Vox

by Generation Extant

My 11th Doctor's first adventure post-regeneration from the 10th. Can the Doctor confront old enemies at an old location and still save the day, despite losing his most cherished trait? (This story was originally published April 6-13, 2007 at Generation Extant dot com.)

Daleks.
It was always Daleks.
The creatures, genetically altered blobs of hate in tanklike structures, had plagued him across the universe for centuries. Their emotionless desire for a master race and their policy of "extermination" had become feared throughout time and space, but each time he, the Doctor, had been there to stop them.
And so it came back to the beginning. New Earth. Back where his life, as the Doctor's tenth incarnation, began. So long ago…yet still recent in his memory, a massive storage that now spanned almost a thousand years. He still had the same suit, brown with pinstripes, and his Chuck Taylors and his big hair. He could still feel that mole between his shoulder blades, and the new teeth he had never quite gotten used to…but some things had changed.
Rose was gone. She had been for a long, long time, yet she was always in his thoughts. Martha was gone now, too…he had sent her away. It was by inviation he had allowed her to come with him, to travel with him…he couldn't bear to be the reason for another one of his companion's deaths. He remembered their parting fondly:
"Doctor, what are you doing?"
"Remember, Martha? When I first met you, playing with time like a child with clay, I took off my tie? Like so…"
and he did so. But this time, it wasn't a parlor trick. He gave the brown tie to Martha, his deep brown eyes locked onto hers: pleading, hurting, the pain of ages, the pain of a god.
"Take the tie, Martha. It's all you'll have."
"What are you–"
"Don't! Martha, you've got to get out of here. Dangerous things are going to happen, and I will not be responsible for your death…not like with Rose."
"I'm not Rose!"
"And I'm going to make sure you aren't! I won't lose you like I lost her…but to do that I have to send you away…" he looked away momentarily, collecting himself, "look, you're stronger than Rose and, don't tell her I said this, but you're smarter, too."
Martha couldn't help but grin slightly.
"Ah, there we go! There's the smile I wanted! Now, go. Take a SIDRAT, get out of here, go back to your own time. You're quick, you'll figure it out. Just promise me one thing," he glared deep into her eyes, "promise me you'll become a doctor. Finish your exams, take what you have learned and save lives! Now that my people are gone, we need more doctors than ever…you promise me?"
She nodded dumbly.
"Good. Now go. Your Mum and Dad probably worried sick and your step…whatever she is…well, she's probably sun-baked all the worry out of her head by now, the girls' practically orange…"
Martha laughed at this.
"Good. Laughing. We should part laughing. I've always wanted to part laughing." he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Farewell and godspeed, Ms. Jones."
"It's been an honor, Mr. Smith."
And with that, they shook hands, and she was gone. Another one…gone.
Then came the Daleks. It didn't take long for them to recognize his presence, a presence they know, perhaps they fear. He was summoned by one of the old Sisters of Plentitude, saying that their old hospital had started up again, this time with no one going in…no one going out. Needless to say, the place had been shut down due to the…unsavory actions of the past nurses, and for it to start up again in such a peculiar manner was very interesting, very interesing indeed.
He remembered walking in. The doors were locked, but he had a sonic screwdriver. Thinking back, that is probably what tipped them off. Being the wonderfully thick-headed race they were, the New Humans had simply boarded the place up. Out of sight, out of mind. The Doctor loved that about humans and new humans alike, so worried about their tiny little life cycles, so worried about today. No time to see something through, must move on, make the most of a meager life.
Sometimes he craved such a meager life. This burden was getting heavy.
Of course, the first place he decided to check was the upper levels. Why? Because they were very, very loud and very, very loud places usually meant someone was there. What he found was a neo-gladitorial contest, a strongman fight taken to the extreme, to death. He watched in apalling horror as one man beat upon another, but only with their own bodies, until the loser was vanquished. As the Doctor's gaze turned to a sort of leaderboard, he saw the name GRANTZ vanish and the name PARLOL rise to another echelon to face one called TEEVIS.
"The question is," the Doctor muttered to himself, "who's the winner, and who's the loser?"
As the next two contestants were setting up to fight, the makeshift arena was cleansed of blood, teeth, skin fragments, hair shocks, and the like. He noticed a great amount of fascination with the audience on this next fight. As he looked to the board he noted that it read NINE v. HAMLAND. Each burly spectator, possibly all competitors, waited with bated breath for the combatants to emerge.
First announced was Jomathon Hamland, an absolute mountain of a man with more scars than teeth. However, his teeth were down to three when he growled with the promise of a new fight, so perhaps his scars weren't all that numerous. As Hamland paraded about, presenting his well-muscled and grizzled body for the approval of his fellow fighters, the opponent entered the arena.
Silence fell.
Cloaked completely in black, with no body visible, this Nine character looked more like a hooded priest. As the announcer bellowed out "JAVIIIIIS NIIIIIINE!" the Doctor looked to the to his right. Unfortunately, he only had one eye and that was focused on the arena. So he turned to his left, and asked the man who this Nine was.
"Oh ho ho, skinny-britches, you're in fer a treat! This here's our best!"
Before the Doctor could even take offense to the "skinny-britches" comment, the fight was set to begin. Javis Nine whisked away her ceremonial black robes.
It was a woman.
Javis Nine was a woman.
Vaguely mediterranean looking, she wore a tight-fitting suit that exhibited her muscled, womanly figure while leaving nothing to be grasped or tore at by the competitor. Her hair was braided back tight for the same reason, but it was obviously long in normal circumstances. She stood with arms akimbo, confident and waiting for the man three times her size to initiate the fight.
