Here it is. The only Doctor Who fan fiction that I will ever write. Enjoy.
Nathanielle Sean Crawford
The Usual Disclaimers Apply
The Concept of Gallifrey, Time Lords, Doctor Who and other such ideas contained herein are the properties of their original creators. Some of the characters are my own idea though, and this story is not written with the intent to profit financially in anyway, except in currency of good humor.
In the southern hemisphere of the planet Gallifrey, in the city of Talentless Hacks, a man and a woman stood in the room of their eldest son, lamenting his new found independence.
“Our son is a man now,” said the father, a Time Lord answering to the name of The Mayor.
The mother ran her hands along the curvature of the headboard, on the bed where her boy once lay his head. She sighed.
“The house won’t be the same without his laughter and his music.”
“Hmm. Yes, his music.”
A servant rushed into the room, sweat dampening his brow as he cried out The Mayor’s attention.
“My Lord, your son, he has taken some of the appliances from… down stairs.”
The Mayor’s eyes widened. His complete shock was lost on his wife, who was simply confused at the information.
“Down stairs?” she regarded him quizzically.
“Yes,” The Mayor said with a sigh. “My, ah, man cave.”
They followed the servant down the stairs, into a room that existed deep beneath the house at the center of the city of Talentless Hacks. A vast chamber spread out before them.
“What has he taken?” The Mayor’s voice betrayed his fear of the answer.
The servant led the pair to the center of the room, where a large couch sat in front of a movie theater sized screen. The Mayor avoided his wife’s scrutiny as the servant pointed to an empty counter.
“Oh no,” The Mayor gasped.
“What is it?” The wife asked, curtly.
“The Forbidden Appliance.” Off her look, The Mayor explained, “It was mass produced for the citizens of Gallifrey and then taken off of the market when it developed a conscience. Could you use an appliance, knowing it could look upon you in judgment?”
Meanwhile, clear across the City, in an apartment building occupied by The Musician, two young men were lounging about in front of the television.
“Did you hear,” The roommate said. “The Doctor is back.”
“Bummer,” The Musician replied, strumming his guitar. “I thought he would keep running.”
“Yeah, well, he’s back now. And he threw the president and the High Council off the planet.”
The Musician punched the air.
“Fight the machine.”
The Musician put his guitar aside and crossed the tiny apartment floor, to the appliance on the counter by the stove. He popped open the door and pulled out a plate of pizza rolls. Leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, a woman stared incredulously and shook her head.
“Are you really going to eat that?”
“Hey!” The Musician pointed demonstratively at the woman. “You’re my microwave, not my dietitian.”