Doctor Who: Game of the Century
by Aaron West
Killbots. It was hailed as the game of the century, not only for its fast-paced storylines and vivid interactive play but also for the quality of its photo-realistic image. It was only natural then that Ryan Sinclair was obsessed. Or at least he would have been. Ever since the first trailers circulated on YouTube, he would stay up into the small hours, pen in hand, making note of the hints and tips from other players. All those late nights of illuminated screens and leaderboard battles. It seemed like everyone else in the world had a copy. Everyone except him. He watched it all from his bedroom, desperately scraping his money together so that one day he could play it for real.
That all changed, of course. In the weeks that followed, he had bumped into an old school friend in the woods. Then came the Stenza and the mysterious Doctor - that enigmatic traveller in time and space. She dropped into his world and had it scrambled. He’d hardly stopped to catch a breath since! Always racing around the universe in the Doctor’s enchanting blue box, and soon, there was nothing in any game or on any console that could ever live up to the wonders she had shown him, even if they had come at a grave cost.
On the day of his grandmother’s funeral, Ryan walked aimlessly into town and found himself thumbing through a collection of secondhand games in a charity shop. There it was. Killbots. In an immaculate limited edition. He gripped it tightly and, for a moment, felt a small sense of comfort before placing it back down. “No,” he thought, “time to grow up.”
Ryan had moved on, and by the time he’d reached the war-torn planet of Exelon 3, he had forgotten all about the game. That was until he saw it. That logo jutting out among the debris. Stark black against grey alloy. A stylised spear inside a ring. Ryan froze. He knew it instantly.
“Stay back,” the Doctor warned, scanning the rubble with her Sonic Screwdriver. “That’s an ammunition box. So if you want to keep your limbs, I’d suggest you retreat back here.”
“There’s a logo,” Ryan just stared. He couldn’t believe his eyes. “This is gonna sound mad, but I’ve seen it before. Back on Earth.”
“You what? Where?”
“On a video game.”
Yaz was laughing. “Oh, get off, Ryan.”
“I’m serious. That’s the Killbots logo! I swear. On my Nan’s life. That’s how serious I am.”
There was silence now. Their faces writ with confusion. The Doctor gazed out across the wasteland to the shimmering silver arms factory beyond.
“What’s a logo doing here and back on Earth 3 million years in the past?” The Doctor paced back and forth, kicking up the dust with her boots. “No. Better question: Why would an arms dealer want to sell video games?” It was a good question, and the answer, as they so often do, would change their lives forever.
They hadn’t meant to land here. The Doctor had only heard of Exelon 3 in passing whispers but never once thought to go there. She’d spun the coordinates at random, her best chance at a surprise getaway and found a desolate world instead.
“This isn’t right,” the Doctor murmured as she stepped onto the planet's surface for the first time. “The people I knew spoke of Exelon 3 as peaceful… thriving. I wonder how it got to this?”
The ‘fam,’ (a word the Doctor used to refer to her companions), had hardly walked 10 minutes before stumbling upon the answer.
Haunting derelict buildings moaned in the breeze. Rusted, discarded munitions lay strewn among the dead, painting a gruesome picture of war.
Ryan suspected as much. It was the smell that gave it away. A familiar something. Sharp and metallic. He’d smelled it once before, back in India during the Partition. It was the scent of war and blood.
“I remember Space Invaders. 1978, I’d have been about your age when it first came out.” Graham said at last, breaking the silence. Since Ryan’s puzzling discovery, the fam had pressed on in muted contemplation. Ryan’s thoughts drifted home. To Grace. She would’ve known what to say right now. Something warm or wise, or funny. She always did, but Graham? Graham just got on his nerves.
"1978, what a year that was!” The old man chuckled, his wistful blue eyes shining. “You should have seen me. Flat as a washboard, always out gallivanting. Played a few games now and then.” He basked in the memory. The pew-pew-pew of 8-bit rockets still ringing in his ears. “Commodore 64. I bet you a lot don’t even remember Bubble Bobble!”
