Commander John Taylor went mad.

With every passing day, he'd been getting worse. Everyone knew it was happening. It had been happening for a long time. Attacking, abusing and even killing his own men on a frequent basis. Giving a psychopath like Bart Platter a job, and allowing him to have his wicked way with many of the troops, and nearly the Doctor herself. Yes. It had been a long time coming. A slow, painful degeneration from a good soldier, a good man even, into something hideous.

It was a long and painful process for sure. But when he finally snapped, when he finally reached the point of no return, when he was lost irreversibly, it happened rather quickly. It happened about two weeks after Bart Platter met his end...

UNIT Safehouse MX9 (The Cesspit), 2063

The Tardis materialized with a sluggish rasping sound, appearing in the tennis courtyards of the Cesspit. There were soldiers there. Lots of soldiers. Looked like the entire base had evacuated. All aside from the man in charge. And all the officers whom he'd just killed.

"Where is he?" Tricky demanded. "What's happened?"

"I dunno," a familiar soldier said, running over to the two women. He seemed close to tears. "I'm Corporal Unwin. I dunno what happened..."

They knew who had was, of course. That poor, helpless new guy who they'd caught Taylor torturing once upon a time. He'd grown up. He'd been promoted too.

"Calm down," the Thirtieth Doctor mumbled, placing a firm hand on the man's shoulder. "Tell."

As he spoke, Tricky translated. "Like I said, I dunno...we were just eating...it was dinner service, the canteen was packed. Then he just burst in! The Commander! Started firing from the hip, looking like a lunatic. Most of us got out, but..."

Jason Unwin started weeping. The Doctor snapped her fingers impatiently at him. "Carry on!" She demanded. She'd been utterly devoid of any kindness since her encounter with Bart Platter. She was always angry now. There was always a deep pit of hurt in her chest. She was angry at him, for what he did. She was angry at herself, for what she did. And she was angry at everyone else for simply being there...

Unwin and Tricky glared at her. But he took a deep breath and continued regardless. "Not just that...he opened the cells! Don't you know what we had in there?"

Tricky nodded. "That's why we came back as soon as you called. Have you really no idea what set him off?"

The soldier shrugged. "Only that the police were here earlier...the military police."

"They're here now." Tricky remarked, nodding across the courtyard. A convoy of armored cars and soldiers stood, dressed in different gear to the UNIT soldiers. "Did they maybe try and get him? Did someone report him?"

Unwin shrugged. "I don't know!" He repeated.

"Right," Tricky grunted, wheeling round to talk to the Doctor. But the Doctor wasn't there. She was already sprinting towards the old reception entrance of the cesspit. "Oi!" Tricky exclaimed uselessly, staring after her. "Get back here!"

But it was too late. The Doctor was in...

No sooner had she walked in, a grating, electronic voice ripped through the old school. Though the Doctor couldn't hear it, she knew it was there. Oh yes...they always knew when someone was close. Usually, anyway...

"Lifeform detected!" The voice rang throughout the building. The Doctor pulled out her sonic screwdriver. It would vibrate when it was pointing in the Dalek's direction, and she'd know to turn back. Oh yeah, she'd deal with that in due course. But she had to get to Taylor. Whatever she thought of him, she'd had enough of death and destruction now. She'd had enough of it all. She was going to find him, and get him out safely. Then the army police could do with him whatever they wished. But that wasn't her business.

"Taylor!" She called, her deaf voice thundering down the halls. "Give it up! Don't do this anymore!"

If there was a reply (which there wasn't) she didn't hear it. She took off down the hallway to the left, heading for the staircase. She knew where he likely was - the office. She further knew that she'd be safe upstairs. This was an old enemy, creeping about this base. Literally - it was one of the oldest models of Dalek. Silver, with blue spheres. Couldn't fly. It had come here to assess the Earth, to see if it was ripe for invasion. But the Doctor destroyed the teleport, and the main Dalek fleet never heard from the sentry again. Protocol was, in those circumstances, to shelve the invasion plans for a hundred years, or thereabouts. Which means the Dalek invasion of Earth would go ahead in about...ooh, I dunno... say 2163? 2164? Something like that.

And it did. But she needn't worry about that. She'd already halted that invasion. Such a long time ago...

The Doctor crept down the hallway, walking silently in her jester shoes...

John Taylor cradled his pistol in one hand, his whiskey bottle in the other. He was covered in blood. He brought the bottle to his lips, his hand shaking uncontrollably. He'd shut himself off. As he sat there, in his leather seat in his smart little office, he pretended he was still Commander. John Taylor of the Unified Intelligence Task Force. He pretended he still had men, loyal men who'd do whatever he asked. He pretended that this was a normal day in the life of Commander Taylor. He even had some paperwork sitting on the desk in front of him. He dropped his whiskey, picked up a pen and began working, ignoring the recognizable sound of the Doctor's voice, calling his name. He also ignored the mass of armed soldiers just outside, all of them clamoring for his arrest or execution.

