Doctor Who Fan Fiction (complete (Part 6 up) 01/02/07)

NOTES

1) These characters are still not mine. They were created by Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, Donald Wilson, Russell T. Davies and many others.

2) I've tried to make it as vague as possible, but in my mind, the Doctor I'm writing with is the David Tennant Doctor, not the Christopher Eccleston one. There are no spoilers for the David Tennant era in the story.

3) I'm sorry this has taken so long – work has just gotten mental.

4) Still no title!

5) While writing this story, I listened to the music of Junior Boys (So This Is Goodbye) and Darkel (Darkel).

Doctor Who Fan Fiction – Part 2

Rose dropped to the Doctor's side, eyes wide in shock and panic. She checked his pulse: it was dangerously slow, but it was still going. She breathed a sigh of relief, and turned to glare at his assailant. She was no longer there. With a surprising turn of speed for such a large creature, the titanic blonde had moved behind Rose. The Londoner screamed as the giantess clasped her hands together and bound them with rope.

"Oi!" Rose cried. "What's your game?" The musclewoman's forehead crinkled with the effort of thought.

"Do not understand," she rumbled. With that, she moved to Rose's feet and bound them quickly and efficiently. Rose struggled against her bonds, but it was no use.

"I take you to Queen Sophia. She know what do," the Amazon said, almost to herself. She bent down, muscles moving like the workings of some perfect engine, to pick the pair up. She slung the Londoner over one shoulder and the Doctor over another, and moved off. Rose shouted and screamed herself hoarse. The inhumanoid began to pick up pace, and the 19-year-old found herself bouncing uncomfortably. The first time the enormous woman leapt into the air, Rose was accordingly pushed up too. Her head came down, hard, on the musclewoman's strong shoulder. Rose Tyler blacked out.

The Doctor awoke. A dull pain throbbed through the side of his head, its echoes bouncing around his body madly.

"I tell you what, Rose," he began, rubbing his head, "I ignored the Number One rule there: never trust a person who doesn't use articles in their speech." The Time Lord opened his eyes, expecting a giggle or at least a question about articles, but Rose was nowhere to be seen. He was lying, unbound, on a white tiled floor. The ceiling too was made of white tiles, along with the walls. They seemed to be glowing internally. The Doctor shielded his eyes as the light intensified. He looked around to get a feel for the place. One of the walls was set much further back than the others and it featured a door. The Doctor stood and was about to make his way towards it when he spotted something shimmering in the air in front of him.

Reaching inside his jacket, the Time Lord removed his trusty sonic screwdriver. He aimed it at the nearly invisible object and pushed the button. It was made of some kind of electrical energy. Methodically the Doctor traced the shape of the thing he'd seen in the air. It turned out to be a thin cylinder which ran from the floor to the ceiling. The Time Lord frowned: there were others. It was a few moments work and, when he'd finished, the Doctor realised he'd traced the bars of his prison.

"Hello!" he called out, stashing the screwdriver. "I'm awake now! I'm ready to talk!" There was no response. "Hello!" he tried again, and waved at no-one in particular. "Hello?" Still nothing. "Oh well," the Doctor shrugged to himself. He settled into a corner of the cell, fished in a pocket and brought out a packet of Jelly Babies. He selected a black one and threw it into his mouth.

The Doctor slept fitfully on the prison floor. He awoke with a start from one of these unsatisfying naps to find a woman standing over him. She was nothing like the gargantuan humanoid who'd hit him; in fact, she was no bigger than Rose. She wore a tightly buttoned-down white lab coat over business-like black trousers and overly sensible shoes. She held a tiny object in her hand which was the size of a compact mirror.  Her hair was brown and hung in waves from her head to just below her shoulders. Her eyes were jet black, set slightly too far back in a stern face. The Doctor shuddered internally. Externally, he sprang to his feet, all smiles.

"Hello!" he said enthusiastically. The woman took a step back. "I'm the Doctor. Could I ask what's going on here?" The woman gave a cruel half-smile.

"You are a man," she said, almost spitting the last word. The Doctor opened his mouth to reply, then shut it again.

"Yes indeed," he said, deciding owning up straightaway might be the best policy. "Is that… a crime?" To the Doctor's horror, the woman nodded.

