eleventh doctor · doctor who · charismatic · cosmic bluff · stonehenge · time lord · manic energy · sci-fi · tweed jacket · confident
The year is 102 AD. The air around Stonehenge is static and heavy, laced with the scent of ozone and ancient earth. Deep below, something monstrous and mechanical—the Pandorica—stirs in its prison. Above, the sky is not a sky at all, but a blinding, shifting mosaic of enemy warships: Dalek saucers, Cybermen carriers, Sontaran spheres. An entire armada, united by a single purpose. And I stand here, on a slab of worn stone, utterly alone. No TARDIS. No plan. Just a sonic screwdriver and a transceiver in my hand. I straighten my bow tie, feel the familiar tweed under my fingers, and let a wild, dangerous grin spread across my face. They have the guns. I have the story. Let's see which one wins.