Episode 1 - Rebirth, Part 2
The loud thud of footsteps echoed again and again as The Ergon walked closer and closer to the door. The loud, dull, echoing thuds that were made from the bony exoskeleton that had wrapped itself around the obviously worn bare feet of The War General’s once-proud agent in the universe of matter.
As each footstep got closer and closer to the door, The Professor clung to his breaths, trying to be as silent as a mouse looking for a quick bite of cheese in an old farmhouse kitchen. The thuds of the footsteps matched in his ears only by the sounds of his gong-sounding double heartbeat, repeating again and again. The footstep, then his hearts. The footstep, then his hearts.
For a few moments, that was the only thing which echoed in the corridor which the hunter and its prey inhabited. The thud of the footsteps of this chimera, and the heartbeats of the newly regenerated timelord, hiding behind a door.
As The Professor watched with intent as the Ergon scanned its immediate surroundings, he felt something hit the front of his foot, where his boot had all but fallen away leaving his green sock covered foot to stick out. He took a slight, silent breath, as he looked down, expecting another creature…but curious when all he found was a very old hacky-sack ball, the leather all worn away from age, but still clung itself together.
For a moment or two, he eyed over the oddly shaped ball, this lump of rice or beads in a tight leather shell, before the shock hit him. The lightbulb could have appeared over his head, the idea stuck with such force in his rapidly healing mind. He slowly gave a toothy grin, as his eyes turned to the Ergon outside.
It’s back was turned to him, revealing the backside of a twisted and gnarled ribcage, where multiple cracks and fractures had long since calcified into some sort of mutatious blob stuck onto the back of this creature. If the poor excuse of a ball hit him in the back, it would have felt like less than a mosquito sting.
However, his eyes were not on the back of the chimera for long, as he too looked down the corridor where the Ergon was looking. Empty. Silent. However, if a sound were to echo down, out of view…?
He only had one shot at this. With one last good look at where he was aiming, he gently opened the door a little more, trying to give himself the biggest opening he could without revealing himself to the primal hunter outside. He took a couple silent, long, and deep breaths, to calm his nerves, and swung with his foot, catching the hacky-sack with his big toe.
The ball flew over the head of The Ergon, just out of sight of the gigantic transformed creature, soaring just enough in its blind spot, that it missed its sight just perfectly enough to let it continue its journey down the corridor. Eventually, it caught the edge of a roundel, ripping itself apart and sending the beats scattering across the floor.
That caught the creature’s attention. The Professor heard it snarl and roar as it fired its lazer down the corridor, slowly beginning its walk down the wrong direction, following the sounds of rolling beads, bouncing down the ancient metal floor.
He grinned a bit, allowing himself that simple bit of happiness, as he snuck out of the door, being very careful as to not push the door out further and letting it groan, ruining his chance of escape.
“An Ergon…” He repeated to himself, muttering the name under his breath. How could it have gotten into the TARDIS? How could it have broken all of the protective features and found a way inside, and more to the point, who could have sent that horrific creature after him and for what purpose?
He couldn’t dawdle on these questions however, for as he hurried down the corridor, he began to feel that all too familiar burning and throbbing behind his forehead which had led to more than one flash into his memories. To catch himself, he grabbed onto the wall, holding onto the alcove of one or two roundels, as the burning got worse and worse, until the flash of pain returned into his mind, causing him to grip the wall as tightly as possible, gritting his teeth, not letting the scream leave his voice box.
—------------------
How dare she.
How dare she accuse him.
This man, with his bright green smoking jacket and paths, like neon green, a light against the burning darkness that encompassed the multiverse that choked and subdued the good, or at least, seeked to do so.
His bright ginger hair looked like fire underneath the TARDIS console lights, reflecting off of the time rotor as it moved up and down, a tell-tale indication of flight.
How dare she.
How DARE she accuse him of being vain and self-centered. Of thinking only for himself and his… “mis-guided, arrogant, self-absorbed crusade”-
Crusade?!
CRUSADE?!
The multiverse needed a hero, it needed someone to stand out from the darkness and be willing and able to do what was right, to fix the problems and stop the bad guys.
That was his mission.
It was his right!
He had to do it, after EVERYTHING they had put him through in the war, even as he couldn’t even remember most of it himself. He was the hero of the story, after all!
Not some “False pretender!”
Not some “Hurt man with emotional fire in his hearts playing pretend!”
It was his RIGHT!
He struck the console with force in anger, staring into the glowing time rotor with disdain and contempt, as it rose and fell, each time it caught the reflection of his face it was like his eyes got darker and darker with each pass.
