"Keep your hands where I can see them. I don't trust you," Barlow sneered, his gun trained on The Doctor's chest. The Doctor stood very still, not daring to move a muscle. He did put up his hands, keeping the Cyberman part clutched, flopping awkwardly. He was not afraid of guns, but he had a respect for them. He had died by them a few times even. Not the most pleasant way to go out.
"So, your the one, eh? Not very stealthy of you showing me that your going to kill me before you actually do," The Doctor taunted. He needed to buy himself some time, try and find a way out of this. This room was long, and narrow, no room to maneuver in a fight, or even to avoid one. Can't dodge a shot if you're banging into a counter.
Barlow chuckled, walking forward a few steps. Good, close the distance. He was making it easier to get that gun out of his hand.
"No, I'm afraid not. Try again," he replied. The Doctor narrowed his gaze.
"I just watched you kill Genevieve, exactly how stupid do you think I am? And, careful how you answer that."
"Oh, I did kill that little harlot. And these two," Barlow motioned to Felicia, and Winston, "but not the others. Those were your killer's doing." He gave him the weasel smile of someone who thought they knew everything there was to know.
What he was saying was, there were two killers. He would have wondered how truthful he was, except he made it clear how much he hated Ricard. He would have claimed that one, if he would be so brazen claim the murders of the two most innocent people in the house. He seemed like the sort that took no shame in any murder he committed.
"So I was right? You locked the door behind them, after you killed them," The Doctor confirmed. Barlow snickered, stepping forward again. Keep coming. That was what he wanted.
"I was impressed with that, I'll admit. Your powers of deduction are better than Sherlock Holmes himself," Barlow complimented.
"Elementary, my dear Barlow."
"Hehe," he snorted, "you pegged that from the start. I heard them talking about leaving earlier in the night. Something about a door in here. They had no damn idea how it worked evidently, but they thought they could figure it out. So when I heard them leave, I just followed them out here and... well... you know the rest."
"And the only reason you could get out, and do that was because you killed Ricard first, because he was the only one that was supposed to be awake to see it," the Scottish Time Lord wanted to catch him in a lie.
"Good try," Barlow wasn't having any of it, "I told you I didn't kill him. No, your killer you've been hunting did him in. Oh, are you going to be surprised who it is! You're so far off the mark!" he let loose a chilling laugh. No kindness lived in it, just malicious intent. However, he had just let slip that he knew who the killer was.
"If you know who it is, then you saw it. If that's the case, why aren't you dead?" If Barlow was willing to be so talkative, he was going to pump him for all the information he could.
"The best lies are rooted in the truth, Doctor. See, I really did fall asleep when I was supposed to be awake with Ricard. When I did wake up, that thing was choking him," Barlow snorted, "not that he didn't deserve it, because, believe me, he did."
"So, as it finished it's work, it turned to me, with that gun pointed at my forehead. It walked over to me, ready to blow my head all over the walls. In a panic I asked it to explain it's primary programming. And it stopped," he smiled a kind of grim smile that came with dark resolve. This was not something the old Sergeant wanted to do, but something he felt he had to. What did that android do to him to force him to take such drastic measures? Did he think doing it's job would get him out alive? Because it wouldn't. It would just kill him when this was all over. He took another few steps toward The Doctor.
"Do you know what it told me? Who it is actually here to kill? I'll tell you, it's not Pierce, or Varrillo, or Ricard, or any of the dead people," his voice dropped into a lower tone, more angry, and menacing. "You. It's here to kill you. Not us, you. You, and that woman you came with."
A nauseated ball formed in The Doctor's stomach. Was that really what all of this was about? Did all these people die because of him? If that was true, how did know he was going to be at the party? Perhaps it intercepted the the message from Pierce.
Yet, if that was the case, why did Pierce act so strangely, as though he knew tonight would be his death? Was it truly just the musings of an old man who's time was running out, and the circumstances changed The Doctor's context? Or, did he somehow feel he was going to die.
There was always the possibility that Barlow was lying to him. Maybe he was lying about everything and he had killed all of them. Maybe this was all a mind game. Yet... something told him this wasn't. There was more at work here.
Something, or someone was pulling strings. Every robot he, and Sarah Jane met was attempting to kill them. Everywhere they went, terrible nightmares of Daleks, and Cybermen, haunted people who had never seen them. Now, suddenly, an assassin was sent here to kill him. What was going on, and who was doing it?
