13 trips Version 3

On the sands of Jupiter, a lone temporal event ran. This temporal event hid in the form of a black-skinned man, and wore glasses. His body was slender, but not skinny, and from a distance, he seemed nice-looking. If you got closer, you might realize he was actually rather creepy-looking. Were you to ask him his name, he would say he was called “Gallifrey_Immigrant.” In his hand is a notebook containing his fiction writing. In fact, it contains every fiction story ever made about Doctor Who. Were you to talk about it to him, he would immediately ask for a review. He, like all writers, loves reviews.

That doesn't matter, because in a few minutes, he is going to die.

A dark shadow crept slowly the land. It looked like an old lady, and smelled of rotting corpses. Were you to get close to it, your mind would begin to go insane. Its eyes glowed red, and bits and pieces of its skin flaked off as it moved, causing the very air to decay. Immigrant looked back at it, and ran faster. His footsteps left impressions of the sand, but the shadow left no evidence at all upon the dunes. Eventually, he turned a corner, and came across a large stone wall. This was the Jovian fortress of Arkemin. For years, this had been sanctuary for errant Time Lords. He knocked on the door. There was no answer.

“Please don't harm me. I only write fanfiction for that show! It's not a break in Gallifreyan security!” said Immigrant. As the creature ambled toward him, a light appeared from the top of the fortress wall. Someone appeared from the top of the tower, looking down at them.

“You...lie. Your arrogance has shown itself,” said the creature. Five stretchy arms extended from its shoulders, and bony hands grabbed Immigrant's body. The creature's head slowly drew closer to Immigrant's, and a black, fleshy appendage reached to its face.

“Y-you’re not from Gallifreyan government,” said Immigrant. Desperate, he smacked the creature in the face with his book. The monster fell back, slightly stunned, and Immigrant stumbled backward. At that point, the fortress door opened slowly. Immigrant ran through the door, and didn't look back. The monster tried to follow, but was stopped by the rapidly shutting doors.

Immigrant sighed, cradling his book in hand. The old stone columns of the fortress couldn't hide the thunderstorm winds from buffeting his frankly uncombed hair, and his green-striped shirt fluttered in the breeze. Taking out his phone, he clicked around on his browser, and typed in his message.

“/who/, someone's after me. Guys...I need to tell you something. I'm a Time Lord. Time Lords are real. Doctor Who's like, an embellishment. But Time Lords are real. And I'm one of them. I'm on Jupiter right now. The fortress, year 2017. But something's following me. And if any Time Lords are on /who/...contact the CIA. This isn't right. I think it's one of the Degens.”

He finished the captscha, and waited for a reply. Something made him look up.

The creature was right in front.

“Oh fiddlesticks,” said Immigrant, who didn't curse, no matter what.

The creature grabbed him, and brought him closer, till their faces were touching. Immigrant felt his sanity disappear, and then his life. His body burned with a bright red light, and then he was gone.

The creature picked up his phone. A horrific giggle left its throat, and it threw the phone to the ground, and disappeared.

Time passed. And somewhere in the cosmos, a pathway between two points in space appeared. One end laid on Earth, and the other in the Fortress on Jupiter. Another temporal event traveled between those points, taking only the time necessary to ascertain the atmosphere on Jupiter, before resting comfortably on the planet. This temporal event was wrapped in the form of a beautiful Caucasian woman. Her hair was brown, and shoulder-length, with a rather nice nose, neither quite sharp, nor a button. Her eyes were hazel green, with a faint star pattern within, the only clue to her lack of humanity. She wore a scarf and a simple red jacket, a blue shirt underneath. Had you asked her name, she wouldn't have given it, but let's call her Starfu. That's her name on the /who/ forum, anyway.

She opened the open door of the fortress. Her eyes tensed upon seeing the open door, and she paused, before slowly walking in. Her eyes followed the footsteps left by Immigrant, until she saw the phone. Picking it up, she scrolled through, seeing the replies to Immigrant's message.

