A/N: Warnings for this chapter and the story in general include torture, murder of OCs (skip the second scene of this chapter to avoid this), suicide mention (third scene of this chapter), abuse (nothing sexual), and pretty much everything else you would expect from the Evil Leaper Project.

"I'd thought you weren't coming," Alia said when Zoey entered the room.

"You thought nothing of the sort, darling," Zoey shot back. "You were praying that I wasn't coming back. And then, wisely, you checked yourself." She leaned in closer. "Listen to me. Listen good and well. I have invested too much in you to dispose of you now without damage to my own reputation, but you'll rot in hell before I'll let you drag me down with you."

Alia swallowed her own retort. As much as it felt like it, she knew this wasn't hell. Hell was worse. They hadn't put her through it, not yet. "Is Dr. Fletcher ready for the trial?" she asked instead.

Zoey regarded her with a cold glare. "My dear Alia, Dr. Fletcher was a fool to think that anyone was ready for his trial."

So he was dead. By his own hand, the reports would say. A tragic accident in a failed test. At least it wasn't her. Perhaps now she would be bumped to the bottom of the list, and her neck wouldn't be on the line, and she wouldn't be the next…casualty. "Is Dr. Warren taking charge, then?"

"Don't concern yourself about it."

"But—"

"I said, don't concern yourself about it." Zoey glared at her. "You know what happens when you concern yourself with things that are best left to others."

The Holding Chamber.

Last time, she hadn't bitten her tongue a second time.

She tried not to remember that week.

"You're getting too comfortable. Thames is going to take you for some hands-on experience."

"Why not you?" Alia asked before she could stop herself. Trying to cover up the bitterness in her voice, she added, "You're my partner."

"Precisely. And you're used to me. Generally, that's the idea, but we have to prepare. You'll be finding yourself in uncomfortable situations unless we can make those situations comfortable. And so we will. Preparing you for unexpected changes is simply one way of doing that." Zoey smiled, adding, "And I have other business to attend to."

Alia knew Zoey expected her to ask, and it was all she could do to suppress her thoughts. But she knew that smile of Zoey's. She couldn't push away the memory of that last time she'd seen that particular smile. She hoped that whatever Zoey had in mind didn't involve her.

Target practice. It was easiest to think about it as target practice. It was just a can lined up on a fence. Or maybe more like shooting skeet, since the target was moving. But that's all it was. A target. Just…a target. An inanimate object. No thoughts, no feelings. Not human.

"Hurry it up," Thames ordered, giving Alia a push. She stumbled a bit, regained her balance, and took aim. Fired.

She couldn't block out the howling, but she managed not to wince.

"You didn't shoot to kill," Thames said bluntly.

She had to distance herself from this. The hand that held the gun, the finger that pulled the trigger, wasn't her own. It was someone else's, someone who was trying to keep her from a similar fate, to keep her from being the bear in the cage. Alia turned to face Thames, replying blandly, "I must need more practice."

In response, Thames handed her a knife. "We'll make sure he's around long enough for you to practice then."

He was right. A quick shot to the heart would have put it out of its misery. Like a rabid dog. She'd meant to try to extend its life. All she'd caused was pain. She wasn't being merciful; she was being cruel.

She returned the gun to the table and weighed the knife in her hand. It was familiar, that weight. She'd used it before. She was getting better at using it. But…not good enough to make a death quick and painless. She would have to cause more pain before she could send it into blissful oblivion.

She grazed the side the first time, when it moved away, stumbling, staggering from one side of the pen to the other. She tried three more times, missing once, but two struck their mark. She reached for the gun again, and Thames didn't protest as she'd thought he might.

She took aim. She was shooting a magpie. A gopher, perhaps. A beaver, weasel, racoon, groundhog, pigeon— No, she wasn't shooting a pest. She was shooting a prize. Not for her but for them. A deer, then. Common enough, but still a prize.

It was a clean shot.

"Not bad," Thames admitted. "You're shaping up. You might get it on your first shot next time."

She hoped there wouldn't be a next time but knew there likely would. This wasn't the first. But perhaps, next time, she wouldn't have to draw out the suffering. "Hopefully," she agreed. She replaced the gun, turning away from the pen that housed the remains.

