Young Writers Society

The leader was in his usual position; oversized behind stuffed into a chair, elbows resting on the desk, and a pile of four chocolate pancakes clenched in his hands. A plate was beneath him, catching the syrup which dripped off his chin.

"Doctor," the leader whined between mouthfuls, "I said you were no longer welcome here..."

Eleven ignored that statement; rarely did violent life-forms welcome him anywhere. He was more interested in the changes that had been put into place since his last visit. The people -the humans, not clones- hadn't been in chains or targeted. Now they were being marched along the streets, like Egyptian slaves. Did he want to build a pyramid for his pancake empire?

"Why have you put the humans in chains?" He kept his cool, Eleven was particularly good at that compared to his previous personalities.

Waiting for the boss to finish chewing, the Doctor opted to look at the room rather than admire the unflattering table manners of his enemy. Merlin and Arthur had placed Morgana in a chair to the side of the room; that was quite considerate of them after all the trouble she'd caused. The witch had both hands on her knee, her eyes were shut, and she was silently humming a morbid tune. Trying to heal herself, no doubt. Gwen was tenderly rubbing Arthur's arm, whispering words of comfort as he clasped his sword with white knuckles. Her warm eyes frequently travelled between the prince and Merlin, who was standing on the opposite side of the room. The young warlock appeared to be assessing their situation, constantly turning his head in different directions. Perhaps he was just taking in all the marvels of the future. Sherlock and John were definitely sizing things up though; the war doctor apparently recovered.

"The remaining humans realised something was... off." The Doctor returned his attention to the clone's leader, who had finished his fistful of food and now wiped his chin with a sleeve. "Let's just say they weren't awfully cooperative." So 'zapping' people with heightened awareness of the situation wasn't enough, they'd had to go all out with shackles and imprisonment. Typical.

The leader looked over Eleven's shoulder at the chair housing Morgana. "M'lady, what are you doing here?" Morgana opened her eyes, removing bloodied hands from her wound. It looked somewhat better but awfully messy. There was no longer a flow of blood, and the tear was smaller, but dark-red blotches of skin and tissue interweaved at unnatural angles. "Shouldn't you be on a throne with a machine-gun in hand?"

"I-" she began, but Sherlock swiftly interrupted. Morgana didn't even attempt to finish her sentence, she clearly felt defeated, and with good reason. Everyone in the room gazed at her with such hatred, even the leader seemed irritated with her presence.

"She has come to break the deal you made." The detective stated, hands folded. Merlin straightened his back and looked expectantly at the boss, curious to see how he'd respond. The Doctor admired his youthful hope, especially after the blow of his secret being revealed, but Eleven knew it wouldn't be that easy. Not in the slightest. The leader's words confirmed this.

"Not likely." He punched a few buttons into a phone on his desk, and spoke into the speaker, "Send a slave with more pancakes. Caramel. No-" he spat into the machine, "just serve it like you normally do!" The Timelord's three medieval friends, and Morgana, were all intrigued by the device. The look of betrayal on Arthur's face was momentarily replaced with one of awe. Though all eyes quickly turned to the young lady who stepped through the door.

"Molly!" John raised a hand toward her, like people do when they're about to faint, but that wasn't the case. As Eleven saw the bruises on her cheek, he knew John was reaching out to protect his friend, or perhaps he felt guilty that he obviously hadn't been able to do so sooner. "What happened-"

"She's been enslaved," Sherlock's expression turned grim, I'm going to kill someone grim, and he devil-stared at the leader, "by this idiotic alien."

The girl, who Eleven assumed was named Molly, brushed curled one of her brown pigtails around her finger. In her other hand was a fresh plate of pancakes topped with caramel sauce. It shook in her grip; she was very restless and seemed to be eager to talk. She controlled herself though, the painful bruises probably serving as a reminder to-

"Only speak when you're spoken to," the leader snapped at her as her mouth opened slightly. "Bring me my pancakes."

