Identity Crisis - A Brand New Doctor Who Story!

An adventure for the Thirteenth Doctor, Graham, Ryan & Yaz.

He clicked his heels together. He wasn’t quite sure why he always did that. Maybe it was some kind of calming tick, to steady his nerves? No, he didn’t need to steady his nerves, he wasn’t nervous. Maybe then it was to psych himself up? No. Because he was always trained to keep a clear head: to let nothing distract him, and to focus upon the questions. That’s what he trained for, and that’s what he was good at. Focusing only on the information that he wanted. He was waiting for the buzzer. When it sounded, he could begin. He didn’t want to seem like he was being impatient, but he wanted to make it perfectly clear to his bosses, watching on the cameras, that he was ready. He had done it a hundred times before. He would do it a hundred times again. The red light above the doorway finally illuminated, and the harsh tone of the buzzer rang out through the antechamber. The door opened, and he stepped inside, the sound of his feet ringing on the concrete floor. This was partly training, and partly due to the way the shoes had been made. It was all to do with psychology. He would have thought more about this, if he was the sort of person who allowed his mind to wander. However, he wasn’t. He was focused upon the questions, and getting the answers that he wanted. That’s what he’d trained for. That’s what he was good at.

The sight that greeted Deputy Interrogator Crannis wasn’t what he’d been expecting. He’d been expecting some tough, hardened rebel, judging by the acts that had been listed on the woman’s file. Subversion, acts of public damage, civil disobedience, arson, terrorism; it fitted only the most hardened, dedicated rebel. And this woman was reported to be their leader: even more reason to suspect that she might be toughened and grizzled. Yet the woman who sat cross-legged on the floor wasn’t like that at all. She wasn’t scarred by conflict: her face was clean and unmarked, save for a couple of cuts and a black eye she’d gained while in captivity. Her clothes were odd too: a pullover with a striped rainbow pattern running across the front, green trousers that Crannis thought were slightly too short for her, held up by a pair of braces on the outside of her top, and a grey coat with orange and blue striping. It wasn’t the sort of thing that rebels should wear at all. At least her boots were slightly more of type, although even these were far too clean for such a subversive. The woman had a full head of bob-cut hair, and piercings too, although not of the extreme, symbols-of-battle kind. Even the woman's attitude wasn’t what Crannis was expecting. Cross-legged on the floor, that wasn’t usually what rebels did. They usually were slumped on the bed, trying anything to be defiant. But this woman… she was just sat there, with a piece of chalk in her hand. However did the guards miss that, Crannis thought to himself? He would be having words with them when he’d finished here. Crannis tried to regain his composure, just like all the training manuals told him to. He took a slight breath, and coughed, in an attempt to get the prisoner’s attention. She didn’t even flinch, just continued to scribble on the floor with her chalk. Crannis coughed again. Nothing. None of the techniques were working. How come none of them were working? He couldn’t understand it. He coughed again, more forcefully this time.

“I’d get that looked at if I were you,” the woman politely said, in a strange accent that Crannis didn’t recognise. He wanted to kick himself. The woman had played him for a fool. He stumbled over his next few words, attempting to regain his composure, and his status. He knew the Interrogator would be watching. 

“I’m here to interrogate you,” he stammered. “You will answer my questions, or I will be forced to use increasing levels of pain to get the answers that I want. I have the authority and the power here,” he was getting ever more desperate. “And you will recognise that.”

“Don’t you think that looks nice?” the woman said, as if she hadn’t even heard what Crannis had been saying. Crannis balked. He’d just threatened this woman with pain, and she’d barely even batted an eyelid. He couldn’t help the word that came out of his mouth next.

“What?” He couldn’t understand what the woman was on about.

“I suppose the clouds look the best,” she continued. “‘Cause they’re in white. I only had white. Shame really. I liked chalk before, but I’m not so sure it’s me anymore. You know what I’m sayin’?” Crannis couldn’t believe it. He looked down at the floor in shock at what he was seeing. The woman had drawn out what looked like a child’s drawing of stick men and women holding hands underneath a big, cartoonish sun with cartoonish clouds in the sky. It was ridiculous. And yet, the woman looked proudly at it; as if she’d just drawn a masterpiece. After a moment, however, her face changed. She screwed it up tightly, in what looked like dissatisfaction, though Crannis wasn’t sure, judging from how exaggerated it was. 