He was working on an acquisition form. UNIT was looking to take on an old steel mill as a new base. He held his pen over the paper, frowning and rubbing his chin. Hmm...estimated date of acquisition...he didn't quite know. He should really call UNIT HQ in Tower Bridge, but they wouldn't speak to him anymore. So, sighing, he scribbled down November of the next year. Nov 2064, he scrawled, popping a question mark next to the 4. He nodded, and finished with the paperwork. He looked forward to the move that he'd never be part of. He rolled backwards on his office chair, and opened the top drawer of his filing cabinet. He placed the paperwork neatly inside, so that the Prime Minister, who'd never read it, could be sent it and give her approval for the move. He couldn't wait to get out of the cesspit.

He shut the drawer of his filing cabinet. The top drawer was the only one he actually used for work. In the second was his ice gun, a fascinating weapon he'd stolen from a UFO crash site a few years back. In the bottom and final one, was his own personal collection of videocasts. He wasn't too bothered about his ice gun being discovered, though inevitably it might get him into a bit of trouble (which he one-hundred percent wasn't in now, thank you very much), but he didn't like the idea of someone finding his videocasts.

He shuddered to think what would happen...well, he knew it - the army police would turn up and arrest him. Like they had done today, when he'd accidentally neglected to lock it. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Taylor screwed up his face and hid it in his hands. Then, he took another huge gulp of whiskey, wincing at the burning sensation.

Then he remembered how that hadn't happened today. Today was a normal day! He'd just finished with that bloody acquisition order, after letting his sit in the cabinet for days on end. What now? Might he inspect the armory briefly? Ensure they were running a tight ship down there? Yeah...but then, no. There was a Dalek prowling around somewhere.

It wasn't quite a normal day... John Taylor had to accept that. But not yet...wasn't a man allowed to dream for a little longer?

"No!" the Doctor moaned, reaching the foot of the stairs. The Dalek was trundling towards her from a wide room filled with lockers. She saw it's lights flash. If it had said "exterminate", she'd have been able to tell by the way in which it's dome lights flashed. And then of course, she'd be killed. But it didn't say "exterminate" at all. The lights flashed on and off for about four seconds...but what on Earth had it said to her? How could she tell? She had no means of understanding a Dalek!

She thought she might as well try telling it so..."Deaf," she said nervously, pointing to her ears.

The Dalek obviously understood what she meant. They are clever little scumbags, after all. But evidently it didn't care. It spoke again to her. The Doctor shrugged helplessly, panicking now...she was going to die, surely? If she was no use to it?

The Dalek was, in reality, instructing her to take it to a lift. It wanted to kill her, for sure. But it also knew that Taylor was upstairs somewhere. It wanted him too. These Daleks of old, the Doctor knew, were not quite as aggressive as the breeds which came later. Still utterly dangerous, of course. Utterly evil. But just that tiny bit less likely to kill for no reason. It helped, of course, that this one originated from a point in time before the Daleks were aware of the Doctor.

But of course, the Doctor had no idea what it wanted! It was becoming angry now. She saw the dome lights flash a familiar pattern now. She gulped. Exterminate.

She shut her eyes and prepared for the end. She had a good fifty percent chance of regenerating, she thought...well...forty percent...or less?

But there was no pain. Instead, she heard a little "phut" noise, and felt a blast of heat singe her face slightly. She opened her eyes cautiously. The Dalek had been torn apart by some sort of high explosive. It sat there in flames, debris and scraps of metal all over the floor. The rancid, meaty stench of the creature inside filled the room, making her gag. There was thick green goo splattered here and there.

The Doctor turned around. There was Tricky, and the guy from before - Unwin. They'd saved her. Under his rifle was a grenade launcher, still smoking.

The Doctor nodded. "Thanks," she said. "Upstairs."

Before either of them could say anything, she raced up the stairs, two at a time.

John Taylor cradled his pistol thoughtfully. He recognized that this nice, normal day at work would have to end soon. That ear-splitting explosion downstairs couldn't be good news, could it? What then? Would be go quietly? Well, did he really fancy prison? No - he didn't think so. But he didn't much fancy killing himself either. He'd shot up the canteen earlier, and he'd seen a lot of the men and women writhe in pain before they died, as his bullets cut into them. He reckoned it would hurt. Even a headshot would hurt for a nanosecond...and then he'd be dead! Scary.

He was extraordinary as a fighter. He had no doubts regarding his skills as a marksman, as a soldier. Could he shoot his way to safety? Well, no...probably not. But should he try? Go down fighting, when this nice, normal day at work finally had to be given up on?