"See, I am alot of things, but I'm a business man at heart. I negotiate billion dollar deals over brunch, I can handle a robot. So I made my offer, that I would do the deed for it, and in return, it will let me go. You know what Doctor? It accepted," that same smile spread across his face. The Doctor could not tell if he was mearly cold, and cruel, or if he was losing his mind.
"Why kill them, then? You had no reason to! You could have just shot me, and be done with it!" The Doctor shouted. They did not need to die, not if he was the target. They were innocent in all of this.
"You think they're just going to let me walk after I kill you ,and your little friend? You know they won't," Barlow answered, "no one gets to walk away from Killcrest Manor tonight, no one but me."
"You think that, do you? Pardon my intrusion on your little dream here, but how stupid are you?" The Doctor asked, aghast, "Do you really think that this thing is going to spare you? Just let you go, after what the both of you did? You know that's not going to happen, just as well as I do. It's not going to leave any witnesses, not even the people who helped it."
Barlow did not answer right away. The gun in his hand shook a bit, only for a second, or two. He may have been a career military man, and an interplanetary arm's dealer, but killing other soldiers, and killing civilians were two different things. That was never more apparent to him, than right now.
"It... doesn't matter. I've already gone this far, there is no going back..." he replied, "I'm sorry Doctor, but your time has come." Barlow raised his gun.
As he pulled the trigger, The Doctor grabbed the old Cyberman hand by the palm, holding the appendage up like a shield in front of his face. The melting shot hit the metal, bouncing back a Barlow, the force knocking the Time Lord off his feet. He heard Barlow shout, and saw his gun go flying from his hand, the barrel melted beyond use. He saw Barlow look down at his hand.
Two of his fingers, his ring, and pinky finger, were melted off, and cauterized black. His wild eyes fell on The Doctor, who scrambled to his feet. Barlow was going to try and fight him in hand-to-hand combat. The Doctor was a master of many forms of martial arts, but most required some for of movement. This kitchen limited that. This was not going to be good.
Barlow came forward with a holler like a wild beast. The Doctor struck first, the palm of his hand colliding with Barlow's jaw as he reached him, followed with a left cross that staggered him. Barlow was not to be outmatched so simply, coming back with a heavy left hook. The Doctor ducked back, just out of range, countering with a jab that slid just passed Barlow's ear.
The soldier's uppercut came next, brutalizing The Doctor's stomach. He sucked up the blow, his palm coming back with a heavy strike to the temple. Barlow stumbled, and The Doctor went in for another, wanting disable his attacker before they damaged each other further.
But Barlow recovered faster, hitting the Time Lord with an overhand left. The heavy punch cracked across his jaw, and his knees went weak. His vision filled with spots, and he tried to blink them away.
Barlow was on him, faster than he could recover. He charged him, grabbing him around the waist, and throwing him on the floor. Barlow landed atop him, and his hands on his neck. The Doctor punched up at him, but physics were against him. His hits were weak, and Barlow's hands were strong. A mad look in his eyes, his fingers squeezed, The Doctor pawing desperately at this hands. Spots appeared in his eyes, and the edges of his vision began to go black. He fought, just to get a breath. Just one. He was going unconscious. He couldn't. He would die...
Suddenly, with a loud clang and a scream of pain, Barlow fell to the side, his hands releasing The Doctor's throat. The time traveler sputtered, and coughed as precious air flooded his lungs, his light-headedness fading.
Above him stood Sarah Jane, a metal frying pan in her hands. Drucille, and Silas were behind her.
She knelt down next to The Doctor, fear in her deep eyes. She dropped the pan, placing both hands on his cheeks, looking him in the eyes.
"Are you alright, Doctor? When I came in here, and saw him I..."
"Gave him a piece of your mind, like always," he smiled gently, "I'm fine Sarah, thank you." She had saved him again, something they often repaid to each other.
"I used non-stick too," she winked, but concern clouded her voice, "Not going to regenerate?"
"No, I think I would have already," he returned. He didn't have that feeling like he was going to explode, so he figured he was alright. He stood up, and looked over Barlow.
He knelt down beside him, placing two fingers on his neck. He felt the steady thump of his pulse.
"I didn't kill him, did I? I hit him as hard as I could." she said, worried.
