This didn't make any logical sense. Well, not to the Timelord at least. Though he tried to process these events, from start to finish, in perfect logical order, he still just couldn't figure it out. How did he get from here, to there? The thoughts of ordering the events just seemed to escape from him, the shock of all the events just sort of just moving away from him, no matter how hard he had tried to grasp onto them, they just fluttered away like frightened butterflies.
He needed to calm down. His breathing escelated to a very high level. He just couldn't seem to figure it out. No equation or scientific explanation could figure it out. He took a deep breath, inhaling fresh oxygen. There was a copper taste in the air, acidic. He exhaled, through the mouth. The air feeling salty and bitter. The timelord inspected himself. Denim jacket, torn black cargo pants. Fingerless cloves wrapped tightly around his hands, making them warmer. He wore some sneakers, all white, like a marble.
He was sweating, his brown hair and hazel eyes shook lightly as he was drenched in the cold liquid, which only provided discomfort. He wiped his sweat and shook it, some of the water droplets catching onto his bright scarlet neck-bandana, and black undershirt.
he clicked something, his thumb pulling back the hammer of an old pistol. He realized exactly what he was holding. He snapped back into reality as he tried to remember why he was holding a weapon, something he vowed NEVER to grasp, not since his tenth incarnation had broken the rule again.
He recollected his thoughts, once again trying to recap.
How did he get here?