Hamland roared again and, like some wild beast, charged her. With one quick movement, Hamland lost his three remaining teeth as Javis neatly sidestepped, tripped, and sent his face cannoning into the floor. With blood pouring out of his face, Hamland leapt to his feet and rounded on her, looking like something out of a nightmare. The crowd, which had still fallen silent, could hear ever word Hamland bellowed.
"Oi, yew sneaky littul tart, why don' yew stop wi' th' trippin' an' foight me loike a man?"
"Yes, sir," Javis spoke her first words with an indecipherable accent: part Australian, part Cockney, part Western, all New Earth. With two swift punches and a lightning-swift kick, Javis broke in succession Hamland's nose, two of his ribs, and a shin bone. Crippled an in immense pain, Hamland fell to the ground. Javis allowed her wavy dark hair to fly free as she stood a proud victor.
"YOU WILL SPEAK NOW!" A screaming metallic staccato brought him out of his reminiscing.
Daleks. It was always Daleks. They had taken over the old abandoned hospital, and were staging these "fights" to formulate the strongest and hardiest folk: Darwinism to brutal extremes. They were using the humans to create new Daleks in the old pods in the basement. Pods that have once been used, albeit wrongly, to prolong life were now being used most wrongly to exterminate it. The idea was not a new one, the Daleks have often cultivated new Daleks from other society's wastes…but this was dangerous. This was different.
By using the physically strongest and most vicious specimens, the killingest of the killer instictives, the Daleks were breeding pre-Daleks, resulting in a refinement of the Dalek ideal within the brain itself, Daleks more dangerous than ever before. The fighters were bribed with cash, and loads of it, poisoning their minds and turning them into self-serving, brutal warlords…the perfect stock to create a heartless killing machine.
He had to rescue Javis. He saw, as she stood triumphant, a certain flair in her deep brown eyes, a fire of intelligence. This was not the place for her. He saw her fight these men, and best them because she was smarter as well as stronger. As he met her and talked to her he learned just how brilliant she was, but her fighting spirit often got her into trouble. "You can't punch a Dalek!" he remembered saying to her. But it was that fighter's spirit that lead her into a Dalek's crosshairs, and which he was now calling out and facing down these monsters. He had looked down the barrel of a Dalek death ray many times, but this time he felt there was no backing down.
"YOU WILL AN-SWER!" The Dalek screamed again, "WHERE IS THE ITEM?"
The lyso-key. The Doctor had managed to isolate and formulate a strand of lysosomes that will dissolve the Dalek cell structure. Lysosomes are a body's way of disposing old cells, but introduced in such a deluge as with a lyso-key into the breeding matrix, it would case a cataclysm and the new Dalek race would burn cell by cell. The very guts of their cells would spill out into an acidic, primordial stew.
He would burn them all. He would burn them all again. He had to.
"YOU WILL SUR-REN-DER THE LY-SO-KEY!" the Dalek continued to scream.
"Oh, I certainly will not," The Doctor's voice was hard as steel.
"Doctor, don't sacrifice yourself for me, just go and kill these horrible things!" Javis screamed. She was still trained against the wall, the horrible Dalek eyestalk peering at her.
"YOU VAL-UE THIS CREA-TURE, DO YOU NOT?"
The Doctor said nothing, only fingered the Lyso-key in his pocket.
"IF YOU DO NOT WANT HER EX-TER-MIN-ATED YOU WILL SUR-REN-DER THE LY-SO-KEY!"
The Dalek whirled to turn its gun on Javis. For all of her strength, the presence of the Dalek caused her knees to fail her. As she hit the floor, the Dalek saw the Doctor check on her for a split second, which was all the Dalek needed. Its eye and gun pointed again at the Doctor.
"YOU HAVE LOST YOUR DE-COY, NOW SUR-REN-DER THE LY-SO-KEY OR-"
"SHE WASN'T A DECOY! SHE IS A LIVING, BREATHING EXAMPLE OF-"
The Doctor began to shout, but was silenced by the Dalek Death Ray. He was flung against the wall and sunk to the floor like a rag doll. The Dalek now moved to Javis' prone body, only crying out "EX-TER-MIN-ATE! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!" He was stopped, however, by a familiar voice.
"Only one heart down, Dalek! I've still got one more, you'll have to do a lot better than that!"
The Doctor was back on his feet, limping, gasping as his life left him, eyes glazing over. The Dalek turned his gun on him again.
"Go ahead. Shoot me. SHOOT ME! Kill me. Do it. Because I will feel myself die, and I will feel the sadness, and I will feel the hurt, and I will feel the passion, and I-WILL-"
The gun fired again. The Tenth Doctor sank again to the floor, never to rise again. With his last ounces of strength, he checked the Lyso-key. Not broken. Good. Then, he turned to face skyward as his tenth life left him:
"We never did make it…Rose…Barcelona…"

The Dalek rotated to turn its eyestalk and death ray on Javis Nine, who was quickly recovering. Javis cursed herself for falling prey to such weakness, such fear…and now this strange man had died for her…but why?
She had little time to postulate as the Dalek beared down on her, shouting its default maxim of "EX-TER-MIN-ATE!" She stood up, a good foot above the Dalek's height, and put on her bravest face. If she was going to die, she was going to die fighting. As she watched the Dalek gun trace onto her, she noticed a bright greenish-blue flash erupt from the fallen man's body. She shielded her eyes against the glare and involuntarily shouted "what is that?!"
"DO NOT TRY TO DI-VERT MY A-TEN-TION! YOU WILL FAIL!" the Dalek screamed, making ready to exterminate. Oddly, though, it never got to.
