Cybermen shuffle towards you like Matt Hancock outside Ten Downing Street, arms awkwardly stuck out like they’ve forgotten how to walk. “Delete, delete, delete,” their monotonous voices drone. It’s not intimidating in the least, given that a brisk jog is faster than their clunky marching. If they do catch you, they’ll give you a little twirl like you’re starring in Doctor Who on Ice.
It all begins in the mundane every day of a laundrette, the Doctor speaking to you of all people. She needs
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