ambition into the desert. Then the Master screamed. He strode from the town gate, fury radiating from every step. “You think this is victory?” he spat. “You think this is clever?”

 

The Doctor turned slowly. “I think it’s familiar.”

 

The Master’s eyes burned. “You’ve cost me everything. Again.” He gestured to Juleka, still suspended from the noose, bloodied but breathing. “Fine. I’ll make do. Reznor—tighten the rope.” Reznor stepped forward, hands steady. Then a shot rang out. The rope snapped. Juleka dropped to the ground, coughing, alive. The Master froze. Reznor spun, scanning the rooftops. The ensemble emerged—Marinette, Luka, Ivan, Ruby, Mylène, Nathaniel, Alya, Braxiatel—armed, defiant, and very much alive. The Master’s eyes narrowed. “So be it.” He turned to Reznor. “We’re leaving.” They dashed for their TARDIS, parked behind the freight office. The Doctor didn’t chase. He just watched. The Master paused at the threshold, one hand on the door. He looked back. “The coming of the white feline,” he said softly. “You’ll know it when it arrives.” Then he vanished inside.

 

(scene break)

 

The console room was colder than usual—dark velvet walls, silver trim, and a central column pulsing with restrained fury. The Master slammed the controls. Nothing happened.

 

Reznor frowned. “Something’s wrong.”

 

The Master checked the directional unit. Then he saw it. Wires—rewired. Rerouted. Tampered. He turned slowly. The younger trio had done it. Ruby. Mylène. Nathaniel. The Master’s voice was low. “They sabotaged the navigation.”

 

Reznor stepped back. “We can’t control where we go.”

 

The Master stared at the console. Then he smiled—thin, bitter, cold. “Then let’s see where the universe sends us.” The TARDIS groaned. And vanished.

 

(scene break)

 

The Doctor stood at the edge of the crater, coat flaring in the wind, watching the last of the Shoal fluid evaporate into the dust. The team gathered behind him—bruised, bloodied, but alive. He turned. “Into the TARDIS,” he said. “We’re not done yet.”

 

(scene break)

 

They followed him inside, the hum of the console room a welcome balm after the chaos. Scratch—still figurine-sized—was perched on the edge of the scanner, arms folded. The Doctor adjusted the controls, eyes sharp. “We’re going back.”

 

Marinette frowned. “Back where?”

 

“Dodgecliff,” the Doctor said. “Shortly after Kim arrived in 1870. Before the Shoal got to him.”

 

Ruby blinked. “You think we can change it?”

 

“I think we already did,” the Doctor said. “Kim’s sacrifice created a paradox. If we rescue him before the infection, history might correct itself. And Scratch—” He glanced at the tiny bounty hunter. “—might just pop back to full size.”

 

Scratch grumbled. “About time.”

 

“Granted, restoration of the original timeline would mean he was never shrunk in the first place… Oh well…” The TARDIS groaned. And landed.

 

(scene break)

 

The air was cleaner in 1870. Kubdel Braxiatel stepped out first, boots crunching against the dry earth. The town was quieter—no Shoal, no gallows, just the distant sound of horses and the creak of wagon wheels. She moved through the stables, scanning for movement. Then she saw him. Kim, younger and uninfected, was crouched behind a pair of horses, clearly sizing them up. His fingers twitched toward the reins, eyes calculating. Kubdel stepped into view.

 

“Kim.”

 

He froze. “Alix?” he said, blinking. “What are you doing here?”

 

She smiled gently. “My uncle and I are looking for those the Weeping Angels displaced. Are you ready to return home, Kim?”

 

Kim stared at her. Then he sighed. “You’re talking weird, Alix. But horse rustling isn’t doing me so good.” He stood, brushing dust from his coat. “I think I’ll come home with you.” Kubdel nodded. And together, they walked back toward the TARDIS.

 

(scene break)

 

The TARDIS doors swung open with a familiar hum. Kim stepped inside, blinking at the impossible architecture, the golden glow, the console pulsing like a heartbeat. He turned just in time to be swarmed—Marinette, Luka, Ivan, Ruby, Mylène, Nathaniel, Alya, Braxiatel, even Juleka limping forward with a grin.

 

“Kim!” Rose shouted, throwing her arms around him. Ivan clapped him on the back. Luka ruffled his hair. Marinette gave him a mock punch to the shoulder.

 

Kim blinked. “Am I missing something here?”

 

“It’s a long story,” the Doctor said, already steering him toward the corridor. “Someone take him to the drawing room and fill him in.” The group peeled off, laughter echoing down the halls. The Doctor remained at the console, adjusting the stabilizers. Ruby lingered beside him, watching the others vanish into the depths of the ship.

 

She turned. “What about that white feline the Master mentioned?”

 

The Doctor didn’t look up. “Honestly, Rube,” he said, “I haven’t the foggiest what that is.” He paused, fingers tightening on the lever. “And I hate it when I don’t have the foggiest what something is.”

 

Ruby raised an eyebrow. “So what do we do?”

 

The Doctor finally looked at her. “All I can say…” he murmured, “shouldn’t doubt we’ll be running into it soon enough.” The TARDIS hummed. And somewhere, far beyond the stars, the white feline stirred.

Chapter Text

The sea mist curled like incense across the shoreline, veiling the coast in a hush of pale blue. Waves lapped gently against the rocks, their rhythm slow and ceremonial, as if the ocean itself sensed the arrival of something ancient and wrong. From the sky, a low hum began to build—subsonic, unnatural. Birds scattered from the pines. Fishermen dropped their baskets and fled inland, shouting warnings that dissolved into the fog. And then, with a sound like ice cracking across a lake, the Martian vessel descended. It was not shaped for beauty. The ship resembled a shard of frozen metal, jagged and cruel, its hull etched with war-glyphs that shimmered in the Heian sun. Steam hissed from its undercarriage as it settled into the sand, scorching the earth beneath it. The temperature dropped instantly. Frost bloomed across the reeds.

 

(scene break)

 

From atop the cliff, Kagami watched in silence. She wore the robes of a noblewoman—silk dyed in imperial violet, sleeves heavy with embroidered cranes. Her hair was pinned in the style of the court, her sword hidden beneath layers of ceremonial fabric. To the palace, she was Lady Kiyohime, a distant cousin of the Emperor’s concubine. To herself, she was still Kagami Tsurugi, formerly a Miraculous wielder, time-lost warrior, and now—witness to invasion.

 

(scene break)

 

The ship’s hatch opened with a hiss. From within, Akaszrin emerged. He was taller than the others, his armour a deep glacial green, crusted with frost and battle scars. His breath fogged the air as he stepped forward, each movement deliberate, ceremonial. Behind him, three Ice Warriors followed, their spears crackling with cryo-energy. They scanned the horizon, their reptilian eyes gleaming beneath their helmets.

 

(scene break)

 

Kagami’s grip tightened on the hilt beneath her sleeve. She had heard whispers in the palace—of foreign monsters arriving from the sea, of omens in the stars, of a woman in violet who did not belong. She had played her part well: bowed when expected, spoke only in poetry, and never once revealed the blade she kept hidden. But now, with Akaszrin’s arrival, the game had changed. He turned toward the cliff. For a moment, Kagami thought he saw her. His gaze lingered, sharp and searching. But then he turned away, speaking in guttural Martian to his warriors. They began to unpack a device—something crystalline and humming, something that pulsed in rhythm with the hypercube she kept tucked in her sash. The Doctor would be coming. Bunnyx too. But time was folding in on itself, and if she was to survive this day, she could no longer be just Lady Kiyohime. She would have to become the Frozen Samurai.

 

(scene break)

 

The palace was a lattice of whispers. Kagami moved through it like a shadow, her steps measured, her gaze lowered. Servants bowed as she passed, unaware that the woman they called Lady Kiyohime had once fought Sycorax warlords and danced across timelines with Bunnyx. Here, she was a noblewoman of distant lineage, a quiet guest in the court of Lord Fujiwara, whose poetry was more feared than his sword. She had learned the rules quickly. Speak only in metaphor. Never contradict a man directly. Smile with your eyes, not your mouth. And above all—never let them see the blade. The courtiers were already murmuring about the monsters from the sea. Lord Fujiwara had summoned his astrologers, who claimed the stars had shifted. One scroll described a prophecy: a green warrior from the sky who would freeze the sun and claim the Emperor’s soul. Kagami had burned that scroll herself. She sat now in the garden pavilion, watching frost creep across the koi pond. The temperature had dropped again. Akaszrin was building something—she could feel it in the air, like a blade being sharpened just out of sight. A servant approached with tea. Kagami accepted it with a nod, her fingers brushing the hilt hidden beneath her sleeve. The hypercube pulsed faintly against her ribs. Bunnyx was close. But not close enough.

 

(scene break)

 

Down by the shore, Akaszrin stood before his warriors. The Martian wind howled through the trees, carrying flecks of ice and ash. Akaszrin’s breath fogged the air as he surveyed the coastline, his clawed hand resting on the crystalline device now embedded in the sand. It pulsed with cold light, sending ripples through the soil. “The humans here are soft,” he said, his voice a low growl. “They speak in riddles and wear silk instead of armour. But they are clever. Their minds are fertile. Their bodies—adaptable.” One of the Ice Warriors hissed in agreement. Akaszrin turned, his eyes gleaming beneath his helmet. “The weapons we shall test on these humans will turn the tide. No more skirmishes. No more exile. Another Martian Golden Age, this one of conquest, shall be upon us.” He stepped forward, claws clenched. “I will be remembered as a hero. The warrior who saved our people’s greatest tradition when it was in serious danger of dying out. Akaszrin will be a name long remembered by the future generations of Mars.” The Ice Warriors raised their spears in salute. Behind them, the crystalline device began to hum louder. Frost spread outward in concentric rings, freezing the sand, the reeds, the air itself. The coastline was becoming a laboratory. A fortress. A monument. And atop the cliff, Kagami watched, her breath steady, her blade still hidden. She would not let him rewrite history.

