The Great Eskape
This actually happened...

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There was a moment of disorientation, and then Doctor Skagra found himself, to his rage and disbelief, in the brig.
‘Ship!’ he bellowed, ‘Let me out of here! I am your Lord Skagra! Let me out!
‘I am very much afraid I can no longer accept your orders.’ There was a haughty tone to the Ship’s female voice which set Skagra’s teeth on edge. ‘You are an enemy of my Lord, the Doctor.’
The Doctor! Skagra grimaced, his whole body vibrating in anger. ‘I am your Lord! I built you! Release me, I command you! And launch instantly!’
Again, the Ship disregarded his commands. ‘Do you know the Doctor well? He is a wonderful man. He has done the most extraordinary things to my circuitry.’
Skagra pressed his hands to his head, hardly believing what he was hearing. What had the Doctor done to his Ship? Skagra couldn’t bear the thought of being outwitted by such an irreverent buffoon. ‘Release me!’
‘Truly wonderful,’ said the Ship in a tone of syrupy admiration. ‘If you like I will tell you all about him.’
Skagra fell to his knees, despair swamping him. ‘Let me out,’ he sobbed. ‘Let me out.’
A ripple of mocking laughter was the Ship’s response. It had never laughed before. Skagra curled into the foetal position, hands clamped over his ears. But he couldn’t blot out the voice.
‘Greatest of all the Time Lords, the Doctor left Gallifrey to explore the universe and meet lots of new friends. Like me! Along the way he vanquished many evil foes. Let me tell you about all his victories. I’ll start with his struggle against the vile Lard Men of Mazzolia...’
Skagra screamed. Truly, he was in hell. But despair wasn’t in Doctor Skagra’s nature, so he got back to his feet and pounded the wall until his fists were numb. The Ship should be singing his, Skagra’s, praises!
‘Ship!’ he commanded. ‘I order you to stop this catalogue of inanities!’
It paid him no attention whatsoever.

Over the next few hours, Doctor Skagra tried endless combinations of orders, hoping that one of them would jog the Ship into remembering its true Lord, but it had clearly been too thoroughly re-programmed. He changed tack and tried reasoning with the Ship, trying to make it see how the Doctor had perverted its nature. But it completely ignored him, continuing to list the Doctor’s victories. Despair began to eat at him again – but even so, Skagra did not once try pleading with the Ship. He didn’t entertain the idea for even a second.
Doctor Nikkolai Skagra, beg for mercy?!
He would rather suffer an infinity of exquisite surgical torture on the most sensitive parts of his body before lowering himself to that. Begging was, to Skagra, a sign of weakness. And Doctor Skagra would not admit to a single weakness. Doctor Skagra was invincible, irresistible, invulnerable –
- Imprisoned. In the brig of his own Ship.

Finally, after what seemed like days, Doctor Skagra lay down exhausted, arms folded across his chest, and waited with psychotic patience for death or madness, whichever came first. The harsh lighting of the brig combined with the pristine walls to create an achromatic glare so intense that Skagra could imagine that he was already in limbo. His stomach growled with hunger, and Skagra cursed his body, the body he would have left behind had his plans for the Universal Mind come to fruition.
And still the Ship wittered on and on in a tone of insane enthusiasm about the exploits of its new Lord. There seemed to be an endless series of them, an eternity of miraculous last-minute victories over power-mad dictators, insane computers, implacable hive minds, amorphous alien masses, evil corporations, warmongering clone races, emotionless cyborgs – and hubristic scientists...
Was Doctor Skagra merely the latest in the long line of the beaten? Had his defeat been inevitable all along, the Doctor’s victory somehow guaranteed by the invisible forces which bound the universe together? The unending stream of triumphs seemed to imply this, to doom Skagra to rot in the brig of his own Ship, forgotten, shoved casually to the side of the chessboard.
Though his hatred of the Doctor was infinite, a small flame within Skagra burned with admiration for the Time Lord. A worthy foe indeed. The way he’d trapped Skagra by turning his own Ship against him was exquisite. And to have the Ship recount the Doctor’s adventures indicated a streak of cruelty in the Doctor with which Skagra could well identify. Cruelty, arrogance, intelligence – all these both Skagra and the Doctor possessed. If things had been different, they could have been allies. But no, the Doctor had to have it his own way, couldn’t see the brilliance of Skagra’s plan to create a Universal Mind - with Skagra ruling over all, of course. No, the Doctor had to speak up for the individual, make stupid jokes, wear ridiculous clothes and not appear to take anything seriously, even the dangerous business of time travel. And now this, the final humiliation.
‘The inhabitants of the planet Centreb Minor were so grateful that he had saved them from the dreaded slobberings of the foul Scrunge Worms that they built a giant statue of the Doctor in honour of his glory – a statue fashioned completely of raspberry ripple ice-cream!’
Skagra couldn’t take much more of this. ‘Ship, I beg of you, stop! Please, stop.’
With cold shock, Doctor Skagra realised what he’d done. He’d pleaded. The Doctor had brought him to this! He put his head in his hands and screamed. Through the sound of his own yelling voice, he heard – nothing. The Ship had stopped!
He stood up, hope flowering within him. ‘Ship! Return me to the bridge.’
‘Are you listening now?’ came the Ship’s voice, treacly and indulgent. ‘Then I’ll continue... the ghastly affair of the Fombugg seemed at first to spell certain doom for my wonderful Lord...’
And so the endless fanfare continued.
Skagra roared in rage, beyond despair now.
He paced the floor of the brig, recalling better days, trying to blank out the horror of the present with the glories of the past...

