𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧
𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐧
𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟏

from the eyes of
— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄 —

"They're Daleks! They are called Daleks!" The Doctor spat indignantly, slamming his hands on Churchill's desk, his fingers covering the multitude of blueprints that displayed Daleks.

Amy was standing next to me as we watched the Doctor flip the fuck out from the sidelines in Churchill's office.

The Doctor had demanded that Winston show him the blueprints as he and Bracewell were convinced the Daleks were nothing more than metal machines that were human-built.

I, personally, have two theories. Either something happened, AKA, a major butterfly effect and somehow humanity had started building robots that were nearly identical to the Daleks...

Yeah, that was highly unlikely, the probability of that happening was practically zero.

This left me to my other theory: the Daleks were currently in the middle of pulling off one of their greatest schemes to date.

I wonder what they're up to. Going undercover in Great Britain during the 40s seemed a bit below them.

"They are Bracewell's Ironsides, Doctor! Look!" Churchill said firmly, pointing to the pages upon pages of blueprints. "Blueprints, statistics, field-tests, photographs. He invented them! What more proof do you need?"

Quietly, I reached forward and stole one of the blueprints off the desk. I held it in front of me, staring down at it with scrutiny. Amy peaked from over my shoulder but it was apparent she did not know what to look for.

Me, on the other hand, I was looking for anything that could make these blueprints fake. Something that did not show up: whether that was mathematics behind it or the picture itself. Unfortunately, the blueprints were perfect, nothing was amiss.

Too perfect, especially for humanity in the 40s.

"Invented them?" The Doctor scoffed in disbelief. "Oh, no, no, no!" He was leaned over, hands holding the side of the desk tightly.

"Yes! He approached one of our brass hats a few months ago! He is a genius—unmatched in his field!" Winston was firm in his stance.

I could not blame him—using the Ironsides could easily win them the war within weeks. Would it change history immensely?

Oh, fuck yeah.

But they'd win the war a few years earlier. Totally obliterate all of the Nazi.

Amy had grabbed a few fallen pieces of paper, not full blueprints but scriptures of ideas. Small math equations and descriptions of what the 'Ironsides' would be able to do. There was also a small monologue of Professor Bracewell himself written on it. Amy hummed while reading through, looking up with a sparkle in her.

"He's a Scottish genius too! Maybe you should listen—" She started, apparently her attention and trust having been earned under the impression that this guy was Scottish.

The Doctor, already having been worked up, twisted to face us so fast that we both jumped.

"Hush!" He snapped, pointing a finger at Amy sternly

She was surprised by the tone he had taken. I awkwardly scratched the back of my head as his eyes rolled toward me, we made eye contact and it was obvious that he waiting to see if I had any snarky comment to add so that he might shut it down as well.

He appeared pleased when after a moment I did not say anything, the Doctor turning back to meet Winston Churchill's stare dead-on.

"He did not invent them, they are alien!" He spoke in such a quiet but stern tone it sent chills spiraling down even my back.

Why did this almost want to make me push his buttons more? This TimeLord was not hot when he was upset—he's scary and frankly annoying! At least, that is what I tried to tell myself.

"Alien?" Churchill repeated dubiously.

At that moment, a green Dalek rolled by the open door of the office. It's long plunger eye turning as it went—and the office went eerily silent as it made its way by. The Doctor turned his head just slightly to watch it go.

"And totally hostile..." The Doctor said sharply, looking back toward Winston.

"Precisely! They will win me the war!" Winston said, his voice holding a scary amount of optimism.

He then moved the blueprints aside to reveal a poster.

It reminded me of the poster from America during this time. A cartoon of Uncle Sam in a tall hat all dressed up in stars and stripes pointing a finger at whoever was looking—a simple call to action reading, "I want YOU for the U.S. Army!"

However, what was displayed in front of me was a cartoon of a Dalek with the saying "TO VICTORY" printed in bold up top.

"Woah—can I keep one of those?" I chortled, wasting no time in taking the advertisement and holding it up to examine. "This actually looks pretty cool!"

Even though I often lost things given my lifestyle—if it can be even be called lifestyle—I enjoyed collecting things from my travels.

My view of the poster was quickly interrupted as the Doctor ripped it from my hands and put it back where it was.

"No, you may not!" He sternly said.

I pouted at him but he promptly ignored me in favor of turning his attention back to Churchill.