John clenched his fists as Molly placed the platter on the desk, picking up the dirty plate. She remained completely silent as she walked away, but on her face was the slightest smile. And her cheeks, though speckled with brown and yellow sores, now contained a touch of pink. The Doctor had seen this expression many times before; she had hope. He stared at her, trying to get her attention with his piercing gaze. Yes- there it was- Molly caught his eyes. Eleven did his best to telepathically send a message: Use that hope. Fight.

"I had my own kind serving me before..." The leader talked casually, tracing his finger through the sauce. "But once things got icky with the humans, I thought, why make my own do all the work when we've got plenty of potential slaves?"

"You won't get away with this," John hissed. As the war doctor spoke, Eleven thought he heard a tumble outside, just a faint sound, like a small stone dropping from a balcony. The sound was out of place, though, and it made him curious. He reached into his pocket and pressed down on the screwdriver. A few seconds later it vibrated against his chest, and he received the result he'd been expecting. There was activity outside. Rebellious activity. What that meant the wasn't certain, but maybe, just maybe, Molly was rallying up some friends.

While the Doctor had been navigating within his mind, the leader had continued explaining his harsh treatment of the 'slaves'. Gwen was clearly disappointed, but the Doctor knew she'd seen it all before. The brave woman herself had been thrown into a dungeon, for goodness sake. Merlin looked horrified, and ready to take action. Eleven thought he would magic-up a solution right away if they weren't clearly outnumbered by clones with zappy guns. Arthur had relaxed his grip on the sword, and appeared in a clearer, chivalrous state of mind. He held a hand toward his sister.

"This is the world you've helped create, Morgana. Do you stand for this sort of treatment?"

The witch, having kept in the background, now picked herself up out of the chair. She wobbled a little, but though messy, she'd done a reasonable job of healing herself. "Your father's done ten times worse than anything this man-"

The leader held up both hands and calmly, but loudly, said, "everyone please be civil!" The Doctor scoffed at the irony. "My lady," he waved a pancake at Morgana, who lifted her chin in response, "are you unhappy with our terms."

"No," she replied firmly, throwing a hateful glance at Arthur.

"Then why did you come here with this Timelord rubbish?" This time the pancake was waved at Eleven, and he didn't appreciate the gesture. He pursed his lips, shaking his head in disagreement. Yes, there were some Gallifreyans with awful dress sense, but he certainly wasn't rubbish. "It's really such a shame that I'll have to kill you as well."

"Wait." Merlin stepped forward. "Kill us?" Morgana's eyes narrowed for the hundredth time that day, Arthur's hand returned to the sword (the Doctor thought he might as well glue it there) and Johnlock maintained daunting stances, ready to fight if necessary. Gwen looked through the door behind her, where there were at least five clones staring back. Not to mention all the other visitors of the pancake house, mouths covered in assorted syrups. The Doctor knew that the seven of them didn't really stand a chance against hundreds of clones with zappy guns, even with magic and a sonic screwdriver. But if the other humans fought too, as he believed they were getting prepared to do, then they could be victorious. Eleven didn't want to fight or kill, he never did, but sometimes his enemies left no other option.

"Yes. I can't leave you alive to put things back to normal." The leader rolled his eyes. "Duh." He filled his mouth with pancakes and chewed for a minute. During this time, Arthur raised his sword, directing it at the clones' boss. Though the clones were only vessels for the consciousnesses inside, if the bodies died while they were still inside, then the aliens would also be dead. If Arthur mortally wounded him, the leader would have no choice but to leave earth.

"Really?" The leader looked casually at the sharp iron in front of him. "You're vastly outnumbered." He began dialing a number on the phone. "Just let me contact my army..."

This was where the Doctor came into play. He pulled out the sonic screwdriver and held it at the communication device. Sparks flew from the receiver and, crackling, the phone died. But the leader only laughed.

"Clever... I suppose that means I'll have to report to medieval methods." He mockingly smiled at Arthur, then Morgana. "You two will be familiar with this, I'm sure?" Then he shouted, "Guards!"

Gwen was pushed aside as five clones, including the arrogant surgeon and little Christy, entered the room. Arthur quickly ducked to the side as they took their positions in between the desk and the time travelers. They held their zappy guns across their chests, thrust shoulders back and chins up, and watched the Doctor and his friends.

