Doctor Who: War Against the Cybermachines

The Universe was in danger, no—not just the universe, the whole space was under threat by the war machines called the Cybermen.

They left a path of conqueored destruction in their path, burning places to the ground and anybody they didn't burn to the ground was taken and forced to become one of them. A cyberman that couldn't feel, couldn't argue, and only wanted to do one thing and that was to cyber-conquer every last star in the galaxy.

The Doctor Who and his team of companions were the only one that could stop them. He had lost so many in his war with the cyborg men but he was prepared to beat them by any means necessary.

In his last battle, two of his companions had been murdered. Neither had served him very long, something which was noticeable by his lack of sympathy for their deaths.

"We need more soldiers," said the Doctor as he marched around his Tardis. "We keep losing them, we need more."

"But so many have died so far," said Joan of Arc, who had been one of his first recruits. He had saved her from her death at the stake, and she had been grateful for it ever since. Without him, she'd be dead, and he reminded her about it every time she disagreed with him.

"And I am prepared for more to die if it means beating the cybermans."

Jean of Arc worried that he was a monster, that he was no different from the machine men that he was fighting. He had once told her that he couldn't be a good guy any more, that good guys couldn't beat these monstrositys.

"But if we keep doing this, if we keep dying, there will be no one left except for you and the Cybermen."

He frowned and slammed his hand on the control console in the middle of the room. It was much bigger on the inside than it was on the out. "Then if it comes down to me and the last Cyberman, I'll make sure he's the one that dies first."

Jean of Arc shook her head and sighed with jaded defeat, "but then it will be you all alone in the galaxy, the last person left alive."

"But at least there would be no more Cybermen."

He was mad. There was no talking it out of him, and she knew not to prod the subject any more.

The Doctor flicked some panels and pulled leavers and mumbled towards the computer. The TARDIS was rocking and moving, twisting and diving through spirals of stars and time. The familiar siren, its aging voice struggling to sing, wailed through the time machine and signalled they were almost there.

"We're here." Said the Doctor as he brushed past her.

"Where are we?"

He didn't answer, as he leapt out the door and in to the warm air of the city. Joan of Ark stepped out after him and rubbed her eyes as the sun hit them. She could hear car horns in the distance, singing and the shuffling of feet. She didn't know much about the future except that so many strange things had been invented and she couldn't understand how to use a single one of them.

"Doctor, stop!" She chased after him in the direction of the trenchcoat-blur, down an alleyway where drying clothes dripped down from the wires above.

"Doctor?" Joan looked around, only to see him cornering two men at the end.

Well, more like one man. The other younger gentelman lay in a pile on the ground, breathing but knocked out. The Doctor was waving his sonic screwdriver and she raced towards him, looking to help him in the fight.

He must have been cornered, ran in to a dead end and these two greasers trapped him. Joan scrunched her fists in to balls and crunched her teeth together.

"You want some of this as well?!" She snapped, innocently, nearly about to pounce but only to be held back by the doctor. The young woman frowned, not sure why he was stopping her, but it very soon became apparent why.

The 1950s greaser held his hands up, shaking, petrified to move even an inch.

The Doctor wagged his weapon at the guy. "So I'm gonna ask you again. No, not ask, I'm telling you—I'm the Doctor and I need your help in a war against the machines."

The young greaser's eyebrows danced on his forehead, not sure whether to frown or be shocked. "I—I don't know who you people are, just leave me and my buddy alone. We never saw nothing, that's what we'll tell people!"

"Your buddy's coming with me." Pure determination in the eyes of the Doctor as he shuffled forward, his screwdriver glowing. "And so are you. Now pick him up and carry him in to the phone booth, soldier.!"

The greaser did as he was told and lifted his friend on to his shoulders. Jean of Arc was disgusted, and her face said it all so much that the Doctor had to comment.

"This is a war, Joan of Arc. A war that we absolutely cannot lose. Now you're either with me or your against me, what is it?"

She hung her head and nodded, "I'm with you Doctor."

"Good girl," he put his hand on her shoulder. "Let us go. We must return to war at once. We don't have much time."

He grabbed her wrist and began to jog.

"But Doctor Who, we've got a time machine!" She complained.

"A time machine that can put you right back to where I found you, if you don't be quiet. Now let's go," he huffed as the tardis came in to view, "we have fresh recruits to train!"