“Actually, I d’naaw. I used to be good at drawing, not last time, but, well, at some point. But I don’t think it’s me. Haven’t got the patience really. Shame.” Suddenly, she jumped up, taking Crannis by surprise and forcing him to take a step back. “Now then, you wanna ask me some questions, yer?” 

“Err…” Crannis stumbled, desperately trying to regain control of the situation. 

“You sound unsure, Deputy Interrogator. Do you wanna come in and try again?” If he hadn’t been so taken aback, and hadn’t already lost complete control of the room, Crannis would have questioned how this woman knew he was a Deputy Interrogator. But since he was too busy trying to  regain his control, he brushed that thought to the back of his brain. 

“Sit in the chair and shut up!” was all he could bleat out. It sounded ridiculous: like a little man trying to exert his authority, shouting at everyone and everything. But he wasn’t that. Was he? The woman, on the other hand, moved around the table in the centre of the room and sat down. Even though she was doing as Crannis had asked, he got the feeling that she was still very much in control. Crannis had to change that. He sat opposite her, placing the data screen in his hand down on the table, well out of her reach.

“Now then,” Crannis said, swallowing and trying hard to regain any control that might still have been left inside him. “I’ll start with a simple question: why?” For a moment, the woman said nothing. She was just looking at her nails, not in a shy way, but in an obvious, bored way. Then, she looked up at Crannis, as if noticing him for the first time. But this time, there was something different about the way she looked at him. 

“Why? Well, your government is corrupt, riddled with weak, spineless fools in the pay of even more corrupt big businesses, while you lot are running around, arresting everyone who has an independent thought that you don’t sanction. Basic Thursday afternoon really.”

“So you do this a lot? Acts of subversion.” The woman sniffed. It would have been snooty, had it not been for her accent, which Crannis decided was a sign of a lower upbringing.

“Oh yeah, loads. All the time. Land somewhere, find what’s wrong, fix it. After all, why do people call me the Doctor?”

“Yes, that’s the name you gave when you were arrested.” Crannis decided to address this point while they were on the topic. “What is your real name?”

“That is me real name!” The woman - the Doctor - was obviously offended by this. Even this reaction hadn’t been what Crannis had been expecting. The woman was shocked that he’d asked the question. It wasn’t defiance, an attempt to get her message out there, it was actual shock. Like she’d just been told her favourite pet had just died. Crannis decided to push the point while she was on the defense. His training was kicking back in now; just like it should.

“That’s not a name, that’s a profession. What is your real name?”

“What’s yours?” The woman’s impertinence really knew no bounds, the man thought to himself. He wanted to hit her, but he remembered the rule: the one strict rule they had in the Correction Unit. ‘Pain must be applied in the correct order’. And pain wouldn’t be applied in the correct order, if he hit her. He had to break her in other ways before he got to that.

“That is irrelevant,” he replied, now feeling in control. 

“Exactly. So’s mine. Next question.” And with that, the Doctor had completely smashed down the control that he’d built up, carefully cultivated and strengthened. This wasn’t going to plan, and the textbooks certainly didn’t anticipate this. He struggled for what to do, desperately thinking how to wrench back control of this situation. He decided to skip the question entirely, and move to trying to break this prisoner down. He decided to return to strategy 4: a favourite of his.

“Why?” The woman looked dumbfound at him. 

“You’ve already asked that one, mate.” Crannis smiled a cruel, and not entirely genuine, smile. He hoped that it would unsettle this Doctor. It did not.

“Why do you do this? Fight the system, despite the fact that you will never win.”

“Can you be sure I won’t win? I mean, can you tell the future?”

“No. But the state can.” The Doctor smiled.

“You mean they write the future.”

“Telling. Writing. Same thing.”