Thames caught her arm. "Practice isn't over, sweetheart. You have to set up the body."

She was being taught the art of manipulation, both in terms of words and situation. She had to teach herself to conceal her thoughts from them—and herself. She had to act, spinning a flawless web of deception and lies. Thames wasn't one to teach her that; that was Zoey's territory. Zoey taught her most everything. Thames only stepped in now and again to unnerve her.

It still worked.

"It's often better for you to pull me back first, isn't it?" Alia responded dully. "It's more distressing to find yourself with the weapon in your hands and the body at your feet with no memory of what had happened. Isn't that your objective?"

"It depends on the circumstances."

There was no further discussion, no explanation. She shouldn't have expected one. Alia took a slow breath. She couldn't show her weakness, not if she wanted to survive. Steadying herself, she turned back to the body and walked as calmly as she could towards the wide, blank eyes of the guard she had been instructed to murder.

It had been an easier task than when she'd had to snap the neck of the puppy they'd given her to raise on her first day here, after she'd nurtured it for a few loving months.

She wasn't sure she wanted to know what that said about her.

The Doctor groaned. His head ached like it hadn't since that time on Brandor 3. Or had that happened on Palicoria? Well. Didn't matter, really. It was just as painful now. Perhaps a bit more so, seeing as he'd been outwitted by a human. Admittedly a human with a super computer on her side which had very good aim, but a human nonetheless.

The Doctor shelved his embarrassment and instead turned his attentions to inspecting his body. Eyes, two, both fully functional. One undamaged nose, a pair of excellent ears that were unfortunately picking up on an exceedingly annoying high-pitched whine—worse than having a mosquito that couldn't be swatted, let alone being anywhere near the nilikytes of Varaxas—and ten fingers and toes each, the former throbbing slightly and just a bit itchy. Slightly burnt, he remembered, but healing a good deal more quickly than they should have been, even for him. He wondered what they'd given him—and how long he'd been out.

However long it had been, it was long enough for them to secure him tightly to some sort of rack. Well, tightly in terms of its ability to reduce circulation, not in terms of him actually being secured. Still. While he'd been dodging the electrical shots sent at him by the computer, the woman had knocked him out.

He wasn't entirely sure how she'd managed that, something he wouldn't admit to anyone else. In the highly unlikely event that the topic ever came up, he intended to claim, rightly so, that his attention had been otherwise occupied. He would launch into a highly detailed explanation of what, exactly, had so consumed his attention, until whoever was asking gave up all hope of getting a straight answer and broke in to change the subject. Still, considering he had essentially been electrocuted, more than once, he was lucky that both hearts were still working.

Vaguely wondering what exactly they did with people they didn't perceive as useful and thinking that he had a rather good idea of that anyhow, the Doctor wriggled his way out of his restraints.

It took longer than he would have liked; they had a few complexities in there he hadn't seen on Earth since, oh, would've been sometime in the 1500s. Or was that 1300s? 1400s? No, earlier. Definitely earlier. It had been the twelfth century, he remembered. He'd been—

Well. It didn't matter what he'd been doing; he'd never had a chance to properly explain what he was doing there before they'd hauled him off anyhow. He was rather fortunate that Peri had had the good sense, for once, not to rush after him or he would've had to get her out, too. That would have taken much longer. Then again, perhaps she hadn't come because she hadn't known where to go.

No matter. He hadn't been gone long. It had only been, oh, maybe six hours? She'd been fine. Furious at him and no doubt worried sick but most definitely unharmed. Perhaps a bit hungry, a tad thirsty. He hadn't asked. Though, judging by her reactions to the marketplace they'd passed through earlier, probably both, if she'd gotten over her nausea.

The Doctor examined his cell. He'd been in worse. This one was clean and, in comparison to some things he'd seen in the past, exceedingly boring. It was very bright, so a bit hard on the eyes, and that annoying hum hadn't stopped, but he could stand up in it. That was probably intended so that whoever had strapped him in could stand up, but it worked well for him anyway. Still. He felt like he was trapped in a large cylinder. Perhaps he was, more or less. Those with inferior eyes would certainly have failed to notice the door outline in the wall, but he saw his way out.

