Episode 1 - Rebirth, Part 1
The Silence was deafening.
Not a single tick of machinery, not a sound from any animal or person within the room, not a single sound from anything within the ash-covered room which formerly was a TARDIS’s console room. This silence could, rather should, be studied, the silence caused after a regeneration and its effects on new ears connected to a newly reborn Timelord. The first sound they hear is that of perfect, complete, total silence.
The room which encompassed this silence laid bare the wreckage of what occurred near moments previously. The former wooden walls which encompassed the console room were now covered in flaking, snowflake-like ash, falling to the floor as if a volcanic eruption had taken place. The console, a coral like design with a long tubed time rotor lay fractured and bloomed out like a newly born flower, parts from it having been flung and hit against the walls, leaving dents and cracks, even full blown holes from where a few had such force as to break through the classic roundels.
Even the familiar dual old computer banks, which were put up as a “last resort” to add extra control to the TARDIS lay sparkling on the wall, sending a few of those sparks onto the floor, cleaning away some of the falling ash.
Finally, in the middle of all of this mess and debris, laid a humanoid form. Covered in snowflake ash, laid out on the floor with his arms and legs extended out as if he were about to start making a snow angel, silent and still in movement, except for the slow rising and falling of his chest.
FlashPoint Regeneration. The building up of regeneration energy, more and more either from fighting back or from outside interference until finally it all goes off in one big kaboom like a Fourth of July Firework saved for the big finale.
So, here this timelord lay, in the midst of the silence and the cold of the ruined console room, breathing slow breath after slow breath, until finally, after a few more moments of breathing in air into his new lungs, a groan escaped his newly-formed lips for the very first time.
“Dear…” His new voicebox was raspy, unused to the air rushing by it as he fought to get breath after breath into his system, feeling the pain of his prior incarnation’s rather abrupt demise ebb from his muscles and nerves, as he lay upon the ash covered floor.
Then came the flash. A Flash of Pain, searing, intense pain rushed through the timelord’s mind, causing him to convulse, putting his hands to his temples, his open palms, as his mouth opened wide, but no scream came from it. Just the exhale of air blowing away ash.
—--------------
“ATTENTION!”
The line of Chancellery Guard, 6 in total, stood in respect, as The Lord President and War General entered into the trial room, as such it was. It was more a back door room, somewhere secret in the Capitol, far away from the prying eyes of anyone who didn’t deserve to see, or hear, the two speak. This particular meeting, however, as the two found themselves with their backs at the wall, facing the guard, was about the timelord in the center of the room, his wrists chained together, curled up innocently on the floor, having been through more than one interrogation.
This meeting was a Drumhead Trial.
The verdict already decided and ready for its equal punishment. The Lord President knew this. The War General knew this. The Chancellery Guard, all sworn to secrecy, knew this. Even the prisoner timelord before them, scared to deaths, knew this.
However, to these two sadistic individuals, what would be the proper punishment for disobeying a direct order from the High Council?
The Silence was deafening for those few moments of decision-making. The throbbing in the prisoner’s ears helped him count his heartbeats, one after another, as he lay helpless on the floor to what was about to befall him. However, there was one glimmer of hope, in this hovel of darkness and dread. Had they already wanted to destroy him, he would not have seen them at all, he would have been dragged away to some unknown room, destroyed like Morbius of old.
Which only made his heartbeats pace faster. If not destruction, then what awaited the young prisoner?
Eventually, the War General let out a metallic cough from his tin and silver lips, his cold amber eyes burning into the prisoner on the floor, the metal groaning and popping as he forced himself a smirk. “Prepare him for Duty, gentlemen. I believe my experiment has just gained a willing volunteer.”
—------------
Back in the Present, The newly regenerated timelord tried with all of his might, even through the quickly-fading pain, to claw and stumble his way out of the console room, to get out of the ash and rubble that now occupied the room and tried to at least get his synapses working.
“Come…on…” He forced from his new voice box, watching the ash fall from his shredded and burnt victorian-era attire that had brought him such pride and joy, even the emerald-set necktie which had once been fresh and cleaned as a new spring meadow, he watched fall and bounce across the floor of the TARDIS corridor, the emerald scuffed up from each bounce, the bowtie ribbon all but burned away into fragments and shreds.
Each step echoed across the wood and tile floor, pulling at the remains of the boots which clung to his feet, his toes sticking out of the front out of one, and on the other the bottom was left behind 2 or 3 steps previously.
“Just…Got…to keep…”
A second flash rocked his mind, causing him to grip the roundels just to keep himself upright, feeling his mind try and stitch itself back together, as he held firm, trying with all of his might to fight the pain.
—------------
“Professor? What, are you trying to be some kind of teacher?”