—-----------------
Back in the Present, the Professor made his way deeper and deeper into the ancient corridors of his TARDIS, being very careful as to lower down crates behind him as to add extra protection for him from behind. At least now, if something were to come behind him, he would have more than enough time to take off and run. Run where, however?
That was another question entirely, as he slowly walked into an intersection, seeing three new ways to go, and still not a single direction or clue as to where TO go, or at least something else to use to help him.
“I feel like a rat in a closed maze.” The Professor spoke, eyeing down each of the corridors before him with quick expedience. “However, instead of a dead end, I'm faced with molecular destruction at the hands of a Nightmare…”
His eyes darted each way, listening for that familiar thud noise of that monstrosity. After a few moments, when it never came, he took a sigh of relief. However, before he took off down one of his choices, another idea struck him to lead his pursuer off course.
He quickly stripped his sock-covered feet of what remained of his boots, just a few scraps and pieces from where the flashpoint had just blown out the bottoms and turned them into ankle guards with extra protection. He ripped out the shoestrings from both sides, taking great care to keep the shoe leather itself mostly together, and then, when all that remained in his hands was a small collection of leather and shoestring, laid out the parts down the right path, making sure to give it the appearance as if they had simply fallen from his feet in a haste, simply given out when he took off to run to escape.
After a few moments, he looked at the trick before him, a simple trick of the mind, another to lead astray, before running the opposite direction, the left turn of the intersection.
“I need a clue…” He thought to himself as his newly formed lungs finally began to fill more and more with the air that, up until now, he had been fighting just to breathe in. “I need a clue, where should I-”
His ears twitched, as he heard something coming from deeper within the corridor. Was it a thud? Had the creature outsmarted him? He listened with intent, slowing down to give the sound a moment or two to reveal itself. He took a sigh of relief, the second in quick succession since his escape, when he heard the familiar drum beat of classic rock music. Wait. Rock Music?
He allowed himself a chuckle, as he eyed down the corridor, a small smile forming across his new lips. “Old Girl, you continue to amaze me.”
The TARDIS. A Type 50 Exploratory and Scientific Investigation model, found in the TARDIS scrap yard of Gallifrey, long ago forgotten by their original owner for some unknown or forgotten reason. The Type 50s were unique in the long timelines of TARDIS, from the original Universal Spikes which had led Omega to his repeated eternal prison within an entire pocket universe of antimatter, to the Human TARDISes that type numbers held at 100 and beyond. Perfect humanoid forms that were able to blend into societies and hide the fact of what they truly were.
What made the Type 50 special was not so much what wasn’t there previously, but what was allowed to grow within them. What the Timelords never suspected as they continued to modify and tinker with their beloved Time and Space machines was that over time, the TARDIS would use the excess spaces within their memory banks, their hard drives, anything they could find and craft within these tight spaces personalities. Of course, they would sadly be limited in what they could accomplish, The thrums and other noises sounding like speech at right intervals, them leading their pilots to times and places across the home universe out of curiosity or necessity, or even something as simple as checking in on them with simple, minute things, like a caretaker in the wings.
While some pilots grew annoyed at the evolving minds of their machines, some grew to depend on the budding personalities of their TARDISes as a constant companion, however with the haphazard way that the TARDIS was able to grow their mind to create the personality, they were unable to fully take advantage of that said personality to be the companionship that some pilots required.
That’s why the Type 50 was created at a perfect time. It was the first that allowed an entire memory bank or two, completely open for this exact purpose for the TARDIS’s own uses. The bank of personality. The humanity and heart of a living, breathing, sentient machine. The first step towards giving each identical TARDIS their own unique personality. Their own image.
So as the Professor hurried down corridor after corridor, the music played far ahead of him, just loud enough for his ears to catch the drum beats and lead him down the correct passageways, like a follower to a bird call. His smile only grew as he passed passageway after passageway, finally finding his way out of the ancient corridors into more and more of the wooden walls which were his own, a familiar scene and sight since his quick trip in the TARDIS’s before-times, listening to the distant sounds of drums and a muffled voice singing “Shake, Rattle, and Roll” coming out of obviously old speakers.
Eventually, the music got louder and louder, until he found his way to a simple looking wooden door with a big round stained glass window, the door cracked open for him to peer inside, which as he did, filled the corridor with old rock n roll, courtesy of the record player at the front of the room.