However, to my surprise, Churchill was already staring at me.

"What was your name again?" He asked me. "And yours?" He looked at Amelia briefly before bringing his gaze back to me.

Internally, I cringed at having caught his attention. Seeing as I am meant to meet him in t-minus 5 years, it was best not to draw extra attention. The less he heard me and the less he paid attention to me, the more likely he was to not really recognize me five years from now.

However, thinking back on it, I know for a fact that he will not totally remember or recognize me when he eventually runs into my past self in five years. What I do now won't much matter as it's pretty much set in stone that he will not remember me.

My past, Churchill's future.

Being on the other end of that is weird.

For the Doctor: having me with him but not knowing the same things that he does must be so weird. Especially considering that he has months worth of memories I haven't lived yet.

Then again, the life of a time traveler, I suppose.

"Amy," The redhead nodded to him with a small wave.

Churchill nodded back and then turned his attention to me. I briefly made eye contact with the Doctor who was still huffing and puffing his frustrations. My lips moved before I could stop myself, my tone of voice changing.

"My friends call me, PJ, darlin'..." I said, and while my accent was still American, I was speaking in a transatlantic accent that was typical of people this time.

It did not take much effort: simply more emphasis on certain words and a bit quicker in pronunciation.

It was a fun way to speak.

The Doctor lost his frustration momentarily blinking at me in dazed confusion and disbelief.

"American, how fun..." Winston Churchill said before taking another drag of his cigar. "Where are you from, ma'am?"

"Kentucky, sir..."

"Well, I don't suppose you smoke, Miss PJ"

The Doctor took it upon himself to answer for me. "No, she doesn't. And we should really be focusing on the alien invasion from one of the most dangerous species in the cosmos here!"

Immediately, I turned my head to look at him—widening my eyes and putting on the most innocent charade.

"Why, Doctor," I said sweetly, letting my lips curve into a coy smile, "Don't you think it's awfully rude to speak for a lady? What if I did fancy a smoke? A cigar, perhaps?" I tilted my head, the transatlantic lilt thick in my voice, and batted my eyelashes innocently.

The Doctor froze, his mouth slightly open as if caught mid-thought. For a brief moment, the righteous indignation in his expression wavered, replaced by something akin to flustered disbelief. He blinked rapidly, his jaw tightening as though physically reining himself.

"But you don't," He said sharply, regaining his composure, though the tips of his ears had turned noticeably pink. "And I'm fairly certain you've never fancied one either." He shot me a pointed look, but his voice lacked its usual bite.

"Well, don't you seem so sure," I replied, stepping closer to him with feigned innocence. "It's almost as if you've got me all figured out." My voice dropped an octave, smooth and teasing, like a sultry 1940s femme fatale. "Do you, Doctor? Do you have me all figured out?"

The Doctor's hands tightened their grip on the desk, his eyes darting briefly to Amy, who was now watching the exchange with poorly disguised amusement. He exhaled through his nose, clearly fighting an internal battle before he turned his attention back to me. His shoulders were rigid, but his gaze flickered for the briefest moment before snapping back to meet my eyes.

"You're trying to wind me up," He said flatly, but there was an edge of breathlessness in his voice that betrayed him.

I gasped, widening my eyes in mock offense. "Me? Wind you up?" My hand fluttered to my chest as though wounded. "Doctor, I would never!"

His nostrils flared, and he leaned in just slightly, lowering his voice so that only I could hear. "Careful, now," he murmured, the tension in his tone making the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. "You're playing games I don't care to be part of right now."

A slow, playful grin spread across my face. "Oh, Doctor," I said softly, the way I was speaking was reminiscent of Daisy from The Great Gatsby. "I do love a good game. I'm quite good at them too!"

His hand twitched as though he wanted to run it through his hair but instead he shoved it into his pocket. "You're insufferable," He muttered, though there was no heat behind his words.

I took a small step back, letting the moment linger before raising an eyebrow. "Well, since you're so confident that these Ironsides are actually Daleks..." I gestured vaguely toward the door. "I suppose I'll just go ask them myself! You know, for a second opinion."

We both knew the truth, that these were Daleks and this was some ploy we had landed in the middle of.

Before he could respond, I spun on my heel and took a step toward the door.

"Oh, no, you don't!"

