A/N: Hihi! Thank you so much to everyone who has read and reviewed my story, in particular Dengirl, Imitierte Identitat and Dreamcatcher49, who is so lovely and has reviewed every single chapter. Thank you for sticking with my fic, so I really hope you enjoy this next instalment. It gets pretty dark, I didn't mean it to, but it was. So if you're uncomfortable with violence or at the beginning a fairly dark Doctor, please be warned. Doctor Who's still not mine. Rats.

The Oncoming Storm stared contemptuously at the quivering man before him. How dare he be scared, when he had send hundreds, no, thousands, to far more terrifying fates? He curled his hands into a fist. The man against the wall wheezed, struggling weakly against his iron grip. Without warning the Doctor drew back his hand and punched the man hard, in the face. He felt nothing but a cold satisfaction as the man cried out, blood dripping slowly down his face.

"Please," the guarded whimpered.

The Oncoming Storm suddenly grabbed the man's arm, forcing him down on his knees. He slowly began to twist, a grim satisfaction building in his gut. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.

"She was nineteen years old. She had seen things you could never dream of. She was a wanderer, an adventurer, just passing through. The whole of the universe, and your petty (twist), cruel (twist) society decided it would be fun to play games with her. Trust me," he smirked. "It's the last mistake you'll ever make." He pushed down hard and the man's arm splintered, causing him to shriek with pain. When he turned to face the Oncoming Storm though, his agony was mixed with confusion.
"I don't understand. Zhenya lived in the village her whole life." With a roar, the Oncoming Storm grabbed the man by his lapels and shoved him hard against the concrete wall.
"Her name was Rose!" he shouted. The man shook his head and moaned pitifully.

"No it wasn't. It was Zhenya. We were friends… a long time ago. Before I left to fight in the revolution. I would know her anywhere." The man let out a low cry as he slipped to the floor, falling easily into a sea of darkness. The Doctor stood staring where the man had been, his nerveless hands still extended out in front of him. He watched the red blood that ran slowly through his knuckles, then dropped his gaze to the senseless man on the floor.

"Oh Rassilon," he muttered. "Oh Rassilon, I'm so, so sorry."

Rose and the other prisoners stared in disbelief at the scene in front of them. The timber, which they had cut the previous day, was gone, along with several wooden buildings, the ash dissipating quickly in the stiff wind. The villagers were looking around in wonder, many of them shivering. The fire had been extinguished some time ago, but the officers were searching the barracks, looking for the culprits, and they were all forced to stand outside in the snow. Rose realised that two of those buildings had been sleeping quarters, and wondered desperately for a moment if the inhabitants had made it out alright. Her thoughts were cut off as a rifle butt cracked hard across her cheek, knocking her backwards. She looked up, meeting the black eyes of the officer from the train station.

"You traitor," he snarled.

"What?" Rose gasped. "I didn't do anything. I was asleep!" The man kicked at her.
"Liar!" He uncurled his fist. In his hand he held a small box of matches. Bending down until his eyes were inches from her own, he held the box beneath her nose.

"These," he hissed. "Were found in your bed." Rose stared at him slackjawed, glancing between his dark glare and the unfamiliar box in his hand. He grabbed her by the collar and yanked her to her feet, his voice rising to a hysterical shout. "Saboteur! Trotskyite! I should have killed you when I had the chance. No matter." He withdrew his pistol and jerked it towards an empty patch of land, pushing Rose in the same direction. "Better late than never."
***

The Doctor walked away from the station. He was shaking slightly, but it had nothing to do with the cold. He had repaired the man's injuries as best he could, but a great fire of guilt still burnt at his chest as he remembered the crack of bone and anguished cries of the naïve little ape who he had hurt without feeling. What sort of hero was he? As another wave of regret reared its head, the Doctor squeezed his eyes shut, and quickened his pace. He would have time for self- recrimination later, and he had doubt that the man would join so many other ghosts that haunted his dreams and waking hours. Right now though, he had a Rose to find.

Rose stood in the snow, a tiny figure in a barren landscape. The cold bit through her thin jacket, leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. The villagers watched her, with expressions ranging from pity to admiration. She wanted to scream at the officer, tell him it hadn't been her, but she knew it was useless. His eyes were too clouded with anger to see reason, and his pistol was already primed. She squeezed her eyes shut. She was going to die, alone and cold without anyone to hold her hand. Rose tried to imagine the Doctor, to make her last thoughts of him so she would not feel so alone. But the fear gnawed through her happy memories, and she was left more miserable and lonely than ever. She opened her eyes again, and looked bravely down the barrel of the gun. The man tightened his fingers.
"For Stalin." The villagers' breath caught in their throats, and even the wind seemed to pause, filling the space with a deafening silence.

"Stop." The voice was small, but steady. Rose looked over in shock. Darya stood just behind the officer, arms wrapped around her stomach. "It wasn't her. It was the other blond girl." She lifted a shaking finger and pointed straight at Alyona. The young girl folded her arms.
"The matches were found in her bed. You need no more proof than this."

"You put them there." Rose's voice shook, from fear or anger she couldn't quite tell. She stepped forward. "You framed me! You tried to get me killed!" Alyona wavered slightly, then stiffened, tucking her arms more tightly around herself.
"Liar."

"I felt it! Something brushed past me, and I thought it was the wind. But it was you, wasn't it? You were putting the matches in my bed." The officer had been watching this exchange with interest. He walked over to Rose, pulling another pistol from his belt.

"You have been wrongly accused," he said with a smile that sent shivers down Rose's spine. "I don't think you would lie, you have already shown remarkable tendencies to support what you believe is right." He said the last word in a tone one might use to discuss a particularly nasty bug. "So, I will give you your revenge." He pressed the pistol into her hand. "Shoot her." Rose's eyes widened.

"What?" He shrugged.
"You heard me. She would have seen you shot without a second thought. Now do it."
"No!"

"Why not?"

"Well, I.. I can't." Rose stammered. "I mean, I won't! I don't care what she did, she doesn't deserve it."
"I'm afraid it wasn't a choice." The officer smirked. "You can either execute her, or," he raised his other pistol. "Admit your own guilt, and accept the consequences." He touched the barrel lightly to her head.

"Now my dear, what'll it be?"

A/N: I have just realised how many blond girls I have in my story! Sorry about that! I don't have an obsession with them or anything, but I needed a Rose lookalike and Alyona just sort of happened. Also, I'm not hugely pleased with the writing in this chapter, but I wanted to get his bit done with, so tell me what you think? I really really hope you liked it! It would be so lovely if you could review, but thank you just for reading.