Doctor Who: Equestrian Chronicles Series 1

Did anyone actually like this dumbass fanfic?

I remember always thinking that the phrase fanfic was derogatory. Meant for schlock 'n' shit 'n' stuff.
And I always looked at my writings with too much respect to see them as fanfics. And I just called it a fanfic. I called it a fanfic THOUSANDS of times before as well. I lost ALL respect towards this... insult to the literary world.
I vowed I'd never write another chapter.
YET HERE WE ARE.
POSTING A NEW CHAPTER.
YIPPEE KAY YAY, MUTHA FUC-oh wait, this was rated Teen. I can't curse here what the sh-I MEAN POOP.

I don't know why I decided to post this chapter online.
It's dull. It's padded. It's not subtle. It's melodramatic.
Basically what 'Dr. Who' is today.
And I am definitely never going to post anything again for this so called story.

Here you go.

God, I work on a billion other things that I really like, but it's this stuff that get's 20 followers?
Justice is blind as Scotty. Y'know, at the end of Evil Dead? Or Elle Driver at the end of Kill Bill, if you prefer that movie.

ANYWAY HERE YOU GO
DOCTOR WHO, THE EQUESTRIAN CHRONICLES CONTINUES!

Imagine that you were in a box that was bigger on the inside. Now imagine that that box was filled with endless corridors, and the only being that you knew that could navigate it was an drowsy alien.

This might help you understand how helpless Octavia felt after her new friend, the Doctor, died, glowed, and came back to life with in a new body.

"Doctor!" Octavia shook the alien. His entire body seemed to be different. It was old and a bit wrinkled on the forehead, and his hair changed from dark spiky brown crown, to a lighter shaded blonde mop.

"What happened?" she asked herself. He was an alien, and he said that he was dying. Could he have made a new body for himself? How could that even be possible?

She looked around the corridor she was in. Where exactly was she? The corridor she was in started to shift, and contort. The phrase she was about to utter was filled with confusion, fear, and the same frustration one might get from trying to solve a complex puzzle.

"What is going on?!"

Meanwhile, the Doctor was facing some problems of his own: Post Regeneration Crisis.

"Oh..." he moaned. He rubbed his head, hoping to ease the pain that was bounding in his brain. And then, he realized it.

"My... my hair!" the Doctor quickly ran his fingers through his hair. It felt much more wiry than he remembered. He pulled a lock of the hair to his eyes, "It's blonde! Wasn't it..."

He couldn't remember that he was going to say. What would that even mean? What kind of hair colour would he have had before?

"Why can't I remember!" the Doctor shouted into the air in frustration. He had vague memories of a man in a blue suit with a Stetson hat. But the harder he tried to think, the more fuzzy the vision became.

"Doctor!" a grey mare trotted towards him, having heard his shouting. She held up his limp head in her hoof, "Is... is that you?"

"I'm not quite sure, Rose," the Doctor shook his head, "I... I don't know who I am..."

"Rose?" Octavia shook her head, "I should never mind that, you seem sick... are you feeling alright?"

She didn't get her answer, as the Doctor slumped back, unconscious once again.

Was it him?

Octavia started to become suspicious. The Doctor said he was dying... and then he blew up, and then he changed bodies.

Maybe... He rebuilt his body? Is that possible? Maybe. All she knew about him was that he was an alien. It's quite possible.

She shook her head. No, this is not the time. It would be better to get back to the console. Maybe then she could wrap her hear around everything.

Hang on... wasn't this hallway different?

She distinctly remembered being disgusted with the original walls. A mossy green. Now it turned... grey? Red? The longer she looked at it, the more it shifted.

Octavia turned around, and checked if the Doctor was still behind her.

He wasn't.

"Ughhhh...," A man groaned. As he stumbled around a strange hall, he tried to remember who he was, what he was doing in the place that he was, and what the hell was going on.

A small glimmer of remembrance sparkled, but to no avail.

Doc... something.

Doctor? Was he a doctor of medicine? Psychology? Or was he just a quack with a phony license?

...tor Fore...

The second part of the name came back, yet the harder he tried to remember, the blunter the memory became.

"Who am I?"

His voice bounced around the room. The man fell to his knees.

"WHO AM I!!!"

He felt hopeless, utterly lost, and was having a sudden craving for a plate of fish and chips. The man continued to walk, and took a left.

Grandfather!

What was that? He turned to see who was calling him, only to see a long empty hallway, going straight into darkness.

He kept on moving.

Then he stopped.

"What in the name of Suhtek?" he whispered. He distinctly remembered taking a left... or was it a right? It would depend on the direction of the point of view, wouldn't it?

...

