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The Doctor woke up. No Nick to the left of him. No Alf to the right of him. Well that was wrong for a start. He looked down at himself, at his blue Time Lord robes. Oh for goodness sake! Why was he wearing blue Time Lord robes? Didn’t he realise the colour clashed with his eyes? At that point, it occurred to him he had left Time Lord civilisation centuries ago, and what was he doing dressing in their clothes like some adoring fan boy anyway? A memory zapped across his frontal lobes of dressing up like Worzel Gummidge for a convention in Bath, but he quickly eliminated any comparison. This was completely different. Worzel Gummidge deserved adoring fan boys. Something was definitely not right here. The Doctor examined his throne and the mini-Panopticon he was presiding over. How… silly. Words failed him. Something was definitely not right here. He concentrated. ° Oh bugger. ° Aha! So, he was right. There was someone else in here. ° I suggest you vacate my limbic system and speak to me through my… third frontal lobe, I think. ° ° Well done. Most people don’t notice me at all. ° ° Well I’m obviously not most people am I? ° ° Okay, well whatever you’re thinking, this isn’t what it looks like, okay? ° ° What it looks is very suspicious. So why don’t you explain what it actually is for me. ° ° Okay, first off I’m known as the Collector. I’m one of the most powerful telepaths in the universe. I reached out through time and space with my mind and briefly took control of yours before you last programmed in the mental co-ordinates on your time amulets. ° ° Well that’s very impressive, but I don’t believe you’ve actually explained why this isn’t as suspicious as it looks. ° ° Well, you see, that’s the interesting bit. Heh. Um… °
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