The blonde haired timelord worked on the simple console for the TARDIS she and her best friend, a somewhat short man with his brown hair pulled back into a ponytail, dressed up in an American Civil War/Wild West era type of outfit, compounding the awful fashion choices with changing out the red shirt he was wearing previously with a green variant of the same shirt.
With a grin on his face, the oddly dressed man turned to his blonde friend, still dressed in the traditional timelord robes of old.
“No, no, of course not!” The man chuckled, tossing his old red shirt into the backroom with the elegance and grace as tossing something into the bin. “I need a name that is, well, me. Something kind, something memorable. Something simple.”
The blonde timelord chuckled. “I’ve got something simple for you.” She chuckled, forming a mischievous smirk on her face. “How about, “Question”, as in, “Why”?”
The man, no, The Professor looked at his female friend with a slightly annoyed expression on his face. “Oi…”
The two looked at each other, meeting their different gazes, before breaking out into chuckling, and then full blown laughter.
—-------------
Once again, back in the present, the Professor had finally fought his way into a rotunda, a circle area within the corridors, full of crates and boxes and other furniture being moved in and out of rooms as he sought fit, or rather, when he got bored and wanted to organize. With the strength he was able to muster from his new, and fastly healing, nerves, he grasps onto the crate as tightly as he could, finally able to get a couple good, long breaths into his new lungs, a restful moment in the battle that was post-regeneration heal-
His ears perked when he heard something shuffling in a corridor. A loud, dull thud, from a barefooted footstep on the tile. His new hearts spiked a bit, almost causing them to jump into his throat.
“Who…Who’s…” He took in a couple deep breaths, to settle his voice box and hear the air. “Who’s there?”
The footsteps echoed again, this time down a different corridor. Loud, dull thuds which echoed each time, like someone knocking on wood.
He took a couple more breaths, trying to stand up as tall as he could, even on his shaky legs, holding onto the crate he was able to grip on. “If…If this is some ki-”
The lazer bolt was unexpected. A heat ray like projectile, impacting the crate that the Professor clung to like a lifeline, shattering bits and pieces across the rotunda, and sending the Professor stumbling back where he came from.
Shock is good for the nervous system, sometimes. Sometimes a jolt can get nerves and tendons working that were feeling or turning numb. In this case, his new legs finally found their footing and he took off down the entry corridor, searching for a way out, as another lazer bolt impacted against the wall, and a low, angry snarl echoed down the corridor, a twisted shadow stretched across the wall behind him.
Panic settled into the newly regenerated timelord as he darted down the entry corridor, searching for another door out, as he could hear the footsteps behind him. Slow. Methodical. Not chasing him, why weren’t they chasing him, he wondered, before another lazer bolt hit the wall close by, causing him to jump.
“HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?!” He heard himself yell, as he dove down the corridor, dodging another blast from whatever was following him. If he didn’t think of something, he was going to be pinned in, trapped in the dead console room, he had to come-
As if by a miracle, he felt the floor open, a panel giving way, and dropping the newly regenerated Professor through, as he heard whatever followed him screech out in anger, firing another lazer bolt into the entrance in the floor out of rage.
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Spacial transcendentalism is a marvelous thing. The TARDIS is its own dimension of rooms, corridors, an expanse that had never been truly or fully explored, especially outside the corridor’s walls in the very space that they would inhabit. You could feel like you’re falling down, and in reality you could be falling up, landing somewhere miles away from your previous location without a clue of where you once were.
So, for all intents and purposes, as the Professor hit the floor of the corridor with a slight thud, he was for the moment, safe. Safe from the monster or creature which had somehow found a way inside his TARDIS. Was this how he regenerated? Was it by that creature, attacking him in the console room?
His head throbbed in pain as he tried to focus, feeling another flash beginning to build in his mind. Using what little energy he had left from his adrenaline rush, he pulled himself back up to his feet, and clung to the wall, the older, green tinted wall with familiar old whitish roundels, covered in dust, trying to walk again with more authority, more conviction.
He had to find a mirror at least, take a good look at himself, see this incarnation that fate or destiny gave him, and then from there, formulate a plan against the invader. He couldn’t stay on the backfoot forever, that would surely lead to a wasted regeneration and possibly another, or worse. So as he walked down the older corridor he found himself in, he felt the flash, the third, go off in his head, making him grip onto the wall in pain, trying to fight off the feeling.