In a flash, the Doctor was behind me, his hand wrapping around my waist as he tugged me back toward him. His breath was warm against my ear as he leaned in, his voice low and laced with warning. "Don't you dare, PJ. You don't know what they're capable of."

The unexpected closeness sent a shiver down my spine, and for a moment, I couldn't think of anything clever to say. His tone was serious, but the tension between us was electric, the heat of his presence making it hard to focus on anything else.

Before either of us could say another word, Churchill hobbled past us, cigar in hand, muttering, "I don't have time to watch this ridiculous flirting—I have a war to win!"

I snickered at Winston Churchill's words.

The Doctor released me abruptly, taking a step back. He straightened his bowtie, his expression a mix of exasperation and something else entirely.

"Behave," He warned, his voice firm but tinged with frustration.

I gave him a cheeky grin, saluting with two fingers. "As you wish, Space Lord."

He shook his head, muttering under his breath before following after Churchill. Amy caught my eye, smirking knowingly as the two of us trailed behind.

"You really like playing bad girl with the Doctor, don't you?" Amy teased and I rolled my eyes while shoving her with my shoulder. Amy then proceeded to whisper between the two us, in an obnoxiously high-pitched and terrible American accent."Oh, Doctor, I'm such a naughty girl, tie me up why don't you?"

My eyes widened, and I gasped, looking around to make sure the man of the hour did not hear that. Thankfully, he was right next to Churchill speaking in quick vicious tones—his attention fully on the situation.

"Amy!" I hissed with a small chortle. "No—that's so gross! He's just fun to bother..." I piped. "Not to mention, he's like a thousand years old!"

"Well, he looks 26!" She quipped back. "And when you are immortal does age matter?"

I guess she kind of had a point, but still.

"Like I said, it's just funny to grind his gears..." I held my hands up as though at gunpoint.

"Yeah, I can tell you're having fun... and I think he is too..." Amy waggled her brows causing me to scoff as we caught up to them and listened in to what the Doctor was saying to Churchill.

"Imagine what I could do with a hundred of them! A thousand?" Winston Churchill told the Doctor as we continued down the shaking corridor.

A thousand Daleks sounded like a party that I did not want to be invited to.

"I am imagining..." The Doctor sighed, glaring as we all passed by one of the Daleks.

Or were they Ironsides? No, definitely Daleks.

I gazed at it intensely and it looked right back as I passed. I was surprised when the Doctor suddenly gripped my arm and pulled me with him, forcing me to turn back around.

Surprisingly, he said nothing, just keeping a tight grip that kept me close. It was obvious he did not trust me to not wander up to one to try and piss it off. I would not trust me either considering that is exactly what I had wanted to do.

We paused outside of the room, Winston Churchill wandering inside as the three of us remained out.

"Maybe he'll listen to you, Amy, you tell him..." He said to her.

"Tell him what?" Amy questioned.

"About the Daleks..." The Doctor trailed off.

"What would I know about the Daleks?" She scoffed.

"Everything, they invaded your world, remember... you don't forget that..." He said, looking at her in concern. "Amy, please tell me you remember the Daleks."

Amy looked at the Doctor as though he had grown a second head. She pursed her lips while shaking 'no' to him. "No, sorry," She laughed nervously.

He looked into her eyes deeply, before breathing out. "That's not possible..."

His grip tightened as he regarded me now. "Please tell me you remember the Daleks, PJ..."

I waved him off. "Of course, I do. Trashy metal aliens that like to exterminate everything. Want to hear an impression?"

The Doctor looked relieved, running a hand down his face. "Not really..."

Well, he was going to get one anyway.

I cleared my throat before talking from my chest and being as nasally as possible. "Exterminate—exterminate! The Doctor? DOUBLE EXTERMINATE!"

To my surprise, I got a genuine laugh out of the Doctor as he quickly worked to cover my mouth. A few 'Ironsides' were eyeing us obviously having heard the impression. Amy was covering her mouth, a smile on her lips.

The Doctor stared down at me, eyes gleaming.

"Alright, that's enough of that, and in all my years, I don't believe I have ever heard a Dalek say 'oh, shit!'" He breathed while dropping his hand, still staring into my eyes with that twinkle. Finally, he broke eye contact, nodding to Pond and tugging me into the council room with him.

It was busy, shaking like everything else with phones constantly ringing and people practically shouting over each other. Updates regarding attacks and such came in seconds after each other.

