Chapter 1: Regenesis
A puddle of Flesh rested on the cold, brick ground of the abandoned monastery turned acid factory. It twitched slight, every fiber within it screamed in torment as agonizing pain coursed throughout its form. Though the body had collapsed back into raw Flesh the mind of the Ganger was still intact and semi-aware of its surroundings. It could tell that the massive amounts of acid being brought up from the ground was spreading throughout the halls of the monastery, slowly melting them. Liquefied brick mixed with the acid was spilling down the walls, eating away at the ground and creating a deadly cloud of choking gas that lingered in the air.
It had to do something and fast or else the acid would burn the Flesh beyond repair, not only causing more pain, but most likely killing it as well.
The Ganger focused all of its energy, forcing each cell and molecule of its being to reform. First muscles formed just beneath the surface of the Flesh, giving it more mass and making the skin grow taut. Then the nerves and veins were created and pushed back into their proper spots. Finally the bones were cemented into place giving it a definite shape and the outer Flesh, that would be skin, rose off the form and changed colors taking on the appearance of clothes. Where once the puddle of Flesh laid was now a very human-esque male figure.
His eyes shot open to see several drops of acid brick fall from the ceiling and he rolled over in time to avoid being hit by them. The droplets struck the floor and holes quickly appeared in the stone slab as it disintegrated.
The Ganger tried to breathe out a sigh of relief but couldn't and realized only too late he had neglected to form any of his internal organs aside from the brain. The pain disappeared and was replaced by an all-consuming numbness as blood refused to flow without a heart to pump it.
More acid rained down from above narrowly missing the Ganger as he laid there struggling to shape the rest of his body. Organs hastily regrew from left over Flesh inside his body; intestines, kidneys, liver, stomach, lungs, first one heart and then its twin, and a voice box.
Labored pants echoed off the walls as the Ganger struggle to catch his breath. Slowly he eased himself up onto his hands and knees, not yet strong enough to stand, and carefully crawled across the floor. There was still something else he had forgotten, but he couldn't tell what.
Nearby two more puddles of Flesh rested silently. The melted Ganger of Jennifer Lucas was alone in the middle of the hall, while the Ganger of Miranda Cleaves was slowly pouring out of the abandoned acid suit next to him.
"Cleaves..." the Ganger croaked, his newly formed vocal cords uncomfortably stretching. "Come ol' girl, you're all right. Pull yourself up by your boot straps so we can get out of here."
He prodded the oozing Flesh gently with his fingertips to provoke a response, but none came. The Ganger hung his head in dismay. There was no saving her. Cleaves was gone.
A low growl grabbed his attention and he looked around before his eyes rested on the remains of Jennifer. The puddle begun stir and bubble violently and four grotesque, elongated limps shot out, clawing at the ground for support. Once they had firm grip on the brick floor they pushed down lifting the puddle into the air. The raised Flesh spilled down and a twisted body that resembled more of a monster than a sweet young woman haphazardly formed.
The Ganger gulped, struggling to get to his feet. His muscles were weak and they screamed in protest as he put his whole weight on them. "Jennifer," he half warned, half pleaded, trying to reach out to any humanity left within her.
Rearing its head, the monster roared before charging, showing that any traces of Jennifer were long gone. The Ganger turned to run but his legs wobbled and gave out, sending him crashing to the floor. The creature leapt, its jaws stretched wide with anticipation.
But in mid-lunge the monster's body quivered before losing its form completely, morphing back into raw Flesh and splattering to the ground.
The Ganger sat up and eyed the puddle carefully. "Couldn't hold yourself together, could you?"
The splattered Flesh fidgeted with life and began to regroup. It moved over to Cleave's remains and absorbed the puddle, growing larger as it did.
"That won't work," the Ganger protested, backing away. "Assimilating more Flesh isn't going to stabilize you! Jennifer, please listen to me. I can help you," the Ganger begged.
The monster reassembled bit by bit, it's body now double in size and considerably bulkier taking up most of the space in the hall. It hissed in pain as acid from the ceiling burned its back. From its stomach, large chunks of Flesh sploshed to the floor as it continued to deteriorate.
It came upon the Ganger for a second try and he continued to back away, never breaking eye contact with the monster. He just had to keep it at bay for a few more moments. Then its body would collapse in on itself again.
The monster seemed to be just as aware of this fact as the Ganger and it lurched forward to finish its final act of life.
There was a faint crackle and a shot of blue lightening flew towards the monster, striking it dead center in the chest. The monster lit up as hundreds of thousands of volts of electricity surged through its form. It gave a final, horrific screech before its body exploded into a million pieces, the smaller chunks of Flesh vaporizing into the air from the intensity of the shock.
The Ganger had shielded his eyes from the bright light but slowly lowered his arm once the noise ceased. His skin tingled from the charge that lingered in the atmosphere and the scent of electricity and burnt flesh overloaded his sense of smell making him sick to his stomach.
Even after everything Jennifer had done, it didn't deserve to die that way. She didn't deserve to die like that.
"There's someone down here!" a woman's voice came from behind the Ganger.
He looked back and through the faintly lit corridor he could make out the shapes of multiple figures. They were dressed in bulky acid suits and approached him cautiously, undoubtedly the rescue party that Cleaves had sent for. One shined a torch directly at him and the blinding light forced him to cover his face again.
As his eyes adjust to the light he caught his own reflection on the glass of his wrist watch and he suddenly remembered what he had forgotten; his face. It was half-formed, a dead giveaway for anyone that he was a Ganger.