—--------------------
The smile on her face felt almost forced, the grinning across her lips as she worked and toiled with trying to connect a typewriter to the console, watching as it roared to life, typing out coordinates as she typed out upon the console. A manual history, a way of recalling what or where she went to, to make sure she was never pull-
The scream was loud enough to wake the dead. She threw things from the old pirate chest her previous incarnation used as storage, throwing things behind her without a care in the world, everything from tools to fabric to papers weren’t safe from her as she dumped it across the floor, leaving the mess around her as she kicked a few across the dented metal floor, giving off a roar of anger and rage as the pain rushed through her mind-
All the woman could feel in her mind was a rush. A constant, never ending rush of emotion that was running through her mind that never let up. It’s been that way ever since she regenerated, seeing her home planet destroyed, the death of a companion she wanted to help regain their humanity.
Was this a punishment? A Punishment for things not done? A punishment for the things she still couldn’t remember? She held her head, sitting, clutching onto the console in abject fear, feeling her mind do somersaults again and again in her skull, as she gripped onto reality trying to hang on like Dorothy’s home in a tornado.
“It wasn’t my fault…” She could hear herself say, as her mind began to slow a bit, finally allowing her to focus again. “It wasn’t my fault…”
—--------------------
Finally, after some false starts, the Professor could walk again. Using the wall, he walked slowly down the ancient corridor of the TARDIS, listening around every corner as he walked, passing by old hanging wires and dusty furniture long ago forgotten, if not by him, than by whoever had the TARDIS previously, shoved away in the back ends of the corridors like a long forgotten catacomb.
Eventually, after passing by some old chairs, one of which was so old that it had collapsed in upon itself from just the wait of its own cushions, he found himself staring at an old Edwardian mirror, the surface covered with dust and grime from many forgotten years hidden away back here. He took a slight sigh of relief, looking each way down the corridor, before taking off his coat which had turned into flaking and tattered rags, and quickly tried to clean the surface, just enough to see his face.
First came the hair. His full, curled, wavy black hair had turned into just a mess of brownish-black hair, like a mop had somehow crawled its way onto his head and made it his home.
Next, came the eyes. What were once almost violet jewels that shone in certain light were now cool amber, peering back at him with wild ferocity, like he was fighting within himself just to keep moving forward, to keep pressing on, not just for himself, but the memories that were stitching themselves back together in his mind in the proper places. He was still young, that much he could tell, with a couple slight creases to show the age of the man that was hiding behind it, but otherwise it was a decent face to use.
“Genetic lottery, Regeneration…” He heard himself say, still not used to the new voice box, but at least now could see himself speaking the words. He slowly put a hand to his new throat, feeling himself breathing, in and out, to let the air fill his new lungs with life, finally allowing his body, if yet not his mind, fully together once again. “Not a bad hand, all things considered…”
He slowly smiled, looking himself over in the mirror once again, before slowly reaching out with his new hands, feeling the indentations of the casing, feeling it move around in his hands, just to get used to using them as he moves them around. “Each sense is new, after all, in a new body…” He smiled, eyeing himself in the mirror, before once again his ears perked, hearing the sound again.
The loud, dull, echoing thud of barefooted footsteps.
How did it find him? How did it reach this far? His hearts began to race again as he eyed either way down the corridor. Thankfully, unlike his previous predicament, there was doors and other such areas to hide behind, so as the footsteps came closer and closer, he rushed behind one of the doors, and hurried himself into a hiding place, with the door cracked just enough so he could peer out into the corridor just to see what had found its way into his TARDIS.
As the footsteps became closer and closer, more and more his hearts raced faster and faster. His mind, still trying to stitch itself together, was giving him mixed signals and wild theories on what this mysterious creature could even possibly be.
So as footsteps got closer and closer, he tried to calm his nerves, covering his mouth, taking slow, deep breaths, as the creature slowly came into view.
First was the bony exterior, wrapping around open tendons and muscles, the bones themselves looking old and stretched, calcified where there had been healed breaks and cracks over multiple years. Where one of its hands used to be, was now a grafted sort of mechanical tube, leading to multiple batteries and power sources, a crude laser weapon, as he could see the tube was somewhat rusted at the front, and itself cracked with age.
Finally, came the head of the creature, what once was a fully straight and humanoid form turned more and more triangular, out in both angles, with what remained of a beak stuck in the center of the triangular head, crooked and distorted, bent in multiple odd and twisted angles.
“An Ergon…” The Professor heard the words forced from his throat. The fear was rising in his chest, as he saw it walking closer and closer.
One of Omega’s personal creatures, one he was more than willing to hand to the Scientific Council upon his return back to Gallifrey to help the war effort. A twisted amalgamation of Omega’s hatred and rage from his time within the antimatter universe, contextualized and transmogrified after his first attempt many years previously into a creature only made to destroy not just Daleks, but anything else that just happened to be in its way.
And Now, so many years after the war, against a newly regenerated timelord scared out of their mind, it slowly walked down the ancient corridor of this timelord’s TARDIS, getting ever so closer with each footstep, as the Professor tried all he could to control his breathing, watching it take slow step after slow, aching step…
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