The Doctor was quick to leave our side, walking over to Churchill and immediately engaging in another frenzied conversation.

Me and Amy waited until he came back, groaning earnestly.

"So they're up to something. But what is it? What are they after?" The Doctor spat out, pacing and looking to us for answers.

I shrugged. "To take over the world if I had to guess..."

"Well, that's a bad guess, a stupid guess. Why would the Daleks want to rule over this planet? No, it's something else..." The Doctor proceeded to shamelessly insult my answer in the middle of his scheming.

Ferociously, I got in the Doctor's face with a snarl. His eyes widened, gaze darting all over my face. Sadly, I had to stand on my toes in order to level myself with him completely, but it did not make a difference to me.

"You know what, Space Lord? It's about time I oughta—!"

Amy cut off my snarl.

"You know, PJ, your idea from earlier was actually pretty good! So how about we just ask, shall we?" She said before strolling up to a Dalek—Ironside thing and tapping it.

My eyes nearly fell from my head with how wide they got.

"Amy... Amelia!" The Doctor called her but did not attempt to stop her.

What the fuck, why did he stop me from going over earlier?

...Because I would've pressed its buttons until it snapped and tried to kill me.

I was quick to grab onto the Doctor's arm, fingers digging into his tweed jacket as I watched the scene unfold with amusement. He briefly glanced down at me before his attention was back on Amy with a deep scowl.

As she tapped it, the head of the Dalek spun so fast that it's long eye stalk almost smacked her in the head. That would definitely hurt. But still, I had never seen another creature able to touch a Dalek without it immediately trying to kill them.

"CAN I BE OF ASSISTANCE?!" The Dalek asked in a loud robotic tone, typical to that of a Dalek.

It was just that normally they were shouting orders to kill—not shouting about offering its help. The scene was so bizarre that I had to let go of the Doctor and spin around to face the other direction.

A hand came up to cover my mouth.

The Doctor watched me in concern.

"PJ? Are you oka—?" His words of concern were cut off by me, but not on purpose.

"PFFT—ahaha..."

I released a disgusting mix between a chortle, a snort, and a giggle. I had to lean against the wall next to me, waving away the Doctor as I helplessly laughed at the sound of the Dalek trying to talk 'normally'.

"I'm—ahaha—I'm fine, listen to the conversation... ahaha... I just can't, it's too fucking funny...!"

"Your sense of humor is incredible in all the worst ways, deary..." He sighed.

I could feel the Doctor practically drilling holes in me from how hard he was staring, he was no doubt shaking his head. But finally, he walked back the few feet we had come from and continued to listen to Amy try and talk to the Dalek.

Even from the other side of the war room, I heard its final sentence that it yelled at Amy.

"PLEASE EXCUSE ME! I HAVE DUTIES TO PERFORM!"

A holler escaped my mouth and I gave no fucks if my laughing was obnoxious at this point. How no one else found this funny was beyond me.

Daleks, some of the most dangerous beings in this universe, and here was one talking like some crazy phone operator.

After many moments and furious side-eyes from the multitude of people working the war room and taking their lives seriously, I had calmed myself down enough to rejoin the Doctor and Amy.

I slid up behind Amy.

"What does hate look like, Amy?" He asked her, turning his head to stare at a Dalek spitefully.

"Hate?" Amy echoed, voice confused.

My answer to the question he did not ask me was rather dry. "Personally, I would say that hate looks like the face you're wearing while staring at that Dalek. You're a TimeLord, not a Kryptonian, buddy." I leaned forward, awkwardly reaching up and putting my hand on the Doctor's shoulder. "You don't have laser eyes."

He let out a heave, flicking my hand off his shoulder and fixing his bowtie angrily. "Well, I would say in a lot of ways that I am better than Superman..." He stressed. "As I was saying before, hate looks like the Daleks... and I am going to prove it!" He said pointedly, before turning tail and striding away.

Amy and I shared a look, remaining in our spots until the Doctor shouted at us from his place ahead.

"Are you two coming?" He yelled.

I shrugged. "Eh, I don't know, I feel like I want to walk around the TARDIS some more. Honestly, that place is like the most interesting thing in the galaxy!"

"Yeah, but maybe we save that for later and follow our escort instead!" Amy laughed almost nervously, grabbing my arm and dragging me behind her to follow the Doctor.

