A bright white light flashed into the Doctor's eyes. He blinked, shying away from it, trying to bring his hand up to block it out. His hand caught, and he realized that he was sitting in front of a table handcuffed to a chair. He tried moving his legs, but they were also secured. His coat and suit jacket had been removed, effectively stripping him of both the sonic and the TARDIS key. As the headache from the light died, he became aware of the fact that he was sore all over.

A tall figure stepped into the beam of light, his/her face nothing but blackness.

"State your name and rank," a harsh male voice barked. The language was Rapluan, a common language during the Third Great and Bountiful Human Empire. Fortunately, as with every language, the Doctor spoke it, though the man's accent made it a little strange. It sounded Southern, but Southern where? More pressing was the question of why it didn't automatically translate.

"The Doctor, and I'm a doctor. Can I ask what I'm here for?"

"You tell me," the harsh voice said. "How did you manage to get past the barricades into Ranngour?"

"Ranngour? That's not a planet."

"Don't play games with me. I want to know how the Iuhins got one of their people through the security perimeter!"

"Never heard of 'em."

"How did you get in!"

"My ship crashed," the Doctor said, pronouncing the 'ed' hard and clicking his teeth as he did so. "She does that sometimes."

"You fell through the barracks roof. There was no ship."

The Doctor looked curiously at the person. "Not even a box?"

"Nothing."

"Oh, well that's just…brilliant," the Doctor fumed, obviously not pleased.

"You expected your transport to hang about?"

"It usually does. Then again, it was having problems the last time I saw it, so you never know. Do I get a call?"

The man hesitated. "A call?"

"Yeah, you know, prisoners get to make one call, usually to a lawyer or something."

The smile in the man's voice was evident. "Where do you think you are? One of the central planets? Here on the outskirts, no one but the right side gets stupid privileges like that, and your voice makes it obvious where you're from."

"Does it?"

The man sat down in a chair across from the Doctor. The Doctor leaned forward slightly in hopes of making out a face, and he could sort of. It was all sharp angles and clean shaven, with dark spots framing it, marking him as one of the multiple forms of human crosses that were so common during this time period. The uniform he was wearing looked very crisp, with a fascist tang to it, and the symbols on his shoulders gave the Doctor reason to assume that he was rather high up the chain of command.

"I want to explain something to you," he said, his voice dangerously smooth. "Right now, you are an inconvenience. You have suddenly and inexplicably arrived in the middle of the most secure base we have. The soldiers have all declared that you fell from the sky. There is a hole in my roof to prove it, yet you have no parachute, and no weapons save this thing." Here he held up the sonic.

"Could I get that back?"

"So it does do something," the major…general…whatever he was, said. "What?"

"It…fixes…things," the Doctor said hesitantly.

"It fixes things," the general repeated, obviously not believing the Doctor.

"No, really, it's a screwdriver. I use it to fix things." He almost added, 'and break them,' but decided that wouldn't be a wise choice just then. The general sat up a little straighter.

"Never fear," he said, putting the sonic into his jacket pocket. "We'll find it out ourselves. Now, the only other thing you were carrying—no, the only other thing that seemed to be of any use, for you had almost every piece of junk imaginable somehow stuffed inside that coat. The only other thing that looked to have a purpose was this."

Here the general held up the TARDIS key. "Why were you carrying this? What's it unlock?"

"It's my house key."

The general leaned forward to say something when a door in the wall opened. The man looked towards it sharply.

"I'm in the middle of an interrogation. This had better be important."

"His medical results sir. They're rather…unusual."

The Doctor closed his eyes in impatience as the general glared at the soldier setting the file down. The Doctor spoke up in a complaint. "Oh, let's not start the whole, 'this can't be blood,' thing again."

The general opened the file in an irritated fashion and the door closed. He started to flip through it, skimming at first. His eyes narrowed and he started reading it more carefully, holding up a few different x-ray printouts where light could catch them.

"Two hearts…" the general said, mostly to himself. He glanced at the Doctor.

"What did you say your name was?"

"I'm the Doctor."

The general stood closing the file as he did so. He opened the door and stepped out. A few moments later, two soldiers stepped in. One undid his ankle restraints before pulling him out of the chair.

"Finally. Where are we off to now?"

"You'll find out."

The Doctor was led, rushed really, down several plain concrete halls, finally stopping in another room. It was rather small. A man sat behind a desk in the center of the room. In one wall was a safe, one wall was painted white and had a series of equally spaced black lines, and on the wall behind the desk was a picture of man in front of a flag. The Doctor assumed that it was their dictator, at least the official one back on earth. Even planets on the outskirts of an empire had to keep up appearances.

"What's this one for?" Desk Man asked in a bored tone as he pulled a triplicate form out of a drawer.