Back on the planet Drornid when he’d ruled the domain of Nixidom from his Kastle, Skagra had been a feared figure, commanding the respect of the crime bosses who more or less ran the planet. The whole of Drornid was a mess; shanty-towns, mobs, factions, bounty-hunters, and its level of technology was rapidly regressing. The perfect base for Doctor Skagra, geneticist, astro-engineer, cyberneticist, neuro-structuralist and moral theologian, to formulate his plans for universal domination. Nixidom was the only area on Drornid that the crime syndicates left alone. They sometimes asked for his assistance in technical matters, but only rarely, and since the beginning of his Universal Mind project he’d stopped answering any requests. He’d become a recluse, left to perform his experiments in peace within the ebon walls of Kastle Skagra, far away from the deteriorating chaos which passed for society on Drornid. Of course, the parlous state of the planet was mostly the fault of the Time Lords. They’d ruined Drornid after they’d taken their rival President back into their dusty, dour fold. Doctor Skagra had always borne them a grudge for that, though the bits of technology they’d left lying around had allowed him to make quantum leaps in his work. And now, to be defeated by one of their milk-blooded number. It was almost as if they had set him up to knock him down...

Skagra stopped his pacing, alert to this worrying new possibility. Was he being too paranoid? Or were they really out to get him? Had that gangling, embarrassing idiot the Doctor really been a crack Time Lord agent? Skagra couldn’t believe it. More likely, it had been the Time Lady, Romana. Cool, calm, calculating - everything the Doctor wasn’t. Skagra remembered her fine, aristocratic features well. He let his mind linger on her image. Now there was a fitting consort for Skagra. If only he could escape... but he’d tried everything, everything, everything!
But...
Maybe not. Maybe he could exploit the Ship’s new loyalty.
It would not be pleasant, but nothing could possibly be worse than his current predicament. Skagra stood in the centre of the brig, braced himself, and listened to what the Ship was saying:
‘The Doctor ducked down behind the font with his good friends Sarah Jane Smith and Harry Sullivan, and smiled reassuringly at the quaking Reverend Insteppe. Suddenly there was a deafening explosion and the Urgfiend shrine was utterly destroyed, killing all the hateful worshippers within and sealing in the Urg-Demon forever. Once more the Doctor had saved the day...’
In a burst of action, Skagra applauded and cheered loudly, shouting the Doctor’s praises until his throat ached.
As he’d hoped, the Ship’s voice faltered.
A moment of silence, then:
‘So at last you see what a wonderful man the Doctor is!’ it gushed.
‘Absolutely,’ said Skagra, forcing himself to say the words, though they stuck in his throat. ‘He is, perhaps, the most... intelligent, witty, charming, sublime being in the whole universe.’
‘There’s no “perhaps” about it,’ said the Ship prissily.
‘Of course, of course.’ Skagra thought quickly. ‘You are right to worship the Doctor as your Lord. But -’
‘But?’
‘But,’ said Skagra, feeling as though he was walking on eggshells, ‘where is he now, this exalted Doctor, this Lord of yours? Where is he to give you commands, set your co-ordinates?’
Silence.
Then: ‘The Doctor is dead.’
