The image of the Doctor decaying into a river of the dust of man superimposes itself, slamming into him, trumpeting a fresh strength through his nerves. He pulls again, easily ripping some of his long emerald locks away from his scalp and drawing it across his vision in little wet strings of hyper-gravitised blood and shredded Time Lord.
He casts the bits of door aside, and the two wrenched sheets fall back in a heavy sigh of creaking metal.
Down his arms comes a roving wave of pain like burning pitch, radiating from a weakened structure in his upper chest. The space above his hearts... something is crunching inside the small place... broken and sliding. A bone? Ah yes- his clavicle.
Soon his muscles will give way, due to the lack of support in the center of his chest.
He rests back on the floor for only a moment, then pitches himself into the austere little room to grab the folded clothes sitting neatly in a pile.
Next to a blue time travel capsule.
A glass jar of pale dirt sets beside her.
Oh. Of course. The Rings. Or perhaps... the Ring. Could it really be so simple?
All right then, he thinks to himself, calculating how long it will take him to get the simple dust cloak and cap on and leave.
The door is just outside, only a few steps away.
The Eye is due to open in approximately five minutes time. He must cross under it before it opens, for if it sights him it will alert the guards. And through them, the Pythia.