Prologue

The Doctor has always been somewhat of a curiosity. A man that can travel back and forth through the time, landing at any destination he chooses and yet no matter how hard he tries, he has a habit of running into someone or something that wants to kill him. The universe is such a big place, an infinite jungle of stars for him to explore and somehow, even in a tiny warehouse on the outskirts of Cardiff (in which our good Doctor has been "vacationing" for the last month) the Doctor finds an old "friend".

It is 12.30 am and surrounded by thin corrugated metal the TARDIS seems to have fused itself to the floor. Not used to staying in one position for so long, it finds itself contemplating abandoning its partner in crime, well maybe just for an hour or so. If the Doctor were to see it gone, he would perhaps be brought out of the constant stupor, maybe just enough to take up travelling again. The dismal grey walls are beginning to have some form of effect on the TARDIS, in fact after researching on the internet it is beginning to wonder if it could be diagnosed with clinical depression, though it doubts if that is even possible.

However it is too late to go now; a key is inserted in the lock. The Doctor stands outside the TARDIS door, preparing himself for what he is about to see, willing a smiling face to greet him as he pushes open the gateway to his own private hell. But the spectacular sight of the room that is bigger on the inside seems even emptier than usual and little sparks of pain dance around his hearts.

In the last year so many friends had come and gone, each leaving their own set of ragged footprints around his mind. Of course there were two people in particular that he tried not to think about the most. He tried, and the majority of the time he failed, miserably. But he had stopped crying. Though, now he just spent hours on end, wandering the streets of Cardiff, unable to face the possible prospect of a new companion.

He moved, with the air of a man broken by the world, over to the console and ran his fingers along its edge. Remembering how glorious it had been when all its stations were taken, the Doctor sighed. The TARDIS sighed too, then spat a message onto the monitor.

"Are you ever going to get over this?"

The Doctor frowned at the screen and slumped into a recently purchased leather recliner.

"I'm beginning to rust you know…"

"You're a wooden box. You don't rust."

"And you're a Time Lord. You don't mope."

"What are you, my mother?"

"Well actually, I'm beginning to feel more like your wife."

There was a deathly silence.

"Look all I'm saying is, if you're going to walk round and round and round and round……"

"Yes I get the idea."

"Could you at least dump me somewhere with a view? Somewhere with sunlight! Or hell, we're in Cardiff, I wouldn't even mind going to stay with Jack for a while!"

The Doctor was beginning to seethe with the long forgotten emotion of frustration. His hearts began to pump faster and faster as the screen suggested numerous places he could leave the TARDIS whilst he "worked himself into a suicidal hole and refused to accept help".

Just as he reached boiling point, the screen went suddenly dark. Then two yellow words flashed up, "Proximity Alert."

There was a quick scramble as the Doctor fumbled to find his sonic screwdriver, buried in the mountains of self-pity, and then he jogged to the door, feeling once again, waves of excitement. He opened the door a crack and peered out. Nothing.

"If this is some cheap ploy…" he hissed at the room.

Tentatively, he put one converse bearing foot out and slid into the warehouse, closing the door behind him.

It was then that the Doctor saw the building for what it really was, a large desolate cave, to hide his larger, even more desolate cave. It housed a few shipping containers, all of which were no longer iron, just iron oxide, and several small wooden crates filled with mouse droppings and the faeces of other small nesting animals. How had he sunk this low? Now he could see clearly, he understood why the TARDIS seemed to be projecting PMT symptoms.

He trod carefully across the cement floor, surveying the area, and gradually the idea of the TARDIS pulling a fast one of him grew more and more likely. When he reached the door, a great pulse of energy ran up his spine causing him to stiffen, turn swiftly on his heel and begin marching back towards the Police Box that seemed to have shrunk into the corner.

But as he took his first step he heard a noise that made every hair stand on end. It was a mechanical noise, a whirring. He dived between the two nearest containers, dreading what he believed to be true. Because if he was right, and let's face it The Doctor is usually correct in any presumption he makes, there was one last Dalek for him to deal with.

"DOCTOR!" came the echoing robotic voice.

"Why am I always right? And why is there always another one?"

"I KNOW YOU ARE HERE DOCTOR. COME. FACE ME!"

Shaking himself off, the Doctor attempted to achieve an air of confidence (with a hint of boredom) and stepped out into the centre of the warehouse. There before him stood one of many genetic soldiers (or upside down dustbins as he secretly called them) that had thus far, had managed to make his life 'eventful' at the very least. This one was of a brassy colour; nothing unusual there then, they'd been that way for a while. However, it seemed strangely familiar, and if Daleks had emotional and behavioural signs, it occurred to him that this Dalek was trying to pull off the same confidence/boredom combo he was.

"DOCTOR. WE MEET AGAIN."

A smile crawled up to the corners of the Doctor's mouth; a cliché was never lost on him.

"I AM DALEK KAHN."

The smile disappeared.

"You're dead."

"NO"

"Pretty sure you are."

"I AM NOT DEAD DOCTOR. I AM ALIVE AND IN FRONT OF YOU."