The pain was indescribable.
The Doctor could feel every single one of his cells renew itself as the violent gold flames consumed his body. He had been so weak in his last incarnation; his own act of pulling the lever that destroyed - and time-locked - all of Gallifrey and the rest of the Time Lords, had lashed back out on him and his ship with a gargantuan flare.
Finally, the agonizing transformation subsided. The Doctor did not have the will, nor the nerve, to examine his new physical appearance. All that he knew at that point was that his head felt a little lighter than usual, and guessing by the more space that he felt around it, he concluded that he now had shorter hair than he ever had in any of his other incarnations. Slowly, the harsh reality of the preceding events were knocked back into him like a sledgehammer.
"They're gone... they're all gone..." the Doctor whispered, choking with emotion. Now they have a reason to call me the Oncoming Storm, he mused sardonically in his head, knowing fully well that attempts at humoring himself would only be in vain. In his mind, the connection he previously had with his people was completely cut off with their destruction, and it felt so completely... empty. Never again had he experienced any such sensation, and having it so fresh in his mind hurt him like nothing else.
It's no use moping, he shot at himself mentally. And he was telling the truth. There was no point in wasting away in this grief like a pathetic sap. He had to move forward. He then realized that he'd have to travel alone from now on. It was too dangerous to have a companion, especially after what he had just committed moments ago. And every time the Doctor came and saved someone, he'd have to leg it immediately after. There were never any halts, just the urge to return that addictive adrenalin into his system to relieve his restlessness. Only now, it would only be more powerful.
He looked down at his tight-fitting clothing, returning back into reality. His once-elegant, velvet Edwardian waistcoat was singed at the ends and the cravat had a blackened tear in it. His trousers also felt uncomfortably like they were doused in starch when washed. Shaking his head, he marched moodily towards the TARDIS wardrobe.
Judging by his powerful stride, the Doctor guessed his body to be of a stronger build this time around. Opening the door to the wardrobe, he looked around the myriad of clothing from every single time period on earth that he visited, which covered every wall in the room, on each level. Sifting through the nearest bunch, he then felt his hand brush against a smooth, yet firm material. Sliding whatever it was out, he saw that it was a black leather jacket, not unlike that of a U-boat captain.
"It'll do for now," he said to himself, now realizing that his now-harsh voice - a complete contrast with his previous one - came out in a drawling Northern accent.
The next article of clothing he decided to choose at random. Snatching an unknown from amidst the Hussar uniforms that surrounded it on the left side of the room, it was revealed to be a green, thin v-neck jumper.
"Eh," came his reaction. "Why not?"
Soon after, the Doctor managed to scavenge a pair of black military pants and steel-toed boots. Changing into these articles of clothing, he examined his attire, and saw that it had suited him by some strange irony.
He then made his way back to the console room, anxious to find some sort of adventure that will give him the opportunity to burn off the inner turmoil that he currently felt. He gently laid a hand on the wall beside the doorway, greeting his beautiful ship once again.
"Guess it's just you and me again, old girl..." the Doctor told her in a low voice.
Suddenly, he felt a sharp lurch of the ship force him to lose his balance and fall forward in a face-plant. The TARDIS had activated herself of her own accord. This confused the Doctor, as the scanners didn't detect any immediate danger. He then felt a turbulence escalate to a climax, as he struggled to clutch at whatever was closest to him - in this case, the base of the captain's chair - like a lifeline. Lights flickered on and off, and then the ship was finally brought to a halt, but not before the console erupted in sparks.
"Where did you bring us?" he asked the TARDIS indignantly. The only response he received was a cryptic, yet sympathetic hum. "Fantastic," the Doctor muttered in a bitter tone, as he struggled to pick himself back up and regain his balance. He then walked over to the scanner and checked on its condition after the shower that had sprung up moments before.
The screen was blank. In his bewilderment and confusion, the Doctor finally strode towards the doors, opening them to the unknown world that awaited him outside.