"Routine admission," one of the soldiers said. Desk Man wrote this down.

"Level Five then."

"Level Three."

Desk Man raised his eyebrows, still managing to look bored. "Three?"

The soldier shrugged. "Lathezia's orders."

Desk Man wrote this down as well. "Name."

"The Doctor."

Desk Man gave the Doctor a look. "I said name, not position."

"The Doctor."

"Name."

"John Smith."

Desk Man turned away and wrote this down in an irritated fashion. "Age."

"Thirty-five," the Doctor said, knowing that if he gave his real age Desk Man would likely do something nasty.

"Home country or planet?"

"Non-existent."

"Unaffiliated. Any family?"

"Not anymore."

Desk Man stood up, looking very tired of his job, as though he had done this hundreds if not thousands of time. "Stand him up with his back to the wall."

The Doctor was moved next to the lined wall. Desk Man took something from the safe. He held it up towards the Doctor. There was a small flash and a picture rolled out of the item. Desk Man pulled a clear tape off the back and stuck the picture onto the form. He stamped the paper and gave it to one of the soldiers.

"Take him for designation."

The Doctor was pulled down more hallways and delivered to another room. This one looked a little more ominous, with trays of instruments and padded chairs with restraints and bands of metal with rectangles on them and other assorted wiring. But the place still had more of a machinery feel to it, rather than medical. Another man that was bored with his job walked up, wearing a white lab coat, though it seemed to be more of a formality. He looked at the papers, his eyebrows lifting just a tad.

"Don't get a lot of instant Threes. Must have something planned for him. Well, sit him down. Sitting straight, head back, you know the drill."

The Doctor finally had his handcuffs removed, but they were simply replaced by the straps on one of the chairs. He looked around as best as he could, very curious as to what was going on. This was all very well organized.

Lab Coat selected one of the bands of metal. Rolling over a cart with one of the trays of instruments, he held up the band.

"Keep his head up. I need a clear shot at his neck."

The Doctor's hair was gripped tightly, pulling him up enough so that his neck was made vulnerable. He knew that struggle wouldn't make a difference, so he kept still. If they wanted him dead, they would have simply shot him.

Lab Coat swiftly wrapped the band around his neck, drawing it closed at the back of his neck like a collar, with the rectangle as the meeting point. A sudden sharp pain at the clasp made the Doctor flinch but Lab Coat ignored him. He worked efficiently, soldering the end and then fiddling with something on the rectangle. Every second he spent, the Doctor felt as though the collar was tightening until he could no longer breathe. Finally, he stopped.

"Alright, you can take him now."

The Doctor was rushed out the door and down several flights of stairs before being pushed into an elevator. The ride lasted for five minutes. The elevator stopped with a jerk, and the doors opened on a stone hallway with a little booth to one side. The Doctor's head was tilted forward and the neck band scanned in. Another man behind a desk typed on a computer. He too was surprised at the Doctor's designation.

"Level Three for a Fiver? Lathezia must have something planned for him. Oh, but this was sent down," he said, handing the Doctor's trench coat through the booth. The Doctor tried to reach for it, but one of the soldiers took it instead. The man in the booth punched a few more keys. "I've sent you the directions. If you have problems, call."

More hallways and stairs, all of the walls made of stone brick. The two soldiers went at a quick jog, nearly a run. Either they didn't want to stay long, or they didn't want the Doctor to have a chance to remember which way was out.

The trip ended in front of a door. There was nothing was really special about the door. It was just a metal door with a grate in the top half. One of the soldiers un-did his cuffs, while the other entered a code into the keypad next to the door. It swung open and the Doctor walked inside. He'd been in prisons before, including a few stone ones, and they were usually absurdly damp, but this particular cell was large(nearly ridiculously so), dry, and rather warm, with solid metal doors on two of the walls. The Doctor beamed widely when he saw the dozen or so people already in the cell.

"Roommates! I have to say, it was awfully nice of you. Nice place. Graffiti free, no mold, mattresses and blankets. Bit warm though. How long do I get to stay?"

"Until your light changes."

"My light?"

The soldier threw the Doctor his coat. "Ask your new friends."

The grated door was closed with a heavy sound. The Doctor watched the soldiers until they turned the corner, then he turned away, refusing to sigh. He could tell from a glance there was no way to break out of this prison, much less the cell, unless he had his sonic, which unfortunately he did not.

He looked at the people. None of them had moved, and the cloud of depression was tangible. Not a one looked to be under thirty-five, and they all looked like they were catatonic. The Doctor gave them another smile, not really sure what he was hoping for from them.

Oh, I hope you're safe Kathryn.

*Constructive critisisim welcome, praise happily accepted, flames not wanted*