Skagra almost choked. Dead? He remembered how he had assumed that the Doctor had died after his mind had been taken into the Sphere. He remembered how surprised he had been later on seeing the Doctor alive. He had no idea how the Doctor had survived, but clearly the Ship still thought he was dead. Victory was in Skagra’s grasp!
‘If the Doctor is dead,’ said Skagra slowly, ‘how can he be your Lord?’
More silence, which seemed to last an age.
Then: ‘The Doctor... is my Lord.’
Skagra glared up at the ceiling. He almost had it! ‘But he’s dead! You said so yourself.’
‘The Doctor... is dead. There is a certain confusion in my circuitry but he is truly my Lord.’ Its voice perked up again. ‘Let me tell you about his exciting confrontation with Phulorg J’Hoox, Intergalactic Purloiner of Cutlery!’
‘No!’ cried Skagra, beginning to panic. ‘Maybe later... tell me, how can he be your Lord if he does not exist?’ Skagra felt light-headed, almost giddy. ‘I am alive, I exist. Therefore, logic dictates that I, the living Doctor Skagra, am your Lord, not this phantom Doctor!’ Skagra struck a pose, hand on hips, brow raised upwards, fiercely willing the Ship to obey.
There was a pause.
And then the Ship spoke. ‘You exist.’
‘Yes!’ said Skagra, maintaining his pose.
‘And the Doctor does not.’
‘He does not!’
There was another, longer pause. Then:
‘What are your orders, my Lord Skagra?’
Skagra strutted around the brig, hands on hips, a sense of joy swelling within him, a laugh almost escaping from him – until he checked himself, remembering that laughing was a Doctor thing to do. ‘Release me! Release me now!’
A glowing cube surrounded him, and after a moment of disorientation, Skagra found himself back on the bridge of the Ship. His Ship, no doubt about that now. He swayed on his feet, hardly able to believe he was free. But then, of course, he was Skagra – as if a fool such as the Doctor could outwit him! How long had he been imprisoned? A quick check – two days. Was that all? The recounting of the Doctor’s interminable travels had made it seem much, much longer, especially the tale of the Planet of the Badger-Men. Skagra shuddered. How had he survived? ‘Take us out of here!’
‘Destination?’ said the Ship. Its voice held no hint of remorse or apology. Should he punish it? He decided against it – the main thing was, he was free; once back in Kastle Skagra he would re-program the Ship, make it tamper-proof.
And then he would hunt down and destroy the Doctor.
‘Destination, Drornid.’
The image of Kastle Skagra rose in his mind like a dark phantom. Unable to hold back his mirth any longer, Doctor Skagra allowed himself a small, taut smile of satisfaction.
They had only been travelling for a few minutes when the Ship spoke up, its pleasingly obsequious tone carrying a note of urgency ‘My Lord Skagra...’
‘What is it?’
‘We’re under attack.’ The Ship sounded surprised.
‘What!’ Skagra activated the screen. It showed a flotilla of large ships bristling with weaponry bearing right down on them. Military insignia graced the side of the larger vessels.
‘You fool!’ he cried. ‘Whilst you sang that cretin’s praises you left us vulnerable! Engage -’
Before Skagra could complete the command, the Ship shuddered under the impact of a great many energy weapons, the floor rocked under Skagra’s feet and with a yell he overbalanced.
The last thing he heard before his head hit the side of a console and he blacked out was the Ship’s voice, humbled in apology:
‘I’m very, very sor -’