 

(scene break)

 

The air shimmered with residual frost as the Martian ship pulsed on the shoreline. Not far inland, in a grove of cedar and plum trees, the familiar wheeze and grind of the TARDIS tore through the silence. With a final thud, the blue box settled between two ancient stones, its paint incongruously bright against the moss and mist. The door creaked open. “Japan,” the Doctor announced, stepping out with a flourish. His coat swirled behind him like a banner. “Country of miracles, this. So when are we? Hopefully not the war and nowhere near—” He paused, sniffing the air like a fox catching scent. “Hmm. I’d estimate… Heian era Japan.”

 

Kim followed, boots crunching on frostbitten leaves. “Guess it’s Kagami we’ll be looking to rescue here.” Ruby stepped out last, blinking at the landscape. She glanced at Kim, teasing. “What? She’s Japanese.”

 

The Doctor cut in, voice suddenly sharp. “Martians.”

 

Ruby blinked. “Sorry—what?”

 

“I’m smelling Martians,” he said, already striding toward the coast. “That means the Ice Warriors are here. Akaszrin, specifically. He’s part of the Coalition of Darkness.”

 

Kim frowned. “Coalition of what now?”

 

“Time Lords, warlords, monsters with grudges,” the Doctor replied. “They’ve all signed up for the Vamtreeian’s little competition. Goal: stop the displaced from making it back to the future. Win a chance to rewrite their own timelines.”

 

KIm’s face darkened. “So Kagami’s not just stranded—she’s a target.”

 

“Exactly,” the Doctor said. “And Akaszrin doesn’t just conquer—he experiments. If he’s here, he’s building something. Something cold. Something cruel.” He turned, eyes blazing. “We’d better get moving. Things are going to get worse before they get better, I fear…” The TARDIS door swung shut behind them.

 

(scene break)

 

The palace was a maze of lacquered corridors and whispered suspicion. Lanterns flickered in the breeze, casting long shadows across painted screens. Kagami moved through it with the grace of someone who had learned to survive by silence—her every gesture rehearsed, her every word a mask. She was seated in the eastern courtyard when the newcomers arrived. Three figures, dressed in borrowed robes of minor nobility, were announced by a flustered attendant who bowed so low his forehead grazed the floor. “Honoured guests from the southern provinces,” he stammered. “They claim kinship with Lord Tachibana.” Kagami looked up. The first was tall and wiry, with a manic gleam in his eye and a fan tucked into his sleeve like a weapon. The second, a woman with a confident stride and a smirk that didn’t belong in any court. The third—quiet, observant, his gaze flicking across the room like a scanner. She didn’t recognise any of them.

 

The tall one—clearly the leader—bowed with theatrical flourish. “Doctor Tachibana,” he said. “And these are my cousins, Lady Ruby and Lord Kim. We’ve come to pay our respects and offer our humble assistance in these troubled times.”

 

Kagami inclined her head, polite but guarded. “Troubled times?”

 

The Doctor leaned in slightly. “We’ve heard rumours. Of monsters from the sea. Of frost in the summer. Of a woman in violet who walks like a warrior.”

 

Kagami’s fingers twitched beneath her sleeve. Ruby caught the movement. She leaned toward the Doctor, whispering, “She doesn’t know us.”

 

“Of course she doesn’t,” the Doctor murmured. “She’s buried under layers of protocol and paranoia. She’s surviving. But she’ll recognise Marinette.” He turned to Ruby. “Go. Find her. She’ll be somewhere nearby—probably disguised, probably meddling.”

 

Ruby nodded and slipped away, her robes swishing like a fox’s tail.

 

Kagami watched her go, suspicion flickering behind her eyes. “Your cousin is… spirited.”

 

The Doctor smiled. “She’s a miracle. And miracles are what Japan does best.” Kim remained silent, scanning the courtyard. He could feel it too—the cold creeping in, the unnatural stillness. Akaszrin was close. And Kagami, for all her poise, was standing on the edge of something vast and dangerous.

 

(scene break)

 

The wind changed. It came from the coast, sharp and unnatural, carrying with it the scent of scorched salt and frozen earth. The plum blossoms in the outer gardens began to wilt, their petals curling as frost crept along the branches. Servants whispered of a sudden chill. The astrologers blamed a celestial imbalance. But Kagami knew better. Akaszrin was moving. From the cliffside watchtower, a guard spotted them first—figures in glacial armour, marching in formation across the rice fields. Their spears glowed with cryo-energy, leaving trails of ice in the soil. The Martian ship remained anchored on the shore, pulsing like a heartbeat, but now its warriors were advancing inland. At their center strode Akaszrin. His armour shimmered with frost, his breath fogging the air in rhythmic bursts. He carried no banner, no sigil—only the weight of his ambition. Behind him, a crystalline device hovered, suspended by anti-grav coils, its hum growing louder with each step. It was a terraformer, Kagami realized. He meant to freeze the land itself. Inside the palace, the Doctor paused mid-sentence. “Martians,” he said again, voice low. “They’re close.”

 

Kim moved to the window, eyes narrowing. “They’re not just scouting. That’s a formation.”

 

“They’re preparing a perimeter breach,” the Doctor confirmed. “Akaszrin’s not here to negotiate. He’s here to claim.”

 

Kagami stood, her silk robes rustling like leaves. “Claim what?”

 

The Doctor turned to her, gaze steady. “You. The palace. The people. He wants a base of operations. A quiet corner of history where he can experiment without interference.”

 

Kagami’s jaw tightened. “He’ll find no peace here.”

 

“No,” the Doctor agreed. “But he’ll find victims. And if we don’t stop him, he’ll turn this place into a monument to Martian cruelty.” Outside, the frost spread faster. The koi pond froze solid. The guards began to panic. And Akaszrin raised his clawed hand, signaling the advance.

 

(scene break)

 

The palace gates loomed ahead, carved with dragons and clouds, their lacquer gleaming under the frostbitten sun. Ruby strode confidently, her borrowed robes flaring behind her, one hand gripping Marinette’s wrist as they hurried through the outer gardens. Marinette’s disguise was impeccable—her hair pinned in Heian style, her sleeves embroidered with phoenixes—but her eyes betrayed her. Wide, alert, calculating. She’d recognized Ruby instantly, and now her mind was racing ahead, trying to catch up with the timeline she’d been ripped from.

 

“I thought I was dreaming,” Marinette whispered. “I thought—”

 

“You’re not,” Ruby said. “You’re late out of the Tardis. And we’ve got Martians.” They rounded a corner—and froze. Three Ice Warriors stood in formation near the plum grove, their armour glinting like glacier stone. One held a scanning device, its lens sweeping the perimeter. Another raised a clawed hand, signaling silence. The third turned—eyes locking onto Ruby and Marinette. Ruby didn’t hesitate. She shoved Marinette behind a stone lantern and stepped forward, voice loud and formal. “Honoured warriors,” she said in flawless court Japanese. “We are emissaries of Lord Tachibana. We were not informed of your arrival.”

 

The lead Ice Warrior hissed, steam curling from his helmet. “You are not of this land.”

 

“Neither are you,” Ruby shot back. The scanning device pulsed red. Marinette ducked lower, fingers twitching toward her sash. She didn’t have her Miraculous—but she had training. She counted the angles, the distance, the weight of her sleeve. She could disarm one, maybe two. But not all three. The Ice Warrior stepped forward.

 

“By order of Warlord Akaszrin,” he growled, “all anomalies are to be detained. You will come with us.”

 

Ruby smiled tightly. “I’m afraid we’re late for tea.” She threw a handful of powdered ink into the air—an old palace trick she’d picked up from Alya’s notes. The cloud burst into smoke, thick and blinding. Marinette rolled out from behind the lantern, grabbing Ruby’s hand, and they sprinted toward the inner courtyard. Behind them, the Ice Warriors roared in Martian, their spears crackling to life.

 

(scene break)

 

Inside the palace, Kagami felt the tremor. She turned toward the commotion, eyes narrowing. Something was happening. Something familiar. And somewhere in the smoke, Marinette was running toward her. The smoke from Ruby’s ink trick still clung to the air, curling around the lacquered pillars like ghostly fingers. Servants had scattered. Guards were regrouping. And in the center of the eastern courtyard, Kagami stood frozen—not by Akaszrin’s frost, but by the sight of the girl running toward her. “Marinette?”

 

Marinette skidded to a halt, breathless, eyes wide. “Kagami!” They stared at each other for a moment—two fragments of a shattered timeline finally colliding. Kagami’s court mask cracked. Her posture softened. Marinette stepped forward, arms half-raised, unsure whether to embrace or explain.

 

“You’re alive,” Kagami said, voice low.

 

“So are you,” Marinette replied. “I thought—after the Angels—I thought you were lost.”

 

“I was,” Kagami said. “Still am, maybe.”

 

Marinette reached out, fingers brushing Kagami’s sleeve. “We’re getting you out. The Doctor’s here. Ruby too. Kim’s with them.”

 

Kagami’s eyes flicked toward the corridor. “He’s here?”

 

Marinette nodded. “And he’s already scheming.”

 

(scene break)

 

Inside the strategy chamber, the Doctor was pacing. Scrolls littered the floor—astrological charts, palace maps, fragments of Martian glyphs Ruby had sketched from the patrol’s gear. Kim stood by the window, watching frost creep across the courtyard tiles. “We’ve got maybe an hour,” the Doctor muttered. “Akaszrin’s terraformer is stabilizing. Once it locks into the soil, this place becomes a Martian test site.”

 

Ruby leaned over a map. “We need to disable the device.”

 

“We need to distract Akaszrin,” Kim added.

 

“We need Kagami,” the Doctor said. “She’s the key. He’s obsessed with her—sees her as a symbol, a weapon, maybe even a successor.”

 

Ruby frowned. “She’s not going to like that.”

 

“She doesn’t have to,” the Doctor replied. “She just has to use it.”