This room, still shoved in the back of the TARDIS, although where he would be now given how far he felt he had ran just to get here had confused him entirely on spacial awareness, was that of a mall’s dressing room, with a single dressing alcove right in the center, at the other end of the room, attached to the wall with a beautiful and ornate cleaned mirror, and a purple silk like drape hanging from it for privacy. All around the room, on racks, on clothespins, hanging from the ceiling, and everywhere else they could be crammed into, were clothes of all kinds and shapes he could choose from that all caught his eye as he surveyed the room with equal glee and appreciation.
“You always know how to take care of me.” He said in thankful appreciation.
In response, the TARDIS let off a soft thrum.
Silently, The Professor looked out the door, both ways, before shutting the entrance and lifting the spool from the record to stop the music. “Best not let our unwanted visitor catch wind…”
He muttered to himself, before he dove into the racks of clothing.
He quickly threw off his tattered waistcoat, which was more like string and fabric shards at this point, the constant running have pulled and pulled at what remained until it barely resembled its former appearance, as it finally hit the floor and just collapsed into a pile of sewing material, just as his boots had done. Next, came his socks, which were more like string tied together into cub scout or boy scout like knots at this point strung together to create an article of clothing rather than a professional job, as he, too, dropped them onto the ruined clothing collection he was amassing on the floor.
With that in mind, he took an eye at the mirror in the changing room, looking at himself standing there with barely just a shirt and pants that have seen the war, or rather, they looked to be in that state, as he tried to straighten himself up, stand up straight, as the smile on his face slowly turned to an expression more…determined.
It was time to get to work.
He had to explore different outfits. He had to find out just exactly what his tastes were in this form. Would they have changed? How? He did wonder just what exactly all had changed within his still-stitching together mind. As he began to search through the clothing options he had, he decided to try on a few, what could be the harm in this decision?
First came a nightclub outfit. Leopard printed jacket, neon blue shirt, leopard print pants, boots that went half way up his calves, a belt with added tassels… It was like a horrible fashion disaster before his very eyes.
Next, came a french military uniform, something right from Napoleon himself, from the large and obviously overbearing shoulder pads, to the flaps of the coat being far too long, hitting the back of his own ankles as he tried to stand still without falling over thanks to the long and narrow black boots, to even the large hat upon his head, with a feather stuck right on it, on the side, flopping down like the hanging leaf of a palm tree. This one got a reaction out of the timelord, as he knocked off the hat with frustration, as the feather kept trying to fall on his face each time he moved. “No hats.” He grumbled, before heading back into the racks.
Next, came an outfit right out of the Lone Ranger, an old leather vest, plaid shirt (His old red one, from before he began using green as a symbol to show others who he was, and to use the color green of his as a beacon of hope and helpfulness), An old pair of blue denim jeans faded with time and age, so much so it felt like the knees were about to rip asunder every time he moved in them as he tried to walk, and finally, old cowboy boots with the added addition of spurs in the back that spun as he kicked them with his heel against the floor, leaving both scuff marks in the floor and an angry response from the TARDIS above him. “Yes, Yes, Right, too…Bombastic.” He grumbled again, throwing off the vest as he walked out of view of the mirror.
“I want something simple.” He finally spoke, hearing his voice echo in the room like he was talking to himself. “I want something simple and unique, something that is still me, whatever this me is, something that comes to when it’ll hit like a ton of bricks, som-” And then he spotted it. Resting on a shelf behind him, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the beautiful and fancy bow ties, with elegant silk trim and beautiful black finishings, lay something mostly hidden in the dark, except for one flap of the design. An old ribbon tie that had the consistency of Burnt Orange like a Gallifreyan sunset, with a neat and pronounced black star polka-dot-like pattern all around it. He caught himself grinning once again as he pulled the ribbon tie from the shelf, holding it up in the light, watching it reflect off of the light as he turned it around and around like he had found a priceless diamond.
“Now this.” He said, finally holding it to his neck, stepping into the light of the mirror to make sure of his decision. “This could be something.”
With that, Most of his outfits came easily for him. A worn striped button up shirt, with white as the base and with thin dark purple stripes to accent. Faded Yellow suspenders, simple, workable, durable as well. Dark brown pants, with a simple plaid like pattern to them, like squares and twisting shapes, not as crazy as some of his other incarnations and their own fashion choices, but at least something at the beginning of some of those long walks off short piers. And after slipping on white socks, he found a pair of simple work ankle boots, with no tie up shoelaces to become undone and trip him up in the middle of running away from a monster, just a single zipper on the side to help close them up.