The first thing Javis noticed was the eyes. Ocean blue, as opposed to the deep brown as before. This new man was shorter, and more rotund, as the previous skinny suit fit him very badly. His hair was a bit shorter, much thicker, and unkempt. His face was rounder too, with a button nose and thick eyebrows which leveled with malice over those hard blue eyes. Javis glanced to wear the man called the Doctor had lain, dead, and no longer saw him. Instead, this man had appeared out of a flash of light, clad in the same clothes, with a glare of terrifying rage flashing across his eyes. In three swift movements, he reached around the Dalek casing, grabbed hold of the eyestalk, and gave a colossal yank. The eyestalk gave way, as did the entire head turret of the Dalek, sending up a shower of sparks and eliciting a croaking metallic death gurgle from the creature within. When the sparks diminished, the man peered inside the casing and reached a hand in. There were a few slight squishing and wrenching sounds, then all noise from the Dalek, both inside and out, ceased. It was dead.
The steely blue eyes leveled now, almost pained with the horrific nature of what had just been commited. He went to wipe off what was left of the Dalek tissue on his hands, but then noticed the shape of his body. With a look of utter dismay, he poked and prodded at his new, podgier self.
Javis was at a loss for words. This was clearly a man in the same clothes…but was it the Doctor? She had no choice but to ask.
"Doctor?"
The man made as if to answer to the affirmative…but no sound escaped his lips. With a look of frustration, he tried again. Again nothing. Now thoroughly angered, he tried to scream, but only managed a mute whining.
Javis tried again. "Doctor, is that you?"
With a red face of frustration, the Doctor offered a curt nod. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small green cynlinder, pulsing with energy. He mouthed "Lyso-key" as best he could, and followed it with a wink. Javis smiled and new at once it was him. With a quizzical look, the Doctor pointed at her and raised an eyebrow.
"Javis?" he attempted to mouth. Javis nodded. The Doctor nodded as well, then snapped his fingers in inspiration. He tried to mouth "TARDIS," but a terrible gurgle rose from his throat and he found himself expectorating blood all over the floor. Javis froze in terror as the Doctor straightened up and, with a look of worry, sprinted down the hall.
It was all Javis could do to keep up with him, as his short, stocky legs made quick work of the corridor. She caught up with him in the lobby of the old hospital, trying to dislodge a locked door. He snapped his fingers again as memory returned to him, and he found himself absentmindedly reaching into a pocket in his sportcoat.
The wrong one.
He chuckled to himself as he reached into the corresponding pocket at the other breast.
"Left-handed this time…first time for everything, I suppose…" he thought.
With a flick of the sonic screwdriver the door flew open, and in short order (once remembering which pocket the key was in, he was inside the TARDIS. Javis, not wanting to take her chances with more Daleks, followed him in.
What she saw was quite disorienting.
The inside of the little wooden box was a sprawling, cavernous room with organic, coral looking columns supporting everything. In the middle was a round console, adorned with all sorts of buttons, knobs and switches. The Doctor tossed his ill-fitting jacket onto a column and immediately stomped up to the console, typing rapidly and agitatedly at an integrated keyboard. Javis, quite to the contrary, had not made it past the threshold.
"It's bigger on the inside…wow." She marveled. The Doctor made an agitated movement with his arm suggesting she speed her wonder up: it was something he had heard before, and did not particularly have time for it now. As she wandered about with gaping mouth and bulging eyes, he continued typing the last few commands in. With a flourish, he hit the enter key and a holographic prejection of the last Doctor, the thin Doctor, appeared on the floor of the control room. He looked a bit confused as he searched for information.
"Wait…what? Program sixty-seven? Oh my…really? That's not good. And you're using this now because? Oh…I see…very interesting. Ahem, Javis?"
She turned about with a start at the sound of her name.
"Doctor? Is that you?"
"Well, yes and no. It's really my personality being used to personify the databanks of the TARDIS, but I am still here…just a bit different."
He pointed to the podgier figure at the keyboard, then recoiled.
"Good Lord, man, what did you do?! You're all…squishy!"
The podgier Doctor became very aggravated at this, and punched a few more keys with force. The hologram responded.
"Right, right…sorry. Javis, hi! It's me…almost. Anyway, you probably want to know what happened here."
"As opposed to a few other things…"
"Yes, well let's start off with this chunky bloke over here."
The New Doctor almost turned red with indignation.
"You see, Javis, I'm a Time Lord, and a Time Lord can do something called 'regeneration' when we're close to death. It's basically hitting the reset button on our whole structure, reformatting the whole lot. The bad gets the boot and the body is free to continue on. Although, this has got to be one of the dodgiest regenerations I've ever seen…"
The New Doctor ran a fruatrated hand through his hair, making it stand bolt upright. He gave a pleading look to the hologram while hitting a few more keys.
"Right, right," the hologram responded, "You can't speak. Tragic, really, since I've always had the gift of the gab…"
"Wait, you've always? This is still the Doctor?"
"Yes, still the Doctor, just a little different…now, let's have us a scan, shall we?"
The New Doctor stood at the console as a beam shot from the hologram and traveled the length of the body. The hologram responded in wonder.
"Ooooooh, very nice, very nice. That Dalek gun sure did a number on your physiology, didn't it? And the vocal matrix, well…that will take some healing. No regeneration's perfect, you understand. But you'll have to stop attempting speech for at least a few hours for the cells to knit properly, or you'll be mute forever."
The Doctor's insides collapsed. He bashed his head on the console in frustration.
"Oh don't worry, you'll be fine! Wouldn't kill you to shut up a bit anyway…oops, sorry, that's the TARDIS talking…Anyway! the good news is that the Dalek gun had a reaction with your…interesting physiology, and the regenerative process was sped up and supercharged due to the death ray's energy."
"Meaning?" Javis was trying to console the Doctor at the console.