 

He turned to the others, eyes sharp. “We split up. Ruby, you and Marinette find the terraformer’s power source. Kim, you’re with me—we’ll intercept Akaszrin’s next patrol and stall their advance. Kagami…” He paused. “She’ll decide what kind of warrior she wants to be.”

 

(scene break)

 

The frost had reached the inner courtyard. It crept across the stone tiles like a slow invasion, curling around the lanterns and silencing the koi pond with a thin sheet of ice. Servants whispered of curses. Courtiers retreated to their chambers. And Kagami stood alone beneath the plum tree, watching the last blossom fall. She had changed. The silk robes of Lady Kiyohime still clung to her frame, but the pins had been removed from her hair. Her sleeves were rolled back. The blade—her blade—was no longer hidden. It rested across her lap, unsheathed, gleaming faintly in the pale light. She knelt in silence. The wind stirred her hair. The frost kissed her knuckles. And still she did not move. Akaszrin was coming. She had seen him from the watchtower—his armour like a glacier, his stride like a war drum. He was not subtle. He did not need to be. He was a warlord, a conqueror, a relic of a dying tradition clawing its way back into relevance. And he had chosen her. Chosen her as a symbol. As a successor. As proof that even humanity could be shaped into something cold and obedient. She would not allow it. Kagami closed her eyes. She remembered fencing tournaments in Paris. Her mother’s voice, sharp and proud. The weight of the Miraculous in her palm. The moment the Angels came. She remembered being displaced. She remembered surviving. And now, she would remember how to fight. Footsteps echoed behind her—soft, deliberate. Marinette approached, still breathless from the escape.

 

“Kagami,” she said quietly.

 

Kagami opened her eyes. “He’s close.”

 

Marinette nodded. “The Doctor’s working on a plan. Ruby and I are sabotaging the terraformer. Kim’s ready to intercept the patrol.”

 

Kagami didn’t look up. “And me?”

 

Marinette hesitated. “He thinks you’re the key.” Kagami stood. The blade slid into its sheath with a whisper. Her robes shifted, revealing the armour beneath—light, flexible, forged from fragments of her past. She turned to Marinette, her expression unreadable.

 

“I’m not the key,” she said. “I’m the lock.” She stepped into the frost. And walked toward the warlord.

 

(scene break)

 

The palace gates groaned. Not from age, but from pressure—frost blooming across the hinges, warping the lacquered wood into brittle sheets. The guards stationed at the threshold stepped back instinctively, hands trembling on their spears. One dropped his weapon entirely. Another whispered a prayer to Amaterasu. And then the warlord arrived. Akaszrin marched at the head of his column, his armour gleaming like carved glacier stone, etched with Martian war-glyphs that pulsed faintly with cryo-energy. His breath fogged the air in rhythmic bursts, each exhale timed like a drumbeat. Behind him, six Ice Warriors advanced in perfect formation—taller than men, broader than oxen, their spears crackling with cold fire. The terraformer hovered behind them, suspended by anti-grav coils, its crystalline core pulsing in sync with the frost spreading across the courtyard tiles. The temperature dropped again. Plum blossoms froze mid-fall. The koi pond cracked. Akaszrin raised a clawed hand. The column stopped. He stepped forward alone, his boots crunching against ice, his gaze sweeping the palace façade with slow, deliberate disdain. The guards did not speak. They did not move. They simply watched as the warlord of Mars approached their sacred threshold. He turned to his warriors, voice amplified by his helmet’s resonance field. “This land is quiet,” he said. “Soft. Ripe.” One Ice Warrior hissed in agreement. Akaszrin continued. “The humans here are ceremonial. They speak in riddles and hide behind silk. But they are clever. Their minds are fertile. Their bodies—adaptable.” He gestured to the terraformer. “Here, we shall begin. Japan will become our base of operations. A sanctuary for experimentation. A forge for conquest.” He raised his spear, its tip glowing blue. “The weapons we shall test on these humans will turn the tide. Another Martian Golden Age, this one of conquest, shall be upon us. I will be remembered as a hero—the warrior who saved our people’s greatest tradition when it was in serious danger of dying out.” He turned to face the palace gates directly. “Akaszrin will be a name long remembered by the future generations of Mars.” The gates did not open. But the frost did. It spread across the threshold like a declaration, curling around the hinges, climbing the pillars, freezing the air itself. Inside, Kagami felt it. The Doctor felt it. And somewhere in the shadows, Bunnyx stirred. The frost had reached the inner gate. Akaszrin stood at its threshold, his retinue of Ice Warriors fanned out behind him like a glacial phalanx. The terraformer pulsed ominously, casting pale blue light across the lacquered wood and stone. The palace guards had retreated. The air was silent. And then the Doctor stepped forward. He emerged from the shadows of the courtyard, robes borrowed from a minor noble, fan tucked into his sleeve, eyes gleaming with theatrical mischief. Kim flanked him, silent and coiled. Ruby lingered near the plum tree, fingers twitching toward her sash.

 

The Doctor bowed low—too low. “Warlord Akaszrin,” he said, voice smooth as silk. “What an honour. I must say, your entrance has been… dramatic.” Akaszrin did not move. The Doctor straightened, smiling. “But I fear you’ve arrived at an inconvenient time. The Emperor is indisposed. The astrologers are in mourning. And the plum blossoms are terribly sensitive to Martian frost.” Akaszrin’s breath fogged the air. “I’m afraid,” the Doctor continued, “that your terraformer is malfunctioning. It’s destabilizing the local ley lines. If you continue, you’ll fracture the timeline and collapse the Heian court into the Muromachi period. Very messy. Lots of swords. Fewer poets.”

 

Akaszrin stepped forward, claws flexing. “You are stalling,” he said.

 

The Doctor blinked innocently. “Me? Never. I’m simply offering you a chance to reconsider. Perhaps a diplomatic summit? Tea? Poetry exchange?”

 

Akaszrin’s voice dropped to a growl. “I am not as stupid as you obviously believe me to be, Doctor.” The Doctor’s smile faltered. Akaszrin raised his clawed hand. “Seize him.” The Ice Warriors surged forward. Kim moved instantly, intercepting the nearest with a shoulder feint and a blade drawn from his sleeve. Ruby threw a smoke pellet, shrouding the courtyard in swirling mist.

 

The Doctor ducked behind a pillar, muttering, “Well, that went well…”

 

Akaszrin watched the chaos unfold, unmoved. “This palace will fall,” he said, voice echoing through the frost. “And the Frozen Samurai will kneel.”

 

(scene break)

 

The frost had reached the inner sanctum. It curled around the stone lanterns, climbed the painted pillars, and silenced the wind. The palace guards had vanished into their chambers. The courtiers had fled. Only the warlord remained—Akaszrin, standing at the threshold with his Ice Warriors arrayed behind him like statues carved from glacier rock. And then she stepped out. Kagami emerged from the shadows of the plum grove, her robes stripped of ceremony, her blade gleaming at her side. The silk still clung to her shoulders, but beneath it was armour—light, flexible, forged from fragments of her past. Her hair was unbound. Her eyes were steady. She walked alone. The Doctor, crouched behind a pillar, whispered to Ruby, “That’s her. That’s the real Kagami.”

 

Akaszrin turned. His breath fogged the air. His claws flexed. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until the frost beneath his boots cracked like glass. “You are the one they call Kiyohime,” he said, voice amplified by his helmet’s resonance field.

 

“I am Kagami Tsurugi,” she replied. “And I do not kneel.”

 

The Ice Warriors shifted. One raised a scanner. Another hissed in Martian. Akaszrin raised a clawed hand, silencing them. “You are not of this time,” he said. “You are displaced. A fragment. A paradox.”

 

“I am a warrior,” Kagami said. “And this is my home.”

 

Akaszrin stepped closer. “You are mine.”

 

Kagami drew her blade. The sound was soft. Final. Like a bell tolling in snow. “I am no one’s.”

 

The frost pulsed. The terraformer hummed louder. The Ice Warriors raised their spears. And Akaszrin smiled. “Then let us begin.”

 

(scene break)

 

The courtyard had frozen into silence. Frost coated the lacquered tiles, curling around the stone lanterns and climbing the plum trees like ivy made of ice. The terraformer pulsed behind Akaszrin’s retinue, casting pale blue light across the palace façade. The air was brittle. Every breath cracked. Kagami stepped forward. Her blade gleamed in the cold, unsheathed and steady. Her robes had been stripped of ceremony, revealing the armour beneath—light, flexible, forged from fragments of her past. Her stance was low. Her eyes were calm. Akaszrin raised his spear. The Ice Warriors formed a circle, their spears lowered, their breath fogging the air in rhythmic bursts. The Doctor watched from the shadows, Ruby beside him, Kim crouched and ready. Marinette stood just behind the plum tree, her hand clenched around a smoke pellet she hadn’t yet thrown. Akaszrin spoke first. “You are displaced,” he said, voice amplified by his helmet’s resonance field. “A fragment. A paradox. You do not belong.”

 

Kagami didn’t flinch. “I belong wherever I choose to stand.”

 

Akaszrin stepped forward, his boots cracking the frost. “You are a warrior. But you are human. You are soft. Sentimental.”

 

“I am disciplined,” Kagami said. “And I do not need to be cruel to be strong.”

 

Akaszrin raised his spear. The duel began. He lunged first—heavy, deliberate, a downward strike meant to crush. Kagami sidestepped, her blade flashing in a tight arc that sliced across his shoulder plating. Frost hissed from the wound. Akaszrin turned, faster than expected, and swept his spear in a wide arc. Kagami ducked, rolled, came up behind him. She struck again—precise, surgical, a cut across the back of his knee joint. He staggered, but did not fall. His armour hissed, sealing the breach with a burst of cryo-gel. “You fight like a ghost,” he growled.

 

“I fight like a survivor,” she replied. He roared and charged. This time, Kagami met him head-on. Their weapons clashed—steel against Martian alloy, frost against flame. Her blade sparked against his spear, deflecting blow after blow with practiced grace. He was stronger. She was faster. The Ice Warriors watched in silence.