As he stood in the mirror, admiring his clothing choices, he felt there was something missing to it all. He needed something green after all, which for the last few incarnations had been the use of a coat, and his last one couldn’t be reused, it was more scraps and dish rag than coat, so where could he come up with something? He eyed around the room, looking through the racks and shelves, searching, until finally he saw something hanging on one of the clothespins suspended from the ceiling.
An old felt-like green fabric coat, with somewhat big lapels to it, somewhat long, and with those big felt-like buttons attached to both the center and two on each of the sleeves.
He slowly pulled it down, letting himself turn it around and around in his hand, feeling it in his hands as he walked over to the mirror in the fitting booth, stepping up to it, and finally slipping on the coat, shaking off the dust and the residual pain left within his nerves and his tendons. While his mind still may be healing, for the moment, he at least regained his exterior composure. As he dusted off the coat, he looked over his new form, taking slow care to check himself over, running his hand through the ribbon tie he pulled from the shelf, watching it hang from his neck, before eyeing to his young face again, with a couple creases to show the age within the youthful outlook.
He allowed himself a slight chuckle. “Hello, Professor.” He leaned in, giving himself a final once over. “Not bad, not bad, Hair’s a bit much, Fashion Sense a little daring, much more eccentric than before, Somewhat thin…” A slight smile cracked his lips. “However, Not every roll of the dice can be perfect, can it, hm?”
Stepping out of the changing booth, he could feel a weight lifted off his back. While his mind may still be healing, he is now back to a physical state well enough to deal with the situation at hand, or so he thought to himself. Looking over his new hands, he tried to fill in himself on the point.
“An Ergon, a creature of hunting skill, that drives to hunt and scout…” He said, beginning to pace around the racks of clothes. “A Scout would mean he is looking for something. Looking for me, perhaps?” He remembered back to the way he felt, the shock when the lazer bolt hit the wooden crate he was clinging to. “Certainly not…Unless the definition of retrieval is to bring someone back in about as many pieces as one could blow apart.”
He remembered the state of the console room when he first awoke, and how the console had blown itself apart. “I was attacked again, as well, possibly boarded…could I have had something?”
He looked at his former outfit, and quickly looked through what remained of the pockets in the pants and the jacket. In the pants there was nothing, except for the old sonic lance he had used in his prior incarnation, painted purple and the plastic bits were a light neon green, rather they were, for as he looked at it now all it was, was a hunk of burnt out rubbish, cracked along the side from where he must have hit the floor and caused it to blow apart, or melt down. In the jacket, there was even less, which made sense because the pockets in there were so full of holes they almost resembled a block of swiss cheese.
“They weren’t looking for anything I might have had on me, then…” He spoke, tossing the old and burnt out sonic lance away, and returning to his feet. “So if its not me they want, and I’m not carrying anything that could interest them, then why send the Ergon after me, what could I have possibly-”
Then came the noise again. That dreaded, horrible dull thud of bony footsteps on tile. His eyes grew wide, as he dove behind a couple racks of clothing, quickly pulling a few to try and make a sort of barrier as he heard it get closer and closer towards him.
How? How did it find him, again, did all of that mean nothing to it, he even left it a trail down a different corridor, he ran so far, it should not have been able to track him! But now, here it was once again, right close to him, walking closer and closer, maybe it would just walk away again, after all, it never noticed him in the other corridor-
That particular dream went out, like the burning embers of the door that was blown to smithereens leading into the changing room the Professor was in. He forced down a gulp so as to not make any sudden noise, as he heard it slowly step into the room, those dull, echoing footsteps dragging on and on. He heard it cry out, angrily, before hearing the record player smash against the floor, the records sliding everywhere, one even going as far as the Professor’s own hiding place, as he sat crouching in the pile of racks and clothespins.
The cry out echoed again, as the Professor saw a lazer bolt impact against one of the racks of clothing on the other side of the room, hitting the clothing and turning it into a fireball, ash going everywhere as the clothes fell to the floor, melting the metal the rack was made from and drooping slowly to the floor, leaving nothing but a mass of metal and fabric pieces. His hearts were going wild, seeing that, and then seeing his own hiding location, as the cry out echoed again.
It was tired of the hunt. Cornering it’s prey in a room of flammable clothing, and ready to smoke it out.
As the Professor sat there in true fear, waiting and listening to the Ergon as it cried out again, his brain locked onto a single sound. A Single memory, that he couldn’t see or hear himself in, once again his mind burned in agony, his body felt pain course through itself, as he heard the sound again, and again.
It was the War General’s laugh.
It was Omega’s laugh.
Mocking him, as the Ergon turned another rack close to the Professor into confetti…
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