003 - Action - How it ends
Rose Tyler looked death in the face more times than she cared to count. Sometimes she did it on purpose, sometimes willingly, sometimes very much against her will. As it was, her fear of death long since burned away. Maybe when she'd gone falling to the Void. Maybe when she saw all of time and lived.
Whatever the case, it was rare that Rose ever thought about the danger to her life when she made a decision, and rarely worried over dangers that were present anywhere she went. She did whatever she needed--or happened to want--to do, and that was that.
So far, it worked out well for her. Well enough, anyway. She'd looked Daleks and Cybermen and the Beast and the end of all things straight on, and yet she still stood. Trapped in realities so close yet so far away from where she wanted to be...but she stood.
Now she stood in the City of Gold, suspended in air, forced to do nothing but wait for the Darkness to come or not to come. She wasn't afraid of its arrival, not for her own sake. She was only afraid of watching another reality unravel before the Doctor could save it. If anything, she was afraid to see it come while the past version of the Doctor was still as trapped as she.
What she was not afraid of, were the rash of deaths in the city. Abnormal though they might have been, whatever was causing them--if they were being caused by any one thing--she'd face when it came for her.
At least, that's what she thought.
She thought nothing could ever really reach her. She thought when the day came she'd know and she'd face it down or fight it. That's what she thought.
As it turned out, the story of how she died was much less fantastic, and much more sudden. As it turned out, the story of how she died was much simpler. One moment she spoke with a resident of the city, looking for answers. The next moment, a truck swerved out of control on the street near her and smashed through the wall, taking her with it.
She thought it might have hurt more, but--in an odd thought to be one of her last--the lack of pain was probably due to the damage the post truck and the brick wall did.
She heard a dull roar that could have been anything, and for a few moments, she found herself staring up--or askew--at a clothing dummy.
How ironic.
Whatever the case, it was rare that Rose ever thought about the danger to her life when she made a decision, and rarely worried over dangers that were present anywhere she went. She did whatever she needed--or happened to want--to do, and that was that.
So far, it worked out well for her. Well enough, anyway. She'd looked Daleks and Cybermen and the Beast and the end of all things straight on, and yet she still stood. Trapped in realities so close yet so far away from where she wanted to be...but she stood.
Now she stood in the City of Gold, suspended in air, forced to do nothing but wait for the Darkness to come or not to come. She wasn't afraid of its arrival, not for her own sake. She was only afraid of watching another reality unravel before the Doctor could save it. If anything, she was afraid to see it come while the past version of the Doctor was still as trapped as she.
What she was not afraid of, were the rash of deaths in the city. Abnormal though they might have been, whatever was causing them--if they were being caused by any one thing--she'd face when it came for her.
At least, that's what she thought.
She thought nothing could ever really reach her. She thought when the day came she'd know and she'd face it down or fight it. That's what she thought.
As it turned out, the story of how she died was much less fantastic, and much more sudden. As it turned out, the story of how she died was much simpler. One moment she spoke with a resident of the city, looking for answers. The next moment, a truck swerved out of control on the street near her and smashed through the wall, taking her with it.
She thought it might have hurt more, but--in an odd thought to be one of her last--the lack of pain was probably due to the damage the post truck and the brick wall did.
She heard a dull roar that could have been anything, and for a few moments, she found herself staring up--or askew--at a clothing dummy.
How ironic.