Have the Devil round for tea...
[Backdated to just after the Trust/Organization meeting.]
There is a Time Lord in the basement of the Conrad Hotel.
His escorts are around here somewhere, but given that it's the basement and there are only so many exits, they've apparently decided to extend his leash enough for him to put a hallway or two between them. At the moment he's staring into the Rift in the Rift Room, hands folded behind him, head quirked to one side, to all appearances listening.
He fell through a Rift much like this one in India, handcuffed and bleeding, straight into the Trust's open arms. That, he regards as a personal indignity, and one he'd love to extract revenge on this entire class of spatiotemporal phenomena for, though the mechanics of vengeance against nonsentient space-time ruptures somewhat eludes him.
He hasn't had terribly much contact with Rifts in New Delhi - even the one which brought him sealed off within a few days. It's a strange and silent presence against his mind, the swarming knot of potential timelines already muffled once by the mockery made of his mind, but still seeming nothing more than an empty auditorium awaiting the advent of Drums.
One day. The Trust is only human, and like all human empires and agencies, it will eventually fall. And as for being stuck here...
Well. There are worse things than having an entirely new universe to explore.
There is a Time Lord in the basement of the Conrad Hotel.
His escorts are around here somewhere, but given that it's the basement and there are only so many exits, they've apparently decided to extend his leash enough for him to put a hallway or two between them. At the moment he's staring into the Rift in the Rift Room, hands folded behind him, head quirked to one side, to all appearances listening.
He fell through a Rift much like this one in India, handcuffed and bleeding, straight into the Trust's open arms. That, he regards as a personal indignity, and one he'd love to extract revenge on this entire class of spatiotemporal phenomena for, though the mechanics of vengeance against nonsentient space-time ruptures somewhat eludes him.
He hasn't had terribly much contact with Rifts in New Delhi - even the one which brought him sealed off within a few days. It's a strange and silent presence against his mind, the swarming knot of potential timelines already muffled once by the mockery made of his mind, but still seeming nothing more than an empty auditorium awaiting the advent of Drums.
One day. The Trust is only human, and like all human empires and agencies, it will eventually fall. And as for being stuck here...
Well. There are worse things than having an entirely new universe to explore.