"He seems pretty upset—I don't know if I should be around those vibes..." I trailed in an almost sarcastic whine as we jogged to catch up with the Doctor who was already far away from the war room and heading toward another part of the bunker.

"PJ, I am going to hope that you're pulling my leg with that one..." Amy snorted. "Because considering how much you didn't want to leave the TARDIS earlier, I don't think you have a place to be talking about bad vibes..."

I shrugged. "What can I say? I am a bitch, and a bitch will always be a bitch. AKA, I will stay talking and judging about things I have no business in."

"You sound like my aunt..." Amy shook her head as we finally caught up to the Doctor just as he entered a large room with the doors open.

I recognized it as an engineering room right away.

"All right, Prof! The PM's have been filling me in. Amazing things, these Ironsides of yours. Amazing. You must be very proud of them." The Doctor called loudly as we entered, nearly dancing his way to one of the tables and stealing a file.

He wasted no time in flipping through the thing.

Professor Bracewell gave a kind smile. "Just doing my bit."

"Not bad for a Paisley boy!" Amy called over to him.

He chuckled, looking away from whatever he was doing and addressing Amy. "Yes, I thought I detected a familiar cadence, my dear."

The Doctor from where he was flipping through the files, paused to ask another question. "How did you do it? How did you come up with the idea?"

I had made my way over to stand behind him, looking over his shoulder at the files. More blueprints and planning for the Daleks. Once again perfect, nothing in sight that—in theory—was incorrect.

The math, the stats, the fieldwork... it all lined up.

Professor Bracewell turned to look at us, still with a kind smile, his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he stepped forward. "How does a muse of invention come from anyone?" He asked right back.

The Doctor hummed, tilting his head before turning to put the files back on the desk where he'd found them. I stopped him midway, taking the files from him to review myself. He glanced at me, a question swimming in his eyes, but he dropped it to pursue Bracewell further.

Stepping away from me, the Doctor regarded Bracewell. "You get a lot of these clever notions, do you?" He asked him.

I did not bother to pay attention to whatever the fuck excuse Bracewell had come up with. If this was a Dalek scheme then I had concluded that Bracewell was one of a few things.

A spy. A clone. A brain-washed human. Or a robot.

I was betting on a clone. I hoped he was a clone—clones are cool.

I flipped through the pages of blueprints, my brows knitting tighter with each passing second. Every line, every calculation, every curve of design—too perfect. Too clean. No human could create this level of precision, not right now at least.

Whoever—or whatever—designed this wasn't just an engineer; they were an artist. A horrifyingly efficient artist.

And that's when it hit me.

They're real.

Not real as in "working prototypes," though I had no doubt those existed somewhere nearby. Real as in these blueprints weren't fakes, weren't human approximations or guesses. These schematics were authentic. Authentic Dalek.

That sent a chill racing down my spine. Why would the Daleks give humans their actual designs? It was stupid. Reckless. But then again, that wasn't their style, was it? The Daleks didn't do reckless or stupid. Every move they made was calculated, deliberate. They were playing a long game, I was sure of it.

But as I stared down at the blueprints, another thought wormed its way into my brain, persistent and impossible to ignore. If these blueprints were authentic, then they were also... complete. I could see every system, every wire, every function laid bare. The Daleks had handed humanity—me—the key to their destruction.

Or...

I glanced up at Bracewell and the Doctor, who were caught in some back-and-forth.

Or, I could build them. I could create them.

Not Daleks, not as they were now—cruel and unrelenting and genocidal. But... something else. Something better. My mind began to spin with possibilities. What if I could create Daleks that weren't consumed by hate, that weren't slaves to their programming? Daleks that could think for themselves, choose their own paths? The irony of it almost made me laugh out loud.

Wouldn't that just be the ultimate middle finger to their creators? To take their so-called "perfect design" and improve it? Make something good out of it?

The idea stuck, the spark growing into a flame.

I could do it. I could do it. Sure, it would take some tinkering, a hell of a lot of patience, and probably a lot of running interference with the Doctor, but I knew I could pull it off. These schematics were practically begging for it. The thought of turning the Daleks' own ingenuity against them was so deliciously satisfying that I couldn't help but grin.

Then reality hit.

I was sounding very similar to the thought process I had before placing myself into Robert Oppenheimer's life.

I was getting ahead of myself. For now, I had to stay focused. We needed to figure out what the Daleks were up to before they executed whatever plan they had in motion. But the blueprint in my hands felt heavier now, charged with possibility.