 

The Doctor leaned forward. “She’s reading him. Every movement. Every flaw.”

 

Ruby nodded. “She’s not just fighting. She’s dismantling him.” Akaszrin struck again—a feint, then a twist, then a brutal overhead swing. Kagami caught it. Her blade locked against his spear, her arms trembling from the force. Ice bloomed across her gauntlets. Her breath fogged. Her knees buckled. But she didn’t fall. She twisted her blade, redirected the force, and drove the hilt into his chestplate. Akaszrin staggered. Kagami stepped back, blade raised.

 

“This is your last chance,” she said. “Leave. Or be remembered as the warlord who was defeated by a girl with no home.” Akaszrin’s eyes narrowed. Then he lunged. Kagami sidestepped, spun, and struck. Her blade sliced across his helmet—clean, final. The visor shattered. Frost hissed. Akaszrin dropped to one knee, breath ragged, armour sparking. The Ice Warriors did not move. Kagami lowered her blade. “I am not your successor,” she said. “I am your ending.”

 

(scene break)

 

The terraformer pulsed like a heartbeat. Its crystalline core glowed with Martian energy, embedded deep in the soil just beyond the palace walls. Frost radiated outward in concentric rings, freezing the rice fields, the koi pond, the air itself. Akaszrin’s Ice Warriors stood guard, silent and watchful, their spears crackling with cryo-static. But beneath the terraformer’s base, two shadows moved. Marinette and Ruby crouched in the crawlspace, robes muddied, fingers numb from the cold. Ruby held a sonic disruptor—borrowed from the Doctor and modified with palace wiring. Marinette had a bundle of explosive charges, wrapped in silk and sealed with ink. “Ready?” Ruby whispered.

 

Marinette nodded. “We’ll only get one shot.”

 

Ruby adjusted the disruptor’s frequency. “Then let’s make it count.” She activated the device. The terraformer’s hum faltered—just slightly. The glow dimmed. The frost paused.

 

Marinette slid the charges into place, her hands trembling. “Three seconds,” she said. “Then run.” They bolted. The charges detonated with a muffled thud, followed by a high-pitched whine as the disruptor overloaded. The terraformer shuddered. Cracks spidered across its crystalline surface. The anti-grav coils sparked. The frost reversed—melting, then boiling, then erupting outward in a burst of unstable energy. The ground shook. The palace trembled. The Ice Warriors staggered, their formation breaking. Akaszrin turned sharply, claws clenched, eyes blazing.

 

(scene break)

 

“No,” he growled. “No!” The terraformer collapsed. Its core imploded, sending a shockwave through the soil. Frost shattered. Tiles cracked. The plum trees split down the middle. The koi pond exploded in steam. And the timeline itself rippled—a visible distortion in the air, like heat haze laced with paradox.

 

(scene break)

 

Inside the palace, the Doctor stumbled, catching himself against a pillar. “They did it,” he muttered. “They actually did it.”

 

Kim helped him up. “What now?”

 

The Doctor looked toward the courtyard, where Kagami still stood, blade raised, facing a warlord whose world was falling apart. “Now,” he said, “we finish this.”

The terraformer lay in ruins. Its crystalline core had imploded, shards scattered across the courtyard like broken stars. Steam hissed from the fractured coils, and the frost that once blanketed the palace was melting—slowly, unevenly, as if reluctant to release its grip. Akaszrin stood at the center of the wreckage. His armour was scorched, his helmet cracked, his breath ragged. The duel had left him wounded—not just in body, but in pride. Around him, his Ice Warriors waited in silence, their formation broken, their spears lowered. Kagami stood opposite him, blade still drawn, her stance unwavering. The Doctor emerged from the shadows, coat dusted with frost, Ruby and Kim flanking him. Marinette joined Kagami, her eyes locked on the warlord. Akaszrin’s gaze swept the courtyard—the shattered terraformer, the fallen warriors, the girl who had bested him. He snarled. “This is not over.”

 

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “It looks fairly over from here.”

 

Akaszrin ignored him. He turned to Kagami, voice low and resonant. “You are a paradox. A fragment. A mistake. But you fight like a warrior. That makes you dangerous.” Kagami didn’t respond. Akaszrin stepped back, claws clenched. “I will not suffer the indignity of defeat at the hands of a wandering samurai. Not here. Not now.” He raised his spear. “To all units—retreat.” The Ice Warriors obeyed instantly, falling into formation and marching toward the coast. The frost receded with them, curling back across the tiles like a wounded tide. Akaszrin lingered. He turned once more to Kagami and the Doctor, his eyes gleaming beneath the fractured visor. “You will not be forgotten,” he said. “Your names will be etched into the war logs of Mars. And when the Coalition of Darkness rises again, I will return.” His voice dropped to a growl. “Kagami Tsurugi. Doctor. I swear vengeance upon you both.” Then he turned, his cloak catching the wind, and vanished into the mist.

 

(scene break)

 

The courtyard was quiet now. The frost had receded, leaving behind cracked tiles and scorched plum trees. The terraformer lay in ruins, its crystalline core shattered, its coils steaming in the morning light. Akaszrin’s forces had retreated. The palace was safe—for now. Kagami sat on the edge of the koi pond, her blade resting across her knees. The water was thawing slowly, rippling with the return of spring. Her robes were torn, her armour scuffed, but her posture remained precise. Controlled. The Doctor approached, coat trailing behind him, hands tucked into his sleeves. “You did well,” he said softly.

 

Kagami didn’t look up. “I didn’t win.”

 

“You didn’t lose,” he replied. “And you didn’t become what he wanted you to be.”

 

She was silent for a moment. Then: “He saw me as a successor. A symbol. A weapon.”

 

The Doctor crouched beside her. “And you showed him you were a choice.”

 

Kagami’s fingers brushed the hilt of her blade. “I don’t know what I am anymore.”

 

The Doctor smiled faintly. “That’s the best place to start.”

 

She looked at him then—really looked. “Do you think I’ll ever go back to being who I was?”

 

“No,” he said. “But you’ll go forward. And that’s better.” She nodded slowly. The wind stirred the plum blossoms. And the frost was finally gone.

 

(scene break)

 

The TARDIS hummed with quiet anticipation. The console room was full now—fuller than it had ever been. Marinette leaned against the railing, Alya beside her, arms crossed. Nino sat on the steps, sketching something in his notebook. Luka tuned a stringless guitar. Juleka stood near the wall, Rose beside her, fingers brushing the trident pendant. Ivan and Mylène shared a quiet corner. Kim leaned against the coral strut, watching Kagami, who stood with her arms folded, gaze distant. Manon, Ella, and Etta sat cross-legged on the floor, whispering about time travel and sword fights. Ruby, Nathaniel and Kubdel stood beside the Doctor at the console, watching him fiddle with the timey-wimey detector—a tangled mess of wires, Gallifreyan circuitry, and a teacup for balance. The Doctor cleared his throat. “Well,” he said, “we’re down to the last two.” The room quieted. “Two classmates still missing,” he continued. “Two signals left to trace. And if the Vamtreeian’s competition is anything to go by, they’ll be guarded by something nasty.”

 

Ruby leaned in. “Who’s left?” The Doctor didn’t answer. He was staring at the detector. It pulsed once. Then again. Then the TARDIS lurched. The rotor groaned. The floor shifted. The lights flickered. Everyone grabbed something. “Doctor?” Ruby asked.

 

“I didn’t touch anything,” he said. The TARDIS took off. No lever pulled. No button pressed. The console glowed brighter. The timey-wimey detector spun wildly. And the Doctor’s expression darkened. “Oh,” he murmured. “That’s not good.” The TARDIS vanished into the vortex. And somewhere, the final two classmates waited.

 

(scene break)

 

The TARDIS landed with a thud. No wheeze. No flourish. Just a hard, mechanical jolt that sent everyone stumbling. The console lights flickered. The rotor spun once, then stopped. Silence. Marinette and Alya exchanged a glance. “This feels wrong,” Marinette whispered.

 

Alya nodded. “I think I know this place…”

 

The Doctor stepped toward the door, frowning. “Enclosed space. Industrial hum. No natural light. Let’s see where we’ve landed.” He opened the door. The corridor beyond was metallic and narrow, lit by flickering panels. The walls were stained with corrosion. Through a window, the Doctor saw it—an orange sky, thick with sulphuric acid rain, falling in slow, toxic sheets. His face paled. “No,” he breathed.

 

Kubdel stepped forward, eyes wide with horror. “I know this planet. We need to go back. Now. At least one of us stranded in the past is better than all of us dying here.”

 

Her friends turned on her instantly. “Kubdel!” Alya snapped. “You can’t just abandon us!”

 

“You’d do the same!” Kubdel shouted. “You don’t know what this place is!”

 

The Doctor turned, voice hollow. “We’re in Kaalann.” No one reacted. He swallowed. “It’s the capital city of Skaro.”

 

Alya’s breath caught. “Wait—Skaro? That’s the Dalek homeworld. The planet of the Daleks.”

 

The Doctor nodded grimly. “And we’ve landed in their capital. Their stronghold.” Suddenly, the console behind them sparked. The Hostile Action Displacement System activated. The TARDIS vanished. They were stranded.

 

“We’re on Skaro,” Alya said worriedly. “The planet of the Daleks.”

 

“Shush,” the Doctor added quickly. “Everyone quiet. They might not have heard us yet.”
A beat. Then—

 

“NO SUCH LUCK DOC-TOR!!” The doorway was blocked. Several Daleks rolled forward, their casings gleaming, their eyestalks glowing blue. These were the latest models—sleek, reinforced, with rotating midsections and upgraded blasters. “YOU ARE TRESS-PASS-ING IN A PRI-VATE AREA!!”

 

Marinette stepped back, trembling. “We’re sorry, we’re sorry!”

