The TARDIS in front of them, out of sight but not so far it can’t be reached on foot. Adric, lying dead or unconscious on the ground behind them next to the equally dead-or-not Pharos Project guards. The Master’s TARDIS practically on top of them, shut tight with the Master still inside with who-knew-what intentions. (Hint: Nothing good.)
The Doctor running, jogging, Nyssa by his side, Tegan in his arms, unconscious. Bleeding from some sort of throat wound. The two of them literally glowing with regenerative energy.
Nyssa, desperate with fear and worry for her two friends, one old, one newly met, tugged on the Doctor’s arm. “But what about Adric? We can’t just leave him—”
“We have to.” The Doctor never even broke stride, never turned to look at her or back toward their fallen comrade. “If he’s dead, there’s nothing we can do for him. If he’s unconscious, then the Master will keep him alive—most likely to try and get to me.” His gaze darted down, lingering on Tegan’s face before he returned his attention to not tripping o his oversized scarf on the uneven terrain, and Nyssa saw the conflict there, along with—could that possibly be guilt? “Either way, if we don’t get back to the TARDIS so her shielding can help stabilize us, Tegan and I will both die.”
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