I looked up watching a Dalek hand Bracewell a cup of tea.

"...The Daleks are death," The Doctor told Bracewell.

I had finally tuned back into the conversation, looking to the Doctor who was standing in front of Bracewell with Amy by his side.

"Yes, Doctor!" Winston Churchill exclaimed as he walked into the lab. "Death to our enemies. Death to the forces of darkness. And death to the Third Reich!"

The Doctor spun and walked toward Winston Churchill, meeting him in the middle of the room.

"Yes, Winston! And death to everyone else as well!" The Doctor sighed, turning around and coming face-to-face with a Dalek holding a tray.

"WOULD YOU CARE FOR SOME TEA?"

In response, and I am not kidding when I say this, the Doctor literally smacked the tray out of the Dalek's grasp causing it to hit the floor with a loud clatter.

"Stop this! What are you doing here? What do you want!?" He screamed, demanding answered from the Dalek.

The Dalek answered rather passively.

"WE SEEK ONLY TO HELP YOU."

Unless you count it's natural loud yelling tone as unfriendly.

"To do what?" The Doctor narrowed his eyes at it.

"TO WIN THE WAR!" The Dalek claimed proudly.

"Really?" The Doctor chuckled without humor. "Which war?" He demanded.

"I DO NOT UNDERSTAND." The Dalek moved its eye-stick-thingy as it spoke.

"This war, against the Nazis?" The Doctor clarified, tilting his head. "Or your war? The war against the rest of the universe? The war against all life-forms that are not Dalek?"

The Dalek was silent for a suspiciously long moment before answering robotically.

"I DO NOT UNDERSTAND. I AM YOUR SOLDIER."

The Doctor seemed to crack at that answer as he pointed to the Dalek. "Oh? Okay—all right..." He spat, spinning around the room looking for something.

His eyes lit up as he found something within seconds. My mouth and Amy's fell open as he picked up a huge wrench from the corner, turning back to face the Dalek.

"Okay, soldier, defend yourself!" The Doctor breathed before surging forward and hitting the immensely strong metallic armor of the Dalek as hard as he could.

Amy's eyes widened as she took a step away from him. It was a show of pure fury from the TimeLord that had the hairs on the back of my arms standing on edge.

"What the devil are you doing?" Bracewell cried from his place by his work station.

"YOU DO NOT REQUIRE TEA?" The Dalek asked as it was hit, and if I did not know any better I would say that the Dalek sounded almost teasing, in a spiteful way, as it asked.

"Prime Minister! Stop him!" Bracewell hollered as the Doctor hit the Dalek again. "My Ironside!"

"Fight back, you know you want to!" The Doctor snarled as he once more brought the giant wrench down and slammed it on the Dalek.

I was clutching the papers tightly, watching with a sense of intrigue. Was the Doctor going to be able to push the Dalek into revealing itself?

Or was the Doctor pointless is his display of brutality?

I finally understood his words from last night—apparently there truly were times that he chose violence. This happened to be one of the times he walked that path.

He hit it again. "What are you waiting for? You hate me, and I am right in front of you. Kill me! KILL ME!"

Please don't kill him. I need him.

"Doctor, be careful!" Amy raced to his side, pulling him away from the Dalek.

The Doctor continued to stare at it, allowing Amy to push him back.

"PLEASE DESIST FROM STRIKING ME. I AM YOUR SOLDIER"

Oh, this is actually gold. I wish I had these soft Dalek reactions recorded.

When the fuck was I ever going to see a Dalek speaking like this or choosing the peaceful path again?

Answer: most likely never.

Unfortunately, the Doctor was able to see no humor in it as his face shifted and darkness overcame him. He brought the wrench up, bring it down and continuously bashing it as hard as he could against the Dalek.

"You. Are. My. Enemy!" He screamed. "And I am yours!" He stopped striking it, breathing heavily and dropping the huge wrench to the floor with a slam. "You are everything that I despise. The worst thing in all of creation. I have defeated you time and time again, I've defeated you. I sent you back into the void! I saved the whole of reality from you! I am the Doctor—and YOU—you are the Daleks!"

With that last statement, he brought a long leg up and proceeded to kick the Dalek powerfully sending it flying backward.

I looked to him impressed, he was much stronger than he appeared. Daleks were not easy to move.

