Doctor Who: The Wounded Earth - The History of the Doctor
Doctor Who: The Wounded Earth - The History of the Doctor
Doctor Who: The Wounded Earth - The History of the Doctor
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Chris McKeon<br />
DOCTOR WHO: THE WOUNDED EARTH<br />
‘He’s not dead. He can’t have died.’<br />
‘Oh, I assure he can, Miss Smith, and he has. But if you and your friends can’t bear <strong>the</strong> thought <strong>of</strong><br />
life without <strong>the</strong> <strong>Doctor</strong>, <strong>the</strong>n who am I to deny you joining him in death’<br />
<strong>The</strong> Master inhaled sharply. <strong>The</strong>n upon <strong>the</strong> screen his eyes glowed with light once more. Immediately<br />
<strong>the</strong> seeker’s trembled; its instruments caught fire and burst open, spilling conductive fluids and cabling across<br />
<strong>the</strong> command deck. <strong>The</strong> Master cackled with demonic glee, before <strong>the</strong> glow <strong>of</strong> his eyes darkened and <strong>the</strong> Time<br />
Lord began hacking a phlegmatic cough strong enough to make him wheeze and tense for breath. Yet even in<br />
his extreme distress, <strong>the</strong> Master still managed a final, bitter parting.<br />
‘Farewell, my favourite primitives.’<br />
And <strong>the</strong>n <strong>the</strong> seeker shook with apocalyptic throwing all within to <strong>the</strong> ground amongst soot, ash,<br />
and debris as <strong>the</strong> inner hull buckled and burst open and <strong>the</strong> unnaturally boiling waters <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> Antarctic<br />
poured into <strong>the</strong> breach. Sarah Jane ran against <strong>the</strong> onslaught; she slipped on <strong>the</strong> slick stone floor and crashed<br />
upon <strong>the</strong> ground. She chocked on <strong>the</strong> rising water; she had no breath…<br />
In years to come, <strong>the</strong>re were few things Sarah Jane Smith would remember <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> frantic moments which<br />
followed <strong>the</strong> Master’s attack and her submersion in <strong>the</strong> flood. She would not remember <strong>the</strong> Brigadier’s strong<br />
hands lifting her from <strong>the</strong> ground, nor his impassioned calls to any who could hear to follow him to safety. She<br />
found she could not recall being carried down corridors <strong>of</strong> twisted metal and sparking flames, nor being<br />
bundled into an escape craft by Benton and Yates mere moments before <strong>the</strong> seeker’s engines imploded to force<br />
a massive detonation. And she would recollect nothing <strong>of</strong> <strong>the</strong> pod’s desperate flight across endless depths <strong>of</strong><br />
water seething with green poison beneath a land chocked with fire, smoke, and rivers <strong>of</strong> blood. For years to<br />
come, <strong>the</strong> only things Sarah Jane Smith would remember <strong>of</strong> her darkest day were <strong>the</strong> merciless sensations <strong>of</strong><br />
numbing loneliness and crushing fear…<br />
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