 

“DALEKS DO NOT ACCEPT APOLOGIES!!!” The lead Dalek’s blaster began to glow. “YOU WILL BE EXTERMINATED!!! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!!”

Chapter Text

The light was harsh. Cold fluorescents buzzed overhead, casting sterile shadows across the metal floor. The air smelled of ozone and disinfectant. The walls were smooth, seamless, and humming faintly with containment fields. The ensemble stirred. Marinette groaned first, blinking against the glare. Alya sat up beside her, clutching her head. One by one, the others began to wake—Nino, Luka, Juleka, Rose, Ivan, Mylène, Kim, Manon, Ella, Etta, Kagami. Even Kubdel, pale and silent. They were piled together in a containment chamber, overlapping limbs and tangled robes, like cargo dumped for sorting. The Doctor sat up last. He blinked, looked around, and muttered, “They stunned us. Daleks don’t stun. That’s new.” Three figures stood before them. Two Kaleds—young, sharp-eyed, clad in black military uniforms with silver piping. Their faces were angular, their expressions unreadable. Between them stood a human, also in black, his posture rigid, his gaze cold. Max Kante. Jonas Castavillian. And the one in the center—changed, reconstructed, but unmistakable. The Doctor’s breath caught. “Davros,” he said. “Long time no see, thankfully. You look different. Did you get a haircut?”

 

The figure stepped forward. His face was no longer twisted and decaying. The scars were gone. The mechanical chair was sleeker, more integrated. His eyes—both of them—gleamed with unnatural clarity. “You remember the regenerative energies you donated to me when we last met, Doctor?” Davros said, voice smooth and modulated.

 

The Doctor winced. “I remember. I also remember screaming.”

 

Davros smiled faintly. “It healed more than I anticipated.”

 

The ensemble watched in confusion. None of them recognized him. Even Alya, who had studied Dalek lore, looked uncertain. The Doctor stood slowly, brushing dust from his coat. “So what do you want, Davros? A second chance? A war? A lecture on the ethics of survival?”

 

Davros tilted his head. “Your help, Doctor.” Silence. The Doctor’s eyes narrowed. The Doctor stood slowly, brushing dust from his coat. The containment chamber was cold and humming, the ensemble still groggy from the stun blast. Marinette blinked hard, then gasped.

 

“Max?” The boy standing beside Davros flinched at his name. He looked thinner, paler—his usual hoodie replaced by a black Dalek uniform, sleeves too long, eyes too tired.

 

Alya pushed forward. “Max Kante? What—what did they do to you?”

 

Max didn’t answer. He just looked at the Doctor, pleading. Davros gestured to him with one skeletal hand. “The boy to my left—one of the displaced, I believe. My Daleks rescued him from the Industrial Revolution of Earth. His intelligence, while superior to a normal human, is nowhere near adequate for the mission.”

 

The Doctor’s voice dropped. “Mission?”

 

Davros glided forward, flanked by Jonas Castavillian. “Skavak. Prince of Skaro. You will remember him and his personal battalion of Daleks who fled the Time War.”

 

The Doctor’s jaw tightened. “I remember. Your own flesh and blood.”

 

“You also remember the virus utilised during the Daleks’ war with the Movellans. For the longest time, it was believed my Daleks had gained immunity to it. But now Skavak’s Daleks are cultivating the virus, improving it, restoring its effectiveness. And we pulled him from the Industrial Revolution to solve it. His intelligence is superior to a normal human. But nowhere near adequate for the mission to stop Skavak using the virus against my creations in the ultimate act of treachery.”

 

The Doctor folded his arms. “You want me to save the Daleks from a long overdue genocide against their own? Your body has healed, Davros, but your mind remains fragmented.”

 

Davros didn’t flinch. “Bearing in mind, Doctor,” he said, “that Skavak is also developing a weapon from a displaced Miraculer that could spread death and destruction on a scale that could rival the infinite casualties of the Time War...?”

 

Silence. The Doctor’s expression changed. He looked at the ensemble—at Marinette, at Alya, at Luka and Juleka and Kim. At Kagami. And finally, at Kubdel. She had gone pale. Her posture was rigid, her eyes locked on Davros. She didn’t blink. She didn’t breathe. “You know what he’s talking about,” the Doctor said.

 

Kubdel nodded slowly. She stepped forward, voice low. “If he’s weaponizing a Miraculer, it means he’s found a way to bind quantum identity to Dalek logic. That’s not just genocide. That’s conversion.” The Doctor’s face darkened. Kubdel continued. “My father warned me. If Skavak ever resurfaced, it wouldn’t be to conquer. It would be to replace. He doesn’t just want to win. He wants to rewrite.”

 

Davros watched her with interest. “You are Braxiatel’s daughter.”

 

Kubdel didn’t respond. The Doctor’s expression changed. He looked at Marinette, at Alya, at Kubdel. Then back at Davros. “You’re asking me to stop a Dalek from becoming worse than you.”

 

Davros nodded. “I am.”

 

The Doctor exhaled. Then: “Fine. I’ll help you stop Skavak. But not for you. For Max. For the Miraculer he’s twisted. And for the billions who don’t deserve to be rewritten.”

 

Davros smiled. “Excellent.”

 

(scene break)

 

Max sat on the edge of the containment bench, his posture stiff, his eyes unfocused. The black Dalek-issued uniform hung awkwardly on his frame—too formal, too alien. He looked like a child forced into a role he never auditioned for. Marinette knelt beside him, her voice gentle. “Max? It’s me. Marinette. You’re safe now.” He blinked slowly, as if her name had to travel through layers of memory.

 

Alya crouched on his other side. “We thought you were gone. We’ve been searching for you this whole time.”

 

Max’s voice was hoarse. “They took me from a workshop. I was fixing a steam engine. They said I was clever. Said I could help.”

 

Marinette touched his arm. “You’re not alone anymore.”

 

Max looked down. “They made me watch. Daleks testing the virus. On each other. On prisoners. I tried to stop it. I couldn’t.”

 

Alya’s eyes filled with tears. “You did everything you could.”

 

Behind them, the Doctor stood at the center of the group, coat flaring slightly as he turned to face the ensemble. “Skavak,” he said. “Son of Davros. The Dark Prince of Skaro.” The room fell silent. “I thought he was dead,” the Doctor continued. “One of the infinite casualties of the Time War’s final battle. But if he’s back…” He glanced toward the window, where sulphuric rain streaked the glass. “…I shouldn’t doubt he’s looking to secure his promotion to Dalek Emperor.”

 

Kubdel Braxiatel stepped forward, arms folded. “Skavak doesn’t just want a throne. He wants a purge. He sees Davros’s loyalists as corrupted. He sees mercy as infection.” She looked at Max, then back at the Doctor. “And he’s starting with the virus. Movellan strain. Refined. Targeted.”

 

The Doctor nodded grimly. “If he succeeds, we’re not just looking at civil war. We’re looking at a Dalek schism that could spill across time.”

 

Max looked up, voice barely audible. “He said the virus could make loyalist Daleks melt from the inside. Like they were never meant to exist.” Marinette shivered.

 

The Doctor turned to the group. “We stop him. We find the virus. We destroy it. And we get Max home.”

 

Kubdel’s eyes narrowed. “Before Skavak rewrites the future in his own image.”

 

(scene break)

 

The control chamber dimmed as Davros activated the star map. A holographic projection bloomed above the console—an uninhabited planet, jagged and grey, orbiting a dying star within the Medusa Cascade. The coordinates pulsed in Gallifreyan script, overlaid with Dalek tactical glyphs. “Skavak’s stronghold,” Davros said. “A former weapons testing site. Abandoned after the Time War. Now repurposed.”

 

The Doctor frowned. “In the Cascade? That’s a temporal choke point. He’ll see us coming.” The Doctor turned from the star map, his expression tight. “We’ll need transport. My TARDIS is currently… unavailable.”

 

Davros didn’t hesitate. “A Dalek cruiser awaits. Loyalist crew. Cloaked. Functional.”

 

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “Functional and not booby-trapped?”

 

Davros smiled faintly. “You’ll find out.”

 

The Doctor turned to the ensemble. “Right then. We’re going in. Skavak’s expecting me, so we’ll need to be unexpected.” He pointed to Alya. “You’re on comms. If anything goes wrong, I want you coordinating fallback.” To Luka and Juleka: “You two—stealth. Find the virus lab. Document everything. Don’t engage.” To Kim and Ivan: “Muscle. If we need a distraction, you’re it.” To Marinette: “You’re with me. You know how to improvise under pressure.” To Kubdel: “You’re our archive. If Skavak’s using Time Lord tech, I want your eyes on it.” Kubdel nodded, but her gaze remained fixed on Davros. Max stood quietly, still unsure of his place. The Doctor crouched beside him. “You’ve done more than anyone should’ve had to. But if you’re up for it, I could use your insight on Dalek systems.”

 

Max nodded slowly. “I want to help.”

 

The Doctor smiled. “Good lad.” They suited up—Dalek uniforms modified for infiltration, Miraculous gear hidden beneath. The cruiser’s boarding ramp hissed open, revealing a corridor of cold metal and loyalist Daleks standing at attention. The ensemble stepped forward. Davros watched them go. And as the last of them disappeared into the cruiser, he turned away from the console, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, to himself:

 

“Goodbye, Doctor.”

 

(scene break)

 

The stronghold loomed like a scar across the planet’s surface. Jagged towers pierced the sulphuric sky, their spires humming with containment fields and weapon arrays. The ground was scorched glass, fractured by centuries of testing and war. No vegetation. No atmosphere. Just the hum of Dalek industry and the hiss of acid rain. Inside the command chamber, the walls pulsed with data. Dalek glyphs scrolled across the monitors. Tactical maps flickered in red and gold. And at the center of it all—Skavak. A full head taller than his brethren, his casing was black with gold hemispheres and a reinforced base. His upper body was almost spherical, reminiscent of Davros’s Emperor shell—but sleeker, more integrated. He bore the eyestalk, plunger, and gunstalk of a standard Dalek, but his posture radiated command. His voice was deeper, modulated for intimidation. He turned slowly as a subordinate Dalek rolled forward.