But then again, he may have appeared human, but he was fully TimeLord.

My attention was taken back to the Dalek from where it had hit the wall—its head suddenly whirred around to stare at the Doctor dead on.

"CORRECT." It spoke firmly, its entire persona changing as it came forward. "REVIEW TESTIMONY." It ordered to the Dalek next to it.

With that, the Dalek next it started to play a recording of the Doctor's voice. "I am the Doctor—and YOU—you are the Daleks!"

That cannot be good.

"Testimony? What're you talking about a testimony for?" The Doctor was breathless as he asked them, eyes switching between the two Daleks frantically.

I closed the brown folder of many blueprints, sliding it under my arm tightly before I spoke up from the other side of the room.

"It sounds like you just gave them what they wanted." I piped and the Doctor shot me a glare.

"Not helping!" He called before looking back the Daleks.

I shrugged.

"TRANSMITTING TESTIMONY NOW." One of the Daleks said.

The Doctor was quick to question them again. "Transmit what, where?"

"Probably the mother ship," I mumbled earning yet another eye roll from him.

"Thank you for the most obvious answer..." He trailed off.

"Well, why'd you ask if it's so obvious?" I snarked.

"Oh—! Why would I not ask?" The Doctor heaved, right eye twitching as he threw his hands up addressing me.

Neither of us could continue our banter (that was happening at the worst time!) for Amy suddenly flicked the Doctor on the back of the head.

He flinched, looking to her angrily.

"Ouch! What was that for?"

"Is this really important arguing? Just a gentle reminder of our situation; hello, the Daleks! Remember?!" She cried all furious and Scottish-like. "That goes for you too, PJ!"

I smiled at her.

"TESTIMONY ACCEPTED!" The Daleks finally exclaimed.

Unsure as to what was about to happen next, the Doctor placed a protective arm over Amy.

"Get back all of you!" He ordered everyone, forcing him and Amy to take a step back. Seeing as I was on the other side of the room, he could not physically grab me. "Back, PJ, now!" The Doctor barked at the same time that Winston called for the marines to come in.

I slowly backed away, rolling my eyes.

It was just a few Daleks. Then again, no normal and sane human would act so careless around a Dalek.

"Marines!" Winston Churchill yelled loudly for backup.

Immediately, there was the sound a many footsteps racing toward us.

As soon as the marines came in, the Daleks acted in a way that was more on-par with their usual selves.

They did not ask them if they wanted any tea, instead the Daleks hit the marines with their lasers and incinerated the insides of the poor men on the spot.

With Dalek lasers, it was all about frying a person from the inside-out. So while death was imminent, the outside of the body would remain looking the same, almost like it was never hit. But the inside was cooked.

"Oh, shit!" I gasped as the marines fell to the ground.

"Stop it, stop it, please! What are you doing, you are my Ironsides!" Professor Bracewell cried as he looked to the Daleks.

"WE ARE THE DALEKS."

No shit.

"But I created you!" Bracewell sounded confused and distraught.

The Doctor was standing protectively in front of Amy while watching the exchange.

"NO." The Dalek said before shooting Bracewell's hand with the laser. If Bracewell were human, he would have died. Instead, his hand exploded revealing immense and complicated wiring. "WE CREATED YOU."

Damn it. I was wrong—he is a fucking robot. Not a clone.

Amy was gasping as she stared at Bracewell, and the Doctor just looked concerned.

"VICTORY! VICTORY! VICTORY!" The Daleks screamed, basically jacking themselves off before a bright light consumed them and they disappeared.

It was silent for a few moments, everyone taking in what the fuck had just happened. Unfortuantely, for the entire room, I was the one to break the silence.

Turning to Bracewell who was gaping and going into shock over his missing hand and the wiring inside of him, I opened my mouth. "I can't believe you're a robot! I really thought you were going to turn out to be a clone!"

The Doctor turned toward me, his face a thunderstorm of emotions: disbelief, anger, and something uncomfortably close to fear. "A clone? A clone is what you were hoping for right now?"

I held up the blueprints, tapping the folder against my palm. "Look, I know what you're thinking, but forget about clones or robots for a second. Do you realize what these are? The Daleks left real blueprints! They're genuine! I can make them—I can make them better!" My smile was so big it boarded on crazy. "I can recreate them!"