Right. It would be better to focus on the matter at hand. He cracked his knuckles, and went forward to where he heard the voice, hoping to understand why the halls of this maze of corridors kept on shifting. And one more thought went through his mind.

"Who's Suhtek?" he asked himself.

"Doctor?" Octavia called out for the nth time. She had already lost count, and was getting tired. She looked up to the ceiling. A rectangular light fixture hung down, stabilized by metal rods. She closed her eyes. When she felt rejuvenated and motivated, she got up, and got ready to continue her quest.

"OH, COME ON!" she screamed, as she saw that the light fixture was gone. Light was now being supplied by circular domes surrounding the grey-red walls.

Fairly enough, she started to kick the walls of the infernal machine. Then she heard a noise. Octavia stared at the wall, and saw an archway split open. The archway opened to a new hallway.

"Is it trying to tell me something?" she asked to no one in particular.

The man walked aimlessly in the endless maze. He could barely keep his eyes open. He was utterly exhausted.

But then, something of interest caused him to open his eyes in surprise.

"Have you ever thought what it's like to be wanderers in the Fourth Dimension? Have you? To be exiles? Susan and I are cut off from our own planet ..."

The voice trailed off and faded away, but was still fresh in his memory. He told that to... Chaterton!

Or something like that.

There was a room. It was all white, almost blindingly so. And in the centre of the room was a mannequin. The mannequin was wearing a old black jacket, grey pants, a white button up shirt, and a silver vest. A ribbon black tie was wrapped around the neck of the collar.

"What's this?" the man frowned. There was another display. A thin cane, knotted and twisted in the middle. He remembered... he had bad knees...

He needed a cane to walk...

And he remembered.

He was a time lord! He was travelling with his granddaughter, and they picked up her teachers as stowaways!

"Where is that Ian?" he said out loud, "Susan, my dear?"

Oh yeah...

Susan left the TARDIS...

"I... what's happening?"

"Isn't it obvious, my boy?"

An old man walked into view.

"You are suffering post regeneration crisis," he sniffed, "And you are acting quite unruly. I cannot believe you came from me. Though there will be twelve lives in between, and every one of them more rude and uncouth then the last. Especially the one with the spiky hair."

"Who the hell are you?" the man asked.

"I am a holographic replication of your original self," the old man explained, "And with the confusion you're going through, you'll need all the help you can get, I'm afraid."

Octavia looked around the newly opened corridor.

"What the hell is going on around here?" she asked to herself. She was obviously beginning to make a habit of it.

Regardless, Octavia walked on, trying to find her way out. And walked. And walked. And walked.

And just to add some difference to the pace of the endless tunnels, she started running, and found a door. Octavia opened it, and found a round, wide window.

The window looked into blackness, and nothingness. And then it started to shimmer, and faded to something else.

A colourfully dressed man, that looked like he was of the same species of the Doctor, was talking to another one. It looked like it was female, having similar traits to female of her own species. No audio came from the window, but the man was obviously very angry at the girl.

And then... he started talking to her in a very accusative manner... and started to choke her to death.

"Oh lord..." Octavia was horrified. Who would do something like this?

The screen shimmered again. The image formed to that of an old man, about to smash another's head with a rock.

Again, another man, with curly white hair, snapping the neck of his victim.

A callous man with a hat, walking with an umbrella, as a building behind him blows up to ashes.

"What are you showing me?" Octavia asked the TARDIS, "I know you have some amount of sentiency... Who is that?!"

The screen shifted to a man, clad in a strange, black material, watching as a planet dissolves, and suddenly vanishes.

Another man, watching, with explosions all around him, and a large red creature screaming in agony.

A man shouting, scaring a whole army.

"Who are these people?" Octavia was shaken. And a final video came.

The Doctor, the proper Doctor, when he tortured the Nestene consciousness. And she finally understood at last.

When the Doctor died, he got a new body. And these people, who murdered and destroyed. They were the Doctor.

She was even more scared of him now then she ever was before.

"Original self?" the Doctor asked, "How?"

"Like I said, my boy, I am just a hologram, built out of old recorded video and audio files," the First doctor explained, "I you listen, you can hear where my voice jumps."

"Oh..." the Doctor nodded in understanding. Then he realised that he didn't understand it one bit, "But why are you going through such measures? I don't think my past lives needed this."

"It's because of what you were doing before you regenerated," the First Doctor said, shaking his computer generated head, "You really should have been more careful, my boy. The TARDIS needs to get you ready before you go off driving it."

"I was... repairing the TARDIS!" the Doctor realized, groaning in frustration. The memories were still coming back to him, "It's... making new corridors! And I had a companion! Ace-"

"Octavia,"

"Octavia's lost in the TARDIS!" the Doctor exclaimed, fixing his mistake, "But how are we going to find her?"