"No, he's going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up though," he observed, "let's restrain him, shall we? Silas, give me your jacket."
The Doctor took his off as well, tying it around Barlows wrists behind his back, while he tied Silas' around his ankles. It wasn't ideal, nor even secure, but he was likely going to be too busy vomiting when he stood up to go anywhere. That concussion wasn't going to do him any favors.
"So... it was him? He's the one?" Silas asked.
"No, he's not. He killed Genevieve, Felicia, and Winston, but not the others," The Doctor explained. There were only two possibilities left to him, or maybe one. Silas... because it wasn't Sarah, or Drucille. But he had to play this carefully. If it was Silas, than he was doing the same math, and he would strike soon.
Yet... something did not feel right here. What Barlow said stuck in his head, and buzzed around like an angry fly.
"Oh, are you going to be surprised who it is! You're so far off the mark!" Barlow's voice echoed in his head. Was he just playing with him? Or was he really off on his conclusion.
"Poor girl," Silas sighed, kneeling over Genevieve's body, closing her eyes with his fingers "we're almost out of options here... there's only four of us... by God, Doctor... tell me it's not you." His electrical voice was defeated. The Doctor didn't answer him. He barely heard him. What could he have meant by that? It was more than a taunt... what wasn't he seeing. He had been missing something from the very beginning.
"Someone moved Pierce's body, Doctor... we couldn't find the key," Sarah Jane reported, laying comforting hand on Silas' back. That statement snapped him from his thoughts.
"What do you mean someone moved it?" The Doctor asked, suddenly frantic. That was it. That was the key.
"It's gone, his body is gone. Why would someone do that? What could that thing want with it?" Drucille asked, a single tear rolling down her cheek. This was all finally getting to her, cracking that hard shell.
"The body... that's it," he murmured distractedly
It all clicked in his head, his thoughts whirring like the gears of a newly fixed clock. It all made sense. He hurriedly pushed past Silas, grabbing the fallen Cyberman hand off the floor. He had it all figured out. He knew who the killer was, and it had been right in his face the whole time, but his arrogance had blinded him. More importantly, he knew what that door in the pantry was, and it was a door. It was doubtless.
"Doctor, what is it?" Sarah asked. She had known him long enough to see that mad spark in his brain.
"Come on, over here," he said, moving into the pantry. The three behind him followed, and he placed the Cyberman hand into the indentation. He waited a few seconds, before a loud beep came from the slot. He pulled the cyborg hand out as the section of the wall moved back, and slid aside.
The room beyond had once been a panic room, with metal walls, and floor. A cot sat in the corner, and a shelf with food sat In the other. A weapon rack sat near the bed, though it was empty, and a computer screen hung on the wall, displaying various functions of the home.
In the center of the room was a metal pedestal. Atop it was a holographic hexagonal globe that spun, and twitched. A chair sat next to it, with thick cables connecting it to the mechanism.
A man sat in the chair, electrodes stuck to his temples, running to the globe. He was older, with a bushy grey beard, and unkempt grey hair. His suit was of fine quality, with a long withered carnation in the lapel.
The Doctor would hardly recognize the man, were it not for the black hole where his left eye should be.
"Ladies, and Gentlemen," The Doctor announced, "I give you, the real, Pierce Killcrest."
The glow of the computer screens illuminated the smiling visage of The Great Intelligence. He had stayed focused on one, single unit, and the chaos it had caused in Killcrest Manor.
It had taken The Doctor so long to figure all this out, he had begun to doubt that he ever would. He had given him ample opportunity to do so, even ordering his soldier to save The Doctor, and his imbecilic pet for last.
Yet, it seemed he was having a battle of wits with someone pathetically armed. He had thought once that The Doctor had been a worthy opponent, but it seemed he was no more a challenge than any other, and would fall like the rest. The spectacle had been enjoyable, and perhaps, before the light died in his eyes for one, final time, he would realize what all this was for; to hold up a mirror, and show him his true face. The monster named The Doctor.
It would now come to an end. There was more to do before the day was through. Destroying the only being capable of stopping this, was only a part of it. Other flies would be swatted soon enough. He just needed to insure enough of The Doctor was left to recover his body.
"Take direct control," he commanded. As the visor lowered down over his face, his smile returned. He would relish this. The destruction of The Doctor was at hand.