The room went deathly silent, the weight of my words hitting everyone like a blow. Even Bracewell, though clearly in shock, blinked at me with what little awareness he still had.

The Doctor's expression darkened, the panic in his eyes now blazing hot. "Put. Them. Back." His voice was ice, each word clipped and dangerous. "I should never have handed those to you."

I raised an eyebrow, unfazed. "Why? These could give us an edge. If we—"

"PJ." His voice rose sharply, cracking like a whip, but his hands were shaking slightly. "You don't understand. This isn't a game. Those blueprints aren't just designs. They're alive, in a way, coded with the Daleks' own monstrosity. You tamper with them, and you're tampering with evil itself. Now, put them back. I need to burn them!"

"But I can change them!" I tilted my head, holding his gaze. "You're scared."

"Of course, I'm scared!" He snapped, stepping closer, his voice low and furious. "You think you can outsmart them? That you can fix them? You can't. No one can. Not even me."

We locked eyes in a standoff, the air between us crackling with tension. For a moment, I considered backing down. But then, the reckless part of me—the part that had survived worse than Daleks won.

"Nah, sorry!" I chirped, spinning on my heel and bolting for the door.

"PJ, don't you dare—"

"See you back at the TARDIS!" I called over my shoulder, gripping the folder tightly as I dashed down the corridor.

"PJ, GET BACK HERE!" The Doctor's voice thundered behind me, followed by the unmistakable sound of his frantic footsteps as he gave chase.

The corridor passed me quickly, people gasping and stumbling out of my way as I barreled through.

The lights flickered, my mind dizzy.

And yet, at that moment, a loud thought cut through everything.

Do not allow your knowledge to make you cynical. Cleverness, for all its positives, can make you hard and unkind. You think too much and feel too little. More than inventions showcase humanity. More than your cleverness we need your kindness.

My mind races—flashes of visions coming before my eyes. Long buried memories of a poor little girl screaming as men three times her size dragged her through sterile white corridors.

An unloved little girl who screamed and begged as the scary people tied her down and hooked her up to various machines. How her vocal cords ripped as she wailed at the flow electricity and painful sensations the wiring and testing caused her.

I slowed as my own voice seemed to erupt in the recess of my mind—screaming at me a warning. Something very rare.

But... I can fix them. I can make them better! I can help!

I arrived at the TARDIS, her big blueness causing warmth to swarm in me. She called out to me, inviting me inside. And somehow, I knew that for me her doors were not locked.

Despite hearing the Doctor's fast approaching footsteps, I did not enter yet. Instead, I looked down to the files of blueprints almost painfully.

I stood there, gripping the folder so tightly my knuckles turned white, my heartbeat roaring in my ears. The TARDIS hummed gently, like a mother whispering a lullaby to a restless child. She was calling me inside, as though she already knew my struggle and had made her choice for me.

I stared at the blueprints, their sharp, intricate lines burning into my head. The potential was immense. I could do it. I knew I could do it. Fix them. Reprogram them. Strip the Daleks of their cruelty and hatred. Turn them into something... better. Something good.

But then, that voice—the one I tried so hard to forget—rang in my head again, low and solemn: Cleverness, for all its positives, can make you hard and unkind.

I was already hard and unkind. And this was a familiar path, one I took far too often and one that rarely ended well.

The Doctor's words played back too, his sheer terror when he told me no one—not even him—could do this. That I wasn't just tinkering with machines; I was playing with fire that had consumed galaxies.

But he was the Doctor who saved galaxies. I was the POLARIS JADE who created destruction.

That was answer enough for me.

To be able to show restraint even when it is hard. Even when you think you know what you are doing.

As much as I hated following the rules, I knew that this was one instance that might just blow up in my face if I went through with it.

My hands trembled as I looked at the folder, the promise of creation and destruction bound together in its pages. This wasn't who I wanted to be, not anymore, but old habits are hard to break.

With a sharp exhale, I took one last look at the blueprints before I looked up. The Doctor caught up with me and before he could do or say anything, I slammed the folder against his chest. His wide, startled eyes locked with mine.

"Here," I said firmly. "I'm sorry... burn the pages if you must... you are right, as always I suppose, it is best not to do anything with it."

I did not wait for him to respond. Instead, I turned and opened the door to the TARDIS, stepping in and closing her doors gently behind me.

My lips twitched upward as I vaguely heard him mutter something along the lines of, "But she was locked!"