“Were you a gamer, Graham?” Yaz was beaming. Not because Graham’s anecdote interested her particularly, but because she could see what it was doing to Ryan and winding him up was her favourite hobby.
“Yeah, I suppose,” Graham took the bait, “I mean, not like today’s lot. No consoles in our bedrooms or anything, but we used to get out, down to the arcade. That sort of thing.”
“Have you tried X-Box? Ryan’s always talking about FIFA and stuff. You two should play together.”
“Feef, what?” Graham rubbed his face to help him think, “Nah, I’ve seen how quick he is on that thing. I wouldn’t stand a chance. There was this lad back in my day, though. Al? No, Alex! Something like that. Anyway, he couldn’t get enough of ‘em. A proper whizz. We used to watch him, like that Who song, the pinball one…” He stumbled, catching a loose rock underfoot.
“Careful, Pacman”, Ryan darted forward and caught him before he could fall.
“Feels like a whole lifetime ago now,” said Graham, winded. The burst of youthful energy had drained from him all at once. Just ahead, the Doctor walked in silence save for the Sonic Screwdriver whirring gently in hand. She hadn’t breathed a word in nearly ten minutes, which was something of a record.
“Haven’t you noticed?” Graham whispered, pulling Yaz and Ryan close. “She’s been dead quiet.”
“Maybe we should do the same,” said Ryan, slipping out of the huddle.
“It can’t just be about that game thing, can it?” Wondered Yaz, “I mean, what’s so special about Killer Bots anyway?”
“It’s Killbots”, Ryan corrected her.
“Yeah, that’s what I said. The Killer Bots.” Yaz gave a small shrug. “There’s got to be more to it than she’s letting on.”
“Be fair, kid,” Graham added, “You always say that.”
Despite himself, Ryan was smiling, but he wiped it away before anyone noticed.
“Am I ever wrong, though?” Yaz called ahead, “Doctor. What are you thinking?”
They reached her at the edge of a cliff. She was standing motionless, scanning the horizon. Sonic humming with intensity.
“Doctor?” Yaz asked again.
“I just can’t quite work it out,” the Doctor said softly. Then she glanced back, flashing a big, deliberate grin. “Commodore 64? I never had you down as a gamer, Graham”
“This isn’t about the game,” said Yaz. She could see through the Doctor’s smile now. It was performative, like a mask. Like so much else. She understood that now. All the hand waves and breezy quips. They were all part of the same disguise.
“No,” the Doctor admitted. “It’s this place. Exelon 3. It was thriving, and now look at it.” She gestured to the ruin below. “The only link between this place and Earth is that game. What if it’s not just a coincidence? What if the people behind this factory have already made it to Earth?” She paused, eyes distant.
“I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to Earth. It’s like a second home.” “Whatever it is, we’ll stop it,” said Yaz, digging her heels in. She was good at digging her heels in. “You told me once that nothing happens without reason. Maybe that’s why we’re here. To stop this from happening back home.”
“That’s what scares me,” the Doctor said, looking at each of them. “That building down there. That’s Milcorp, one of the biggest arms manufacturers in the galaxy. If we walk in there now without a plan, we are walking into a deathtrap.”
So, plan they did, and before too long, the Doctor had led them to the factory gates. The building loomed tall and wide in blinding silver, stretching so far across the horizon that Ryan wondered if the building really was that big at all or merely a trick of the eye, the smudge of a mirage, but unbelievably, it wasn’t. The factory truly was that big.
“Blimey, Doc. Look at that! As far as the eye can see.”
“No, not the Ikhan Sea,” said the Doctor absentmindedly, scanning the building, “That’s the Deribilum Ocean.”
Graham was about to clarify his words when a small black orb shot out over the factory roof.
“Get down!”
They hit the ground, flattening themselves against the muddy ridge. They could feel the ground trembling. No, buzzing. Like a living thing. Somewhere inside the factory, machinery roared with such intensity that the earth itself vibrated.