"To put it bluntly, he's got super-strength."
"You have got to be kidding."
"Nope. Not at all. Until he burns up all that energy he'll be able to absorb and export roughly ten times the force he usually has. Once the energy is all gone, though, he'll be back to normal, don't you worry. Hmm…now that I think of it, that extra energy could be what's causing all the stored energy round his…midsection…"
"You mean his little podge?" Javis grinned, "I think it's cute!" She attempted to tickle a bit that was sticking out of the ill-fitting white shirt, to which the Doctor leapt up and barreled into a door leading out of the console room. She turned to the TARDIS projection.
"What was that all about?"
"He's probably a little self-conscious. Headed off to the wardrobe I guess. Not a bad idea, you won't tear down the Daleks if you're going to tear your trousers…"
"He seems upset."
"Regeneration is always a chaotic process, no doubt his mind and body are going a light-year a nanosecond with all that extra energy coursing through it. Think of it, Javis, a memory of almost a thousand years, the only one who can stop the Daleks…and he can't say anything. How cruel this is going to be…"
The Doctor burst back in through the room in an odd mishmash of fashions: a multi-coloured patchwork overcoat, a smart white shirt complete with ruffles, a long, trailing scarf, an Edwardian vest, garish suspenders and a bowtie, striped khaki pants, plain black shoes (and no socks), all topped off with a silly-looking straw hat with the brim turned up. On his arm he carried a worn leather jacket, which he tossed to Javis. She put it on, but she wasn't quite sure why. It didn't fit, but it felt…comfortable. She hoped the Doctor felt comfortable, because he looked an absolute nightmare. The TARDIS projection echoed her sentiments.
"Talk about identity theft…" it chortled.
The new Doctor fixed an angry finger at the projection and, snapping up an umbrella with a question-marked shaped handle, he made to go out the door. Javis, however, stopped him.
"Doctor! Where are we going?"
The Doctor slapped a hand to his forehead, as if to say "of course!" and headed back to the keyboard, typing blazingly fast. The hologram of the Tenth Doctor suddenly snapped into rigorous recitation.
"Javis we have to go and stop the Daleks. I have the lyso-key on me somewhere, and with this extra strength I should be able to infiltrate and destroy the operation. You need to find your fellow combatants, thos who have not already been turned into Daleks, and get them out of here. Remember, you can't punch a Dalek," he gave her a slight wink whilst typing, "and neither can your friends. The lysosomes released by this reaction will eat apart any organic material in the building. So take my sonic screwdriver," he tossed it to her and missed to her left.
"Gah, left-handed. Got to get used to that…" the projection continued. "Now Javis, I need you to take care of this. I know you're strong enough, and I know you're smart enough. If you can handle Hamland and the TARDIS in one day, you can do this, I know it. Now go! Me, I'm off to parlay with some Daleks."
And with that, the projection blipped out and the Doctor was back sprinting for the exit. Javis was quick behind him as he reached the door.
"Doctor! How can you ask these things of me. You barely know me, I barely know you! I'm not even sure if you are who you say you are! Just what kind of man can die, come back to life, can rip the head off a Dalek, has a box bigger on the inside, and now is going to face the entire damn Dalek army?! Just who are you?"
The Doctor opened the door and gave her an impish grin. With no sound, he simply mouthed the words:
"I'm the Doctor!"

Javis followed the Doctor out of the TARDIS and back to the entrance to the abandoned hospital. The Doctor halted in front of the door, and did a quick about face. However, in doing so he tripped over his long, trailing scarf and stumbled slightly. With a scowl he reached into his jacket pocket.
Damn it all, wrong pocket again! Bothersome left hand.
He reached into the next pocket and produced his sonic screwdriver, which he thrust into Javis' unsuspecting hands.
"But, Doctor," Javis sputtered, "how are you going to get anywhere?"
The Doctor gave her a small smile, and a look that was slightly patronizing, as he proceeding to turn around again and rip the large glass door off its hinges with ease. Tossing it aside, he winked at Javis.
"But how do I use this thing?" Javis continued to sputter.
The Doctor gave her a warm smile, extended a single finger, and pressed the button on the side of the small implement. Its end glowed a luminous blue, to which the Doctor smiled again. He repeated the process several times over until it was apparent he was being humourously condescending. Javis gave him a quick bop on the head.
"I've got the point, ass. Now get going!"
He gave another grin, another wink, then disappeared inside.
Javis was flabbergasted. She stood for a few moments marveling at this portly little Hercules. How strange this man is, yet she felt like she could trust him. Not to dress her, of course, but she felt like she could trust him in this time of dire peril. Snapping back to her senses, she bolted off into the opposite branching hallway, and began bounding up the stairs two at a time. The elevators didn't work anymore, obviously. She had been transported via a voluntary transmat from the old arenas, which the council was threatening to close. Never mind that the council were watching the fights themselves with glee, appearances had to be upheld.
She used the sonic screwdriver to open the door, and burst upon the arena with the largest voice she could muster.
"Everyone! You've got to follow me!"
Most of the men turned back to the action. Javis, with a snarl, pushed and punched her way through the crowd and hopped the rope circle. With two swift hammer-fists, she dispatched the two combatants in the ring and attempted to address the crowd again.
"Men! Stupid, stupid men! Listen to me! You are being used by a bunch of…tank-men who are taking the defeated and turning them into more…tank…men!"
She realized they were not listening. Suddenly, something snapped back into her head.
"Daleks! They're called Daleks and they're making us all into Daleks! They're going to duplicate and take over the world and kill everyone! We've got to get out of here or we're all going to die!"
The men all began to laugh.
"Yeah right, girlie!"
"She just wants the purse for herself!
