These past few minutes been astonishingly confusing for Cal, not least because - from his perspective - he has gone from following Nancy's brother upstairs to . . . standing outside? Not in Milliways? With a bunch of other people who are also incredibly confused?
. . . okay then.
To complicate things further, something is different. Something has changed. He doesn't know what it is, but he can feel it, on a level too deep to put words to.
So, all in all, he's more than happy to follow the guy with the ears who seems to know what the hell is going on, and also happy to see the inside of Milliways. In the midst of disorientation, familiarity is good.
The Doctor doesn't halt at the familiar face. He's certainly seen enough of that.
"Alien nanogenes reconfigured your DNA to match the form of a little dying boy in a gasmask from World War II London and reprogrammed you with a basic set of be-fruitful-and-multiply instructions."
It takes more than - whatever this guy just said to block the ancient politician's instinct to fall back on ancient jokes when the going gets bewildering.
"An alien medical ship crashed, and the tiny machines inside it found the little boy, and thought that's what all humans are supposed to look like, so it set about trying to 'fix' everyone. You got in the way."
"Not really zombies. Or children, really, except for the one. And, I suppose, if you want to be technical, not really gasmasks, either. Just genetically altered to resemble them."
Well... the commotion at the back of the room might be a reason. The Doberman that comes charging through, with a boot in her mouth, followed by the pyro...
Sorry, being tackled by the pyro...
Sorry, the pair of them tumbling across the floor...
The Doctor is doing far too well today to be tripped up by a pyro and her dog. He gracefully sidesteps the rolling mass and waves as it goes by. "Hullo, Ace!"
"These weren't really zombies the way you think of them," the Doctor shoots back. "It's just much easier to say zombie than 'bioengineered Chula warrior drone'."
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. . . okay then.
To complicate things further, something is different. Something has changed. He doesn't know what it is, but he can feel it, on a level too deep to put words to.
So, all in all, he's more than happy to follow the guy with the ears who seems to know what the hell is going on, and also happy to see the inside of Milliways. In the midst of disorientation, familiarity is good.
After a moment or two, he finds his voice.
"What the hell happened?"
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"Alien nanogenes reconfigured your DNA to match the form of a little dying boy in a gasmask from World War II London and reprogrammed you with a basic set of be-fruitful-and-multiply instructions."
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"What, again?"
It takes more than - whatever this guy just said to block the ancient politician's instinct to fall back on ancient jokes when the going gets bewildering.
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It's kind of distracting, it is.
Thus, the kid in the red sweatshirt is eyeing the Doctor with amusement and curiousity.
"....Gasmask zombies?"
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"What's the punchline?"
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"Umm. Everybody lives?"
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Yeah, that's all Andrew's got at the moment.
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What? He's curious.
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Well... the commotion at the back of the room might be a reason. The Doberman that comes charging through, with a boot in her mouth, followed by the pyro...
Sorry, being tackled by the pyro...
Sorry, the pair of them tumbling across the floor...
Watch your footing.
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"... Hullo Professor." It's really true about dignity and parents. Really.
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"Zombies aren't real." says one dubious football head.
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