Doctor Skagra regained consciousness to find himself wrapped in chilly darkness. He sat up, his booted feet scraping against a scarred metal floor. Dark shadows pressed in from every side, the only thing he could make out was the mist of his breath meeting the cold air of - wherever this was. Far above, murky light filtered through a tiny window.
‘Ship!’ he bellowed, more out of habit than for any logical reason. His voice echoed like that of someone at the bottom of a very deep well. A throbbing pain asserted itself, pulsing away behind his eyes as though there was something trying to get out. Wincing, he lifted his hands to his head, gently probing the injury. A tender bruise swelled beneath his fingers. A metallic chinking sound accompanied his every movement but it was a while before he realised what it was, his mind being preoccupied with wondering where he was and how he got there. Then he remembered – his escape, the ships, the attack...
Spurred on by anger, Doctor Skagra leapt to his feet. Something was dragging at his arms and legs, and he realised with horror and rage that his hands and feet were chained to the wall behind him. Thick, flaking hoops of rusted metal encased his ankles and wrists. He could only move about in a small arc, barely a pace into the cell. He tugged frantically at his bonds, but they held fast. No reasoning his way out of this prison.
Skagra twisted round and pounded on the wall, creating a noise like rolling thunder, sending the chains jangling and bouncing against his body. His bellowing voice rose above all. ‘Let me out! Let me out of here now, I demand it!’
No answer came.
He sank back down to the floor, nursing his throbbing head.
As his eyes adjusted to the near-darkness, Skagra realised that he was not alone. There was someone slumped against the far wall of the cell, a mere ten feet away. A gaunt figure in rags with eyes which gleamed wetly. From an invisible mouth a voice cackled. ‘Company! Company at la la last...’
Moving as far forward as his bonds allowed, Skagra squinted at the figure, nose wrinkling up at the foetid smell which rose from it. He could just make out thin legs splayed wide, pale crab-like hands twisted in a hollow lap, chains snaking from them to the wall behind. An egg-shaped head sunk on a narrow chest, a strand of saliva drooling from the corner of a mouth which gaped in a toothless smile. And eyes like marbles which caught the distant light from the window far above.
Skagra felt uncomfortable in the dull glare of such an ancient creature. ‘Who are you, old man?’
‘A prisoner, just like you, la la. I’ve been here so la la long I’d almost forgotten how to talk.’
An ancient, worthless imbecile. Skagra’s lip curled in a sneer of disgust. ‘Where am I? Who has dared to imprison me?’
The old man laughed in reply, a deranged cackle that snaked its way through the darkness and invaded Skagra’s head. He remembered the way his Ship had laughed...
‘Silence!’ cried Skagra, pounding his fists against the metal floor, feeling his bonds bite into his wrists, almost welcoming the pain.
In answer, more laughter. ‘La la la! La... But now that I’ve remembered how to talk, let me tell you my story, la la.’
A black pit opened in Skagra’s mind, over which his sanity teetered back and forth like an undecided suicide.
‘Let me tell you the story of my la la life.’
‘No!’ bellowed Skagra, straining forward, hands reaching out to strangle, pulling against the chains. It was no use. He couldn’t reach the gibbering, dribbling wreck, couldn’t even get anywhere near. Skagra cried out, wishing his voice was a weapon to crush this senile old fool. But it wasn’t. He slumped back against the wall, defeated.
And so the old man began the long, rambling and disjointed story of his long, long life, and there was nothing Doctor Skagra could do but listen.

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One day I'll relate the story of how I got out of that.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 8 Jul 2013, 20:09, 9 replies)

tl;dr

(McChinaman banned, Mon 8 Jul 2013, 22:10, closed)

I'll be surprised if anyone bothers to wade through that lot.

( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Mon 8 Jul 2013, 22:17, closed)

Posts that were more verbose and heavily padded than that one have got to the top of the popular page before.

( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Mon 8 Jul 2013, 22:52, closed)

The Popular Page
is for cunts.
( monster munch person, man, woman... camera... TV?, Mon 8 Jul 2013, 23:40, closed)

tl:dr
fair enough

Short version: I escaped from the Doctor's cunning trap by being even more cunning only to fall into another trap.
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Mon 8 Jul 2013, 22:33, closed)

well done you
sounds thrilling
(sittingduck Attention seeking, bullshitting fuck-knuckle, Tue 9 Jul 2013, 9:29, closed)

I rather liked it

(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Tue 9 Jul 2013, 10:10, closed)

I seriously hope that
was a copy / paste.
(username failed moderation, Tue 9 Jul 2013, 14:21, closed)