(Sorry for the weird ending. I always thought that character was exactly the same as The Doctor. An ever-evolving being moving through life.)

This go around, obviously, was the most unordinary. While every change was remarkably different, they were all within a certain... range.

My instances of regeneration weren't always predictable. Unavoidable, perhaps, but rarely predictable. I last ventured forth from the TARDIS some two hundred years ago at my best guess. It's been sitting here since, collecting moss and my guttural incredulations. Claw marks mar the door, as I am now simply too large to step across the threshold, let alone open the door.

But why am I outside of it? By all accounts my journey should be over. There were no extenuating circumstances other than the apparent as to why I should still be alive. No loss of memory, no loss of ability save for anything that requires opposable thumbs. (Much, much underrated appendages I must say, now that I lack them.) But alas, I hunger, and I must hunt. I can ruminate later.

For the record I must say I've tried eating only plants and fruits, but they do not cover the need for sustenance. And for a body this large, the need is great. I can smell my next meal hiding under a fallen tree. The fear is pronounced, and only adds to my insatiable insistence that it must be consumed. I kick it with my massive leg and the tree shatters. The creatures underneath are determined to protect their young... for only a moment... before they take in my presence and then collapse in fear. When new to this form, I would scare the adults off and eat only the eggs, only the young, so that the parents could breed again. That was a placation, an offering, a meager barter for my dwindling conscience and soul. Now, as I feel this body aging I simply don't care. I devour the parents in two expeditious bites, before savoring the young to my complete and utter dismay.

Always I come back to the TARDIS, and always it mocks me. Something is in the air and I can taste some inevitableness in it. This entire time I've avoided the other beasts that I impersonate, and they've always been wary of me. They could sense something not quite right about me. Generation after generation their small herds, alone a revelation to me, would always alter their path to avoid me and the TARDIS. Today was different, however. Perhaps they could taste the same air as I could. They could also feel my years weighing my down.

The TARDIS, silent this entire tire, dead to me and the world, begins to hum. I don't hear it, but only sense it. What I hear is a small tree snap behind me, and turn to see at least a dozen Tyrannosaurus Rex gazing in my direction. This is what I last saw while in human form. A literal dinosaur looming over me, blocking the sun before its jaws opened, and I experienced that all too common darkness.

The darkness abates and I'm lying in the bloody grass, naked, save for my human skin. I sit up. It's night, but the glow of the TARDIS warms me. My hands are human hands, and they open the door with ease. I step across the threshold and into an office of wood panels and leather chairs. The far wall is lined with books, and an old man sits at the desk across from me.

"Double-O Seven," he says, "That attire simply won't do. We have a new mission for you. Some nasty business in the Maldives. Suit up. You're booked on a 7am flight to Sri Lanka."