“Recon-droid,” the Doctor observed, her voice nearly lost beneath the mechanical thunder. They watched as the orb-droid arced through the air, scanning the landscape with sharp precision before ducking back inside.
“Fully automated. Probably on a loop. Keep your eyes peeled.” The Doctor didn’t wait. She was already moving, down the ridge, gravel trickling around her ankles. Ryan followed, noticing her boots, usually a warm brown, were now powdered white with dust.
They stuck to the plan: Doctor first, Ryan next, then Yaz and Graham at the rear. It didn’t take long to break inside the factory compound. It never did with the Doctor. Locked doors were practically an open invitation. It’s one of the reasons they had instated the ‘knock twice before entering’ policy in the TARDIS bathroom.
“Inside!” The Doctor called, waving them through a narrow corridor tucked between the main structure and the perimeter fence.
The factory walls shimmered in the light. The silver cladding is smooth, seamless and imposing. As they passed, Ryan caught sight of his own funhouse-stretched reflection.
“Yaz,” he whispered, pointing, “you’ve got no neck.”
Yaz glanced at her reflection, snorted loudly with surprise, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Too late.
“Get back!” The Doctor hissed, flattening herself against the wall. Her companions followed suit, just in time to spot a black orb zipping down the alleyway toward them. The Doctor froze. In the refracting silver glass, another droid could be seen approaching them from the opposite direction.
“We’re boxed in,” said Ryan, searching high and low for a place to run.
“Get behind me,” said Graham, stepping forward. Yaz and Ryan huddled behind him. Their hearts are pounding. Cornered by their inevitable doom.
“Intruders detected.”
“We’re not intruders, we’re guests”, the Doctor threw up her psychic paper, and the orbs hovered, scanning. Then, unexpectedly, they said:
“Welcome, traveller. You have been expected. This way.” And with that, the orbs swooped ahead without a care.
“We’re expected?” Yaz eyeballed the windows above, suddenly feeling very watched.
“It says ‘esteemed guests, visiting Milcorp’ or something,” said the Doctor, flashing the psychic paper. Ryan leaned in for a closer look. On the ID card was a narrow, weathered face. Definitely a man’s, but it looked ancient.
That couldn’t be the Doctor, could it? She had mentioned being a man once, but this? This face looked like that of a war general, not the Doctor. Then again, Ryan knew that alien tech was capable of all sorts of things. Still, that would have to be one hell of a surgeon. He shelved the thought for later. They had bigger problems now.
The orbs guided them through a pair of automatic doors and into a spacious, brightly lit foyer. Everything gleamed. The slick floors, polished counters and sterile walls, interrupted only by clusters of plastic potted plants that tried and failed to suggest a warm and friendly atmosphere. Uniformed staff bustled about in soft grey suits, their hot-pink skin stark against the muted decor. Each had a square, bald face, flanked by tortilla-chip ears, and a jagged fin running down the centre of their head, like a dorsal blade. One of them, clad in black and wielding what looked like a holographic tablet, strode toward them with purpose.
“Welcome, welcome. May I take your names?” the woman asked, her tone flat and disinterested, like she’d said it a thousand times and never once cared.
“I’m the Doctor. This is Yaz, Ryan, and Graham. We’re here for the testing.” Another flash of the psychic paper.
“Doctor, Doctor…” the woman murmured, scrolling through holographic records. “No listing for ‘Doctor.’ We do have one Reg Proctor from the Planet Gadly. Is that you?”
“That’s the one,” the Doctor said smoothly. “And these are my plus-ones. Well, three of them, but in our culture, if they’re related, three count as one. So, we’re just one big, happy fam, aren’t we?”
“Oh yes,” the companions chimed in, nodding a little too eagerly.
“Excellent. We’ve got three modules needing testing today. Are you ready to suit up?”
“Actually,” the Doctor said, gleaming with curiosity, “perhaps we could have a quick look around first? I’d love to see how you run things.”
