Droganmanaakinodantrezlineacrux was known by many names amongst his pupils. Some were derogatory. Others were more jovial. But out of all of them, he preferred the simple title of “Master Drogan”.
And honestly, why wouldn’t he? It showed that he was a product of his loom and House. As one of the six Ruling Houses, House Lineacrux was titled an oldblood house: one that was bound by the older ways of Gallifrey. The Pre-War times of quiet contemplation and non-interference were the strongest in them than in any other. Not to mention that they were not part of the House Military which meant that only those on the lower ends of the totem pole would ever see the War as a soldier. Given how the vast majority of these loomlings were more inclined to being scholars than anything else, this suited them just fine.
As for Drogan himself…well. He wasn’t amongst the top who could stay in the safety and relative comfort of the Homeplanet. Nor was he at the bottom, destined to be subject to any number of horrors. He was firmly in the middle of things. A great scholar, but not the absolute greatest. This, dear friends, is how he ended up on a foreign outpost on a distant galaxy on a planet he couldn’t bother to remember the name of. After all, why would he deal with such a thing when he had lesson plans to figure out? Furthermore, why would he want to taint himself with another planet’s culture? How absurd.
That was better left to some of his students. Just in time, they came across the corridor. At this moment of time, he could almost delude himself into thinking that they were back home. On the surface, they looked like any other Academy students and they acted very much like the children they were at twenty years of age or roundabouts.
(Yes. For humans, being in your twenties means young adulthood. For Gallifreyans? Consider them like five-year-olds working on three or four college degrees, just for starters. Still so young. Still much to learn.)
But he knew better. He knew that even when his lessons were over for the day, they still had a lot left on their plate. Even in this lull in the War–for what is war among the time active but bursts of action in between long moments of boredom?–there was still indoctrination via propaganda, combat drills, tactical TARDIS piloting for those old enough. This didn’t even count any potential extracurricular activity. So it didn’t come as a surprise when they would sometimes come to him mentally burnt out of the endless prattle of their elders. The majority of his students, to their credit, would take it about as well as a young Gallifreyan could.
And then he saw in the back of the group, lagging behind lower members of of other houses, the gaggle he was truly here for. Underneath the robes of the Homeworld, they wore the clothing of humanity. Some strolled with confidence, others shuffled through. But there was no doubting who they were. Compared to the unified front and facade of the rest of the House Military, they were absolute chaos. Then again, what did they expect when they haphazardly bred these fools into reality? They were the Mongrels of Gallifrey. Rassilon’s Bastard Children. The Folly of House Xianthellipse. All of these were unofficial titles, used mockingly by children and in pure spite by some of the more high strung.
Their official title, if you must know, was the Fourth Wave. And they were the actual reason he was here.
Because yes, it was true that he was brought along to be the teacher and tutor. Yet teaching doesn’t quite “pay the bills”, if you will. In truth, he worked undercover. A deal made with House Mirraflex led to Drogan’s double life as a spy. His mission: report any potential defectors. Especially from the Fourth Wave. Listen to every conversation you can. If there’s one group has a hint of disloyalty, it would have to be those vile creatures. Surely the bastards will flock towards the Enemy’s ranks as soon as they get a chance, right?
As it turned out, no. That wasn’t the way it worked at all. Yes, they were strange. While the rest of House Military would have temporal vaccinations, the Fourth Wave would poo-poo them and use the outdated nanomachines. In fact, they preferred older ways to newer tech. Some rejected the Gallifreyan names and created their own molded after the more primitive nature of their biodata. And sex! Sex wasn’t even a thing in the culture until these bastards brought it to the front. As if they need any more abominations running about. However, in terms of loyalty to the cause and the battle aspects, there isn’t a group more loud and unabashed than the Mongrels. This made the double life of Drogan’s pretty boring.
As they all sat in their seats, the separation between Waves became null and void. The lesson was about to begin.
The night air was crisp. The stars, bright. School and training were done for the day. The majority of the students filtered out of the hidden bunker in rows. Most of the Fourth Wave frantically darted away to parts unknown and escapades. The lone straggler walked slowly, almost with hesitation. She didn’t belong with either group. She walked the thinnest line of both. Nothing fit except the dark.
She looked at the sky.
The stars were different here compared to back home and the night was true and factual. To many, it seemed so pleasant if they even noticed it at all.
But it was different. So very different. Everything burned with a rage. The more she looked into the abyss, the more she saw. It caused the heart to rage and the blood to flow. She could see it so clear. The showering of glass. Fire in the streets. Grown men and women zapped. Old to middle aged to young adult to teenage to preteen to child to toddler to infant…and then nothing. A complete bastardization of the ways of Time. But that wasn’t the part that caused her heart to pound. It was what was above even all those combatant ships, both theirs and anothers. It was something she couldn’t see but feel.
A gathering surge. Powerful. Mighty. Unexpected. It was out there but she could feel it in her. It tingled in her organs and blinded her vision. But she knew. She knew that this was only the preview. Telling the others only led to blank stares and mocking. Something roared in her.
LET EM FRY.
And sometimes, she couldn’t help but agree.
In that moment, Annaperennaepsilonomnicrex could feel the release. A pulsating echoing out. And then…nothing.
Inhale. Exhale. That’s all she could do.