"I'll leave if you leave with me, ho ho!"
Just when Javis thought she'd have to beat each and every one of them senseless, the door leading to "backstage" opened.
It was Jomathon Hamland.
He was limping heavily with an improvised crutch made from an iron bar. His breathing was short, and pained, due to the cracked ribs. His face was still covered in blood, and his broken nose wiggled grotesquely as he spoke.
"It's true. It's all true."
Each and every one turned to his voice.
"We wasn' dead when th' foight's is ovah," he drawled, "They drag us inter th' back and hack us up, isolatin' our litul bits an' pieces an' they put 'em inter those great…tank-things loike Javis said. They got distracted boi summon named "Doctor" an' ran out…so Oi escaped. It's true…it's all true…"
He collapsed to the ground with a combination of grief and pain. Javis was at his side as the men began to churn into a riotous froth. Once she realized he would be alive, she hefted him onto her shoulders and tried for the third time.
"Everyone LISTEN TO ME!"
Everyone finally did.
"We have two choices: head down the stairs and out into the night like cowards…OR" Fat Doctor or Skinny Doctor be damned: she was a fighter, "We could wipe this scum off the face of New Earth! Who's with me?"
With a roar of approval, roughly fifty burly, scarred, snarling men sprinted into the backstage area and proceeded to rip apart, bit by bit, the Dalek human synthesis operation. Hands were cut, arms were gashed. Blood flowed from several wounds as the mad men ripped at the unforgiven machinery with their bare hands. It was all over mercifully soon, it was all destroyed. However, the men had now tasted blood and, with Javis' none-too-gentle coaxing, stormed out of the arena and off to combat the Daleks.
Meanwhile, the Doctor was making a slow way to the control room. This body had too much energy, it was beginning to solidify around his middle, making the going more laborious than before. However, he knew the structure of this hospital, and the best possible way to watch over it all would be from the old controller's office…on the top floor.
How he missed those elevators. Even with the disenfectant, they weren't all that bad. They had gotten his suit nice and clean as well…
A pang of regret struck him then. His old suit, his old body. His old self. His old voice. Sure, it was a bit boorish and common, but it was a voice. He began to wonder what his new voice would be when the regenerative process had been completed: perhaps the glorious thick accent of Candolin, a colony founded in th 34th century by Scots, or maybe Ganterel, with its light and lyrical lilt…or maybe Kenos…
His rumination was cut short abruptly…by a Dalek.
"IN-TRU-DER! A-LERT! EX-TER-MIN-ATE!"
The Doctor made to dash away, but his foot caught on the long scarf about his shoulders. He hit the ground with a thud as the death ray's beam shot over his head, a close shave and a lucky miss. Bounding back to his feet, the Doctor reached, grabbed, and proceeded to rip the integrated gun from the Dalek casing, turning it back upon itself. Sparks showered and the metallic scream echoed as the sentry died by its own weapon. The Doctor's hard blue eyes softened slightly as he felt for the dying creature, pausing to wipe away a slight trace of a tear. A Dalek is cruel, a Dalek is evil, but a Dalek exists, and it is a tragedy when anything that exists does not. Re-collecting himself, the Doctor moved on.
He had reached the top level when he met the Dalek, wondering briefly how it had made it up all of those stairs. With a chuckle, he moved into the old controller's office. Rather than the typical bleak, austere appearance of a head medical professor, an eerie, green light pulsed everywhere throug transparent tubules. At the center of the room was a black monolith from with the tubules extended, pulsing with its own green light.
A New Genesis Ark, the Doctor mused. On the wall, where the Controler used to monitor the hospital, a series of screens instead monitored the pod system. At this the Doctor cursed and quivered with rage. Rather than destroy all of those life-support systems, the citizens of New Earth had simply boarded them up, fully functional. "Stupid humans," the Doctor thought, "out of sight, out of mind…now those pods are breeding Daleks instead of New Humans. Such limited, little minds, those stupid little humans!"
In a rage, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his vest. Quizzically, he pulled out a small, black ring. Hm, the thing would never fit on his finger, not like it used to when he traveled those teachers: Barbara…and what was the other fellow's name? Chesterfield? He could never remember. And Susan, dear, dear Susan…they had first met the Daleks together, so long ago…Daleks…Daleks, Daleks DALEKS!
Gritting his teeth in fury, he tossed the ring into the bottom right screen, which exploded in a shower of sparks. This caused every light in the control room to go dark, except a few small lights.
Blue, round lights.
Dalek eyestalks.
The green lights flashed back on again to reveal three Daleks advancing on the Doctor, barking their staccato "EX-TER-MIN-ATE!" Thinking quickly, the Doctor hefted his old umbrealla like a javelin. Making sure to accomodate for the odd, question mark shaped handle, he hurled the brolly like a javelin into the first Dalek's eyepiece, crushing it and rendering the Dalek blind. As it careened off into the corner, the other two advanced. The Doctor barely had time to miss his old brolly before a death ray flashed again. It struck him in the back, but did not kill him. Rather, the overabundance of Dalek energy already within him absorbed the blow, making the Doctor glow a bright green and pulse with power. The two Daleks, realizing their weapons would be for nought, attempted a retreat. The Doctor caught up with the first with a few strong strides, effortlessly lifting the creature above his head and tossing it at the other swiftly retreating Dalek. Both crashed into each other and crushed into rubble, hissing and gurgling their death cries. With the light of hellfire in his eyes, the Doctor headed over to the final blind Dalek. Punching his fist into the shell's back, the Doctor flung the green, amorphous creature into the corner, where it landed with a sickening splat. With his hand now inside the Dalek casing, the Doctor had a voice. Not a particularly effective one, but a voice he could manipulate.