“I’m sure it is. Well, you believe that it is.”

“And if we control the future,” Crannis continued, “then your ‘crusade’ must be doomed. After all, the state controls the greatest weapon of all.” The Doctor leaned forward, seemingly fascinated by what Crannis was saying.

“Which is?” she asked. Crannis smiled. He enjoyed this part of the strategy the most.

“History. We control history.” The Doctor sighed slowly, with a resigned look that indicated that she’d heard all this before. 

“Really? That’s your greatest weapon. Rubbish arsenal you’ve got?” Crannis was shocked. This was usually a deal breaker for people: the moment he explained that the State had the power to rewrite what people knew about their own past, they crumbled, realising their resistance was futile. Yet this woman, this Doctor, has simply shrugged in the face of such a revelation, as if he’d told her what the weather outside was like. This prisoner was impossible, Crannis thought.

“It stops resistance,” he continued, attempting to salvage some dignity in front of his superiors. “People accept that the state knows how best to disseminate the events of the past.”

“Or maybe they don’t question because they know what will happen. The work camps. The disappearances. All in the name of your so-called ‘Glorious Revolution’.”

“Sacrifices have to be made,” was all Crannis responded with. The Doctor seemed appalled by this. Her anger was barely contained behind her calm expression. Now, Crannis thought. Now she was breaking. 

“And you honestly believe that? That keeping people in fear is the only way.”

“Yes.” Suddenly, the woman’s voice took on a lighter quality again.

“Only that’s not happened, has it? ‘Cause it’s not keeping the people scared, ensuring they stay in line, is it? They’re resistin’.” Crannis wanted to laugh at this. This woman clearly had no idea what the world was really like. He made a note on his tablet: ‘prisoner is delusional’. 

“Do you honestly believe that? Is that what you really believe?”

“Look out the window,” the Doctor replied. “You’ll see the world as it really is, not just the party line.” Crannis looked oddly at this Doctor. She really did believe what she was saying, didn’t she? Clearly, this woman is delusional, he thought. He knew the truth. The only truth that mattered. And yet… this woman’s forceful expression seemed to be saying otherwise. “There are more and more people rejecting your view of the world every single day. People who are tired of being scared, and just want to be free. Something you can’t deny them. Not anymore.” Suddenly, a buzzer sounded throughout the room. It was one tone, and rang out for a few moments before cutting out. Crannis was devastated. After all his efforts, he’d been unable to break the woman, get her to confess to being a rebel and discover where her associates were. And now, now his superiors were pulling him away from this rebel leader, and were probably planning to have him replaced with someone else, someone, no doubt inferior. He was crushed. 

“We’ll talk later,” was all he could mutter to the Doctor. She just shrugged.

“I’m sure we will.”

When the door next opened, the Doctor could see that Crannis was visibly shaken. Sure, he’d been unsettled, disturbed even, by her actions, but this was different. He now looked genuinely rattled, as if something had terrified him. As, the Doctor knew, it had.

“What have you done?” There was nothing but cold fury behind Crannis’ eyes. The Doctor stared him out for a moment before responding.

“All I did was throw a new idea into your machine. I gave the people the power to choose.” This answer didn’t seem to pacify the Deputy Interrogator. 

“There’s a revolution. On the streets. Thousands of people, marching on the Building of Correction.” The woman shrugged. 

“I guessed that. Put a new idea into the mixing pot of other ideas, and it won’t take long for someone to work out how to act on it.” 

“But why? We are a happy society.” The Doctor could barely contain herself, and started laughing.

“You are? That’s not what I saw. In the torture chambers, in the labour camps, in the streets that ran with blood.” This didn’t seem to deter Crannis, however. He was totally determined to prove the Doctor wrong. It was all he had left.

“But there was little crime. Little poverty. And, to be honest, most people were happy.”

“Because they never knew any better!”

“Exactly. For most people, their life was happy. They were grateful for what they had, not wanting for the things they didn’t. Yet-” He stopped himself, like he knew.