Thing is, he wasn't sure if he should take it.

It all seemed a bit…easy.

He'd already proven that he was clever, and they'd already proven that they had no scruples.

Besides, they were watching him. From more than one angle. Watching and waiting. Patiently. Playing with him. Like cats with a mouse.

Fortunately, he'd met a very smart mouse once—well, several, actually—and he knew that the cats could be outwitted at their own game.

With patience. And practice. Though, a good deal of good luck never hurt.

Of course, sometimes it was more fun to play intothe trap for a bit, just so that he could get more information. The Doctor strolled over to the door and pushed. It didn't budge. Shrugging, he started feeling for the sensor, trying to find to find some way to trigger it. He frowned. "Come on," he muttered. "Not like I've never escaped without using my sonic screwdriver." Quick and appealing as that option would be, he had no amount of trust in the people here and was not about to reveal a highly sophisticated and exceedingly useful tool like his sonic screwdriver. At least, not until he had to.

"I believe you'll find, Dr. Smith, that Lothos has sealed the doors quite effectively."

The Doctor sighed. "I don't like talking to people I can't see," he warned her, recognizing the voice of the woman who'd knock—temporarily indisposed him. "And, don't get me wrong, I absolutely love games, but I've played a fair few that I don't like, all too often more than once, and I don't care to finish this one of yours."

"Oh, it's only a simple round of twenty questions."

The Doctor looked around, trying to pinpoint the speakers. "Well, you didn't come to consciousness strapped into the hot seat," he shot back.

"You're a very elaborate liar," the woman continued. "Lothos never got a clear view of your documents, but I think you know that, don't you? They may have been good enough to convince the guard, but I can assure you that you need to build a better paper trail than that to throw us off."

"So what am I here for?" the Doctor challenged. "Are you leaving me to rot for being a bit careless? Oh, that's imaginative."

A laugh. "Oh, no, darling. You're merely in there for observation." There was a pause, then, "And I must say, you are quite limber."

"Bit more than I used to be, yeah," the Doctor agreed, crossing his arms as he leaned against the rack. "Though, that was more the sort of thing I picked up off Ehrich Weiss." He paused before adding, "But, I've got to ask—what exactly do you think you can gain by keeping me here?"

"Don't you think we should start with introductions? You're being terribly impolite."

"Yeah, sorry about that. Seems to come with the face. But, fine. We'll do this properly, shall we? I'm the Doctor, and you are?"

"You can call me Zoey."

"Nice to meet you, Zoey. I'd shake your hand, but I seem to still be talking to thin air, and I don't like that."

"I'm afraid it's not a matter of likes."

"Then what is it a matter of?"

"How exactly did you find us, Doctor?"

"I have my connections," the Doctor replied shortly. "Just as you have yours."

"Oh, I expect my connections are a bit more extensive than yours."

"I wouldn't bet on it," the Doctor retorted. He uncrossed his arms and leaned farther back, looking upward. "I'm well connected, me. And I've picked up a fair bit of knowledge over the years."

"You may have picked up knowledge, but you don't appear to have picked up any sense."

The Doctor rolled his eyes. "You," he stated firmly, "are just worried, yes? Because I don't show up in your system. I don't show up in any systems. No companies, no affiliations. Oh, but that's because it's a fake name, isn't it? So you run a description. But you can't find me. And, well, someone who can identify a handlink from a few rough sketches can't be no one, can he? So you—"

"What did you say?" Zoey interrupted.

"What? Where about?" The Doctor thought for a moment. "Well, you'd figured John Smith wasn't really my name, hadn't you?"

"About the handlink."

"Well, why not be more specific if you knew what you wanted me to repeat?" The Doctor shrugged. "Just that. It's a handlink. All I said."

"And what is a handlink?"

"Well, I expect you know that." The Doctor grinned. "You're a bit too far along not to know that. And you don't need me telling you things you already know, do you? Shouldn't think so."

