Chapter 4: Blast from the Past
A crescendo of the carnival music lead the group to a room not unlike the space they most recently occupied. The same canvas walls ensnared them, same ceiling overhead, splattered with trapeze lifts and ropes. They entered onto a stage of sorts, cluttered with strange circus paraphernalia. Center-stage, a young boy sat on a ring leader's pedestal, calmly awaiting…something. The boy turned, facing front in a crisp 1940's school uniform.
Wide-eyed, Rose beckoned her wounded Doctor to the edge of the group, needing his confirmation before she could let herself believe.
"Is that, it can't be, can it?" She asked, knowing his answer before he gave it.
"'Course it can, dunno how, or why, but if I can be here there's nothin' to say he- or anybody else- couldn't," his voice a collection of calm knowledge and ageless wonder, chased with a spreading pain and a widening stain- deep red liquid on olive green fabric.
The little blonde boy stood, taking a step towards the group. "You helped me, now I can help you," fireflies of energy appeared around him, circling, circling, moths to the light when they themselves are the flame.
"It's the nanogenes!" Rose exclaimed, remembering how the little creatures restored all those people back in the 1940s. "But, is it safe? Should we trust him, Doctor?" She muttered, stepping protectively in front of the staggering man.
"Well," the tenth stepped in, "I suppose we've got to. He's dying, Rose," voice turned somber, "that's no ordinary gash, and I don't know how time progression works here, but it's quite possible that if he dies…I'll never have lived. You either," he nodded at the eleventh. "We haven't got a choice."
"Nice to know the next me is so optimistic, yeah?" Grin turned grimace, doubled over in rising agony.
"Oh, God," Rose faltered, blinked, and with a shake of her head and a deep breath, she found renewed bravery. "Alright, Jamie, how 'bout a hug for your ol' Doctor? It'll do him some good, don't ya think?"
The boy skipped over to the kneeling man, landing into a gentle yet so deprived paternal embrace. Five pairs of eyes stood in suspense, without breath or blink. The nanogenes circled and circled, learning and distinguishing until the glow radiated around the Doctor's wound, golden ripples absorbing the half-dry, half-flowing red.
The ninth doctor rose with a grin, "I feel fantastic! Thank you Jamie!" Arms tight around dangling legs, the doctor spun the boy around in his bout of relief.
"Good," the boy smiled sheepishly, "then you'll be okay for what comes next!"
Relief turned to worry as his kind words promised yet another danger.
The ground began to rumble as the area contorted, the circus ring morphing into something much more elaborate.
"Whoah!" Nine nearly fell over as the ground directly under his feet ascended, a platform, taking him up and up until he nearly reached the top of the high pitched ceiling. A slab of wood erected behind Rory, thick restraints immediately binding him as Amy stumbled through the shaking, a box full of shimmering points appearing beside her, unnoticed. Creaking planks and shouts of protest, Rose fell away from her human doctor, trapped under a slew of wood beams and string lights. Four thick walls of glass trapped Ten, an insect stuck in a child's jar, another piece closed off the top, sealing him away from the others. Bars like a cell sprang up around Eleven, enclosing him in a circular prison on the edge of the ring. Something thin and leather materialized in his hand as the floor opened and lifted, stopping only when he was eye to eye with a gargantuan white tiger, promptly roaring and baring its stalactite teeth.
The room's rampage finally died down to an anticipating silence as each pawn came to terms with their respective obstacles.
The boy stood undisturbed at the center of the ring. Megaphone voice, all attention on him.
"Ladies and Gentlemen! Welcome to the show!" He bowed to the impossible audience, applause welcoming his introduction. A stage light illuminated what could only be marionettes of living plastic. Wax skin, dead eyes. The young announcer turned back to the stage. "It's your job to entertain the lovely audience, they came all this way just for you, after all," he called through an audible grin. "Each of you will find that there is some obstacle you must overcome. When I say so, you will have fifteen minutes to complete your task. If you do not succeed before then, you will die." The boy sat, nonchalant, "Good luck!"