"WHO IS IN COM-MAND OF THIS PLACE?" The Doctor focused intently as his psychic energy manipulated the speech mechanism.
A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. Even with a mechanical Dalek voice, there was surprise present in the Doctor's exclamation.
"YOU!"

In the low light, the Doctor was sure of one thing.
The man had one eye.
Of course! It was the man from before, that sulky-looking fellow who had ignored him at the fight. Although, he thought, perhaps he wasn't ignoring him so much after all…
The man even looked like a Dalek. One eye, squat frame, and a frightening power in his voice, a voice that almost sounded familiar…was he familiar? Was it just regeneration sickness and he couldn't remember?
Zodin? No.
Lytton? No!
Could it be…Davros? No, absolutely not. Davros wasn't this…cheeky. Look at him, grinning like a cat with a mouse between its claws…how dare he! He was the Doctor, he was the last of the Time Lords, he was-
"The Oncoming Storm," he heard the man chuckle, "more like a spring squall. You look pathetic, Doctor…ridiculous." He smiled a vicious smile as the Doctor balked suddenly, "Oh yes, it's you, I know. And you seem to be wearing garment pieces of your past…nine iterations? Oh, but where is that trademark leather jacket? That one you were wearing when I first met you…"
Met you? The Doctor thought. My ninth life, that narrows it down…the Editor? That Jagrafess beast? A Slitheen?! Who is it?!
"McElroy!" a voice shouted behind him. It was Javis Nine, big as she pleased, wearing the old leather jacket and flanked by a score of former fighters. The Doctor turned to her with a peculiar, pleading look.
"Ah, two answers at once. There is the jacket, and there is my name," the man beamed, his arms spread wide in condescending supplication.
"Raphaelius McElroy, the head of our organization," Javis continued. She attempted to jab a finger at him, but the jacket's long sleeve flopped over her hand.
"Yes, they call me Raphaelius McElroy. I turned this institution from a few thugs beating each other in an alleyway to a viable business-"
"And a bloody Dalek factory!" Javis spat. Meanwhile, the Doctor pulled the straw hat about his ears, eyes screwed tight, scanning his millenial memory. McElroy, McElroy, McElroy…where is that name?
"I had no choice, Miss Nine. I was so alone, I felt in the need for a…family reunion." McElroy grinned devilishly.
Family reunion? Was it a Slitheen? But why would a Slitheen create Daleks?!
Unless…no….
no!
no no no.
The Doctor's eyes bulged in crushing depression. McElroy laughed maniacally.
"Ah, so now you know me, Doctor! The place called Utah, 2012. Henry Van Statten, Adam Mitchell…and Rose Tyler."
The Doctor twinged slightly at this.
"Ah yes, Rose Tyler. Such a sweet, compassionate girl. The one who gave me life…perhaps I could call her my…mother…"
"DO NOT SPEAK OF HER THAT WAY!" The Doctor had finally let his emotions run through the Dalek casing. Javis and the fighters jumped at this.
"Doctor, what in the name of-"
"I HAVE I-SO-LA-TED THE SPEECH SEC-TOR OF THIS DA-LEK, JA-VIS. FOR NOW, IT IS THE BEST VOICE I CAN CRE-ATE."
"Huh. You speak of that voice like it's a bad thing. Remember, it was my voice for a very long time…" McElroy continued smiling in his condescending manner.
"Hold on! Wait!" Javis exploded, "You spoke like a Dalek?"
McElroy threw his head back, cutting a ghastly figure in the green light.
"I WAS a Dalek!"
Everyone stood in disbelief, save the Doctor.
"You were such a sentimental fool, Doctor," McElroy taunted, "you allowed that Rose to manipulate you, to convince you not to kill me. And you believed I killed myself, how poetic, how lovely. Instead, I launched myself into the cosmos, and spent the better part of a thousand years searching, scanning…learning. I found nothing at the intergalactic coordinates of Skaro, which made me rage…but I found nothing at Gallifrey's coordinates as well, which vindicated me. Over time I learned to control and master the new emotions and human effects your companion had forced upon me, and I became a more refined, more perfect creature than I ever was as a Dalek."
He turned to the Doctor with a cold, one-eyed stare, his words like daggers.
"I also kept an eye on you, my old nemesis. Your defeat of our insane demagogue of an emperor; your regeneration; the loss of your friend, Rose."
Another twinge from the Doctor. Another smug smirk from McElroy.
"And I heard of your escapades in New Earth, and how they had simply locked the doors to this old hospital, out of sight, out of mind… with all of this fantastic technology located in its bowels…and a working psychograft on the premeses? I knew it was too good to be true! I simply had to use this facility to create the new Dalek Empire!"
"THE DA-LEKS WILL NOT SUC-CEED!" The Doctor screamed ironically through the Dalek body.
"Oh, but we will! We have already! It was Dalek technology that lead McElroy here at gunpoint! It was Dalek know-how that performed the psychograft! It was Dalek pride that made me gouge out my own new eye to become a human Dalek! It was Dalek ingenuity that turned McElroy from a petty thug to a prize-fighting kingpin! And it will be Dalek science that will resurrect our chosen race!"
"NEVER!" The Doctor/Dalek shouted.
"NEVER!" Javis and the fighters shouted.
"Oh, but I disagree…" McElroy cackled as a ball of lightning flew from his right hand to the group of fighters, imprisoning them behind an energy field. Javis and the others shouted, tried to break the barrier down, but were repulsed at every turn. It was just the two now: A Dalek as a human and the Doctor speaking through a Dalek.
