Hooray, progress! Of sorts. If everyone's amenable, I'll be updating daily. Unless, of course, that's too often. You know, whatever. Lemme know. :)


Rose is gone.

The TARDIS' words became a mantra in his head, a slow, anguishing intonation that filled his entire being.

Rose is gone. Rose is gone. Rose is gone.

For several moments he ceased to be, existing only in his grief as utter despair surrounded him. Then, from within, he felt a fire ignite from the ashes and he rose to his feet. His brown eyes that had at once been alight with a teasing mischief for his beloved companion were now dark and penetrating.

He had been known by a plethora of monikers over the years – some he liked and some he even deserved. But none seemed more apt at that moment than the one bestowed upon him by the Draconians long ago, the one used in fear at his arrival, the one that had been forever immortalized in Dalek history, the one that had both angered and inspired him.

The Oncoming Storm

With a deathly calm he stood and shed his longcoat, then his suit jacket. He could feel the TARDIS in his mind pleading with him to stop, but there was only one being in the universe that could stay his hand now, and she had been taken from him. With slow, deliberate movements he opened the TARDIS door, feeling her resist him ever so slightly. But while she might be powerful enough to stop any unwanted intruders, or keep his companions from stepping out into nothingness, she was not strong enough to impede him for more than a microsecond.

The Umbraxaal waited out in the alleyway with their weapons trained on the strange blue box. Blood on the ground alerted them to the fact that they had indeed hit one of the travelers, though which one had yet to be determined. The captain – a large, grayish, hulk of a brute – barked out orders to his team with a military precision.

When the door opened, eight gun barrels snapped to aim on the lone figure standing there completely unarmed. The leader smirked triumphantly at the bloodstained clothing and stepped forward to capture the alien. Three steps put him in arm's reach, and it was the last mistake he made. Quicker than lightning, the lean figure lashed out and connected with a solid strike to the sensitive point where the neck met the torso. One strike was all it took, and the captain's heart stopped dead. He crumpled to the ground lifelessly as his team watched, and when the alien looked up all eight recoiled instantly.

"His eyes," one mumbled, staring into the dark abyss. Silently, the Doctor knelt down and withdrew the ceremonial sword from the captain's sheath. They stared at the strange man for a moment, as if sizing him up. Then, as one, the eight Umbraxaal laid their weapons at their feet and drew their own swords.

"Your code requires you fight fair," the Doctor noted with disdain, his tone flat and low. "Interesting." He looked on them with cold eyes, inspecting them like specimens in a lab. "So which of you fired upon my Rose?" None answered as he surveyed them, shaking with barely contained rage. Finally, a young recruit lifted his massive chin.

"It was intended as a warning shot," he explained, and something in the back of the Doctor's mind praised the youth for holding back a nervous stammer. But the part that was at the fore was intent on only one thing, and he lurched forward in a move that was quicker than their eyes could follow.

Green blood spilled, and the recruit was dead before he hit the ground. There was a moment of shock before the other seven sprang into action, but the Doctor had a single-minded determination that outmatched even their best fighters. Spinning and whirling around, he let loose with several thrusts and slashes, disemboweling one and maiming another. Swords clashed but not for long as the Doctor deftly moved around the alley.

Seventy seconds. Seventy seconds was all it took for nine Umbraxaal to lay dead at his feet. He dropped the sword and hit his knees, letting all the anger and sorrow wash over him like a tidal wave. They had killed his Rose, and he had killed them. A throbbing on his right arm suggested at least one of them had gotten a good swipe in before he'd dispatched them, but he couldn't bring himself to care.

Slowly he crawled back to the TARDIS, leaning against the closed door once inside. His clothes were drenched in red and green blood, mixing into a brownish, sickly stain that coated his soul. Deep within the walls of his home, Rose lay lifeless and cold. No amount of begging or anger or revenge would bring her back, and she would have been horrified at his actions. Regret settled over him like a cold, wet blanket, and he realized that remorse would be his constant companion from that day forward.