The Doctor looks at my reaction. I can tell he is expecting my to scream, yell or at least gasp. I do neither.
"What does that do?" I ask.
"In simple terms," The Doctor smiles, "For simple people, it extracts your soul, takes out, removes, then examines it. If you are lucky she will give it back."
"And if you're not?" I ask carefully.
The Doctors expressions sobers, "If you are not lucky," he says, "You will live your life as an empty husk, you will not love, care, you will be you, but with your personality, your hopes, your fears removed. This machine is worse than death. It is worse than The Net Men as you call them. You will live life as nothing, dull empty, incapable of empathy or emotion."
I gulp, "That sounds terrible."
The Doctor nods and turns away, "It is."
I take a long deep breath, "That sounds terrible Doctor." I say, "But when you leave you are taking me with you. I got us into this mess, and I'm at least helping us get back out of it."
The Doctor turned around and opened his mouth to protest, but I speak first.
"Lets just say we have had this argument, and I won it, right? Now go to my house, and fetch me my jeans, a t-shirt, and a sweater. Be back here in two minutes." I glare at him, "Now go."
And even though he shouldn't be smiling, I see him suppress a grin.