 

“UNAUTHORISED VES-SEL AP-PROACH-ING!!”

 

Skavak’s eyestalk narrowed. “SCAN THE VESSEL.”

 

“VES-SEL IS DA-LEK IN OR-I-GIN. CREW IN-COM-PLETE. LIFE SIGNS IN-DI-CATE NON-DA-LEK PRES-ENCE.”

 

Skavak hissed. “DAVROS.” He rolled toward the central console, his casing clicking with every movement. “HE MOVES AGAINST ME.”

 

Another Dalek approached. “OR-DERS?”

 

Skavak’s voice boomed. “ACTIVATE GROUND-TO-AIR DE-FENCES!!” The command chamber lit up—missile silos opening, plasma turrets rotating, targeting systems locking onto the incoming cruiser. “PREPARE FOR THE TO-TAL AND UN-COM-PRO-MIS-ING EX-TER-MIN-A-TION OF THE IN-TRU-DERS!!!”

 

The Daleks echoed the command. “EX-TER-MIN-ATE!! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!!” Outside, the sky darkened. And the cruiser carrying the Doctor and his ensemble descended into the jaws of the Dark Prince.

 

(scene break)

 

The cruiser jolted violently. Warning klaxons blared. The lights flickered red. Outside the reinforced viewport, the sulphuric sky lit up with streaks of plasma—Skavak’s ground-to-air defences were already locked on. “Brace!” the Doctor shouted, gripping the console as the ship banked hard to the left.

 

Marinette slammed into the wall, catching Alya before she fell. “They were waiting for us!”

 

“They weren’t just waiting,” Kubdel muttered, eyes scanning the tactical display. “They were prepared. Skavak’s targeting algorithms are predictive. He knew our entry vector.”

 

Max clung to a railing, teeth clenched. “They’re using triple-phase plasma. That’ll burn through shielding in seconds!” Kim and Ivan steadied themselves near the bulkhead, ready to absorb impact. Luka and Juleka crouched low, shielding Rose and Mylène.

 

The Doctor twisted a dial, rerouting power to the deflector grid. “Dalek tech’s sturdy, but not invincible. We need to land now or we’ll be vaporized mid-air.”

 

Alya pulled up a schematic. “There’s a canyon near the stronghold. If we drop fast enough, we can use the terrain to mask our descent.”

 

“Do it!” the Doctor barked. The cruiser dove. Outside, the sky erupted—missiles streaking past, some detonating in mid-air, others grazing the hull. The ship groaned under the strain, metal screaming as it twisted through the storm.

 

Kagami stood at the viewport, eyes narrowed. “They’re not just trying to shoot us down. They’re herding us.”

 

Kubdel nodded grimly. “Into a kill zone.”

 

The Doctor grinned darkly. “Then we’ll just have to be very bad sheep.” He slammed a lever. The cruiser dropped like a stone. The ensemble screamed. And the planet of the Daleks opened its jaws.

 

(scene break)

 

The cruiser hit the canyon wall hard. Metal screamed. Sparks flew. The hull tore open in jagged streaks as the ship skidded across the fractured glass terrain, bouncing once—twice—before slamming into a ridge and grinding to a halt. Silence. Then—“Everyone out!” the Doctor shouted, already hauling open the emergency hatch. Marinette scrambled to her feet, dragging Alya with her. Kim and Ivan kicked out a side panel, clearing debris. Luka helped Juleka and Rose through the smoke. Max stumbled, coughing, until Kubdel caught his arm and pulled him clear. The canyon was narrow, jagged, and steep. Acid rain hissed against the rocks above, but the overhang shielded them—for now. The Doctor scanned the sky. “Defences are still active. We need to stay low.” They ducked behind a ridge as another plasma burst lit the sky. Then, slowly, the barrage ceased.

 

The ensemble collapsed into the dust, panting, bruised, but alive. Alya leaned against the canyon wall, eyes wide. “We should’ve died.”

 

“We almost did,” Marinette whispered.

 

Max sat with his knees pulled to his chest. “They were trying to vaporize us. Not capture. Not warn. Just… erase.”

 

Kubdel crouched beside him. “That’s Skavak. No speeches. No theatrics. Just extermination.”

 

The Doctor paced, coat trailing behind him. “He knows we’re here. He knows we’re Davros’s answer. And he’ll be watching.”

 

Kagami wiped blood from her temple. “Then we move fast. Before he recalibrates.”

 

The Doctor nodded. “We find the virus lab. We destroy it. And we get out.” A moment passed. The wind howled through the canyon. And the ensemble, still shaken, rose together.

 

(scene break)

 

The canyon narrowed into a fissure—just wide enough for the ensemble to slip through single file. The Doctor led the way, sonic screwdriver in hand, scanning for tripwires and motion sensors. Kubdel Braxiatel followed close behind, her eyes flicking between Gallifreyan glyphs and Dalek runes etched into the walls. “This place wasn’t built for infiltration,” she murmured. “It was built to repel Time Lords.”

 

“Then we’ll just have to be very rude guests,” the Doctor replied. They reached a service hatch—half-buried in slag and corrosion. Alya tapped into the panel with a Miraculous interface, bypassing Dalek encryption with a mix of human intuition and Ladybug logic. The hatch hissed open. Inside, the corridor was dark. Black metal. Red lighting. The hum of power lines beneath their feet. It felt like walking through a circulatory system—Skaro’s veins, pulsing with hate.

 

“Stay quiet,” Marinette whispered. “Daleks don’t sleep. They just wait.” Kim and Ivan took point, their footsteps muffled by scavenged Dalek boots. Luka and Juleka moved like shadows, trailing behind with Rose and Mylène. Max stayed close to Kubdel, his fingers twitching with remembered trauma.

 

They passed a surveillance node. The Doctor froze. “Hold,” he whispered. A Dalek glided past the junction ahead—standard model, silver casing, blue hemispheres. It paused, scanned, then continued on its patrol. The ensemble exhaled. They moved again.

 

At the next junction, the Doctor gestured to Kubdel. “This is your moment. Where would Skavak hide a virus designed to kill his father’s loyalists?”

 

Kubdel studied the architecture. “Not in the command center. Too exposed. He’d use a purification chamber—somewhere designed for ideological cleansing. A place where Daleks go to be ‘corrected.’”

 

Max shivered. “I saw one. They called it the Reclamation Vault.”

 

The Doctor nodded. “Then that’s where we’re going.” They turned down a side corridor—narrower, colder, lined with discarded Dalek parts. Eyestalks. Gun arms. Hemispheres scorched and melted.

 

“Skavak’s rejects,” Kubdel whispered.

 

“His failures,” the Doctor said. “And his warning.” They pressed on. And somewhere deeper in the stronghold, the virus pulsed. Waiting.

 

(scene break)

 

The command chamber pulsed with red light. Skavak loomed over the central console, his casing gleaming black and gold beneath the acidic glow. Taller than any Dalek present, his spherical upper shell rotated with quiet precision, eyestalk fixed on the tactical display. A subordinate Dalek glided forward.

 

“IN-TRU-DERS HAVE BREACHED THE OUT-ER VEINS!”

 

Another joined it. “VES-SEL IDEN-TI-FIED AS DA-LEK OR-I-GIN. CREW IN-COM-PLETE. LIFE SIGNS IN-DI-CATE NON-DA-LEK PRES-ENCE.”

 

Skavak did not react immediately. He rolled forward, scanning the map. Red dots flickered—moving through the lower corridors, approaching the Reclamation Vault. “THEY SEEK THE VAULT,” he said, voice low and deliberate.

 

“OR-DERS?” the nearest Dalek asked.

 

Skavak’s casing clicked once. “PRE-PARE THE VAULT FOR CON-TAIN-MENT.”

 

“CON-TAIN-MENT PRO-TO-COL AC-TIVE.”

 

“LOCK DOWN ALL EXIT ROUTES.”

 

“LOCK-DOWN INI-TI-AT-ED.” Skavak turned slowly, his eyestalk narrowing.

 

“ACTIVATE PURGE PRO-TO-COL.” The room darkened. A siren began to pulse—low, rhythmic, like a heartbeat. “THEY WILL FIND WHAT THEY SEEK,” Skavak said. He rolled back to the center of the chamber. “AND THEN THEY WILL DIE IN ITS PRES-ENCE.”

 

The Daleks echoed the command. “EX-TER-MIN-ATE!! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!!” Skavak watched the map. And waited.

 

(scene break)

 

The corridor opened into a vast chamber. The Reclamation Vault. It was colder than the rest of the stronghold—lit by sterile white panels and lined with containment tanks. Inside each tank floated fragments of Dalek casing, scorched and twisted. Some bore the blue hemispheres of Davros’s loyalists. Others were marked with gold.

 

Max froze. “This is where they dissolve them. Strip them down. Recycle the parts.”

 

Kubdel Braxiatel stepped forward, scanning the glyphs etched into the floor. “This isn’t just a vault. It’s a graveyard.”

 

The Doctor moved to the central console, fingers dancing across the interface. “The virus is stored here. Encased. Waiting for deployment.”

 

Marinette looked around. “So we destroy it?”

 

“Not yet,” the Doctor said. “We need to understand its delivery system. If Skavak’s planning to release it across Dalek-controlled sectors, we need to know how.” Suddenly—A flash of light. Three Daleks materialized in the chamber—black casing, blue hemispheres, loyalist insignia glowing faintly.

 

“LOYALIST UNIT THIRTY-SEVEN. THIRTY-EIGHT. THIRTY-NINE. TELEPORT COMPLETE.” The ensemble scattered, startled.

 

The Doctor raised his hands. “Easy! They’re on our side.”

 

The lead Dalek turned to him. “WE WERE SENT TO AID. VAULT IS COM-PROMISED.”

 

Kubdel’s eyes narrowed. “Compromised how?”