“To be honest, I don’t know if it’s my place to say this, but…” the Doctor paused for a moment, as if she realised the full implications of what she was about to say. “I do feel sorry for you. After all, you’re now wondering if your whole life is a lie. That’s gotta be hard.” Crannis could barely look at her.

“We were happy,” was all he could mutter.

“I understand,” the Doctor continued. “To be honest, I feel just like your society does. I’m still not sure what I’m doing.” Crannis stared back, baffled. “Just regenerated,” she shrugged. “I’m not quite sure I know what I am yet. Not totally, anyway.”

“I don’t understand,” was all Crannis could respond with. He was barely following what the Doctor was saying now, just kind of nodding when it felt appropriate.

“I mean, all this, I engineered. Said the right thing, at the right time. Got Yaz to put the right pressure in the right place, got Ryan and Graham to do their bit. But I don’t know if that’s me. Am I the kind of person that manipulates the situation in order to get the right result? Or do I just jump into a situation and try to fix it as best as I can? I d’know.” The Doctor sighed heavily. “And that’s what your society has been. You’re tryin’ do the right thing, but you’ve no idea what you’re doin’.” 

“We thought we did. We thought that we wouldn’t go back to how it was before, that we’d stop our society from destroying itself.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” the Doctor muttered to herself. “ I’ve been in that exact same position, y’know. And it never gets any easier, any clearer. You always wonder if you could have done things better. Maybe if you’d actually listened to your citizens, this wouldn’t be happenin’”

“But what if we go back? What if we go back to how we were before. There’s nothing to stop us. No order. No control.”

“You really think people will go back to how it was? People just want simple freedoms. The freedom to think their own thoughts. The freedom from persecution. The freedom to be themselves.” 

“And what will that freedom bring? Anarchy, chaos, noise. Everything we must not be.” Crannis was nearly distraught. Everything was collapsing around him, and, for once, there was absolutely nothing he could do. The Doctor leaned in closer, so her face was practically level with his. She looked deep into his eyes, attempting to read the expression that was burned into them. But there was nothing there. Just two pools of empty blackness. 

“And what gives you the right to decide what people should or shouldn’t be?” For a moment, a split-second between one breath and the next, everything was still and silent. Then, suddenly, and without warning, Crannis threw back his chair, and, leaping onto the table, started to throttle the Doctor. The attack took her completely by surprise: she didn’t have time to get out of the way, or even to land a quick bit of Venusian Aikido on the base of his neck. His attack came with such force that it knocked her chair backwards, sending her toppling to the floor. Within a moment, Crannis was on her again; his hands around her neck, closing their grip like a boa constrictor around its prey. The Doctor attempted to push Crannis off, but his strength was like iron. If she hadn’t been right before, she knew she definitely was now. “Crannis…” She tried to speak, catching her breath between massive lungfuls of air. “Crannis, you have to… have to listen to me… please.” But Crannis didn’t let go. The Doctor could feel her vision starting to fade. This surely couldn’t be how it all ended, could it? Being throttled, on the floor of a cell, by a man whose mind had broken at the sight of a revolution, could it? For a moment, she thought she heard the door of the cell open, but maybe she’d just imagined it. Before she could work out which it was, her vision went dark completely.

Awake. That was the first thing. No longer unconscious. Reality snapped back into focus, like a light had been switched on. What had happened?

“Hello Crannis. Glad to see you’re back with us.” Crannis was desperately trying to remember what had happened. He had had the Doctor at his mercy. And now, from what he could see, she was stood up, while he… He suddenly realised. He was tied, down, into a chair.

“What is going on? Why am I restrained?” He attempted to break free from his restraints, but he found that, for some reason, he was unable to. His training had included escapology, why was he not able to escape now?

“You may be wondering why you’re unable to escape from that chair,” the Doctor said, smiling as she did. It was, strangely, both sadistic and sympathetic. And, it was for the first time, that Crannis realised that he had underestimated this Doctor. That she wasn’t a moron, or a fool, or even a simple terrorist leader. That she was something very, very different. “That’s simple, really. While you were unconscious, and thanks to Yaz bringing me me Sonic-” she held up a small, silver object, with what looked like a light on the end, “-I was able to do a little bit of jiggery pokery, and turn off that super strength of yours.” Crannis was simply stunned. What was this Doctor on about? Super strength? He couldn’t help himself, but to laugh.

