He jerks forward just as two guards come in, the one from before and another one.
“Surely he wasn’t one of those disappearances, Borusa... hey!”
Both guards plaster their hands to his head and chest, holding him down and covering his mouth.
But not before he manages to catch a finger between his teeth.
He chomps it. Irately.
The guard he bit stumbles back, striking the wall with their helmet and breaking the opaque glass. The impact reveals a left eye, dark-glazed and gunning for his bowels on a spit.
The guard with the broken helmet jumps up from the floor and rushes him, but he shoves his fingers in the break in the mask, touching cold skin.
Cold, and white.
As he touches the Flesh, something bursts in front of him, an explosion of snow and red boots. A little girl running near a frozen lake. A scared little girl. Running.
He tries to call to her, but suddenly he feels monstrous fingers grip him by the spine, lifting him one-handed.
Inevitably, his flying spine crashes into a nearby wall, followed by the rest of him.
“The Doctor doesn’t ask for directions,” he murmurs, sinking to the floor like a brick of old custard pudding.
And then the lights go out.