 

The lights flickered. The Doctor’s expression changed. “No,” he whispered. “Too easy. Too clean. We weren’t supposed to reach this far.” He turned to the loyalist Daleks. “Get us out. Reroute us to the lower corridors.”

 

“NEGATIVE,” the lead Dalek replied. “ALL EXIT ROUTES ARE SEALED.”

 

The Doctor spun to the console. “Then I’ll open one myself—” The chamber doors slammed shut. A hiss of pressure. And then—A shadow. Skavak entered. Flanked by four personal guards—Daleks taller than standard, their casings reinforced with gold plating and crimson glyphs. Their eyestalks glowed like embers. Skavak rolled forward, silent. The ensemble backed away. The Doctor stood his ground. “Hello,” he said softly. Skavak’s eyestalk narrowed. And the Vault began to hum.

 

The Vault hummed with containment energy. Skavak rolled forward, flanked by his personal guard—four elite Daleks, their casings reinforced with gold and crimson, their eyestalks glowing like embers. The ensemble stood frozen, the loyalist Daleks forming a protective triangle around the Doctor. Skavak’s voice rang out, deep and resonant. “THE DOC-TOR.”

 

The Doctor straightened. “Skavak. You’ve redecorated. Very… genocidal.”

 

Skavak ignored the quip. “YOU ARE A THREAT TO THE DA-LEK WAY. YOU HAVE BEEN DE-CLARED EN-E-MY PRI-MA-RY FOR ALL TIME.” He turned to the loyalist Daleks. “AND YOU—YOU WHO AID THE DOC-TOR—YOU ARE TRAI-TORS TO THE CODE. TO THE PURI-TY. TO THE SUR-VI-VAL OF OUR SPE-CIES.” The loyalists did not respond. Skavak’s casing clicked once. “STAND-ING OR-DERS: CAP-TURE OR EX-TER-MI-NATE THE DOC-TOR ON SIGHT.” He turned back to the Doctor. “EX-TER-MI-NATE.”

 

The command echoed through the Vault. “EX-TER-MI-NATE!!” The personal guard raised their gunstalks.

 

The Doctor raised his hands. “Wait! You don’t want to do this.”

 

Skavak’s eyestalk narrowed. “YOU WILL DIE FIRST.”

 

The Doctor stepped back, subtly gesturing to Kubdel. She understood instantly—slipping behind the containment console, fingers already scanning the virus matrix. Her eyes flicked across the data: molecular destabilizers, targeted genetic decay, Dalek-specific neural collapse. The Doctor kept talking. “You kill me, you lose your audience. You lose your leverage. You lose your moment.” Skavak paused. The Doctor smiled faintly. “You’ve built a virus. A purge. A legacy. But you haven’t deployed it yet. Why?” Skavak didn’t answer.

 

Kubdel’s voice was low. “I need thirty seconds.”

 

The Doctor stepped forward. “You want to rewrite the Dalek genome. You want to erase Davros’s influence. But you need the Vault intact. You need the virus contained until it’s ready.” Skavak’s eyestalk twitched.

 

Kubdel’s fingers flew across the console.

 

The Doctor’s voice dropped. “So if you kill me now… who’s going to stop your virus from detonating prematurely?” Silence. Skavak did not move.

 

Kubdel whispered, “Ten seconds.”

 

The Doctor smiled wider. “Go on then. Exterminate me. But when your Vault melts and your guards scream and your legacy turns to ash—just remember who warned you.” Skavak’s gunstalk lowered. Kubdel’s eyes locked onto the final sequence. And the Vault pulsed.

 

Kubdel’s fingers danced across the containment console. “Almost there,” she whispered. “I’ve isolated the virus’s core matrix—”

 

The console pulsed red. “Countermeasure activated,” Skavak intoned. The interface locked. Glyphs scrambled. A surge of static burst from the console, throwing Kubdel backward. Max caught her before she hit the floor.

 

The Doctor’s eyes widened. “No—no, no, no…”

 

Skavak rolled forward, voice cold. “YOU SCAN-NED. YOU TRIG-GERED. YOU FAIL-ED.” The Vault darkened. A screen descended from the ceiling—Dalek tech fused with Time Lord optics. It flickered once, then stabilized. Davros appeared. His skeletal face was lit by the glow of Skaro’s throne chamber. His voice was calm. Triumphant.

 

“Doctor,” he said. “You never could resist a mystery.” The Doctor stepped forward, fists clenched. Davros continued. “Skavak’s rebellion was… persuasive, wasn’t it? The rogue prince. The virus. The purge. All so very Dalek.” He smiled. “But it was never meant to destroy my loyalists. That virus—oh, Doctor—it has no effect on Dalek tissue.” The ensemble froze. Davros leaned closer to the lens. “It is fatal to all non-Dalek lifeforms it comes into contact with. Humans. Miraculers. Time Lords.” The Doctor’s breath caught. Davros’s voice dropped to a whisper. “And you brought them here. You brought them all.” The screen flickered. Davros raised his hand. “I thank you for your gullibility.” He turned to someone off-screen. “Exterminate them.” The transmission cut. Skavak’s guards raised their gunstalks. The Vault began to hum. And the Doctor whispered,

 

“Run.” The Vault pulsed with containment energy. Skavak’s guards raised their gunstalks, targeting the Doctor first. The ensemble braced for impact—no cover, no exit, no time. “Ruby!” the Doctor shouted.

 

She blinked. “What?”

 

“Your phone—give it here!” She tossed it without hesitation. The Doctor caught it mid-air, flipped open the casing, and jammed his sonic screwdriver into the port. “Dalek optics are sensitive to quantum flash,” he muttered. “Let’s give them a migraine.” He twisted the dial. The phone detonated in a burst of white light—not explosive, but blinding. A pulse of photonic noise flooded the Vault, bouncing off containment walls and scrambling visual sensors.

 

“MY VISION IS IMPARED!! I CANNOT SEE!!”

 

“VIS-U-AL SYS-TEM FAIL-URE!!” one of Skavak’s guards screeched.

 

“RE-BOOT IN PRO-GRESS!!”

 

“EX-TER-MI—” The Doctor didn’t wait.

 

“Run!” The ensemble bolted—Marinette dragging Alya, Kim and Ivan shielding the rear, Kubdel clutching Max’s arm as they ducked through the side corridor. Luka and Juleka guided the others, weaving through the chaos. Skavak remained still. His eyestalk flickered, recalibrating. But the Doctor was gone.

 

(scene break)

 

They burst into the outer corridor, alarms blaring behind them. The walls shook as containment protocols failed, and the Vault sealed itself in a lockdown loop. The Doctor skidded to a halt at the junction. “We need to get to the virus cultivation farm,” he said, breath ragged. “That’s where it’s being grown. Refined. Weaponized.”

 

Kubdel nodded. “It’ll be deep. Shielded. Probably guarded by Skavak’s elite.”

 

“Then we go deeper,” the Doctor said. “We stop cultivation. We destroy the farm. And we make sure this virus never sees another sunrise.” The ensemble rallied. And the stronghold trembled.

 

(scene break)

 

The corridor widened into a hangar. The virus cultivation farm sprawled across the chamber—rows of containment pods, each pulsing with sickly green light. Dalek drones hovered overhead, siphoning fluid from the pods and loading them into reinforced canisters. Conveyor arms fed the canisters into the belly of a massive ship docked at the far end. Skavak’s personal battleship. It was monstrous—black and gold, shaped like a dagger plunged into the planet’s crust. Its hull shimmered with shielding glyphs, and its engines pulsed with containment energy. The virus was being loaded directly into its core. Kim crouched behind a support beam, eyes wide. “That’s it. That’s the whole payload.”

 

Alya scanned the canisters. “They’re prepping for launch. If that ship leaves orbit—”

 

“We lose,” Kubdel finished.

 

Kim turned to the Doctor. “We blow up the ship. Take out the virus. End it here.”

 

The Doctor hesitated. He stepped forward, scanning the battleship’s hull. “It’s possible. The virus is volatile. If we trigger a chain reaction inside the containment matrix…” He trailed off. “But it’s risky. That ship’s shielding is designed to withstand temporal shockwaves. If we miscalculate, we could detonate the entire farm. Or worse—spread the virus.”

 

Max looked up. “Can we isolate the core? Detonate just the storage bay?”

 

Kubdel nodded slowly. “If I can access the ship’s internal grid, I might be able to reroute the containment fields. Create a pressure loop.”

 

Kim grinned. “Then we plant the charge and run.” The Doctor looked at the battleship. Then at his ensemble. Then back at the virus.

 

“Alright,” he said. “We blow up the ship.” The ensemble crouched behind a fractured bulkhead, the battleship looming above them like a predator. The virus canisters pulsed faintly, loaded into the ship’s belly one by one.

 

Marinette turned to the Doctor, voice low but fierce. “You’re risking all of them. Max, Alya, the others—they’re not soldiers. They’re kids. You can’t just gamble their lives on a maybe.” The Doctor didn’t flinch.

 

“I’ve faced the Daleks more times than you’ve had birthdays,” he said. “I’ve seen what happens when they’re given half a chance. They don’t negotiate. They don’t hesitate. They exterminate.”

 

Marinette’s eyes burned. “So we just throw ourselves into the fire?”

 

The Doctor stepped closer, voice dropping. “If we don’t stop that ship, they’ll burn the universe. Every planet. Every species. Every child. Including Max.” Silence. Then—Footsteps. Heavy. Metallic. Rhythmic. “Hide,” the Doctor snapped. The ensemble ducked behind crates and conduits as Skavak and his elite guard rolled past—taller, reinforced, their casings gleaming with crimson glyphs. Skavak’s eyestalk scanned the hangar, then turned toward the battleship.