"How can we be of service, sir?" The surgeon spoke to the leader behind him, not taking his gaze off Sherlock, who looked so calm that it made him suspicious.

"Please escort our guests to the upcoming execution, and then arrange their own."

"Execution?" Eleven fake-gasped, clasping his hand to his mouth. He was buying them time, that seemed to be the best thing to do. He prayed (to whatever gods were listening) that the Molly girl was acting, and acting fast. "That doesn't seem like any way to treat guests-"

The five clones stepped forward in synchronisation and flicked the guns away from their chests; now they faced their targets. Arthur swung at the one nearest to him, knocking the weapon out of the clone's stiff hands. Eleven sighed. The prince had made the first move, and things were set in motion. The fight would happen now, for better or worse.

"Don't let the zappers touch you!" Eleven yelled the best piece of advice he could think of. Several things happened at the same time: Gwen improvised and grabbed the weapon closest to her, a glass bottle of maple syrup. She swung at a clone's head, spraying them with sticky goo as the lid fell off during the impact. This didn't seem to phase them though (in fact, Eleven saw their tongue emerge and lick some of the syrup) and the clone pushed Gwen to the ground, then moved on to another target. John had his gun in hand, but at such close range attempting to fire would be pointless. Instead, he was using it was give the clones some very nasty bruises.

Sherlock was engaged in a fist fight with the surgeon, but he kept throwing glances towards the window. The Doctor saw it too; a battle was beginning outside, as well, and he knew how to help them. Ducking as a zappy gun was aimed at him, the Timelord whipped out his trusty screwdriver and pointed it at the window. With a loud click, all the shackles instantaneously fell to the ground. The slaves, now freed, began trampling their leaders. Sure, the zappy guns took victims, but as word of rebellion spread, the Doctor knew the clones would soon be outnumbered. He skipped to the right as a clone flung at him, then engaged in a fist fight. The Doctor was quite skilled, having spent time with ninjas in the eighteenth century, and gracefully dodged each blow, delivering his own in non-life-threatening places.

The two were separated when a bloody, severed head flew between them. Eleven jumped (in both surprise and fright); Arthur had beheaded one of the clones! He swung the sword with such grace that the Timelord could imagine he was watching a performance of Swan Lake. But there was no time for the imagination; another clone flew past him, straight into the window. The class shattered as the surgeon moaned in a pile on the floor. Sherlock looked just as surprised as the Doctor, and with good reason. The force which had hit the surgeon had come from both Morgana and Merlin. They were working together!

"You're not meant to attack us!" The leader yelled at Morgana. "Guards! Guards!" He was cowering away, crouched in a corner, holding his plate of pancakes to his heart. How this guy had become leader of the colony, the Doctor had no idea. Perhaps he was more of a politician than a fighter, most leaders were. Not Arthur though, he impaled another clone who had run into the room. "Guards!" The leader continued yelling, but to no prevail; most of the clones were now focussed on the battle outside. John rammed the butt of his gun into the leader's head and he was instantly silenced.

"Doct-tor," a little girl sang. He twirled around on his toes and was waist-to-face with a deadly school student. She looked about the zap him with her gun, so Eleven put his screwdriver on sonic mode, aimed only at her, and pushed the button. The sound it emitted should have sent her squeling, or at least have made her drop the gun as she clasped hands to ears. But she only smirked, indicating the ear-plugs she wore.

"You sneaky thing," he complained, dodging the zappy gun. Plan A not working, the Doctor settled for plan B: run. He hurried to the other side of the room, giving him time to figure out how to win without slaughtering the body of a child.

Merlin waved his hand at the window, where a few clones were standing with zappy guns raised. Flames flickered at their feet but died down as a cold gust of wind turned their knuckles white. John saw the failed attempt and turned his gun on them, then took the chance and began firing.

"Sorry!" Morgana shouted over the commotion. The Doctor realised that she had cast a freezing spell, which had clashed with Merlin's fire magic. The pair still had to figure out how to work together properly, but how they'd started doing so at all was beside the Doctor. And what he found especially amazing was her swift apology. Desperate situations changed people though, and only for the duration of the said situation. From experience, Eleven didn't doubt that Morgana would continue her evil schemes as soon as she returned to Camelot.