The woman glanced at a large holographic clock that hung over the foyer. “I have five minutes.”
And with that, Wister (for that was the name on her ID badge) whisked them off on a whirlwind tour of the Milcorp facility, delivering a laboured explanation of its operations with the energy of someone who’d given the same speech every hour on the hour.
“Yes, Milcorp is the largest arms manufacturer in the known universe. We supply defensive technology to countless worlds in need of protection. What certain species do with our products, whether for peacekeeping or warfare, is not our concern.”
“It is your concern,” said the Doctor, “if someone’s using your guns to kill innocent people, you have a right to intervene.”
“And put us out of business? I have a mortgage to pay.” Wister seemed offended by the idea. She gestured proudly as they walked. “Our latest venture, Sum So-Key Blue 2, has been an unprecedented success. Across multiple galaxies, we've introduced training centres where young recruits interact with AI modules, teaching them how to identify and assess potential threats for elimination.”
“That’s disgusting,” said Yaz, unable to hide her true feelings.
“War is a filthy business,” Wister continued. “Heavy artillery? Drones? Sure, they’re powerful, but they lack nuance. A conscience. Judgment. The ability to make the right call.”
Wister stopped before a set of wide doors. With a theatrical swipe of her hand, they opened to reveal a sprawling, high-tech chamber.
“Our latest innovation changes all that. We’ve partnered with a leading gaming corporation to crowdsource conscience. Ordinary players from across the galaxy train our AI to make life-or-death decisions, simulate empathy, and even exhibit moral hesitation. All the quirks that make sentient choices so… effective.”
Above them, a pulsing hologram floated in bold, flexing letters: KILLBOTS. The Doctor stared. Her face was grim.
Rows of glossy egg-shaped pods lined the room. Game terminals each house a player deeply immersed in the game. Their fingers twitching on the controls, eyes glazed, locked in battle.
“These are our primary testers, but we have thousands more playing off-world.”
“Trainers on Earth?” the Doctor snapped.
“Earth is a level 3 planet. It is strictly forbidden to interfere,” replied Wister convincingly, but the Doctor knew the truth. She regarded the room, soaking up the violent imagery of AI enemies and fleeing civilians. The muffled sound of distant gunfire leaks through the players’ headphones.
“I don’t believe this,” Ryan watched a player shoot down a protester mid-plea, “is that real? Is that person real?”
“Scenarios are based on real-world conflicts. Others are live-streamed,” Wister explained coolly, “that protest turned violent 3 days ago. The Killbots are restoring order.”
“What?” Yaz stared at her, stunned. “You mean… every player… everyone who’s ever played the game has been training actual Killbots?” She turned to the Doctor, searching for a glimmer of reassurance, but the Time Lord’s expression had gone hard and distant. There was rage now, oh yes, rage, simmering just beneath the surface. Her disguise is barely visible now.
“Are those people real?” Graham couldn’t believe the words falling out of his mouth. “We were gonna buy that game for Ryan’s birthday.”
“Alright, everybody, stop!” The Doctor suddenly shouted. She jumped up onto a central table to address the room. “This facility is now under investigation. That’s right, all of you, stop playing. Shut it down and look at me!”
But no one did. The players remained motionless. Locked in. Their eyes were fixed on the screen. It took a moment for the Doctor to realise the testers couldn’t hear her.
“Mr Proctor, step down from the table,” Wister called out. More annoyed than alarmed. “That table is reserved for break-time snacks. You cannot just stand there.”
Suddenly, Ryan gasped. “Noah!” He bolted toward one of the pods.
“Step away from the players!” Wister commanded, motioning to security, but it was too late. Ryan was already there, pressing both hands to the glass, staring in at a familiar face.
Yaz caught up to him and gently placed a hand on Ryan’s shoulder, “What is it?”
“It’s his friend,” said the Doctor, still high on the table. “Except he’s not here, is he? He’s a projection.”