“Fuck off, trip.”

“I'm part of Gallifrey, too.”

From Cloister: you okay, Immigrant?

And from Starfu herself: “Immigrant, stay where you are. I'll meet you there.”

Starfu looked away from the phone. No sign of where Immigrant was.

“Well, Immigrant. You've screwed up this time,” she said. (As a temporal event, she didn't have to speak. It was the personal choice of Time Lords, just like being a “she” was a personal decision.). She wrapped her hands around the temporal echo left behind by Immigrant. It was faint, with sharp edges where he had been shredded away. No regeneration traces were left. That was scary—he must have died before he could transform. Regeneration was instaneous—so how fast was the person that killed him? If it was a person. The stink in the air didn't smell human.

Something floated down to the ground. It was a short man in a blue hood, with yellow antenna sticking from his head. Starfu recognized him as one of the Fortress Moderators. The man hobbled over to Starfu, glaring at her.

“Time Lords aren't allowed here,” hissed the Moderator.

“One of my kind died here recently. Any idea what happenned?”

“He was being chased by something. Whatever it was, it got past the gates,” said the Guardian. His antenna vibrated, probably out of fear. “We don't want your species' business interfering with us.”

“A man just died.”

“Don't mock my intelligence. You're no more a human than I'm a plant. Get out. That's a courtesy warning.”

Starfu decided not to argue. She grabbed the temporal trace of Immigrant, closed her eyes, and focused her mind upon the location of the one person who could work with temporal traces. When she opened her eyes, she was in a bazaar in an underground subway. It was somewhere in America, early 21st century. She followed her temporal sense, letting the biodata lead her to the location of N8. Whether or not N8 was his real name, she didn't know. She suspected not.

She found him in the corner of a room, reading a novel,  jars lined up on a table in front of him. His skull mask gleamed in the fluoresccent lighting, and bright stark eyes ignored her completely. In those jars, she saw flashes of images, scenes from her past, and some she hadn't seen before.

“Memories. I sell them for a small fee. I need something to pay for my Faction Paradox novels,” said N8. He still hadn't looked up. Starfu rolled her eyes at the mention of Faction Paradox. All Gallifreyans who frequented Earth knew about Doctor Who. How a very real alien civilization ended up part of Terran media was unknown; but it was widely agreed that Faction Paradox was the dumbest thing ever created. An entertaining myth—except to N8, who was assured it was real. Any attempt to convince him contrary drove him further.

“I don't remember some of those scenes.”

“Not all memories are from the past.”

“Or maybe you falsify some scenes?” said Starfu. She raised her eyebrows at N8, who scoffed, but didn't say no. She plunked down Immigrant's temporal trace, which N8 examined. “It's from Immigrant. He died recently. I think he was murdered, and I want to know who did it.”

“Ah, Immigrant. Pretty nice trip, although he is a little naggy shit when it comes to the fanfic writing thing,” said N8. He hummed. “Well, he was. What will you give me for delving into his time line? This isn't a charity, you know.”

“Do you remember Granddaughter? In the early days, before she disappeared into the nethersphere, she gave me access to Gallifrey's Black Library. You know Lawrence Miles?”

“Of course. He practically wrote the Faction Paradox novel line. I swear to you—he's one of us” said N8.

“Well,” said Starfu, lowering her tone, “Granddaughter may or may not have given me access to all of the Forgiven Library's collection of unmade Lawrence Miles stories, from the alternate universes where he was successful.”

“Say no more,” said N8, who focused his gaze upon Immigrant's temporal trace. His eyes glowed red, as he unraveled his timeline just a smidgen, interacting with the trace. His skull mask began to move, as reality shifted around him.

And then he dropped the trace.

“What's wrong?” asked Starfu.

N8 didn't speak for a moment. Then he said “We need to leave, now.”

He grabbed Starfu's hand, and rushed to the exit, his memory jars shattering. The contents billowed around them, as he ran out the door. A rotting stink filled the air suddenly. Starfu stopped him.