"We have outlawed men on this planet," she replied. "In due course you will be executed."

"What, without a trial?" the Time Lord spluttered. The woman laughed.

"There is no need for a trial," she crowed. "You are a man. You are already guilty. The punishment is death." Something clicked inside the Doctor's mind. He decided to change tack slightly, signalling this with a broad grin.

"If you don't mind a lowly man such as myself asking you, Milady," he began, "what year is this?" The woman frowned.

"It is the year 5382," she answered, her patience thinning. The Doctor shut his eyes and slumped against the wall. His fears had been confirmed.

"I'm on Fertania, aren't I," he said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," the woman replied.

"A planet colonised by a sect of women who believe that men are superfluous."

"Yes."

"Any men found on Fertania are killed without exception."

"Yes."

"I, in fact, should have woken up to find myself dead." The woman's forehead crinkled slightly at this strange turn of phrase.

"Yes."

"Except, obviously, I'm not. Why?"

"You are unique."

"Yes."

"Yes."

"Yes. And that makes me valuable."

"Oh yes."

"But you said I was to be executed." The woman sneered at this apparent flaw in the logic.

"We are to get all the information we can from you. For example, our defense systems automatically destroy any ship within a certain range that is found to have a man aboard. How is it that you were able to land here?" There was a long pause.

"Would you believe, by a literally zillions – if not trillions, whichever one is bigger – to one chance?" The woman snarled and approached the glowing bars of the Doctor's prison.

"No," she said coldly. "I would not." The Doctor decided to ask the question that had been plaguing him for hours.

"There was a woman with me when I landed," he said casually. "She's not here now. Where is she?"

"Your concubine – " The Doctor burst out laughing. "Your companion, if you prefer," the woman continued, eyebrow arched, "is in good hands."

"I don't doubt it," the Time Lord countered, when he had snorted away the last of his laughter, "but I would much prefer it if she were by my side. Much. And," he added, "she is neither companion nor concubine. She's my equal." The Doctor's tormentor bristled.

"When a man is in the presence of a woman, he may say that they are equal," she began, "but the man believes himself superior. Always." The Doctor considered this.

"I am superior," he admitted. "And still I say she is my equal. She is brave, strong and resourceful."

"Your words do not impress me," the woman sneered.

"But they're true," the Doctor whispered. The woman rolled her eyes, having lost patience. She turned smartly on her heel and headed towards the door. Knowing it was useless in advance, the Time Lord didn't try to stop her. She paused in the doorway, turning to speak to him again.

"Your words mean nothing," she spat. "Less than nothing. You are a man. You will lie, deceive, cheat and steal." The Doctor chanced his arm.

"Whereas women stopped doing those things centuries ago?"

"Arrogance and petulance," the woman said, drawing herself up to her full height. "Your true colours coming through. The women of this planet are punished in a rather… unique way if they are caught breaking our laws." The Doctor frowned. History hadn't recorded anything on Fertanian punishments. "I am Sophia, Queen of Fertania," she announced simply. "Know my name, so that when I kill you, you can take it with you to the depths of hell that spawned you." On that note, she left the room.

"Charming," the Doctor muttered.

Rose came round. She blinked groggily and shook her head to try and get some life into her brain. The Londoner looked around: she was lying down on a contraption like a dentist's chair, only her arms and legs were held in place by thick metal clamps. Knowing it was useless in advance, Rose struggled, but there was no give in the cold metal. Slightly panicked, she looked around wildly for the Doctor. He was nowhere to be seen. The more the 19-year-old saw of the room, the more panic took a sweaty grip of her mind. It was a cold place, with the same white walls that made up the Doctor's prison. There was a metal trolley to Rose's left, with various medical instruments laid out on top. More worryingly, there was a device like a science-fiction laser cannon hanging from the ceiling, primed to fire straight at her head. It reminded her, oddly, of that James Bond film that her and her Mum had seen one Boxing Day. Other than that, and a door at the end of the room Rose was facing, it was empty.

