Not on my watch.

The old man stood, wearily, in his TARDIS, looking at the scanner. When he was younger he would have ran outside without a care, but now...

He continued to check his instruments, making sure it was safe. The radiation was bad, but had died down considerably over the last few thousand years, and he'd be safe as long as he didn't have any prolonged exposure. He didn't plan to stay long anyway.

The deathly silence whistled through the destroyed buildings, untouched by vegetation. The organic bomb, capable of wiping out any living organism, had certainly stopped the Daleks dead in their tracks. The old man had been there, days before it had been set off, arguing with the Leader that it didn't need to happen, that there was another way.

The Leader looked into his eyes and said that no more would her planet suffer. No more would her people be slaves. That death was a better alternative to everything the Daleks were doing to the planet. They were not going to make a spaceship out of it, using it to spread their hate and destruction. She would no doubt suffer for her sins in the afterlife, but she had accepted that, she was willing to pay the price. She was willing to be the destroyer of the world.

The Leader... she had been so young, relatively speaking. She had had her whole life in front of her, but now she had been all that was left of the resistance, the last remnants of the government holed up in bunker besieged by Daleks. In charge by virtue of being one of the few people left who knew how to operate the bomb that she had created.

The old man stood in front of the memorial, eyes glistening with tears. The names there were only a fraction of those that had been killed by the Daleks. The large wars that had seemed so important at the time, worth remembering so that no one forgot what had happened, they were nothing compared to what had happened to the planet.

The names the old man had memorized, they weren't nearly enough. They were just a small fraction. He thought he had done terrible things at the start, but that was nothing, nothing compared to what he'd done in the name of peace and sanity. Nor what he was about to do.

There was a blank part in the memorial, having been deliberately left there when it was first created. It was a tribute to all those that had died nameless, as records hadn't been kept. To all the men who died in some ditch, to the women and children that had been slaughtered in mass. A reminder that war can have an impact on everyone, but not everyone could be represented.

The old man got out his hand-held device and added one last name to the list, one last individual to be remembered when it came to the war. A name of someone who had died protecting others, being a hero, being a great man. Underneath the name he left a message, a promise, made by a man who wish he could be as good as the name he had inscribed. A man who wished he could have lived up to the title in front of him.

He took one last look around the empty planet, before strolling back to his ship, knowing what he had to do. Knowing the message he had to spread so that everyone, Time Lord and Dalek alike, knew what was about to happen. To realize what they had caused.

As a familiar wheezing sound filled the air, kicking up dust, the monument remained unchanged save for the four simple words forever placed upon it.

The Doctor.

No More.