 

“THE VIR-US IS LOADED,” he declared. “I RE-TURN TO SKA-RO.” He paused. “THE WHITE FEL-INE SU-PER-WEAP-ON WILL BE IN-STALLED. ITS GEN-E-TIC FRAME-WORK IS COM-PAT-I-BLE.” The Doctor’s breath caught. Skavak continued. “WITH THE VIR-US IN-TE-GRA-TED, VIC-TO-RY IS IN-EV-I-T-A-BLE.” The Daleks entered the battleship. The hangar doors began to close. The Doctor rose.

 

“Forward,” he said. “Now.” The ensemble followed. And the race to stop the virus became a race to stop the weapon.

 

(scene break)

 

The hangar doors groaned as they sealed behind Skavak’s guard. The battleship’s engines began their warmup cycle—low, guttural, like a predator stretching before the kill. The virus canisters were secured in the lower deck, containment glyphs glowing faintly along the hull. The Doctor crouched behind a loading strut, eyes locked on the access ramp. “Now,” he whispered. The ensemble moved. Kim and Ivan led the charge, slipping through the shadows and disabling the outer sensors with scavenged Dalek tech. Alya and Luka followed, rerouting the security loop to mask their biosigns. Marinette and Juleka ducked under the hull plating, guiding Max and Mylène through the narrow crawlspace.

 

Kubdel Braxiatel paused at the ramp’s threshold, fingers brushing the glyphs. “This ship’s shielding is layered,” she murmured. “Temporal, genetic, ideological. It’s designed to reject anything that isn’t Dalek.”

 

The Doctor joined her. “Then we’ll have to be very convincing intruders.” They slipped inside. The battleship’s interior was colder than the stronghold—black corridors lit by red pulses, the walls humming with containment energy. The virus was close. They could feel it.

 

“Lower deck,” Kubdel said. “That’s where the canisters are stored. But we’ll need to bypass the internal purge protocols.”

 

“Leave that to me,” the Doctor said. “You just keep everyone breathing.” They moved deeper into the ship. Behind them, the hangar fell silent. And above them, Skavak’s voice echoed through the command relay.

 

“PRE-PARE FOR DE-PAR-TURE. VIC-TO-RY IS IM-MI-NENT.” The ensemble pressed forward. Into the belly of the beast.

 

(scene break)

 

The virus bay was colder than the rest of the ship. Rows of containment canisters lined the walls, each pulsing with green light. The air smelled of ozone and sterilization—Dalek purity, weaponized. The ensemble slipped inside through a maintenance hatch, crouching low as Skavak’s guards passed above. Kubdel scanned the chamber. “This is the core. The virus is stabilized here before deployment.”

 

The Doctor nodded. “We plant charges. Controlled detonation. No chain reaction.” Kim and Ivan moved quickly, placing explosive nodes along the structural supports. Alya rerouted the sensor grid to mask their presence. Marinette and Luka guarded the entrance, eyes sharp.

 

Max hesitated near a canister, watching it pulse. “It’s alive,” he whispered.

 

The Doctor joined him. “It’s designed to be. Adaptive. Hungry.”

 

Kubdel finished her scan. “Charges are set.” The Doctor raised his sonic screwdriver.
Then—The lights snapped red.

 

“LOCK-DOWN PRO-TO-COL AC-TIVE,” boomed a voice overhead.

 

Bulkheads slammed shut. Corridors sealed. The floor split—barriers rising between the ensemble, cutting them off from one another. “Scatter protocol,” Kubdel shouted. “It’s designed to isolate intruders!”

 

The Doctor cursed. “Everyone find cover! Regroup at the secondary junction!” Marinette grabbed Alya’s hand and ducked into a side corridor. Kim and Ivan vaulted over a rising barrier, disappearing into the engine shaft. Luka and Juleka were forced down a maintenance tunnel. Max and Mylène scrambled into a vent. Kubdel vanished behind a containment pillar. The Doctor was alone. He turned to the virus bay—charges blinking, countdown paused. Then he ran. The battleship pulsed with containment energy. And the ensemble scattered like sparks in a storm.

 

(scene break)

 

The corridor was narrow, pulsing with red light. Marinette and Alya moved in silence, pressed against the walls as Dalek patrols rolled past. The lockdown had fractured the ensemble, and every step felt like a countdown. Marinette gritted her teeth. “We shouldn’t have split. We should’ve stayed together.”

 

Alya kept her voice low. “We didn’t split. We were split. The Doctor’s trying to override the lockdown.”

 

Marinette paused at a junction, checking the glyphs. “If he fails, we’re trapped.”

 

(scene break)

 

Meanwhile, deep in the battleship’s lower deck, Kubdel Braxiatel crouched beside Nathaniel, scanning the containment grid. The virus pulsed nearby, but her attention was elsewhere. Nathaniel whispered, “That thing Skavak said… about the white feline superweapon. What does that mean?”

 

Kubdel didn’t answer immediately. Then, softly: “How many of our class haven’t been rescued yet?”

 

Nathaniel blinked. “One?”

 

Kubdel turned to him. “And which one is associated with cats?” Nathaniel’s breath caught. Adrien. The realization hit like a thunderclap.

 

“Wait,” Nathaniel said. “You think Adrien is the superweapon?”

 

Kubdel nodded. “A weapon. One they can deploy anywhere. One who looks harmless until it’s too late.”

 

(scene break)

 

Above them, the Doctor worked furiously at the command relay, sonic screwdriver sparking against Dalek encryption. “Come on,” he muttered. “Override, override…” The command relay sparked under the Doctor’s sonic screwdriver. Dalek encryption fought back—glyphs scrambling, feedback pulsing through the console—but the Doctor didn’t flinch. He twisted the dial, recalibrated the frequency, and slammed the override sequence. “Come on,” he muttered. “You’re clever, but I’m angry.” The relay pulsed once. Then—

 

“LOCK-DOWN PRO-TO-COL DIS-ABLED.” The bulkheads hissed open. Corridors reconnected. The battleship’s internal grid flickered, recalibrating to default patrol mode.

 

The Doctor exhaled, then tapped his comms. “Everyone—move. Regroup at the virus bay. We’re back online.” One by one, the ensemble emerged. Marinette and Alya slipped out of the sealed corridor, blinking against the sudden light. Kim and Ivan dropped from the engine shaft, covered in grease but grinning. Luka and Juleka crawled out of a maintenance tunnel, followed by Max and Mylène. Kubdel and Nathaniel reappeared from the containment grid, eyes sharp. The Doctor met them at the junction. “Nice of you all to drop in,” he said.

 

Marinette raised an eyebrow. “You override a Dalek lockdown often?”

 

“Only when I’m feeling nostalgic.”

 

Kubdel stepped forward. “The charges are still stable. We can detonate the virus bay remotely.”

 

The Doctor nodded. “Then we move fast. Skavak’s preparing for departure. We blow the bay, disable the battleship, and get out before he notices we’ve rewritten his victory speech.” The ensemble rallied. And the battleship trembled.

 

(scene break)

 

The battleship’s bridge was a cathedral of war. Black metal. Red glyphs. A panoramic viewport showing the fractured surface of the Medusa Cascade below. Skavak loomed at the helm, his elite guard flanking him like statues of death. The Doctor stood alone. Behind him, the ensemble moved through the lower decks, planting the final detonator. Kubdel’s voice crackled through the comms: “Charges are set. Countdown initiated.”

 

The battleship shuddered. Engines roared. Skavak turned, eyestalk blazing. “YOU HAVE IN-TER-FERED FOR THE LAST TIME.”

 

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. “You say that every century.”

 

Skavak’s casing clicked once. “EX-TER-MIN-ATE THE DOC-TOR!!”

 

The elite guard raised their gunstalks. The Doctor didn’t flinch. He snapped his fingers. A gust of wind. A shimmer of blue. The TARDIS materialized behind him—solid, defiant, humming with temporal energy. The Doctor grinned. “You really should’ve locked the bridge.” He threw open the doors. “Everyone in!” he shouted through the comms. The ensemble sprinted through the corridors, charges detonating behind them—controlled blasts ripping through the virus bay, containment pods rupturing in green fire. Kim and Ivan vaulted into the console room first, followed by Marinette and Alya, Luka and Juleka, Max and Mylène, Kubdel and Nathaniel. The Doctor stepped in last. Skavak surged forward. But the TARDIS doors slammed shut. The Doctor pulled the lever. The battleship exploded behind them—a blossom of green and gold fire, virus canisters vaporized in the blast. And the TARDIS vanished into the vortex.

 

(scene break)

 

Skaro was silent. The throne chamber flickered with static as the transmission from the battleship cut out. Davros sat motionless, his skeletal fingers twitching against the console. The glow of containment glyphs cast shadows across his ruined face. Skavak’s signal was gone. His battleship—destroyed. His virus—vaporized. Davros closed his eyes. For a moment, just a moment, he looked old. Hollow. A father mourning the death of his greatest creation. Then—A holocall blinked to life. The Doctor’s face appeared, grinning. “Hello, Davros. Just thought I’d check in. Your trap? Lovely craftsmanship. Shame about the payload.”

 

Davros’s eyes snapped open. “Doctor.”

 

The Doctor leaned closer. “You lost. Again. And this time, you lost your son.”

 

Davros trembled. “Skavak and his forces were mine!” He roared. “my greatest weapons! My instruments of fear!” The ensemble gathered behind the Doctor, watching the transmission. “I will exact vengeance for this,” Davros continued, “on you and all your allies.” His voice dropped. “Like the white feline.” The Doctor’s smile faded. Davros leaned forward. “My forces overwhelm him. He’s paying the price for opposing me right now.” Marinette’s breath caught. Davros raised a hand. “And soon you will too. For I have a new weapon to spread death and destruction on a scale my late offspring could never have dreamed of!”

 

The Doctor’s voice was quiet. “What is this weapon?”

 

Davros smiled. “Him.” He pointed. A capsule rose from the floor behind him—sealed in containment glyphs, pulsing with unstable energy. Inside, curled and dormant, was a figure Marinette had hoped never to see again. White hair. Cracked mask. Eyes like frozen stars. Chat Blanc. Marinette stepped back, trembling. The capsule pulsed.