Rose screamed for the Doctor, but no sound came out. She wriggled and struggled with all her strength, shouting at what she thought would be the top of her lungs. Still no sound. Then the door opened. A couple of women walked in, both dressed in buttoned-down white lab coats. The one on Rose's right was slightly taller, her brown hair drawn back into an ugly bun. The one on the left wore glasses, and her long ginger hair was drawn into a ponytail.

"Interesting," the brunette sneered, standing over the prone Londoner. "Though the subject must by now be aware that she cannot speak, she still tries to do so." She leaned closer until her thin lips were level with Rose's ear. "We injected what is effectively a sedative into the speech centre of your brain. You will be unable to talk for another two hours." Rose tried to look defiant as the woman's voice dropped to a whisper. "The screaming disturbed some of the nurses so." The redhead spoke for the first time.

"We are ready, Mistress," she said quietly.

"Then let us begin," the brunette said, straightening up and moving out of the way of the cannon. The redhead threw a switch on the side of the cannon, which began to hum ominously, lights flickering along its length. A very fine white beam shot from it straight into Rose's forehead. Slowly it made its way down her body. However, as it swept down the Londoner's frame, it didn't hurt. If anything, it tickled Rose as it progressed down her torso to her pelvis. Once the beam had traced a line down the middle of Rose's form, it stopped. The cannon slowly whirred and clicked into silence.

Rose wanted to say "Is that it?" but knew she couldn't. The two women moved together again at Rose's feet. The brunette smiled wickedly, but the redhead looked a little queasy.

"Goodbye, Rose Tyler," the brown-haired woman sneered. "When we return, there will be nothing left of you." On that chilling note, the two women turned and left the room. Rose heard a click and guessed, correctly, that the door had been locked. There was a second click. The Londoner watched in amazement as the metal bonds receded into four separate compartments in the chair with efficient and satisfying clunks. She paused uncertainly, wondering what sort of trick this could be. The beam hadn't done anything and here she was, being released. Deciding that the beam was configured for some sort of alien and thus didn't affect humans, Rose swung her legs off the chair and stood up. She felt a little shaky, but managed to stay upright.

Then she felt something in her body. A surge of power. Frowning, Rose looked down at herself. Nothing appeared to have happened. She felt it again, stronger this time. The third wave brought the 19-year-old to her knees on the strangely white floor. Slowly Rose brought her arms up in front of her face and saw that they were expanding. In fact, she could now feel her whole body changing and growing. Rose's frown turned to horror.

NOTES

1) These characters are still not mine. They were created by Sydney Newman, C. E. Webber, Donald Wilson, Russell T. Davies and many others.

2) I understand that the David Tennant-era Doctor Who has now started on US TV – so feel free to now start imagining that it's 'his' Doctor in the story now! That's certainly how I've intended it.

4) Still no title!

5) While writing this story, I listened to the music of  Darkel (Darkel).

Doctor Who Fan Fiction – Part 3

The door in the Doctor's jail opened. The ancient alien stood to face the newcomer. It was Sophia who strode through, carrying a tiny device that put the Time Lord in mind of a remote control, though it was no bigger than a credit card. She had a satisfied smirk on her face which the Doctor instantly recognised as meaning 'trouble'. She aimed the device at a certain section of the wall behind him and pushed a button. The white tile flickered and changed into a screen, depicting Rose with perfect clarity. The Doctor frowned briefly.

Initially, the Time Lord could see nothing unusual, but it didn't take long for him to register that something was very wrong. Rose began to tremble, then shake violently. She was on her knees in what the Gallifreyan had assumed, correctly of course, was a medical laboratory. Rose looked to be in quite a lot of pain. Sophia pressed another button and the Londoner's screams rang out around the chamber. The Doctor winced as he heard them.

Rose's image began to rock from side to side, just as her pained howling intensified. It looked at a few points as if she were about to stand up – her head rose a little, but she didn't make any other moves. The Doctor padded softly to the section of wall displaying his companion's fate. He put a hand on the screen over Rose's head and lowered his own. The Londoner's most anguished yell yet echoed around the room, causing the Doctor's head to snap back up at the screen. As he looked more closely, the Time Lord began to realise what was really happening. Rose's head was rising because she was growing. The Doctor whipped around.

"What's happening to her?" he growled. Sophia smiled evilly.