As if on cue, the image of his friend shimmered within the pod. He was just a hologram. But then the laughter and other familiar voices leaked through. Ryan moved from pod to pod, his blood boiling.
“Tomas… Akin. They’re all here.”
“Players consent to monitoring,” stated Wister without a hint of irony, “their gameplay is used to improve our systems.”
“And this is how you monitor them,” said the Doctor, hopping down from the table with a look in her eye. It was the same look Yaz had seen before. On the night of the Stenza. The night Grace fell.
“This is mad!” Ryan roared. “My friends have no idea, and you’ve tricked them! They think it’s a game, but you’ve turned them into murderers!” He lunged at Wister, fury blazing, but Yaz and Graham held him back.
“Stop it, Ryan,” said Graham, “don’t do something you’ll regret.”
“But they killed people!”
“What they don’t know can’t hurt them,” said Wister flatly. “It’s all there in the Ts & Cs if they ever bothered to read them.”
And the Doctor stepped forward with ice in her heart. “Why Earth? Why them?”
“I told you, Earth is a level 3 planet. Interference is illegal.”
“And yet here they are,” the Doctor gestured around at the holographic players, “Earth players training the Killbots. So how exactly does that work?”
“I told you”
The Doctor stopped, eyes widening, all the pieces clicking into place.
“Of course,” she breathed. “That’s why they’re holograms. You couldn’t run this on just any planet. There are rules. Laws. Interplanetary oversight, but Earth? You can bury the programme inside their games, test your war code on an unsuspecting population. Harvest data from millions... and no one notices. Not even your own funders. Well, need to know basis and what they don’t know can’t hurt them.”
Wister took a step back, finally rattled. “Who are you?”
“I want to speak to whoever’s in charge of this operation,” the Doctor demanded.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Wister sneered, “nobody speaks to Milcorp. Especially not some random from the Planet Gadly.”
“Good thing I’m not.” The Doctor was crossing the room, moving toward a control unit, pursued by uniformed guards. “I’m the Doctor, and I’m shutting this down!” She whipped out her sonic screwdriver and jammed it into an access port. A piercing whine filled the air!
The game-pods sparked. Short pulses of electricity crackled across the room.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
The screens fizzled and went black. Inside the pods, the holographic players collapsed into static. Gone. Back on Earth, a million gamers leapt up from their seats in mad panic as their copy of Killbots suddenly corrupted. Every copy.
The Doctor had just declared war.
“What have you done?!” Wister slammed a button on the nearest wall. Sirens erupted, flooding the corridor with flashing mauve light. Security guards sprang into action.
The Doctor and her companions bolted through an adjoining room, down a narrow stairwell, across two landings and a metal gantry that swayed beneath their feet while the guards opened fire. Until finally, the sound of swarming guards faded, and they slipped out of sight.
The basement was cool and dark. The only lights were pinpricks of flashing LEDs. A gentle hum reverberates in every direction.
“The… server… room,” the Doctor panted, “I triggered a power surge. Took out everything on that level but this… this is what really matters.”
“You’re going to nuke the backup, aren’t you?” Ryan guessed, but the Doctor didn’t respond. She was already squeezing between towering stacks of hard drives.
“It’s freezing,” Yaz hugged herself to keep warm, “I’m gonna catch something at this rate, jumping between the sun and this ice box.”
“Just thank your lucky stars we found a way out,” said Graham from the door, his ears straining for footsteps in the corridor.
“There. That’s the one,” said the Doctor with a genuine smile. She raised her sonic but hesitated. “Only, the moment I do, they’ll know where we are.”
“So what?” said Ryan, “We’ve got to get out. I’m not sitting in a box for the rest of my life. I have to know my mates are okay.”
“They will be,” the Doctor assured him gently. “A bit gutted they can’t play Killbots anymore, but otherwise fine.”
“They won’t know what they’ve done?” Ryan asked softly. The Doctor paused. She could see he was hurting.
“Would you want to?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation, but then he thought about it some more. The idea that a video game could lead to the real-world death of innocent life made his stomach churn.
