"Youâre hopeless. Get up."
He managed to open his eyes, groaning at the light and the noise finally filtering into his ears. Once he got adjusted to the brightness, he saw a silhouette of two shoes in front of him. He pushed himself up and followed his eyes up the face of the man before him. âYouâyouâreâŠbut thatâs not right. Youâre not supposed to be here.â
The Doctor frowned at his younger self. âStrange that I donât remember this.â He raised his brow. âOf course, I havenât been remembering quite a lot lately. I blame our regeneration for that.â Moving forward, instead of getting out his other selfâs screwdriver, he pulled his own, modified one out of his jacket pocket. âProbably shouldnât move too much. Still working out the adjustments on my sonic screwdriver.â He pointed it at the other Doctorâs shackles, and it emitted a familiar sound.
"Well I'm sorry for dying, but I probably didn't have much choice on the matter." The locks on the shackles clicked and popped open. He could finally stand up, and did so while rubbing his wrists. "It can't be as bad as the one we had way back with our eighth body. Then again, nothing can be as bad as an amnesiac Time Lord running around a hospital in San Francisco in nothing but a sheet." He eyed his other self's sonic and snatched it, twirling it in his fingers and looking closely. "Ooh...I don't like it."










