This was embarrassing.

Caught by the enemy faction. Trapped. Foiled.

His lab coat? Stripped. The leather he wore? Discarded. All he had left was his shirt, pants, shoes, and his little bird mask. Plus the earring, obviously.

All his fancy clothes, gone. Folded neatly, leagues away.

Oh, and he was tied up with ropes of a suspiciously red color.

“I’m not into this,” Dottore complained where he was left in a corner, trying to wiggle one of his wrists free. It didn’t work.

He could see the group across the room barely look up. Rude. He was the Il Dottore. They should respect him at least a little.

They had made sure he was effectively powerless. Unless he wanted to use his teeth, but that would require shaking his mask off, and he didn’t quite feel like biting through rope right now.

Great. Just what I needed, his mind helpfully observed.