“Talk to me. What's--”

She was cut off by an old, decrepit woman who burst out of the exit. She was wrapped in rags, and her timeline was perverted and rotten, sucking reality into it.

“Your deeds have given you out,” said the monster.  It rushed to N8, grabbing his head in its claws. Darkness billwed from its cape, and covered N8's skin, as he was slowly dragged backward.

Starfu focused her mind, and reached out her hand, moving the probabilities like water. Reality shifted, and N8 was teleported from the monster's grasp. A wave of tiredness hit Starfu—messing with reality drained her always. N8 drew something from from his cloak, and threw it onto the monster. The creature froze in mid-movement.

“Temporal freezes. They come in handy. Starfu, we need to leave, now,” said N8.

The creature unfroze, launching itself at N8. Starfu was too tired to do anything, as N8 was devoured in front of her. His essence was sucked into the monster. In his last moments, he threw a device into Starfu's hand. The clindrical device glowed blue, and Starfu found herself in another room.

A brunette woman was being spanked by a man with dlasses. The woman was smiling, and Starfu blushed at what she heard. The man noticed her and waved.

“Hello. Are you Gina?” said the man. He held out a hand to shake.

“No. I just got here...do you know N8?” said Starfu. Her senses were tired, but something in the back of her mind was being tickled. The biodata around these people sparkled, and felt oddly similar. Like they were cousins.

“N8? He's a fellow trip. Did he send you?” asked the man. The woman placed some clothes on, clearly annoyed at Starfu's interruption. The man grinned at her, his eyes twinkling with a dark intelligence.

“Fellow trip? You're on /who/? Wait. Are you Cloister? And Belle?” asked Starfu.

“Wait. You're a trip? Stephanie Hyam is a trip?” asked Belle.

“I'm not Hyam. I just look like her,” said Starfu.

Cloister raised his eyebrows.

“I don't know why. This is my first body, so...” said Starfu, biting her lip nervously.

Belle wrapped an arm around Starfu, and said “I think you look cute.”

“Thanks. I'm Starfu,” she said.

A few minutes later, she had explained what happenned to N8 and the Immigrant to Cloister.

“I think something is hunting down the Time Lords who post in /who/, “ said Starfu.

Cloister drunk a sip of water, and thought. “That's an odd obsession to have.”

“It's not a person. It appears to be a creature from the Dark Times. The very essence of this monster is a piece of corruption. Why would it hate trips?”

“No one likes trips,” pointed out Belle.

“Most people don't go around killing them, though,” said Cloister. He pulled out his phone, and connected to the Secret Trip server that connected to the Gallifreyan matrix. A green-skinned chitinous woman with mandibles answered.

“Chan-Hello, how are you, Cloister-tho?”

“Doing well. We need the Time Lords help. Something is chasing my friends, and may come for me next,” said Cloister.

“Chan the Time Lords know tho,” said Chantho.

“Wait, what?”

“Chan-the Time Lords are very much aware of the Mongo creature attacking you tho. Chan Unfortunately, the Time Lords have refused to allow me to assist you, as they say that posting on /who/ is, in their words, “' waste of your abilities to control time and space. The fact that you post on a site dedicated to that mockery known as Doctor Who is a disgrace to Gallifrey. Please let you die quickly” tho.”

“But you post on /who--”

“Please don't say too loud,” said Chantho. She looked around, and added “Tho.”

“Can you help us at all?” asked Starfu.

Chantho's mandibles quivered as she thought. “Chan-yes-tho. Chan-I've been able to track the Mongo infestation to one source-tho. Chan-It's a...Kanye West concert in 2013-tho.”

“Send in the space time coordinates, please?” said Cloister.

“Chan-Don't make me regret it, though.-tho,” said Chantho.

The connection suddenly cut off.

“Damn Pikeys,” said Cloister, and he checked the wires. A black shadow dropped from the ceiling, and landed on him, ripping him in half. Wires sprung from his body, which was artificial.