“No,” he said solemnly, “but we’ll know.”
“That’s our burden,” said the Doctor, and she looked deep into his eyes, “sometimes we have to carry it for others. Not because we want to, but because we must. When this is over, we’ll go to their families and remember the fallen. We’ll honour the victims.”
Ryan nodded. A tear in his eye. The Doctor reached out, took his hand and squeezed it tight.
“Why don’t you do the honours, eh?” The Doctor let go, and Ryan felt the cool metal of her sonic screwdriver pressed into his hand. Not another word was spoken. Ryan stepped forward, aimed it at the data-bank and gripped it tight as the final blow was dealt. The orange diode flared, and the servers erupted in a series of concussive bursts.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Game over,” said Ryan sadly, returning the sonic back to the Doctor.
“Run!” She shouted, and they ran.
The world above was in chaos. A frenzy of frightened workers swarmed in panic, armed with whatever they could grab. The factory was in lockdown. Shutters slamming, doors sealing and worst of all, a crack team of soldiers was out for the kill.
The Doctor had led them into the lion’s den, and there was no way out.
“Over there!” A voice called. It was a worker in a grey uniform. She raised her weapon but hesitated. Then came the thunder of boots as the guards charged towards them.
Many corridors later, the Doctor and her fam found themselves cornered, pressed into a creaking, forgotten section of the factory. Metal groaned above them. Doors were barricaded but barely holding. They were surrounded. Security guards are pounding, threatening to tear the place apart and kill them.
This continued for quite some time until one bright spark had a fabulous idea. They couldn’t break in, but the Killbots could.
The order was given. Emergency power was rerouted. Soldiers took their seats at the game terminals, ready to remote-operate the Killbots themselves.
“AI be damned,” Wister growled. “If our servers are toast, we’ll do this the old-fashioned way.”
But unknown to them, the Doctor and her companions were having a similar thought.
They had stumbled into a cavernous chamber lit by pools of ice-white light. Dusty game-pods lined the room, waiting to be used and towering above them, 8 feet tall, chrome-slick and cobwebbed, stood decommissioned Kill Bots, a twisted relic of ages past.
“They’re exactly like the game!” Ryan felt a thrill of familiarity rushing over him as he slid into the first available pod. “Joystick - check. Reclining chair - check!”
“You’re joking,” Yaz was over like a shot, “if anyone’s having a go, it’s me!”
“Depending on how many of these I can fire up, it’ll be all 4 of us fighting our way out!” The Doctor called from across the room. She was elbow-deep in wires, hands flying, disconnecting that, reconnecting this, forcing life back into the manual systems.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
The stomp of incoming Killbots shook the ground. Dust trickled from the ceiling.
“They’re here!” Yelled Graham, peeling away from the barricade. “That door’s not gonna hold!”
“Then it’ll have to do,” said the Doctor, swiping her screwdriver through the air. With a satisfying bzzt, she yanked a lever, and the game-pods whirred into life. Lights flickering, systems rebooting. Across the room, the dormant Kill Bots groaned and began to stir.
“No way, that’s me!” Ryan jiggled his joystick as a gaudy, sponsor-plastered Kill Bot lurched off its display stand and crashed to the ground with a terrible thud.
“Ryan!” Screamed Yaz, taking cover inside her pod. “That could have killed me!”
“Sorry!” Ryan yelped, scrambling into a new seat. “I’ll get the hang of it!”
“Oh, Doc, you don’t mind if I take the yellow one, do you?” Asked Graham, already climbing in.
“Dibs on blue!” The Doctor called back, just as the wall came crashing down.
There was silence for a moment. Dust settled. Then came the whirring. There were Kill Bots stepping through the wreckage. New, sleek, uniform and twice the size of the old models. Their black obsidian exteriors gleamed in the cold light.
“Blimey!” Graham gripped his controls and sent his robot staggering forward, flailing like a drunk brawler. His Kill Bot collided with the enemy and barely made a dent.