Hohenheim looked back behind him at the house of his old drinking buddy, now due to his own cowardice forced to look after his spiteful son.
Was there really a point in staying? He asked himself mentally. He then silently thanked himself for swiping a bottle of Pinako's whiskey, of which only he could figure out the location. Not that it had mattered either way. Nobody apart from himself and Pinako drank. No, there really wasn't.
As he walked on back towards the train station, Hohenheim slid his hand into his pocket and let his hands run along the photograph that he had taken off of the wall in the main hall. This was now his only remnant of a living, breathing, sweet Trisha. Guilt bubbled up inside him at the thought of not being with her during her final moments. Even more so, when the poor boys were forced to live through the pain of losing her on their own.
He tried grudgingly to block away these melancholic thoughts that would only slow him down. Hohenheim was on a mission and he couldn't afford anything that would cripple him, even in the slightest. As soon as he was at the main gate of the village of Risembool, he stopped abruptly.
There was a noise. A strange one at that. It was unlike anything Hohenheim had ever heard, or encountered in all of his four-hundred years. It couldn't be a train, trains didn't make noises like that. Neither did cars, or trucks. The only description of it that Hohenheim found acceptable was a metal... wheezing.
The eerie tumult was getting louder as he slowly approached the main building of the train station. Point one for observation – it was coming from inside one of the rooms of the building. However, there was no one inside it, so what could be making it? Hohenheim doubted that it was any of the Homunculi, as this village was beyond their boundaries and they needed him alive anyways.
Hohenheim finally decided to do the most reckless, yet most useful thing at that moment. He rushed inside the building and found it empty. Then, he spotted a flickering in the corner – a ghost? It looked too big to be one. There was a light flashing on and off above it, as it was slowly becoming less and less transparent. It gave one final... cosmic shudder as its form stood perfectly still in the empty room beside the ticket booth.
The first thing that Hohenheim had noticed about it was that it was blue. A royal blue, too, not unlike the uniforms of Amestris' military officers. It was also a box – a "Police Public Call Box," according to the inscription above its doors that had the windows whited out. There weren't any phone boxes like this anywhere in Amestris as far as Hohenheim knew. There technically weren't any police either, unless you counted the dogs of the military. But no, what intrigued him more was how it came to be there. How did it just... appear? Did it transmute itself? Was this some kind of rare branch of alchemy that he hadn't touched upon? If not, then where could it have come from? And what in the world was it in the first place to give off such power? Hohenheim sensed more of it than he had coming from the Homunculi...
Before he could even scrape the wood with the tips of his knuckles, the door of the box opened widely and a figure was exiting it. Maybe I can get an answer from whomever owns it, he mused to himself.
For a split-second, as the stranger emerged from the box, Hohenheim thought he could hear a faint singing coming from the inside. Although, he could have just been imagining it.
The entirety of the stranger's figure had finally revealed itself to be a tall, well-built, cropped-haired man who looked to be roughly in his forties. His wardrobe consisted of a green jumper, covered by a black leather jacket. He also doned a pair of black military pants from under which Hohenheim could see steel-toed boots peeking out.
The stranger seemed to be taking in his surroundings with a furrowed eyebrow and a concerned expression on his face.
He then suddenly turned on his heel and faced Hohenheim. "Hello there! Nice to meet you, I'm the Doctor." he said in a rushed voice. "Uh, quick question - you wouldn't mind telling me exactly when and where I am, would you?"
"Uh..." Hohenheim started, taken aback by the man's sudden introduction.
"Hold that thought for a minute..." he interjected, cutting him off and locking eyes with him briefly before heading out the door and surveying the vast countryside. In that briefest look, however, Hohenheim saw the oldest pair of cold, piercing azure eyes that could have possibly outlived his own.
Striding back in with an indiscernible expression on his face, the stranger moved his ancient eyes back towards Hohenheim.
"Right, now where was I... Ah, yes!" exclaimed the Doctor, his visage breaking into a cheesy grin. "Where and when am I?"