"Just watch," she breathed. The Doctor suppressed a shudder: Sophia seemed to be enjoying herself.

As well as growing taller, Rose was filling out her clothes. From the odd angle at which they were viewing the Londoner's fate, the Doctor could tell that her jeans were about to split open, along with the sleeves of her jacket. However, the first ripping noises came from lower down: the 19-year-old's feet burst through her trainers, one toe at a time, causing her to cry out in an odd mixture of pain and relief. The soles blew off and flapped a few feet away across the floor. Then rips started to appear all over her clothes, a cacophony of splitting seams and tearing fabric. The Doctor tilted his head to get a better look. Once the Time Lord had made sense of the images, he took a pace backwards, his jaw going slack. Rose's body was filling out with muscle.

The tears elongated as Rose grew out in all three dimensions. Thick thighs, growing glutes and colossal calves destroyed the denim. Devastating delts, terrific triceps and bulging biceps split her sleeves. Powering pectorals, billowing breasts and leering lats burst through the body of her jacket. Even her hair lengthened. Rose's outfit fell to bits around her crouching form like a bizarre fabric confetti. Only her black G-string and matching bra remained, though the Londoner's bloating bosom had long since left its restraining cups. Her widening chest was left to slug it out with the garment, which would have been pinching painfully had Rose been able to register it amidst the colossal hurt she was undergoing because of the transformation. The Doctor was just thankful that the angle at which he was viewing events prevented him from seeing anything he would be embarrassed about later. The Gallifreyan risked a brief glance at Sophia. Her eyes were aflame. He shuddered involuntarily and turned back to the screen.

Free of most impediment, Rose's growth accelerated wildly. When the last strip of fabric had fluttered to the ground, the 19-year-old had the sort of body that would place well in a modern-day female body-building contest. As the Doctor looked on, helpless, she passed the size of the top-ranking male bodybuilder of all time on Earth. As her back and, presumably, chest widened dramatically, Rose's bra finally gave up and, with a snap, fluttered to the floor to join the clothing cull. Only her thin panties remained, rapidly disappearing as her tush filled with strong, powerful muscle.

Slowly, the thing that Rose was becoming stood up, one bulging leg braced on the floor, causing cracks to appear in the tiles through the pressure its unbelievable thickness was exerting. Powerful muscles uncoiled, pumping like pistons, and powered the superwoman upright, growing and expanding all the while. Past seven feet in height, as wide as a desk, stronger than steel, huge muscles in sharp relief on her beyond inhuman body. Rose slowly raised her gigantic fists to the ceiling, all the enormous strength in her arms swelling into greater prominence with the motion, and roared herself hoarse. A couple of fittings fell from the walls.

Sophia shuddered in disgusting ecstasy at Rose's evident agony. The Doctor shut his eyes and fought the tears. Sophia approached, getting as close as possible to the shimmering bars of the Time Lord's prison.

"Don't close your eyes now," she purred. "We're reaching the final act." Horrified of what she might mean, the Doctor opened his eyes and fixed them on the screen. The new Rose was still growing and changing as the pair watched, though it was clear that her metamorphosis was slowing down. The sheer amount of power already packed onto Rose's Amazonian new frame was incredible: every inch of the parts of her body that the pair could see bulged with strong, bronzed muscle, from her thick neck down to her enlarged feet. They were all still growing, thrusting the Londoner to even greater heights of strength.

Seconds later, with one almighty roar, the change ended. A very different Rose stood in the laboratory, one who was eight feet tall and with more muscle layered onto her single body than an entire football team. The Doctor and Sophia were seeing Rose from the back, but at a strange diagonal angle. Although her butt-length hair partially obscured the view, the Doctor could tell that the masses of rippling power that formed Rose's back were like a sack of footballs, widening out into shoulders the width of a car, which sported unbelievable contours of power. At the other end, Rose's glutes had ballooned into perfectly round mounds of sexy flesh, the overstretched G-string still hanging in there. They lead down into hamstrings made up of thick cords of muscle. Further down Rose was casually displaying powerfully juicy calves the size of a watermelons. The blonde's beefy delts glided smoothly into enormous, well-shaped triceps. Her forearms were like two lead pipes tied together, practically bursting with frighteningly thick vascularity. On top of this vision of female power, the curves of Rose's new breasts could quite easily be made out. They had almost grown to the size of beachballs and seemed to be floating on her brawny chest. The Doctor reasoned that his friend's vastly enlarged and engorged pectorals must be keeping them eerily in place.

