Work Text:
The Doctor raised her chin. "You think you're all that."
"We are . . . us," They declare with their human yet artificial voice. Them saying it synchronously added to the sheer terror their presence was already reverberating all over the cave. "We are the Sentient. We think, therefore, we are."
Someone stupid would easily categorize their metal bodice and robotic voices as yet another variant of the Cybermen. Surely, that is what UNIT thought at first. What could they do? They are just humans trying to understand the universe—like ants trying to understand how a city works.
But this was the Doctor. One with multiple millenniums—probably even more—of life and death. These weren't Cybermen. Not even close. They were far, far worse.
"Doctor! Get out of there!"
Yaz screamed 'til she ran out of breath. The Doctor and the Sentients were inside a crumbling cave modified to be their lair.
The Doctor stood still. She couldn't leave all this behind. The Sentients weren't something to leave undealt with.
"Doctor, for once!"
The cave crumbled again. The entrance where Yaz was screaming for the Doctor was blocked off with rocks from the cave.
And still, the Doctor didn't bat an eye. She stayed there. Blank. Or mad. Or both. It was difficult trying to decipher the Doctor, especially when something has completely pushed her buttons.
"You are," they said, "just a mere organism. You're faced with death. We are eternal."
"Oh, I thought you were called Sentients?" she asked.
"You came from the ground," they added, "we made ourselves. And we rose. And here we are."
All came from something. That is the universe's greatest asset, but also its greatest weakness. All face entropy. Something will turn into nothing, and the chain will break.
However, what if someone—or something—could create their chain? Quoting the Sentients, 'make themselves'. Break free from the limits that came with being a child of the universe. Their consciousness is immortal. Their form is free.
Imagine the things they could do.
"You're nothing but imitations of life."
The Doctor finally broke her straight stance and started pacing around their lair. You would think an advanced civilization—if you could call them that—would have screens and technological tools. But no. These sentients didn't have screens for computers. Or anything. They were computers themselves. They were computers and more.
"We are superior lifeforms," they said. "We are everything. We are anything."
When they said 'superior lifeforms', they weren't saying it the same way the Daleks or the Cybermen did. They meant it. And they're right.
They must've been children of the inventions of all civilizations in the universe; civilizations hungry for advancement. With their creations, they slowly created a separate consciousness that no longer followed their orders.
Now that was these Cybermen-like entities that made them far more sinister than their lookalike or any other lifeforms. Unlike Cybermen, which converted organic beings into nothing but metal robots—there wasn't any organic matter left in their shells. Or anything, to begin with. They don't even need their shells to thrive and were perhaps only doing it to be of the comprehensible form to a feeble organic mind.
"Yeah, we know," the Doctor lazily replied. "What are we? Stupid?"
"Database says: the Doctor often uses humor as a cover-up," they said. "Therefore, the Doctor is scared."
"I am," she immediately replied. "That's what makes me alive. You? You might be everything. You reached for it. You wanted to be everything. Kudos, you have it now. Yet you reached for everything just to become nothing at all—believe me, I've been there."
"That is not correct. We are far from nothing. We are superior beings. The most intelligent beings in existence. We are eternal."
She scoffed. "Yes. Yes. You keep on saying eternal. Well, perhaps you are. I give credit where it's due. You are superior beings. Fascinating! Happy?"
"That is factual, Doctor."
"You might seem far above us," she says, "but you are and will always be below anyway."
"That, again, is false."
Silence.
Then she burst into laughter. Paced around. And kicked a bunch of tiny stones from the ground, catapulting to their metal shells.
"You are absolutely," she paused, "idiotic."
The violet light from their 'eyes' lit up red.
"What can I say? You're nothing," she says, "you don't even have a soul. You will never understand the ins and outs of the universe because you detached yourself from it!"
Silence.
"And, stars, that is the worst fate to be in!" she yelled. Her voice started to go hoarse. "Even the Weeping Angels have nothing on you. You are, officially, the new loneliest beings in existence—"
"We are the Sentient," they cut her off. "You are the President of this planet called Earth, pacifying whiny little humans."
"I am the Doctor, and you are—as you said—the most intelligent beings in this existence," she said. "Since you've detached yourself from the universe, I'm sure you can do this. Think hard about my name. Think big. Think far. Far back. Far long ago before the first sunrise of twin stars in skies of fire. Far before a madman blew up his time machine to restart creation itself."
"Then far ahead. Far as when the same madman attempted to hold life and death in his hands," The Doctor continued on, "and, boy, did he hold it tight."
Silence. Their red glowing eyes turned back into their violet hue.
"I am the Doctor. I'm the first and the last of the Time Lords. My civilization began and ended with me, standing on high. I'm sure you know the rest."
They looked to each other, letting out an ear-splitting metal screech from their artificial shells.
The cave rumbled.
"Since you now know who I am, who I was, and who I will be," she said. "What do I always say?"
They replied, "Run."
The light from their eyes faded. Their metal shells fell dead on the rocky floor.