The Doctor had been frankly surprised when he woke up. Russ was over by the computer console, locked in some sort of mental battle. The Doctor really wanted to hit himself on the head. He should have guessed there was something else behind Russ's strange little plan.
Actually, he did guess, or, at least, he had suspected, but he hadn't acted on it until it was too late.
He reached up and yanked on the little buckles holding him fast. He wasn't sure how much more time Russ could buy him – it looked as if his bones would break from the strain.
His fingers weren't very nimble, but he still managed to undo a few of the straps and, sensing the mental battle was nearly at an end, he slithered ungracefully out of the harness and flopped over behind some equipment. While there, he pulled the little staser dart out of his chest and tasted the end.
Acetylsalicylic acid, but in tiny amounts. Not nearly enough to kill him. Interesting.
"Damn" roared the thing inside Russ's body. There was a bit of a clinking sound.
Staser clip. He's reloading the nasty stuff, thought the Doctor. I'd better move.
He flexed his fingers, first one hand, then the other. They weren't very responsive, but he was getting better. He absolutely couldn't feel anything below his knees, and everything above there to his thighs was pins and needles, so he decided not to risk standing up or crawling yet.
He pulled his body painfully toward the portal, and dragged his legs so that he was quite hidden. Nearby, he heard the small and unmistakable sound of a small needle hitting the wall. There were two more small noises. Three, the Doctor thought, then, What's the point of counting shots? How do I know how many he has in a clip?
He pulled one of the bolts out of the wall and sniffed it. Yes, this was the nasty stuff. These were 100% genuine staser bolts.
The Doctor thought a moment, and pulled a cricket ball out of his pocket. He threw it toward the opposite wall. Without even checking to see where it had landed, he scooted around some cables and squeezed his legs tight against him. He could feel the pins and needles in his toes now. That was good. They really hurt, and that was bad.
He could hear the sound of Not-Russ making his way toward the ball, so the Doctor dragged himself toward the door. The drag morphed into a sort of crawl, as he realized he could use his legs to some extent now. He fumbled for his sonic screwdriver.
A cricket ball hit his elbow. A clear dart impaled it through the middle. The Doctor looked up.
Not-Russ smiled at him and licked his teeth. They were small and pointed, and his eyes were pitiless and filled with sadistic mirth.
