I should never have let myself be manipulated by the Sisterhood. Never.

Arcadia, the first time around...or was it?

Oh, how I'd like to forget that place. It used to be surrounded by fertile fields, fragrant vineyards, that bustling city. Nigh on bursting at the seams with life – but not anymore. The people there were as people are anywhere across the universe: some good, brave, honest and caring; others, not so much so. They were merchants and farmers, scientists and dreamers, mothers and children. And I turned them all to warriors, victims – the dead. So many dead.

Stars, what have I done?

It all comes back to me, whispering in the back of my consciousness. Full recollection comes at the worst of times, in dreams, or worse when I'm awake. The smells of smoke, burning flesh and dying dreams comes back, oh so clearly. Oh, so harsh. Cruelly so, since I'm the only one left who saw what happened there and survived. Worse yet, since I'm the one that deserved survival the least and I can't stop running. I just can't.

And I'm still running...

All those bright, shining faces, still full of hope and looking at me with eyes that show the depths of their belief. Perfect, spotless uniforms, still untouched by blood; boots still shined up to a mirror-like shine; straight, attentive postures not ravaged by exhaustion and defeatism; limbs still whole and strong- but for how much longer? Why, might you ask? I'll tell you, though you'll probably regret it. I do, you know – I regret so much. But here we are, we're the last line of defence, Arcadia's last stand. They're all looking at me with the misplaced faith that I can lead them to victory; that we'll all come out of this stronger, braver, having fought back the enemy.

But how can I tell them? Tell them what they'll be facing, what's coming, how they'll likely die – if they're lucky. Maybe if we're all lucky, we'll die here. Die once, and not a dozen, a hundred, a thousand times as time is cleaved into interminable eddies, rifts and loops. Tell them that if you want to believe in something, believe that your loved ones really did love you. Believe that there might just possibly be a future for those who haven't the misfortune to amongst our number, who missed the call to war. Believe that you'll be remembered for your sacrifices here. Believe that your deaths will mean something in the grand scheme of things. Something, anything, but don't believe in me. I'm the one that chose this, chose to become a warrior, and Warrior I am.

Just don't call me 'Doctor'.

Call me Death, call me the Destroyer, call me the General, but not that. Anything but that. I'm not him, not anymore. Abandon hope, all ye who enter here. I did, once I saw what I had done; what I had become, what I'd caused. No, I hadn't the right, but I do hold the blame for much of this debacle. And somehow, I must end this. End it – before there's nothing else left, nothing but death and destruction. There's been enough of that already; bodies left in veritable windrows across the stars, worlds burning, forming anew, and ceasing to exist- all at the same moment in time. Time being rewritten so many times it frays, falters, then collapses. No more. No. Now it's time to take up the mantle of responsibility and reason, whatever it might cost. It might cost everything – including me.

I hope it does – I'm running out of time, too.

One face stands out from the crowd, startling me from my recriminations, making my heart go cold. Disregarding the incredulous looks and confusion left in my wake, as I discard all decorum and protocol to stride forth. I grab his arm, ignoring his protests in a haze of rage as I pull him away from the gathered troops. Rounding on him, I pull myself to my full height, cursing this body's lack of it and the boy's father's genetics. Fourth me could've loomed over him far better than I, enhancing the appearance of authority and intimidation. "Alex, what do you think you're doing? I'm taking you back home, now."

The boy – a man in his own right by now, really, but loath was I to see him as more than what I'd remembered from far simpler times – lifted his chin, clearly unafraid. "I came to fight, Great-grandfather. I'm not leaving, not until we've seen this through."

I gaped at him, incredulous at the temerity of youth. Callow youth, so unknowing, so unbelieving of the consequences; in permanent denial of fate. I shook my head, scowling all the harder when my hair fell loose around my shoulders, the bit of string that had restrained it breaking free. One more trouble amongst the many, but I wasn't going to spare the energy for minor failings such as that, not when there was so much more at hand. It was already too late to send him back to where he'd be safe. Things were too far gone; the scouts' reports had come in, just moments before I'd stood to address the troops one last time before battle.

Pah, troops. Boys, really; cannon fodder, more like. Alex... no, it couldn't happen, it wouldn't. I wouldn't let it happen.

I turned away, hiding my face and the proud half-smile I was unable to stop from forming on my lips. I saw Susan in him. So much so, it hurt sometimes. She'd blame me for this, surely. "Ye gods, your mother is going to regenerate me for this," I muttered, turning around once I'd marshalled my features into a stern, disapproving cast. "How did you even get here?"

Alex shrugged, like it was nothing at all, like this wasn't life or death, like this wasn't war. "The Rani. Snuck in with her."

"Sneaked, boy, sneaked. At least speak of it properly, if you're going to risk your life by gleefully parading ahead into danger while ignoring the inherent risks involved," I snarked distractedly, mind more focused on what he'd so casually said.

The Rani. Things really must be that far gone, if they'd called her back. But then, why not? They had me here, playing soldiers with children; Koschei was leading the assault on the Cruciform. If they had resurrected him with the Resurrection Glove, why not reinstate Ushas? Who next, Drax, the Meddling Monk, the War Chief? Why not have all of Gallifrey's exiles and renegades leading the war efforts, so as to let them keep their hands clean as possible from this mess. Pitiful cowards.

"She's in charge of the bioweapons, to be used in the main assault," Alex so cheerfully supplied. Cheeky lad. "Overheard Uncle Brax relaying the message from the Council chambers."

Oh Romana, what have you done? Brought back the outcasts and rebels, set Braxiatel as a war advisor, let the Rani use her weapons of genocide...

"The messages should be coming through to you shortly, I'd imagine," Alex added helpfully.

Time, always time, and I for one had no hope that the sky trenches and transduction fields would hold. When the alerts came in from the sentries, for a moment time stood still. The Dalek fleet was in orbit above, battle TARDISes already engaging them. We were to stand fast, remain here as the last defenses, even as we watched the destruction begin. It was a punishment for defying orders and not preventing Davros' creations to survive that nursery; punishment for starting the war in the first place. Even as the first pieces of flaming debris that had once been the 42nd Prydonian fleet rained down around our ears, I could still hear Cass' condemnation.

What's the difference anymore...

Once the Daleks started leaving their ships, the sky trenches having fallen moments before and the city streets already overrun with fleeing civilians, the writing was on the wall. It didn't take a genius to see what was coming.

I looked to my TARDIS, standing there with an air of forbidding disapproval. She'd mostly shut off our connection since Karn, and I missed that. I missed her. She was all I had left. I'd given up my pride, my honor, my home was in ruins... but what else was there to lose? It was against the rules, but what place was there for rules when no one was going to observe them? What place was there, when our own enemies were using the same against us? They'd already released a mass of Weeping Angels on the Nestene home world, enough to erase the whole planet from existence as they harvested its potential. Now there were rumors of causal loops large enough to swallow entire worlds and systems whole, booby traps meant to snare any intrepid scouts that sought to leave Gallifrey.

But what other hope did we have, did this city have? What other chance was there to take? None. I could take this entire motley assortment of orphans, scoundrels and the otherwise innocent, and take them back. Rewind time enough to warn the War Room and prevent what was coming. Or, I could just... let it happen.

No, I told myself. I once swore an oath to myself to make things better, to try with everything I had. I couldn't just let that go, could I? Not and let the Daleks steal one more victory.

"Come on, into the TARDIS," I called, reaching for my key. "Forget what you were taught at the Academy – time can be rewritten."