Broken: A Time Lord's Story (Doctor Who Novel)

Chapter 6 Rules Are Made to be Broken

The hours and days ran together in a morass of confusion and pain, making it impossible for the Doctor to remember how long he'd occupied this cell.‭ ‬Keeping track of Moron's visits had become a challenge, but they were frequent and came in-between trips to the fun room. That's what Moron liked to call the place where he tortured people -- the fun room. He imagined a blinking sign somewhere, inviting the local scumbags to watch the main attraction (him) twist at the end of chains.

On day ten, or maybe it was day twelve, Moron and a cohort showed up with bigger than usual grins on their faces. The Doctor watched carefully as the cell door unlocked and the two walked in. He inhaled sharply, forcing a calm that no longer existed.

"You know, some day very soon, you will regret putting me in here," he growled.

Moron's smile showed his ugly teeth. "Well, little man. It won't be today," he sneered, yanking the Doctor to his feet. "Today, we play a new game. Move!"

They pushed him through the door and into the hallway. Three doors down the hall on the right, an open door beckoned. They shoved the Doctor into the fun room, toward an awaiting empty chair. Two sets of hands forced him down.

The Doctor met Moron's eyes with a look of absolute hatred. "Same question fifteen times a day will get you the same answer." Instead of a snarl the Doctor laughed. "That is the definition of insanity. Again the Good --"

His ears rang when the smack hit his face. Blood trickled down the side of his jaw. Moron grabbed his hair and forced his head to the side. "New game. I stick a needle in you and you tell me what I want," he snarled, forcing the Doctor's head over exposing his jugular vein.

Despite having no chance of getting away, the Doctor bucked sideways. Another blow ended the struggle before it even began. A burning sensation followed the sharp prick of a needle in the side of his neck as a drug coursed its way quickly through his veins. He threw mental shield after shield against the first effects of the drug.

"Where. Is. My mistress' -- ship?"

"On Raypro's moon base," he answered thickly. "It's in the acid lakes of Pelnith." He giggled. The drug burnt a path across his brain, scrambling his thinking.

"You stupid --" Moron's fist struck again. "Just can't follow the rules can you. You don't laugh, you don't talk back ..."

The sound of Moron's voice drifted, replaced by a more musical force. My Lord, sleep. The voice sang to him. The Doctor gave into the encroaching darkness without feeling the last blow.

                                                                              *****

The Doctor didn't remember passing out or the second consciousness returned, but now he lay on the mattress blinking. Darkness enveloped the cell now. He had no idea whether  daylight and they'd just shut off the lights or if this was the middle of the night. Whatever the time, blankets cocooned him, and for once, he was warm. He moved gingerly, testing his limbs, relieved to find they still worked. He closed his eyes, extending his thoughts out through the darkness, immediately hearing K'Nar's answering call.  It's late, Lord, go back to sleep, she called back, sounding more like a mother than a child. Much against his will, her soft voice, singing a lullaby, eased him back to sleep.

The respite didn't last long. Moron's visits increased over the next several days. Each began with the Doctor laughing at his enemy and ended with him crawling in agony back to the mattress. Isolation became the latest punishment of choice. Isolation and fists.

"You're not learning your lessons, little man." Moron practically spat the words while smacking the Doctor across the cell. It was getting harder to break the rules.