"I don't like playing games, Doctor."

"Funny," the Doctor returned lightly. "You seemed to like this one earlier. Though, lately, you seem to be asking all the questions, so I expect it's my turn now. How long have you been doing this? Because it looks like it's been a while. A rather long while. For…some of you. Because the idea was there, and you had it right in front of you, an example of success, but you didn't know how to realize that idea, did you? And it's been a long road, all that dodgy funding, murdering to keep your secrets, covering up your…mistakes. Because you can't get it quite right, can you? And you don't want to throw your prizes in until it is right, because they're too valuable, aren't they, your little test subjects? So you just keep right on training them, don't you? Like lab rats. Only, when they push the lever, they don't always get rewarded, do they? But they keep pushing it, because they think there's a chance, because there used to be a chance, once. Only now there's not, and they're not ready to think that maybe things have changed, because there's always that elusive chance. A chance for freedom. For redemption."

The Doctor paused, surprised she'd let him get that far without interrupting. Then again, information was what she wanted. He put on a contemplative expression and continued, "Though, in your case, might be a bit more for retribution. Because you've been here since the start, haven't you? And now you're preparing someone else, teaching them about that awful world out there and what they have to do if they want to survive in it. That's your philosophy, isn't it, when it comes right down to it? Kill or be killed?"

"I've no reason to argue with that."

The voice was stronger now, piped through differently. The Doctor turned to the door in time to see it slide open. He frowned when he saw the gun in Zoey's hand. "Oh, that's really not necessary."

"I could kill you."

"Yes, you could, but you won't."

Zoey smirked. "Oh, don't think you can talk me out of it, darling, because you can't."

"Oh, I'm sure you're perfectly capable of pulling that trigger and not blinking an eye," the Doctor allowed, rather amiably. "But you won't kill me because I'm too useful. I've got knowledge, and you can use that knowledge. That's why you locked me up here in the first place. To observe me, to see how I act, to interrogate me and see how much I know. And you've determined that I know quite a lot. More than you're comfortable with, and quite likely more than I'm letting on. And you don't like that. So you want to get rid of me. Only, you can't. Because you need me. You need to get this experiment of yours up and running and functioning before you lose too many others, because you can only cover up so many deaths before people start asking questions."

"Perhaps," Zoey agreed. "But if I was going to kill you, I wouldn't want the fun over so quickly." She studied him for a moment, smiling slightly. "I hate to mar that pretty body of yours, but I think you could use a little incentive with helping us." She turned the gun towards his right shoulder—but with the angle of the weapon, it was still a bit too close to his right heart for comfort.

"Ah, ah, just…just a tic, just a tiny, little tic, just one, I promise, okay?" the Doctor interrupted, holding up both hands. He spared a second's silence before going on. "You never asked me why I came here. Let me tell you. I came to help. It doesn't matter if you believe me or not, but that's why I came here. To help you." He saw her eyes narrow and hastily added, "It's what I do. And…let's just say that I expect something to come out of this little experiment of yours that's to my liking."

That was true enough, though she'd never guess what his true motives; she didn't know enough for that. He could stop the splintering and keep the timeline intact, painful as it was, with all the things this particular project would do. "But," he continued, "I like having a bit of assurance, and I can get it by helping you figure out the handlink. I wasn't lying when I said I was a scientific adviser." At one point, more than a few lifetimes ago, but still not a lie. Especially since he'd never resigned. He grinned. "Even if I were lying about that ever being an official position, it wouldn't really matter as long as I know my stuff, right?"

Zoey didn't reply, but her aim didn't waver, either. They kept their positions like a tableau until someone else broke the silence, the footsteps echoing up the hallway before their owner appeared. "Zoey, Lothos is—" The outrageously dressed man stopped. "Zoey, sweetheart, I thought we'd agreed to drag this out."

"We'd agreed that he was mine," Zoey corrected coldly.

"And you're letting him taunt you into having a quick death?" The man laughed. "You must be slipping."

Zoey finally lowered the gun and glared at the man. The Doctor allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He didn't care to explain regenerating to them, and, frankly, he wasn't ready to die. That would complicate things a bit too much. "You shouldn't be interrupting, Thames," she snapped.

