Silander nods, ushering them both into the Panopticon Hall. His stiff blue uniform with its silver lines down the arms and legs reminds the Doctor of Bruce Lee’s famous yellow track suit. Or maybe TRON.
“Thank you, sir.” says the Doctor as Borusa and himself enter the hall, teacher and student side by side. Well, side by calf muscle.
The Doctor’s hearts are the sounds of a train, rushing in his ears. He looks around as though his gaze is a paper mask gone soggy from sitting in water, his eyes flailing in slow motion from one face to the next. He remembers that train, sitting there by the window seat, clutching his chest, his one heart thumping sadly somewhere to the left of him. He had lost the right one, lost its purpose. Just a black lump in a jar somewhere, now- still perfectly functional, but that he himself in particular didn’t need it any longer. He remembers the mirror machine. Sometimes he wonders if he broke it into enough pieces. There had been good reasons among the rotten, for the Time Lords to stifle everyone else’s children. There really had been. When had it gone wrong? What had that moment been like? And could he let it happen again? Could he…