“Super strength? What are you on about?” he chuckled, fighting through the laughter. Even in the shame of his defeat, Crannis thought that he could still get the upper hand. After all, the Doctor certainly wouldn’t have had his training in interrogations like this, even if she, as she had claimed, had been captured before. But the Doctor wasn’t laughing. Instead, she was just staring. Staring at this poor, deluded man, who had to be tied to a chair for his own good. She felt sorry for him. Because, despite everything that had happened tonight, she still had one more truth about his life that she had to shatter.

“I’m on about that training of yours. The one that makes you super smart. The one that gives you the ability to break out of capture. The one that allows you to feel nothing for the lives you take.”

“I don’t understand. It’s training all recruits go through.” Crannis was suddenly feeling on very shaky ground. The Doctor seemed not to be breaking. Something was wrong.

“No,” she spoke, very softly, almost imperceptibly. “They don’t.” Before she continued, Crannis realised what she meant. The lies. The suppressed memories. The pain. He could see them, coming back to him. Things he was never meant to remember, but was now remembering. He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. He’d been left without the words to explain what had been done to him. He knew the Doctor was right. Everything she was saying was right. “It’s conditioning. Deep brain restructuring. What happens to all those selected to serve the system. The computer took your mind to pieces and rebuilt it. But it wasn’t your mind anymore. It was the computer’s.” Almost all traces of emotion in the Doctor’s voice had gone. Even her strange accent had started to slip away, as her voice became even more monotone. “And that wasn’t all. They altered your body as well. Implants. Genetic grafts. Surgery. In order to make you invulnerable to pretty much every kind of attack. And then, the final cruelty,” she uttered, with such contempt that it made Crannis flinch. “They alter your physical appearance. So that you all look exactly the same. When you look in the mirror, you’re not just lookin’ at your reflection. You’re lookin’ at the state’s as well.” The Doctor took in a deep, long breath, as she realised the enormity of what she’d just said. Crannis was stunned.

“I… I… remember…” was all he could say. There were no words that could give voice to what he was feeling right now. There was nothing, other than silence.

“You never knew because of an implant in your eye. It made sure that you saw every other officer as different. That way, you would never question. And the computer had a direct link to your brain. It could edit your memories as it saw fit.”

“So… I wasn’t… wasn’t responsible. For anything that I did?” The Doctor shook her head, sadly. 

“No. You were responsible. The computer never made you. But you didn’t know any better. You were programmed to think like that. But the computer did take you over briefly. When you attacked me. It saw that I was a threat, and attempted to remove me from the picture.” Crannis just stared at the table, and at the broken data pad that lay on top of it. He couldn’t believe that he’d been controlled by something like that. “Of course, I suspect that your leaders put a computer in charge because it was slightly more efficient than a person. After all, people can turn out to be something they don’t seem to be on the surface.” And, in that moment, Crannis realised. The Doctor hadn’t been playing him. She’d been playing the computer, trying to goad it into revealing itself.

“But… But what do I do?” he realised, trying to process all the information that had destroyed his life.

“I don’t know. It depends if I can reprogramme the computer.”

“But what if I want to be free?” he questioned. Somehow, he knew he wasn’t going to like the response that he was going to get.

“You can’t. I’m sorry, but the control’s too deeply embedded. Both the chips and the conditioning.” Crannis was crushed. His whole life was, all of a sudden, over. Everything he believed in was a lie. Everything he had ever known, he could now no longer trust. He wasn’t even free. He was slaved to a machine that was telling him what he could and couldn’t think. “Now, Crannis. Now do you see why I wanted to bring this society down?” Crannis nodded his head, slowly, simply trying to take everything in. “You weren’t happy. You just thought you were. You were told what to do by a computer. The ultimate form of control.” Tears were streaming down Crannis’ face now. He could feel the chip, burning away at his brain, attempting to take his memories. Something felt wrong, however, like it couldn’t.