"Oh, don't get touchy," Thames shot back. "You don't think he has potential, fine. We'll move him. If you do, great. We'll implant the chip and go."

"Chip?" the Doctor repeated, torn between disbelief and disgust.

Thames looked at him and the Doctor bit his tongue. "Monitor," he said simply. "Apparently you didn't do as much research on us as you'd thought."

Zoey rolled her eyes and shoved the gun into Thames's hands. "You deal with that, then. I'm going to check on Alia."

"Wait, hold on, I'm not getting any chip…." The Doctor trailed off as Thames pointed the gun at him. He swallowed. "It's going to be a bit difficult trying to talk my way out of this, isn't it?"

Thames gestured to the door with his free hand. "Just move. I'll tell you where to go."

The Doctor sighed. It seemed he'd be using the sonic screwdriver before long anyhow. He'd have to scramble the readings on the chip until he could take it out. He knew he couldn't stop them from implanting the thing without really raising their suspicions, but he rather hoped they wouldn't have to shave his head to do it. He was rather fond of his hair, now that he had some again.

The entire experience wasn't as unpleasant as he'd expected. A simple tracking monitor inserted just under the skin, in his case on the back of his right hand, monitoring his whereabouts and simple things like body temperature, heart rate, pulse, and whatnot. It was an interesting little thing, powered electromechanically via muscle movement, but by no means the limit of their capabilities. At least, not if he were to judge by some of the medical equipment they had, no matter what they tried to conceal it as.

Still, advanced technology or not, they couldn't top his sonic screwdriver.

By the time Thames had finished activating the chip and getting a baseline for his readings, the Doctor had scrambled them to appear normal. Well, they'd return to normal. He'd heightened the readings, just a bit, to give the impression of unease. That's what they wanted, after all. He saw no reason not to give it to them.

"This looks temporary," the Doctor said at length, tired of the silence. Not that it was really silent. All that machinery beeping and humming away made sure there was no absence of sound. Good to cover up the whine of his sonic screwdriver but not so good in terms of being easy on the ears. Still, it was easy enough to ignore, at least for now.

"It is," Thames replied shortly. "Depending on your actions, we decide whether or not you should be upgraded."

"Upgraded?" the Doctor repeated, silently cursing how he excelled at word association.

"Or downgraded. Like I said, it depends on your actions." Thames hit another few keys on the computer.

"By downgraded, you wouldn't happen to mean exterminated, would you?" the Doctor asked, trying to keep his voice light.

Thames let out a sharp bark of laughter. "No use hoping for a quick death," he said instead, turning to look at the Doctor. "You won't get it. Not unless you commit suicide." Jerking his thumb behind him, he added, "But you wouldn't succeed, because we'd know the minute you tried anything."

"Terrance Fletcher managed it. Least, I gather he did. Because you were looking over some of his work, weren't you, in your main control room? I saw it on one of the periphery screens. Any man who knows a thing about quantum physics would have spotted that. It was a deliberate miscalculation." The Doctor paused, watching Thames's face. "Oh, Lothos would have caught it, I'm sure, if you'd run it by him," the Doctor added, answering the unasked question. "Only, you didn't. And neither did he. Or Zoey."

"Lothos knows everything that's entered into the systems!"

"Does he, then? Suppose he would." The Doctor fingered the tender area of skin beneath which the implanted chip lay. "Funny, then, isn't it, that he let it pass anyway? Makes you think he wanted Dr. Fletcher gone. Out with the old, in with the new."

"Are you implying," Thames started stiffly, "that he knew you were coming?"

The Doctor smiled. "Oh, I doubt that. Not even Lothos, advanced as he is, would have been able to predict that. But it makes you wonder, doesn't it, how much he engineers around here? How much of what you actually do is because he's playing you like chess pieces?"

"If you don't shut your mouth," Thames retorted, "I'll shut it for you."

The Doctor was tempted to joke, making a comment or two about empty threats, but he knew, now, that it was better to keep silent. Plastering the most unnerving smile he could muster onto his face, he did just that.