"Easily done," the First Doctor gestured to a wall, which then protruded a screen. The screen showed clips, an old man going into a TARDIS with his granddaughter, meeting her teachers, going on adventures, meeting ancient races, and evil creatures that do nothing but kill, saving planets, and drinking cocoa.

"All that..." the Doctor stammered, "Is that... me? It is! The French revolution! The Sensorites! The Aztecs! I remember it all!"

"Yes," the First Doctor nodded, "It acts like a large infostamp. The memories you lost, are now replaced. You will be lead to the next infostamp room, which has the exploits of one horridly childish man."

"Well, thanks for that," a wall opened to the Doctor's left. He assumed it was to the next infostamp. He bowed and said, "Until we meet again."

"I think that's very unlikely," the first Doctor laughed, "But, I return the gesture all the same."

The Doctor went to the next room, meeting his second life. He kept going and going, past the tall, big teethed man with a scarf long enough to strangle a daemon, a rather quiet man dressed suspiciously like Wild Bill Hitchock, to finally a man in a dark, leather jacket.

"And... who are you?" he asked.

"I'm your ninth incarnation," the man answered. The man grinned, one side of his face crinkling. He held his arms cross, as if he were telling the universe that he wasn't scared.

"Nine, eh?" the Doctor grinned, "Looks like I'm the lasted in a long line."

"Yeah," he chuckled, " Seems like we're always sticking our necks for those bloody apes. Ah well."

"So... anything to tell me?"

"Yes," Nine pointed to another screen, which quickly showed the events of Nine's life, his cruise on Platform One, his friend Rose, the Van Stattson Museum, and finally his death.

"And... is that all?" the Doctor stared at the screen, expected more scenes to show up, "Seems like not much happened with you."

"That's all there is," Nine said, pointing his arm towards the next door, "You should go."

So the Doctor went on.

"Why are you showing me this?" Octavia screamed. Finally, as the clips faded away, her response came.

"Holographic projection, ready. Stock image; folder 'Octavia'. Downloaded. Stock found files. Downloaded"

An 3-D image of herself was projected in the air. And then it started to speak.

"This was an operation executed by the Doctor in his eighth life," she spoke. Octavia cringed from similarity, "He understood that the war he participated in would later come to effect his future decisions. Now the current is undergoing treatment."

"What sort of treatment?" Octavia asked. She looked up and down the hologram reproduction of herself. It was perfect, to the colour of her fur, to the style of her hair.

But was she really that round?

"The Doctor needs to see infostamps of his previous lives. However, the Eighth Doctor made sure that any information that was associated with the Time War was removed," the hologram of herself was replaced with a new image. One of a orange planet, with dead creatures and demolished ruins of what looked like a cathedral.

"Can't blame him for wanting to forget," Octavia agreed, "It's horrible!"

"Now, he is completed," the wall next to her opened, leading to the console room. The room looked different, though. It was now grey with a red pillar, and bright lights illuminating from the roof.

"Oo," she smiled at the sight, in spite of herself, "You're much nicer looking than before. I didn't really like that green look."

The Doctor walked to the final room.

"Hello."

"Hello to you, too," he smiled sweetly to the Doctor, "You're the twelfth one, yes?"

"Yeah," the Twelfth Doctor chuckled, "Didn't last very long, did I? If it weren't for that Rani... but I digress. That is what you're looking for, I assume?"

He pointed at a screen.

"Yes, yes it is," the Doctor peered into the screen, "Time's a wasting, Doctor! Play the reel!"

And with that, the final clips of his life were played, and he was finally complete again.

"That's it?" he asked, "Is it finally over?"

"Not quite," the Twelfth Doctor said, "I believe that it's a tradition in our lives."

A new door opened up. The Doctor walked through the doorway, and gasped.

It was a wardrobe. He smiled as he rummaged through the different choices.

OKAY!

It's done.
You can go home know.

You know, it's interesting how much I hate this. I think I really just hate the guy who wrote this. THAT'S WRITE 2012 CHRIS, I'M CALLIN' YOU OUT!

Oh wait, did I just reveal my real name?
OH NO I BROKE THE ILLUSION.

But seriously, I think with every megagram of HATE I get out of this... there is in fact a fondness to it.
I... I really do like this. A nostalgic feeling of when I'd spend whole nights typing as fast as I could. Going nuts whenever my Mac would crash and I'd have to rewrite 60% of the story because I DIDN'T SAVE!
I've lost those sweet, naïve days.
I've become much more cynical.

It's all part of growing up. I was 14.
3 years have passed.
School's ending for me. I'll have to go to college and get a job and die.
And I guess that's alright.