In retaliation, the next-Gen Bots opened fire. Bullets ripping through the air.
“Which one’s the gun?!” Graham cried desperately. He mashed the buttons, then yanked a trigger. A shot tore through the ceiling, and a chunk of the upper floor collapsed, crushing two enemy Killbots in a spray of sparks and debris.
“Whoa!” There was no time to celebrate. The Kill Bots surged forward. The fight was on.
The factory trembled under the weight of battle. Sparks rained down from overhead conduits, sirens howled, and the scent of scorched metal thickened the air.
The Doctor’s Kill Bot landed a final, crushing blow. Its arm smashed down on the last of the obsidian attackers. The black-armoured machine spasmed, then went still, smoking across the battlefield. Yaz’s pod cracked open with a hiss. She climbed out, coughing, bruised but alive. Ryan followed. He kicked the hatch open, leaping to the ground with a rush of adrenaline. Then came a crash.
Ryan spun around just in time to see his grandfather’s pod tip sideways. The hatch had jammed, and the system had shorted. When it finally gave, Graham splattered out, landing hard on the floor, groaning in pain.
“Grandad,” said Ryan instinctively. But luckily, no one heard him. Not Yaz, not the Doctor, nor Graham. Good, he thought. He didn’t like calling him that. Not out loud. Not yet. He rushed over.
“You alright?” Ryan asked, dropping to one knee.
“Yeah, yeah… just a bit winded,” Graham muttered, waving him off, but his face looked pale, his breath short. “That was way better than Space Invaders.”
“Shut up,” Ryan grinned.
Silence fell. Only the remote hum of emergency power systems remained. The walls were scorched. Floors buckled. The once-pristine showroom of Milcorp’s might now look like a war zone. Then the dust cleared. The Doctor stood tall, surveying the destruction they had wrought.
From the shadows, Wister stumbled forward. Her uniform was torn, her face spotted with grime and sweat. She clutched the shattered remains of her holographic tablet as if it were a part of her.
“Stop,” she croaked. “Please stop! You’re destroying the factory!”
“Let us go now,” the Doctor said coldly, stepping toward her, “or we tear it all down.”
An uneasy silence gripped the room. Then, slowly, Wister nodded.
The soldiers dropped their weapons. One by one. The threat was gone. The power had shifted. Wister sank to her knees, and a path cleared through the ruins. The Doctor led her companions to the factory gates, heads held high.
She turned once more to address the workers who lingered, stunned and still.
“This is the last day of Milcorp’s trading,” she announced. “It’s over. It’s done. Grab your things and go home. You can tell your masters, if they try anything—anything—they’ll have to answer to me.” No one spoke, but the message was clear.
With that, the Doctor turned away, and her companions followed. Ryan steadied Graham as they walked. They left Milcorp to its fate, hoping the warning would be enough and that those left behind would choose a better path. Behind them, the once-mighty factory stood in silence. Broken. Finished.
The walk back was quiet. No one said a word.
By the time they reached the TARDIS - that battered blue box that had ferried them across time and space - the adrenaline had worn off, leaving only exhaustion. The horror was behind them.
The warm amber glow of the console room spilt out as the doors opened, inviting them in.
“Oh, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” said Graham with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to get back here.”
“Tell me about it,” agreed the Doctor, already darting around the console. “I think we’re due another holiday. What do we fancy? A quick nip home? Rest and recuperation?”
The fam just stared. The kind of look you give someone who’s just dribbled down their top.
“You’re right,” the Doctor said quickly.“A bit boring. How’s about a coronation? Elizabeth I. I keep meaning to write her back. She’s gonna be incensed!”
“Elizabeth I writes to you?” Yaz bristled. What was that? Jealousy?
“I assume that’s a yes?” The Doctor grinned.
Barely had the words left her mouth, and she was met with a sudden chorus of excitement. The Time Lord threw down her lever, and the TARDIS thrummed into life, catapulted into the vortex, hurtling toward the next adventure.
