A/N: And I present to you: The Climax! This continues through this chapter, and through the next chapter as well. So, I suppose it's a pretty long climax. Let me know what you think.

The effect was instantaneous. The Doctor didn't even have any time to react. He simply fell down, folding up like a cherry-picker. Breathing hard, Russ ran up and felt the Time Lord's pulse.

Nothing.

Russ sat down heavily by one of the walls and tried to stop hyperventilating. This was silly. Everything was going according to plan. Why was he panting so?

He took several deep breaths and swallowed hard. He shut his eyes tightly and opened them again.

Sorry, I just never killed anyone before, he thought.

Quickly, the plan can still succeed. Go now and place his body into the Harness. The subject's psychic history maintained the connection within his body. The tissue does not need to be living: the connection may still be strong enough.

But, what if it isn't?

Best not to think of that.

You've fulfilled both your obligations. Once you put that body into the Harness, you're free.

Quickly, before the connection fades.

Russ sat and looked at his hands. He wanted to get up, wanted to get this whole sordid business over with, but had that feeling one gets when one hasn't the energy to move. Something occurred to him.

Which thoughts are mine?

He sighed. That's stupid. Why are you thinking this? You just thought that you could think 'Hello' and something would answer back? This is your own mind we're talking about.

Besides, you're nearly done! Then, no more worrying and looking over your shoulder every second. No more running and trying to second guess yourself. No more speed-chess. Once you open the Lock, you can…

You can die.

Russ blinked. It was true, wasn't it? That was what he wanted more than anything.

I don't want to kill myself. But, I'm just so tired, so tired…

He really was tired. He wanted to fall asleep as he sat there, fall asleep and never wake up.

You haven't slept in forty years. And it hurts, doesn't it.

You don't have to kill yourself. Just disable the age inhibitors they installed, and live out the rest of your life, the way you should have forty years ago. But first, finish this business, and be done with everything.

Russ's eyes drooped, but he couldn't make himself drop off. He'd heard some humans could do this, could fall asleep anywhere, but he required low temperatures, low temperatures the traitorous implant near his spine prohibited.

Bedtime stories

The memory stung. Russ didn't want to remember, didn't want to think about it, but before he could stop himself -

Bedtime stories, short tales about the things that lurked in the night, and terrors until he wanted to hide curled in a burrow somewhere, and never come out. But, always through it, there was hope. There was the god his big, strong dad had travelled with, the one that fought monsters and quelled nightmares with his shining box and his little device – not a weapon of war but a tool, an instrument, a forger of peace. The god that had fallen from the sky. Time and time again, they'd succeeded against things that little Russ had never thought they'd escape, much less defeat. And Russ's dad would come home as often as he could, to tell about his newest adventures. But then…

Stop it. Don't think about that. It hurts too much.

But, the memories flooded through like an avalanche, like the waters behind a great dam that had finally begun to crack.

But then, one day he didn't come home-

Stop that!

-and there had been an explosion of lightning-

No!

-and all that was left was a great lake of glass in the woods. Sand gets everywhere. Eventually, the water went away, and the forest died, and even the glass disappeared beneath the sands. The desert covered everything.

Do not dare disobey me!

The desert always covers everything, and in the end, there was nobody to remember, not even me because I never knew what happened, really happened, in the end to my father, and that's why I say NO, I will not put the Doctor in the harness.

But what use is he to you now, dead?

That brought Russ up short. He stared at the body before him. His fingers flexed without his realizing it.

I've killed someone. I've killed the Doctor, the Helper.

There's no hope, no help coming now.

Russ felt the colour drain from his face. He'd just killed someone. No, more than that. He'd just killed the one person he needed above all else, the only person who could help him. He couldn't even move.

And yet, he did. Slowly, haltingly, his legs shifted and his arms pushed himself up, up, off the floor, against the wall, scraping up it like some great, injured beast.

No! Get out of my head!

But now, the voice was smooth, like a snake's tongue, and the feeling it left as it slthered through his head was unpleasantly cold.

I have control now. The Portal must open.

He was walking now, slowly at first, but with more and more confidence. He reached down, and, with more strength than he thought he ever possessed in his body, hefted the larger man onto his shoulder. Russ's muscles screamed in protest.

What was your plan, then, little one? You wished to defy me? And, perhaps, you wanted your precious Doctor to save you? To realize what was going on? Do you not realize that even many of your ideas were my own? I have defeated you, and I will return. We will return. You cannot stop us.

Russ's mind was too filled with pain to come up with anything coherent. He only watched in terror as his arms disobeyed his commands and strapped the Doctor's limp body into a harness, and tightened all the straps. Then, he went over to the main controls and-

-and nearly got motor control back. His hand shook terribly, and sweat beaded itself on his forehead. Both sides struggled for dominance. He bit his tongue, hoping to connect to the feeling and thus strengthen his connection to his own body. It seemed an eternity that he stood there, shaking.

His hand moved slowly over to the controls, and Russ slammed it with all the strength in his body as he wrestled psychically for control of his body.

The fingers clenched into a fist, and his hand moved back toward him.

Then, abruptly, the battle was over. Russ took a deep breath, and smiled in not an altogether nice way. He took a quick look at the palm of his hand. Deep purple bruises had already formed on the palm. He wiped his hand on his shirt. Then, he worked the controls. He glanced upwards with his jet black eyes, and let them rest for a moment on the spot the Doctor had occupied moments before.

"Damn!" the thing-that-was-not-Russ roared in a deeper, more resonant voice, and pounded the console before him.