The Forgotten Club

They will say the final days of the Time War was a glorious stand. They are wrong. It was pitiful. Men arguing with each other on who should die next, when it's becoming clear that we're all going to die. At least, that's the word on the street. Not that I care. That's not my job.

See, on Gallifrey, there are some people who refused to go to war. I know—it's silly. The Daleks are going to destroy us all, unless we fight. Some still won't kill. The Doctor used to be our patron saint, until he decided to join the war after all.  We all have our reasons. Some are afraid of killing themselves by accident. Others remembered the last War, and swore it off. Others have even stranger reasons.

I used to be part of a special cult called Faction Paradox. You may have heard of them. Anyway, one time I came across the business end of a bad memetic weapon. Memetic weapons take away a piece of you. Sometimes your sanity, sometimes your memory. In my case I lost my ability to kill. I can't wield a weapon. If I pick up a knife to attack, I forget how to strike. If I try to punch someone, my arm will always miss. If I do kill someone, my mind shuts down for a week. I've become a pacifist, by force.

Obviously, I'm useless in war. Fortunately, the Time Lords found a place for me. See, in a Time War, reality tends to break up and reform, and people slip through. Whoever can be fitted for a war effort, the Time Lords use. But most of these people are simple civilians. They can't always be sent back, and the Time Lords can't just let them leave. These people might accidentally leak secrets.

So, the Time Lords keep them in a facility. And they left me in charge of keeping this people happy, and gave me a food machine to feed them with. And then carried on with the war.

I woke up today with a headache. I brushed my stark red hair, and then grabbed a matching pink pantsuit and shoes combination. I could already here the others walking around outside, probably getting food. Quickly leaving my room, I saw a blondewoman trying to work the food machine. Could be either Sam or Ellie.

“I thought I showed you how to work that machine first day,” I said.

She turned around, showing her Pussy Riot! Shirt and dark, cynical eyes. “Yeah...I was just doing something.”

“You weren't trying to get drugs from the food machine again, were you?”

“Listen,” said Sam sharply, “it's a crime that the most advanced society of aliens don't have any form of mildly mild-altering substanced beyond tea!”

“Gallifreyans aren't the most advanced by far. Else, we wouldn't be in this hell-hole,” I said.

Sam shrugged. Her green turtleneck hung loosely over her body, hiding her scars. I often wondered what her life had been like. Humans always packed so much pain in a short bit of time.

“Have you met the new arrival?” I asked.

“Beryl? Haven't gotten a chance. For a Victorian, she's rather cute. I think Ellie has a crush on her,” said Sam.

Ellie appeared in the hallway. She glared at Sam, and said “Everyone's ready in the main room, Karla.”
I walked into the main hall. Three of the usual people were here, plus a fourth.

Clive was in front of his computer, as usual. He used to be a conspiracy nut, tracing the hints in history that the Doctor existed. had been attacked by Autons, and had nearly died. Fortunately for him, the Doctor and a companion of hers called Rose Tyler had saved him. Unfortunately for him, he would later encounter the Doctor again, and get involved with a scheme involving mafia Cyber-men. He found himself thrown into a whirlpool, and got here.

Susie English was feeding the baby Morf. Susie was an interesting case. At first, the Time Lords had assumed she was an alternate version of Susan, the granddaghter of the Doctor, and tried to get her to join the War. Two problems became clear. Susie was a human, not a Time Lord, despite undrstanding TARDISes and how to speak Gallifreyan completely; the second issue was that Susie was one of the most unruly teenagers in all of existence. The Time Lords quickly stuck her here.

(Morf was the toddler regeneration of some evil Time Lord. It just wasn't clear which one. At some times she claimed to be Morbius, at other times the Master, and once she said she was the Valeyard. Seeing as she wasn't even potty-trained at first, the Time Lords decided to send her here until she became of age. Rast enjoyed telling everyone how she would rule all of Gallifrey one day.)

Ace, the cheetah girl, was busy eating raw fish, and waved at me. Ellie and Sam sat at opposite sides of the room, as usual. Violin music emanated softly from April, who had become eternally bonded an entire race of shadow monsters, and had sacrificed herself for her friends. You would think April was the saddest person here, but her joy never left her face. Only the mournful music she played showed any hint of her sadness.

In the corner of the room was the newest resident, Beryl.She was still dressed in her Victorian costume, and looked somewhat uncomfortable. She saw me, and walked over.

“Are you Karla? I'm Beryl. I, um, don't really know why I'm here. Are you the one in charge? I'm looking for the Doctor. He has a bowtie--”

“The Doctor's out a war. Never seen him in a bowtie,” said Rast.

“My Doctor would never go to war,” said Beryl soundly.

“The Doctor you know isn't this reality's Doctor,” said Sam.

“We're all from different versions of reality. We all know different versions of the Docttor,” said Ellie.

Beryl looked from Sam and Ellie, and said “You're twins?”

“No, they're different versions of the same person, from different realities,” said Desmond, our technology guy. He strolled into the room, head held back, and his posture was as straight as ever. He claimed he used to be royalty, though I didn't know whether or not he made that up. He nodded at me, indicating that the shields that kept the Time War from affecting this facility was still intact. Turning to Beryl, he said “The sooner you understand that, the better. We are rejects from time, lost from our original realities forever. And outside these doors, is the most terrible war in existence. All we can do is stay inside.”

Beryl bit her lip, and thought. Her button nose crinkled, and her mind seemed to be racing. Finally, she said “What do we do to past the time?”

“We tell stories,” said Ace, waving a paw in mock grandiosity.

“That's all?” said Beryl.

“Well, on Tuesdays. On Thursdays, we do orgies,” said Susie, leering at Beryl. Rast laughed, dropping mashed potatoes on her bib.

“She's joking,” cut in Ellie.

Beryl shrugged. “So, stories, huh? The Doctor told me some good stories. I've been on some adventures with him myself.”

“Why don't we make all the stories Doctor-themed? I mean, we do all know the Doctor,” pointed out Rast. “I've got some great stories to tell.”

“Sure. It'll help ease Beryl in,” I said. Beryl slowly smiled at that.

“I'll start!” declared Ellie. “The Doctor told me a funny one, about his first body.”

“And then we'll keep on sharing stories. The more outrageous, the better. We need all the laughs we can get,” said Clive.

Everyone look enthused. A new arival always did that to the group.

“Are you comfortable with that, Beryl?” asked Desmond.

“Yes. I actually love stories. Always been good at telling them. Let's start now.”