~

It hadn't crossed Merlin's mind before, conversing with Morgana in their minds. He supposed it was because she couldn't know; communicating like that would obviously reveal his secret, and that had never been an option. The boy, Mordred, could know about him, so could the other druids, hence he was comfortable talking with them. But he'd never considered Morgana. So it was a massive surprise when her voice entered his head. And it was the old Morgana, sweet and tender, with hopes to put everything right in the world. Not the evil, hissing witch he'd come to know. If only that old Morgana, trapped within, could find a way to emerge.

You kept your secret well, were the first words she whispered to him. He could have spent minutes deciding the best way to respond, but he was dodging zappy guns and punches, and attempting to throw his own.

I didn't have any other choice, was his reply. He saw her across the room, scratching at a clone. She smirked when he spoke, maybe it was a smile. He heard a faint laugh.

Your other choice was to send a knife into Uther's heart.

Merlin instantly knew how to respond to that, his opinion was like a reflex: When Arthur is king, he will see that magic isn't anything to fear- he ducked as an empty pancake plate flew over his head- and it will return to Camelot.

You seriously believe that? Arthur would nev- She stopped when a loud clicking sound came from outside. Merlin quickly stole a glance out the window, the slaves had been freed from their shackles! They had a real chance, then, at defeating the clones. Let's end this. Say we work together, just for today?

After the click, Merlin saw a wave of hope and determination rush over Arthur. The prince drew a line in the air, his body one with the sword, and then slashed it across the neck of a clone. They were beheaded in an instant, and Merlin didn't need any more convincing.

Deal. He saw a clone shuffle silently through the door towards the distracted seamstress. That one heading for Gwen... through the window. They both focussed on the clone, combining their powers. Merlin felt the warmth flood not only to his eyes, which glowed gold, but to his third eye. In one motion, the pair raised their arms and sent the clone flying past the Doctor into the shattering glass. Together, they were so powerful.

~

Arthur couldn't lose Gwen. He'd lost Morgana, the adopted sister he'd grown up with, shared so many memories with. Now he'd lost Merlin, who'd been lying to him since the day they met. And he could almost understand why... would Arthur have been able to keep Merlin's secret, accept it? He would have liked to think so, but most likely he'd have been off to tell father. That didn't make Merlin's deceptions hurt any less. He'd practically lost Camelot, here, in the future, there was no doubt that the famous kingdom was long gone. He couldn't lose Gwen. She was so pure, loving, perfect... motherly. Now that trait was about to be her downfall.

The young girl she'd introduced to him in Camelot, Christy, was slowly approaching her, zappy gun at the ready.

"Christy, it's Gwen, you know me..." She was trying to talk sense into the child, but Arthur knew it was no use. That wasn't Christy, it was an alien consciousness inhabiting a replica of her body. Goodness, where had he picked up those words? This wasn't like him; everything about this time and place was wrong. He just wanted to fix things and go back home.

"Gwen! That's not her!"

"I know," tears were welling in her eyes, "but I can't hurt her..."

So he would have to, in order to protect his one true love. That's what Gwen was, and he used that feeling to give him strength. The to strength a child. He thrust his sword-arm forward, right into the girl's chest- a direct hit. She fell to the cold floor, gun crashing on the surface. Then Gwen screamed, pointed behind him, and....

Something touched his neck and a burning shock shot through his body. Arthur fainted.

~

"Arthur!" The Doctor heard Merlin shout as another clone was flung out the window. The prince of Camelot had been zapped. That was a turning point in the battle; all at once the chaos died down. It was as if Arthur was a thread holding everything together, and as he fell, all those in the room stopped and watched in amazement. The seemingly invincible knight had been defeated; did that mean the battle was lost?