"Come now, Doctor. Surrender the lyso-key. You couldn't kill me then, and you can't kill us now…it's not in your nature, you're too much of an intellectual. You'll think about it too much, you'll think your way out of it. You will not burn thousands for the sake of millions, you will not wipe an entire race from the cosmos, it would break your heart…no wait…hearts." He cackled with malice, watching the Doctor cringe and battle within his mighty mind.
"Come now, Doctor!" McElroy shouted, "You were the Daleks' greatest enemy, Ka Faraq Gatri! We found ourselves defeated by you, by your infallible…humanity…little did we know that all it took was a little humanity to bring you to your knees! You're not the Oncoming Storm, you're a fat, doddering nightmare in borrowed clothes, a faded memory of past suceeses, now decayed into a podgy pile of waste!"
McElroy was now red in the face. But the Doctor was perfectly calm. In the silence that followed, the Doctor's Dalek voice cut in like a hammer through a pane of glass.
"YOU THINK YOU KNOW ME, DA-LEK…YOU THINK I AM TOO KIND TO KILL, TO EX-TER-MIN-ATE! BUT PER-HAPS, O-VER THE YEARS, DA-LEKS HAVE RUBBED OFF ON ME AS ROSE TY-LER DID TO YOU."
"I dare you, Doctor. I DARE YOU! I said you would make a good Dalek, now prove me right! Destroy me, fulfill your purpose as the universe's most powerful killer, a God gone wrong! Do what you think is right and KILL ME! DESTROY ME! EX-"
"EX-TER-MIN-ATE!" the Dalek casing shouted, firing one bolt of energy. Raphaelius McElroy jerked for a split second, his skeleton visible in negative, then crumpled to the floor. Raphaelius McElroy, formerly Henry Van Statten's "Metaltron," possibly the last Dalek, was dead.
Javis saw the Doctor remove his hand from the Dalek casing. She also saw him walk over to a wall of shattered flatscreens and pick up something small, slipping it into his pocket. He tapped a few buttons on a keyboard, and the force-wall disappeared with a slight pop. Javis made to go to the Doctor, but he was on his way to the fallen body. She peered over his shoulder and saw him close McElroy's eyes in somber recognition of sacrifice and moratorium for the dead. As he stood up, Javis noticed he was crying profusely. Still without a word, the Doctor walked to the central hub of the room, the New Genesis Ark which pulsed with green, life-creating energy. He stood looking down at it, ridiculous in his costumes, scowling at the structure.
All this killing, all this death, all this horror…was it worth it? Was it worth the life of one Dalek, let alone a thousand? Could killing these Daleks, practically children, be callous and wrong? Was it worth it to kill a thousand children to prevent them from killing billions? Trillions? Were all these lives worth it?
He reached into the pocket of his multi-coloured patchwork coat, producing the lyso-key. Slipping it into a Data-port, he turned it with a slight grunt, tears washing his round cheeks anew.
Was it worth it?
Gallifrey was worth it.
Screams of the unborn Daleks began to echo in a cacaphony beneath them. One by one, their cells dissolved, and they were made into one deathly acidic mass. The screams continued for what seemed like an eternity, as the fighters listened in horror and the Doctor cried bitter tears of victory. None of the fighters would take another life after that day, no more would fight. They had seen enough death to last a lifetime.
In the silence that followed, no one moved. It was not until the Ark began shrieking a warning siren that anyone twitched a muscle. The Doctor hurried over to the Ark in time to read the sign "BIO-STRUCTURE CRITICAL. MELTDOWN IMMINENT." Summoning the last of his mighty strength, the Doctor ripped the Ark from the floor. Steel girders bent and rock-hard building material crumbled under his hands as he lifted the massive metal structure. Fearing its upcoming explosion, the Doctor spun twice and flung the giant Ark out of the nearest window with a colossal crash. Not ten meters out of the window the Ark blew in a self-destruct sequence, tossing the Doctor completely across the room and battering him against a wall. Javis, with a cry of shock, hurried to his side, looking him over.
"I'm all right, Javis, I'm all right!" The Doctor heard himself bellow.
Heard.
Heard himself.
He had a voice!
Oh my.
Such a voice.
"Er…goodness…is this…my voice? Dear me, it sounds so very…colloquial. I can't very well travel the universe sounding like I come from…Wisconsin! Give me a moment, Javis…"
Javis nodded dumbly. In the short amount of time she had learned to simply believe what the Doctor said and did without question.
The Doctor closed his eyes in deep concentration, swalloing hard a few times and craning his neck this way and that. He reopened his eyes, and Javis felt compelled to ask.
"What was that?"
His new voice had a Scottish burr and rolled its r's excessively, "Merely rresidual rregenerrative enerrgy, Javis, and…oh bother…not this either."
He tried again. This time the voice was higher pitched, imperious, stodgy.
"Now now, how's that Javis, hm? Satisfactory, yes?"
"Er…a little…cranky for my tastes…"
"Really? Hm. That's a shame. Oh well…"
He tried again. This time the voice was deep and melodious.
"Ah, a fine voice: intelligent, but distant. Would you like a Jelly Baby?"
"Umm…no thanks, Doctor."
"You're right, it's time for something new. Just enough energy left for one last shot. The moment has been prepared for, ha ha ha…"
His laugh was cryptic and delightful at the same time, and he tried one last time.
"Hm. Well…this isn't too bad! I rather like it, really…"
"Are you sure? You sound like a reject from 'The Importance of Being Earnest.'"
The Doctor gave that same playfully sarcastic smile she had seen earlier. "Well, my dear Miss Nine, there are two reponses to that. Number one: I'm out of regenerative energy, so you're stuck with it. Secondly: A Wildian affectation of the voice is much preferrable to whatever it is you call that mishmash of an accent."
Javis bopped him on the head, but she was grinning.
