The man calls himself the Doctor.
I asked him once, ‘Doctor who?’
“Exactly,” he said.
He took us on a journey through time and space. I thought it would be a lie. Instead it was the horrible truth.
Across planets and dimensions. But they were more like battlefields and ruins.
This is our most recent adventure. We are beaten, bloodied and bruised from the physical onslaught and mental exhaustion.
Breaths are heavy. Hearts are racing, no matter how many each person has.
There were more Cybertronic Men than we had anticipated. The Doctor is not his optimistic, insufferable self for once.
He runs a sweaty palm through hair, leaving a trail of dirt and exhaustion.
“I’ve underestimated this,” he concedes. “I didn’t expect a whole fucking battalion.”
I tell him, “you’ve killed us all.”
He isn’t listening. I don’t know if it’s by choice or because of the heavy-footed machine men. They are close. I can smell the stench of grease and oil.
I shove him. He barely moves. “You said you could handle this. You said we’d be safe!”
He shakes his head and barks: “I didn’t say that. I said you’d have a thrilling ride you’d remember for the rest of your life.”
At this rate, we didn’t have much of our life left. Maybe that’s what he meant. That really is what the bastard meant.
“Anyway,” he says. He brushes at a lapel. Then he searches his pockets. Probably for a weapon. Or that stupid screwdriver of his. “If you die? Just regenerate.”
I don’t know what he is talking about. I tell him that.
He explains. Regeneration is when you get to your final breaths and your body decides to fight. It glows like the start of an explosion. Yellow flames flicker. There’s a burst of light. It shoots out in all directions. Then you are you, but different. You don’t look like you. Don’t sound like you. You’re you but you’re not you. But you’re alive. You fight another day.
“We can’t do that!” I snap.
“Oh,” he sighs. He fucking sighs. Like it's nothing. “That explains why I go through so many companions.”