“It's Mongo!” said Starfu.


“You all taste like candy. Mongo loves candy,” said the creature. A smile leered from its rotted face, as it crawled over the floor. Starfu tried to warp reality, but was still too drained. Belle grabbed a whip from the floor, and lashed it at the monster. The creture skitterred away, retreating into a shadow.

“Cloister--” started Starfu.

“Is fine. That's the robot body I use to go outside,” said Cloister, who appeared behind Starfu. “Useful for an agoraphobic Time Lord. Now let's go!”

The three of them focused their being to the coordinates Chantho had given them. They opened to a Kanye West concert. Fans were cheering loudly, as the famous black singer was rapping. He wasn't bad, for a human.

A hole in reality formed behind them, and Mongo's black hand reached out and grabbed Cloister, as he followed them. It sliced Cloister in the stomach, and he fell down.

“CLOISTER!” screamed Belle. Her whip slashed at the black hand, which fell off, and withered into a wisp. Starfu focused her mind, and forced the portal close.

“How many bodies has he had?” said Starfu.

“One,” said Belle. She cradled him in her arms. Starfu psychically analyzed at Cloister's biodata—there was no way he had only one body so far. Body decay and reformation left scars in a Time Lord's biodata; Cloister had too many scars to be only in his first body. Again, there was a sense of missing a simple clue.

“B-belle...owww,” said Cloister.

“Shhh,” said Belle. She kissed him.

When they released, he said “I'll never know why you stuck with me, but thank you for...that....”

And then he died.

And then, far away, the Life machines on Gallifrey connected to Cloister's life force. On planes beyond human perception, dark forces churned, and the biodata that had been encoded on the first day that Cloister's first body had been loomed, came apart, and began to reform. Phonic energy started to emerge from Cloister's body, and wind, created from heat coming from his body, blew Belle's hair back. Starfu gently drew Belle away, allowing the renewal process to complete.

Cloister's body convulsed, and his eyes rolled back in his head. His timeline began to rattle, and unfurl into a new configuration. All the /who/ Lords around him felt the cracks in his biodata start to form. Reality was warping, destroying his cells, and eating his consciousness, vomiting out a new mind. A mind with a new ways of thinking, feeling, loving.

Cloister was regenerating.

When it was over, a new man was in Cloister's place. His face was no longer bearded, and his glasses no longer fit. He looked younger, with more stylized hair, though still black. He opened his eyes, and grinned.

“Cloister?” asked Belle. Her voice was unsteady, but hopeful.

The man frowned, and said “Who are you?”

“Your girlfriend. Belle,” said Belle.

“Hmm. Well, that won't do,” mutterred the man.

“What? You said you loved me?” said Belle.

“I'm a new man, Belle. I have new needs. New desires. A neophyte. A Neo... You know, I think I might be into black women this time around...” he said. He walked a few steps, and promptly fainted.

Starfu sighed. Post-regenerative trauma wasn't as bad as in the show, but it could cause embarrassing incidents. She reached an arm out to Belle, and said “I'm sure he'll come around.”

“Yeah. I just love him so much. You always fear when one of your loved ones change, that they might no longer care after they come back,” said Belle. Her black hair fell over her face, framing her features. “We need to find out who did this to Cloister. Let's find Cats.”

“Cats?”

“It's a Kanye West concert. Who else would be here?”

Belle and Srarfu was soon in front of an old man with sunglasses. Now, this Time Lord had young biodata, the youngest Starfu had ever seen. Despite the old form the looms had given him, this was clearly the first body

“You're Cats?” said Starfu.

“Oh crap. Are you the Time Lord police?” said Cats. “I know they discourage posting about Doctor Who, but man, I love meming on that board. /who/, it's on 4chan.”

“We know. We're fellow trips. I'm Starfu, and this is Belle,” she said.

“How's Cloister?”

“Someone killed him. It's hunting all the trips