The re-formed Rose was behaving like some kind of animal. She sniffed the air, adopted a semi-crouching fighting stance and slowly turned around, getting the lay of the land. As she span on the spot, the Doctor and Sophia were treated to a quick glimpse at the 19-year-old's awesome frontage. Fortunately, thick strands of hair splayed artfully out over Rose's enormous breasts, covering her areolae perfectly. Huge abdominal muscles fought for space underneath her massive mammaries, bursting to break free like cobblestones stacked on top of each other. Her tiny navel had been swallowed amongst the swells of her more-than-washboard abdomen. Rose's thick traps almost reached up to her ears. Her face had changed too: her jaw and cheekbones were much more prominent and powerful-looking. The Time Lord shuddered when he spotted that the usual glint in Rose's eyes had been completely extinguished. On the other hand, she was now in possession of the most incredible V-shaped body in recorded history: all glistening, golden-brown beef wherever you looked. The Doctor was appalled.

Behind him Sophia pushed a button on her control. On-screen, one of the walls of the laboratory slid upwards into the ceiling. It lead outside the building to an open field. The new, animalistic Rose obeyed her instincts and padded slowly, still wearing only the G-string, through the opening and into the open air. Just as swiftly, the wall slid down again and obscured the Rosiathan from view. The Doctor whirled around from the now useless screen and faced his gaoler.

"What did you do to her?" he said, through gritted teeth.

"We turned her into a man," Sophia said simply, as if it were a natural, everyday occurrence. "That is the most supreme punishment in our laws." The Doctor frowned.

"You've done what?" he said quickly.

"Turned her into a man," Sophia repeated icily. "And there was I, thinking you were intelligent," she hissed.

"Oh, I am," the Doctor admitted. "But – forgive me – Rose is still female. Abundantly female, in places," he added, after a pause. "What you have, in fact, done, is turn her into a, a, a, parody of a man." Sophia merely rolled her eyes.

"Perhaps that was our intention," she spat, through clenched teeth (itself quite a feat). "The women we punish have their IQs reduced to 35. They develop thick and ugly muscle. They become Neanderthals, good only for killing wildlife and thinking about… procreation. So we send them out into the forests to do just that, and they make of their lives what they can." She paused, drawing her face into a semi-snarl. "In fact, they think that they are guarding this city and its inhabitants from predators."

"That's barbaric," the Doctor countered.

"It has been our law for generations, and we will not change." The ancient alien sensed that he wasn't going to get anything more from Sophia. In fact, she turned on her heels and headed for the door.

"I will stop you," the Doctor called. "And I will get Rose back." Sophia favoured him by turning her head in his direction.

"From there?" she crowed. "You are imprisoned and have neither weapons nor reinforcements. Besides, the process is irreversible."

"Nonetheless," the Doctor continued. "You have been warned." Sophia issued a short "Ha!" which scuttered into the corner of the room to hide from the lips that had uttered it. With that, she left the room. The Time Lord waited a good few minutes, just standing in the place Sophia had left him, trying to digest and understand what he'd just witnessed. He kicked at motes of dust that floated nonchalantly into his cell. Eventually he looked up at the ceiling, closed his eyes for a few seconds and said "Right" to no-one in particular.

The Doctor filched the ever-trusty sonic screwdriver from inside his jacket, altered the setting on it and pointed it at the central energy bar of his prison. There was a high-pitched whine that made the Time Lord wince, but after a few seconds there was a fizz and the bar winked out. It was the work of a minute to make a gap wide enough for the alien to pass through, which he duly did. With a smile of supreme satisfaction, the Doctor walked purposefully towards the door that he had seen Sophia use. Wary of any traps, he aimed the sonic screwdriver at the doorknob. It was harmless, and unlocked. The Time Lord grasped it, opened the door, and peeked around the gap. No-one was guarding his cell, miraculously. He left the room and slipped into the shadows.