No! John stopped firing his gun; he had since created a hefty wall of clone bodies around the window. Some were still twitching, and it sent a chill down Eleven's spine. He and Gwen now attended Arthur, trying to haul him to his feet. Merlin was hurrying over to his best friend, the Doctor admired his devotion. Morgana was looking murderously at the leader, who was coming to in the corner of the room. He tried to lift himself to his feet (to make an escape? Any attempt would be hopeless) but only slumped back down. The surgeon, and three other remaining clones, shuffled over to their master in a last effort to protect him.

Sherlock was looking outside. Now that the air around them was silent, it could be infiltrated by the sounds of the battle raging outside. As the Doctor dodged more zappy guns, and inflicted a few bruises, he saw Molly with a baseball bat, inflicting equally nasty bruises to any clone who dared to enter her circumference. She was leading an army of angry, desperate humans, and they were winning. Battle cries, gun shots, zaps and cheers vibrated through the Timelord's eardrums.

The leader's guards looked tired, the clones were apparently just as human as their models. But they didn't have the sheer determination to survive, the resilience built by thousands of years of earthly hardships.

Sherlock used the momentary pause to remind them all of their soul mission. Eleven silently chastised himself for not thinking of it sooner. "Morgana," he looked directly at the witch, "you can end this right now." He now yelled, almost spitting, "Break the deal!" She had to kill the leader, spill his blood. Only Morgana could do that, since she had made the deal in the first place, so it was pointless for them to continue attacking. Either they killed all the clones and potentially caused the extinction of a whole alien race, or they broke the deal and sent the surviving aliens away to find another home. Eleven hoped for the latter.

Morgana stared at the leader, the hate burning behind her eyes. She was going to do it, the Doctor felt his hearts beating in anticipation. She may be an evil witch, she may want to kill the king and rule, tyrant, over Camelot. But surely she knew that now, at this moment, they were all on the same side. It was humans against aliens, and she wouldn't let her team down.

"Merlin," Morgana shuffled over to Arthur's sword, which lay abandoned on the ground. She bent to pick it up, wincing in pain as blood oozed from her wound which had since reopened, "help me."

Eleven saw the young warlock bow his head in submittal, and he raised his arms. The four clones cheeks turned pale with realisation as their bodies froze. He was using the same curse he'd inflicted on Morgana in the Tardis; binding their bodies. They stiffened like caterpillars in cocoons and then fell forwards on their fat, pancake-stuffed faces.

She wobbled over to the leader, who looked so scared that he might've wet his pants. Sweat formed on his brow, he tried to disappear into the wall, and in one last attempt, he held up a shaking hand to his impending doom.

"Please... let's make another deal..."

"No." Morgana raised the sword, the blade slicing the air, eager to meet its victim. She spoke four powerful words, "Our deal is broken," and brought the weapon down upon his skull.

Blood trickled down the leader's neck, dropped onto his shoulders, and then the floor. In that moment the Doctor knew they'd won. Cheers erupted from outdoors as, like robots turned off by a master switch, all the clones dropped to the earth in one single thud. Beautiful, shining stars left the clone's mouths, the alien consciousness leaving their new homes. They knew their leader was dead; they knew they had lost. Now they were leaving, off to find another home. Eleven hoped that this time they would do it the right way, without dodgy dealings or violence. Nevertheless, he made a mental note to warn the Shadow Proclamation.

He almost lost his footing as Merlin bounded into him, enveloping the Timelord in his arms. The Doctor returned the gesture, and fist-bumped the air, wooping in joy. Arthur, the effects of the zappy gun fading away with the aliens, tenderly held a crying Gwen. She wept tears of immense joy, of course. Sherlock and John weren't skimping on the celebrations either, they gripped each other in a passionate bro-hug, and then stood back, heads turned to the heavens, to watch the dazzling display of stars rising through the ceiling. Even Morgana was overcome with awe, the specks of light reflecting in her eyes.

Outside, the humans roared like lions, celebrating their victory. And then this chorus was joined by shouts of disbelief, relief, and ecstatic joy. Left, right and center, the foreigners were returning from their visit to the past. The displaced were returning to the present. The Doctor breathed -in, out- taking a moment to slow his racing hearts. It was over, everything had worked out. The humans were safe, London was returned to its rightful owners. The Timelord straightened his bow tie with pride. All was well.