“Why hasn’t the computer taken all this away from me? If it can just erase memories like that.”

“It has tried,” the Doctor said, maintaining her cool air of detachment. “But, it’s slightly preoccupied at the moment, trying to stop Ryan, Graham and the resistance from tearing it apart.” 

“So… what do I do?” Crannis stuttered, unable to put a sentence together. “What do… do I do now?”

“Well, until I reprogramme the computer, you’ll have to stay ‘ere. After that - I d’know. Maybe you’ll be tried for war crimes. Or murder. Or everything that you’ve done. That’s not my place. I won’t be ‘ere.”

“What do you mean, you won’t be here?” Crannis was confused by this. After all, no one could have left the planet before, and he suspected that they wouldn’t be starting now.

“Me and me mates,” the Doctor continued, slightly awkwardly. “We travel. Through time and space.” She then leaned in close to Crannis, facing up to him. “Who wants to know - you, or the computer?”

“Why would we tell you?” was Crannis’ response. The Doctor sighed, sadly.

“So, it’s the computer then. Why am I not surprised? You’ve been determined to find out who I was from the moment I stepped onto this planet of yours.” Crannis smirked. It was a cruel smile, twisted and pointed. At last, at the end, did he have the upper hand.

“No.” He was forcing the words out now, through gritted teeth that seemed to be locked together. “Not the computer. Us. The people. The silent majority. What gives you the right to judge us?” For the first time, the Doctor seemed genuinely rattled. Her eyes opened wider, revealing her surprise at the question. It was clear to Crannis that this possibility simply hadn’t occurred to her. The arrogance, he thought to himself. “What gives you the right to come in, as an outsider, and tell us our lives are wrong?” She just stared back at Crannis. It was like she simply hadn’t expected that question to pop up. “You don’t have an answer, do you? You’ve never thought of it like that? Have you spoken to each and every person out there, all those currently cowering in their homes, hoping this revolution just passes them by? Have you spoken to those in power, trying to understand their point of view? No. You came in, and did what you believed was right. What gives you the right to do that?” At this, the woman seemed to snap to action, her face turning darker.

“Because it was wrong. Everything you did, all the killing, all the bloodshed, all the torture. Everything you did in order to maintain your tyrannical grip on power.”

“But who are you to decide that? Who are you to decide what is good or bad?” The Doctor couldn’t look him in the eye. She just stared into the middle distance, ignoring his penetrating stare. At last, he was in control.

“I don’t know. I’m just doing what I think is right,” was the response Crannis got. The Doctor turned to leave, clearly with regret in her eyes. “When this is all over, I’ll come back. I’ll let you go.” It was Crannis’ turn to bow his head, although this wasn’t out of shame. He couldn’t face the woman anymore. He knew she would never confess the truth. That was the one thing he could never get out of them. Their final defiance.

The door opened, and the Doctor stepped out. Yaz was waiting for her. 

“You ok?” She could clearly see that she was far from ‘ok’.

“I’m fine,” the Doctor replied, sighing deeply as she did. Something seemed off, but Yaz didn’t question it. She knew that the Doctor could be like this, unwilling to talk if something was disturbing her, as in really disturbing her. This was one of those occasions. She motioned to the door.

“What about him? What ‘re we gonna do about him?”

“Nothin’. There’s nothin’ we can do. We’ll let the rebels take care of him.” The Doctor started to stride away from the cell door, and down the corridor. “It’s what he would want. Come on Yaz, let’s go find the others.” She didn’t look back over her shoulder as she walked away. Yaz looked back at the door. There were no sounds from the other side, no desperate cries of retribution or for forgiveness. It was still and silent. Yaz turned away, and sheepishly followed the Doctor down the corridor, and away from Crannis’ cell. The corridor was still and silent. The only sounds that could be heard came from the continued fighting outside, as the revolution raged onward.

THE END.

All pictures copyright to the BBC. Thank you very much for reading.