"Ass."
"Phillistine." the Doctor grinned back.
"Podgy Box-traveling fool with generally bad fashion sense!"
The Doctor ruminated on this one for a bit, examining his clothes.
"Yuck, you are most certainly correct, Javis. No wonder Mr. McElroy didn't take me seriously. Regeneration always has side effects, though, I suppose… methinks I shall have to work for respect this time round…especially with this ridiculously round face!" He poked and prodded himself, "Just look at this button nose, and these chubby cheeks…dreadful. Something must be done, or I'll never be taken seriously."
He looked skyward, rubbing his chin in deep thought.
"You know…perhaps I'll grow a beard."

It took three days for the acid to wash away from the old hospital. Thankfully, the fighters had gotten in through a passage made by McElroy, and used the same passage to escape. As they stood outside, watching the building hiss and gurgle in death, the Doctor turned to Hamland. The old fighter was still covered in blood and limping badly. Despite this, the Doctor gave him a kind smile.
"Jomathon Hamland…I knew your name sounded familiar. You restart this whole practice, this prizefighting ring…and you do it right this time."
"Oi, not me, mate. Oi ain' got th' busyness sense."
"You don't much need it for a grop of burly bareknuckle brawlers," the Doctor said with a wink and a chuckle.
"But there's no way Oi kin keep fightin. Lookit me!"
"Oh, New Earth medicine will clear that up in a jiffy. Here, sell what's in the pockets and get fixed up."
He rummaged in the pocket of his multi-coloured overcoat for a moment. Then, a flash of brilliance flickered in his new blue eyes.
"You know what? Have the jacket. I don't need it much anymore…I've outgrown it." He draped the jacket over his shoulders as Javis supported him, "There you are. You look handsome, you look smart," he added with a grin.
"Awl th' same, Doc…I don' never wanna foight or see summon doi agin…"
"That's what the inside pocket is for. It's a data-core. Plug it into the nearest data-port you can find, and it will tell you everything you need to know. You don't have to kill anymore…you don't even have to fight. Well…not really…if you train the right way…"
Hamland looked perplexed as the Doctor walked off, ruminating. Javis handed Hamland to another fighter and followed after the Doctor as he made his way toward his peculiar blue box.
"Doctor?"
"Yes, Miss Nine?"
"I can't stay here, I've seen too much, heard too much… but I want to know more. You like to travel with someone, right?"
"Yes."
"So…there are living quarters in that…ship?"
"TARDIS, Miss Nine. It's called the TARDIS: Time and Relative Dimension in Space," he waggled a playful finger at her, "you'll have to learn that and much more if you're going to travel with me."
"I'd like to learn, Doctor, really I-wait…travel with you?"
"I assumed that's what you were getting at. Peculiar, you're usually so forward, Miss Nine."
"Javis, please."
The Doctor smiled.
"Javis."
"So I'm…invited?"
"Absolutely. Just one promise: you can't go punching everyone you meet. Agreed? You've got to learn that some things are solvable without a fight. Yes?"
Javis pulled a face, then grinned.
"Yes."
"Lovely!" the Doctor gently bopped her nose with his index finer (left one, still odd…) and headed to get into the TARDIS. He was stopped by Hamland's still-powerful voice a distance away.
"Doc!"
The Doctor's shoulders slumped slightly. Doc, never Doc, for pity's sake, but…
"Yes, Mr. Hamland?"
"Stay here a bit. Let's 'ave us a party!"
Mmm, the Doctor thought. New Earth has some fantastic breweries, after all…oh my…this regeneration enjoyed a drink, didn't it? Intriguing…but no. He must move, always moving.
"Sorry, Mr. Hamland, but I must move on. I make you laugh…and you make me cry, so I believe it's time for me to fly!"
He stopped, the TARDIS half in and half out of the keyhole. His face was a picture of bewilderment.
"REO Speedwagon?!" he whispered to himself with a shudder, chastising himself for such base reference. Shaking his head, he opened the door into the TARDIS and stepped inside. Javis followed. Hamland and the others only stood and watched as the TARDIS made that strange noise, an alien noise to Javis, and dematerialised.
Inside the TARDIS, Javis felt compelled to ask.
"Doctor, what was on that data-core?"
"Everything he needed ot start a proper stage-combat business."
"Which is?"
The Doctor gave an impish grin.
"Wrestlemania III, from 1987, featuring Randy "the Macho Man" Savage versus Ricky "the Dragon" Steamboat."
"What?"
"Nevermind." the grin remained.
"Ass."
"Brute."
The grin spread to both faces. Javis heaved a sigh.
"So, you're a new man. Your super strength's gone, but your voice is back. It's been quite an adventure, don't you think?"
The Doctor nodded.
"So are we headed on holiday then?"
The Doctor was vehemently in the negative.
"Certainly not, Miss Nine! Places to go, peoples to see, evils to fight!"
"But…where?"
"Ah ha, Miss Nine…time may change me, but I can't trace time! It…wait!" He flicked a few switches on the console, "David Bowie?! Oh dear…oh dear, dear, dear…" He bowed his head sadly, pleading to Javis.
"Miss Nine, could you head into the back, please? Through that door, three lefts, two rights, one more left, third door on the left. Go into the library and get me a copy of Caucer's Canterbury Tales…IN the original Old English. I feel…like I must purge myself of this endless barrage of…pop culture."
"Right-o, Doctor. I'm on my way."
"Javis?" she was halted halfway to the interior door. The Doctor smiled and gave a wink.
"The first three doors on the left are living quarters. Pick one you like. I suggest the third."
"Thank you, Doctor."
"Thank you, Miss N–I mean, Javis. Welcome aboard."