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| - ‘Brought back to life by the hazy whispers of weary engines, I sat up in a vacant cargo hold with my back against the wall. I couldn’t even fathom what charred madness lay back across the troubled stars, nor did I try to. My thoughts blurred out the name of my ruined home world and for a short time, I forgot who I was. If I could forget that, then maybe the universe could too. I soon realised that hope tends to attract grief, and my memories reformed. I could never forget. Never. I was a Time Lord, and if any of my people remained then it meant that I was a deserter. A renegade. And then I thought about it more, and it dawned on me that if anyone survived then it would be that they were deserters too. We weren’t watchers anymore; we weren’t guardians or intergalactic viziers. We were just.
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| abstract
| - ‘Brought back to life by the hazy whispers of weary engines, I sat up in a vacant cargo hold with my back against the wall. I couldn’t even fathom what charred madness lay back across the troubled stars, nor did I try to. My thoughts blurred out the name of my ruined home world and for a short time, I forgot who I was. If I could forget that, then maybe the universe could too. I soon realised that hope tends to attract grief, and my memories reformed. I could never forget. Never. I was a Time Lord, and if any of my people remained then it meant that I was a deserter. A renegade. And then I thought about it more, and it dawned on me that if anyone survived then it would be that they were deserters too. We weren’t watchers anymore; we weren’t guardians or intergalactic viziers. We were just...there. Whatever we were, we were dangerous. Anything from Gallifrey was now a one-off. We were rare. I let my head hang forward above my knee and wiped the dirt from my head. My bones ached and my hearts took turns launching themselves into my ribcage. I breathed deep, opened my eyes and realised as I saw my hand reach forward to snatch the air, scar less. I had been brutally abused by the Chosen guards for five decades, and yet all of the wounds were gone. Not only that, but my fingers seemed shorter and bulkier than before. I first thought them to be swollen, and that I was in a deep state of disorientation from all of the disorder. That wasn’t it. It was obvious. It was a new body. The guards had forbid my old one from regenerating, keeping me right on the edge of death but never actually allowing my body cells to die out and then ultimately transform. It could have been for security measures (because with a new face I may have been able to walk free from the Temple) or for their own sadistic pleasure. It didn’t really matter either way, but it would explain why I felt better than I had done in about seventy years (amongst other things). ...And this ship is watching my every move. It knows what I am. It’s old. There are marks across the walls too, but I don’t know whether that’s just in this room or not. I’ve not bothered to explore. I don’t know if I’m even permitted to, or if the door will open for me. I ran my hand down five small lines embedded into the beam beside me, before I noticed more placed at sporadic points across the cracked walls. Fingernail marks. All over the place. Where the hell has this ship been? More to the point, where is it taking me...?’ - Admiral Mappalazarou Date Unknown
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![[RDF Data]](/fct/images/sw-rdf-blue.png)