Hoping that the group hadn't seen his mistake, he pulled his face together and lowered his arms even than slower than before, trying to be as nonthreatening as possible. The group slowly approached him. There were six people in the group, five men and a woman, but he couldn't see their faces clearly. The leader of the rescue party came up to him first. He had clutched within his hands a taser roughly the size and shape of a traditional shotgun. Wisps of smoke drifted off the end of the taser as it cooled from use and it made the Ganger uneasy.
"Are you all right?" a second man asked as he pushed passed the leader. He had a red cross displayed on the shoulder of his suit, the sign of a medic.
"I-I'm," the Ganger started before falling into a coughing fit. Choking gas. It had been filling the room for some time and now it was impossible to not feel the effects of it. His lung and throat ached from the acid as it burned them from the inside.
The medic knelt down, digging through the brown satchel that hung from his shoulder and placed a clear, plastic mask over the Ganger's mouth. "Deep breaths," he said in a soft tone, with just the slightest edge of authority. Fresh, clean oxygen filled the mask and the Ganger gratefully obliged taking in as much of it as possible.
"Torres, Hodge, get him to the evac transport," the leader ordered, titling his head back the way they had come. "Everyone else, you're coming with me. We'll look for more survivors."
Look for more survivors. There was something important about that sentence. Something very important about it, something that the needed to be said involving that sentence, but the Ganger couldn't think about that now, all he could think about was how wonderful the oxygen felt, how wonderful it tasted.
The medic and the lone female member of the rescue team helped the Ganger to his feet and escorted him out of the crypt. Though the walk only took minutes it felt like hours. The Ganger's strength was refusing to return and he stumbled every few yards forcing Torres and Hodge to lift him back into a upright position and finally put his arms over their shoulders to carry him.
They made it out of the monastery and into the courtyard where a large propeller-less helicopter awaited them. All around the walls were crumbling. Between the acid eating away at the interior and the bombardment of gamma radiation it had endured, the ancient building would not survive to see the dawning of another day. The woman, Torres, ran ahead into the helicopter to prepare it for takeoff, leaving Hodge alone to help the Ganger.
The cool night air prickling against his face felt just as good as the fresh oxygen giving the Ganger a much needed boost of stamina and making the walk to the helicopter easier. Once they were both inside, the medic laid the Ganger down onto a stretcher that folded down from the wall and secured him in place with a harness, preparing him for when they lifted off.
"I'm going to give you a mild sedative," Hodge explained as he reached into an overhead compartment and pulled out light blue oxygen mask. "You'll be unconscious for about an hour, by then we'll be at St. Cloud's." Hodge switched the two masks, placing the blue one over the Ganger's mouth before he could argue.
The effects of the sedative were instant. All of the pain and aches the Ganger felt vanished and his body and mind relaxed. Mild probably wasn't the right word for it. It may have been designed to only last an hour, but it was also meant to knock out a person within the first breath. With a Time Lord physiology it would take a bit longer. He was worried about the prospect of ending up in a hospital but there wasn't much about it he could do at the moment, he'd just have to cross that bridge when he got to it.
Under the influence of the drug the Ganger's mind wandered. Even though he had the 900 plus years of memories from his original self he was only a few hours old. And most of that time was spent as a puddle of goo, trying to gain (or regain) a proper form. He'd accomplished quite a lot for being a 'new born'. He got to talk to himself, help change Amy and Cleave's minds forever about the concept of what is human, and to top it all off, got to save the lives of half a dozen people, including his original self. And now - now he was doing what the Doctor did best; cheating death. The Flesh was an amazing thing, but it had its limits. It couldn't replicate the Time Lord's regeneration process, his survival was all his own. Not bad at all for his first day of life.
Then it hit him, like a bolt of lightning, like a car into a brick wall. Like, well, like a lot of things. The third thing he had forgotten. The acid leaking everywhere, the choking gas. How could he be so stupid!
A shot of adrenalin canceled out the sedative and the Ganger jerked up, ignoring the harness as it dug into his chest and shoulders. "The coolant system has been shut down!" he shouted.
Hodge was by his side in no time and was already trying to wrestle the Ganger down on to his back. "Relax, let the sedative do its job." Torres had heard the commotions from the cockpit of the transport and ran out to help Hodge restrain the Ganger.
"No, no!" the Ganger cried out, fighting against them. "You don't understand! Rory! Jennifer tricked him into shutting down the coolant system! The whole monastery is going to be blown to kingdom come!"
Torres stared at Hodge is disbelief, her head slowly shaking no as the gravity of the Ganger's warning sank in.
"You have to get the others out of there. N-now!" The Ganger's voice slurred as the adrenaline died down, allowing the sedative to kick back in. He stopped struggling, not because he wanted to, but because he couldn't force himself to fight anymore. The world grew hazy and dark and Torres and Hodge's distressed voices became fainter and further away.
He slipped into unconsciousness, and even in his deep, peaceful, medicated slumber, he could feel the helicopter take off, and tremble violently as the blast wave from the monastery exploding struck it.
A/N: I came up with the idea for this story shortly after watching The Rebel Flesh and The Almost People. Took me this long to actually write it down. The Ganger Doctor got the short end of the stick, even if he did die in a very Doctor-ish way.
Technically classified as an AU story, but I've tried to write it in such a way that it could actually meld into the official universe without much stretch of the imagination.
Tried my best to clear up and fix any spelling and grammar mistakes, but I'm no professional and very much human, so it's not perfect.
Reviews are always welcomed and desired. So if you want me to continue, please tell me, or this story will be left where it is.
Doctor Who and its characters are copyright of the British Broadcasting Corporation (the BBC).
Everything else is copyright of Keira Anne.