Maybe so...Taylor rose to his feet, cocking his pistol. This was the only way - out in a blaze of glory...

But then the Doctor, Tricky and Corporal Unwin rushed in...

The Doctor skidded into Taylor's office. A hideous sight met her eyes. Taylor was covered in blood. His skin was pale and clammy, his uniform askew. He cradled a huge bottle of whiskey in his left hand, a gun in the right.

Corperal Unwin lifted his rifle at once, pointing it at his commander.

"Stand down, sir," Unwin muttered quietly, "don't be the bad guy anymore...you don't have to be the bad guy. Stand down."

Tricky telepathically sent the Doctor all of the conversation.

Taylor raised his eyebrows. "Hi," he said miserably, "hi Doctor...it's all gone wrong."

The Doctor scoffed and furiously signed something to him.

"She says you're a murderer and a coward," Tricky said, not meeting Taylor's eyes.

Taylor shrugged. "And I think she's probably right...by the way, did you kill Bart? Bart Platter? Did you kill him?"

Tricky transmitted the question to the Doctor, who began signing again.

"Yes, I did," Tricky translated, "sort of. And maybe I was wrong. But I'm not killing you, Taylor. I'm not having it. Not anymore. Your coming with us. Like the Corporal says - you don't have to be bad anymore. If you don't want."

"Your ill, sir," Unwin said sincerely, "they'll take that into account. They will. But you have to come with me."

Taylor shrugged. "What if I say no?"

Unwin didn't hesitate. "Then I have to shoot you. Commander Taylor, I will kill you. But I don't wanna do that, sir. Whatever you've done...I don't wanna kill anyone. Not when it comes down to it...please sir. Will you come? Do the right thing?"

But then Taylor raised his gun. Not towards the Doctor, Tricky or Unwin. He pressed it into the side of his head.

"All your fine words, Doc," Taylor said, breathing heavily, "all your bloody sentiment...tell me this - will you save me? Will you stop me now?"

The Doctor heard the words through Tricky, and looked at Taylor helplessly...

Taylor laughed coldly. "No. No, I thought not. Hypocrite."

The three closed their eyes just as Taylor fired, sending his brains splattering over the wall of the office.

An hour later, the Doctor and Tricky stood by Taylor's gravestone. They'd travelled ahead. They hadn't attended his funeral (a quiet, private affair owing to the nature of the man being buried). The Doctor was holding the ice gun she'd found in Taylor's cabinet. Unwin had insisted they scour the room quickly for any explosives...nobody would put it past Taylor to rig the room as a final farewell to those responsible for ruining his little world.

They'd checked the cabinet first, moving very cautiously. The top one contained just paperwork. The other two were locked. The Doctor used her sonic screwdriver to open the second one, where she'd found the ice gun. She took it without quite knowing why...as if she knew it might come in useful someday.

In the third drawer, they'd found the videocasts. The Doctor took one look, and then left them where they lay. "No better than Platter," she said coldly, sweeping from the office, and from the cesspit, for the final time, giving the dead Dalek a good kick as she passed.

Now she and Tricky looked down at the slab of stone. Taylor's full name, date of birth and date of death were engraved on it. The cemetery was full of such stones. Taylor's sat at the far end. He had a line of seven graves to his left, but only one to his right - that belonged to a UNIT officer who had died in combat shortly after that day at the cesspit. More would come soon enough.

They always did. Everyone died, and the Doctor was sick of it! She'd killed Bart Platter! She allowed his death, so she killed him. The Doctor saved people! Why hadn't she? Why hadn't she just held her temper and seen to it that Platter was arrested? Why?

He was probably one of the most disgusting humans she'd met. It wasn't his fetishes which made her say that - to each their own, providing you don't harm anyone else. It was the way he so callously thought himself allowed to do whatever he pleased, to whomever he pleased. Well she'd shown him! But she wasn't meant to show him! That wasn't who the Doctor should be! And it hadn't made a jot of difference! All the joy was gone. And now, here lay Taylor. Poor, mad Taylor, who asked her to save him, like the Doctor does...only she couldn't. She couldn't be the Doctor anymore...what's more, the Tardis was old. So, so old. She needed a rest halfway through journey's most of the time. They had to literally encourage her to carry on! The old girl was tired of the universe, and she wasn't the only one.

Maybe it was time..

The Doctor sighed deeply, and placed an arm around Tricky.

I'm done, Tricks. She transmitted, her eyes burning with tears.

I know. Tricky replied sadly. You've been done for a long time now, haven't you? Kept going for my sake.

The Doctor nodded. You'll stay with me though?

Tricky kissed her on the cheek. Always.

The two women hugged each other tightly.

Their next stop was New Arcadia. And there they stayed, until one day a desperate, pleading voice began to fill the Doctor's head from far away;

Will you come? Will you come? Please, Doctor! Will you come?