Post by Deleted on May 19, 2013 15:22:10 GMT -5
Original
Armstrong Lunar Uniform, circa 2089. "Borrowed."
Name: Tombqwortamazlocklidon, prefers Tombs.
Age: About 660, Three Regenerations in.
Gender: Male.
Species: Time Lord.
Planet of Origin: Old Gallifrey, within the constellation of Kasterborous, at Galactic Coordinates Ten-zero-eleven-zero-zero by zero-two from galactic zero center. Destroyed.
Occupation: Once a respected TARDIS Technician and Temporal Mechanic, the Time War has rendered him homeless and without purpose.
Physical Description:
Tombs seems very disinterested in his outward appearance, rejecting most of the pretension that many other Time Lords have. This is most evident in the way he wears his hair cropped very short so that he doesn't have to worry about style, his preference for wearing serviceable and durable jump suits over anything else and his generally sickly, disheveled demeanor. The Time Lord's hands also have the unusual quality of nearly always being in some kind of disrepair, like he has been sticking his fists into buckets of hot coal or something. He isn't very tall or fit, standing at 5"8 and unlikely to win the Mr Universe contest for muscle mass, but he does have the advantage of blending in very easily with many populations on many worlds. He tends to slouch or lean on things and appears to be either completely disinterested in most things or lost in his thoughts. However in emergencies Tombs can move very quickly.
Personality:
Tombs was never much of a social person, no matter the incarnation, preferring to stick to himself and what he knew then to socialize. However since the destruction of Gallifrey, he's been trying to find his own sense of self. This has led to some tension occasionally as he struggles with feeling far superior to much of universe around him, being unthinkingly critical or dismissive of "inferior" tech and culture. Generally he appears as a slightly odd man, occasionally talking to himself. He deals with a lot of guilt over surviving the Time War and tries to avoid most difficult situations with humor. The best way to describe his personality is 'Lost' however, with much of his motivation now being about trying to find some place to call home.
History:
Tombqwortamazlocklidon grew up an only child, raised by a single Time Lord in the Valley of Rapture on the continent of Wild Endeavaour. His early years are filled with very happy memories, spending long burning days playing with the foundation blocks of reality while preparing for induction into the Time Lord Academy. His father was a prominent member of the Time Lord courts and Tombs often felt as a young boy that he would follow him into Time Lord high society. At the age of eight he was taken from his home and led to to the Untempered Schism, where the entirety of creation was laid bare to young Gallifreyans. It was there he saw his true purpose.
In the flow and eddies of spacetime, he saw the long intersecting lines painted by millions of TARDISes crisscrossing from the beginning of the universe towards its very end. He heard the engines of every TARDIS that had been made, that would be made, that would never be made and felt the heat of each of their hearts, beating along with his own. He saw their infinite shapes, learned their private names and grieved as he saw each one come to its final resting place and turn to dust. Through the eons he finally saw his own ship. Rather then elation, the sight filled him with a terrible fear. He saw it bursting fully formed into the universe, blazing brighter then any star, after a huge wave of death of it's brothers and sisters, of twisted monstrosities tearing themselves apart with time based weaponry. Tombs tore his gaze away from the Untempered Schism and resisted the urge to flee into the Mountains of Solace and Solitude, but the unexplained images would continue to haunt his dreams for many years until he simply forgot the darkest of them.
Tombs' performance at the Academy afterwards proved exemplary but he seemed ill fit to Gallifrey's court. He really shined in his extensive knowledge of Temporal Mechanics and the Technology used to manipulate them, including but not limited to TARDISes. He was pleased however when his Father revealed that he was proud of Tombs at his graduation ceremony and was soon privately acquired by The Foundry, a facility built and maintained to create TARDISes for their Time Lord counterparts. The Foundry was highly secretive facility, shunted to a pocket dimension only accessible from Gallifrey through a spatially connected doorway, where the TT capsules could be safely weaved without worrying about destroying all of reality with a single faulty wire.
Tombs and a group of other like minded Engineers, Mechanics and Technicians spent many years of their lives sacrificing the chance to explore the universe so that others might get a chance to. During his time there they were able to push the technology significantly, thrilled with the chance to design new matrices and to tweak Dimensional Transcendentality and it's implementation. TARDISes went from Type 80s upwards, gradually ever on wards to Type 100s, before the Time War erupted and brought malefaction to a grinding halt. At least, for exploratory vehicles. All in the facility were lied to about the way the Time War was actually going through official channels, even as all non-essential staff were enlisted as Soldiers. Tombs and a small team of Scientists were worked tirelessly by the new Lord President Rassilon to create endless fleets of War machines. The demands become more frantic until Time Lords that did not work themselves ragged were being executed on the factory floor for treason.
News of Gallifrey become more sought after when fear began to set in, until a partially built TARDIS was used to sneak in signals through the dimensional doorway. Images of Gallifrey burning, of Daleks screeching in madness and filling the sky, spilled into the facility. Tombs saw The Valley of Rapture as nothing more then a burning, smoldering slag heap and watched as Time Lords were slaughtered in the streets of the Capitol. They also discovered that Rassilon was finally preparing for his last emergency evacuation into the Foundry, his attempts to repel the Daleks having long failed. Tombs and the others decided they couldn't allow this; If Rassilon made it to The Foundry, the Daleks would surely follow after him and then not only would they all die, the Daleks would be unstoppable with TARDIS technology.
The Guards fired upon the revolting Technicians when they discovered they were attempting to seal the quasi-reality off from Gallifrey. In the confusion, Tombs was injured badly and fell from a walkway to the factory floor below, where he was knocked into a coma. His limp body suffered for days and weeks until he finally regenerated.
When he awoke, writhing in pain from the Regeneration, Tombs found The Foundry abandoned. The bodies of his colleagues were left were they had fallen, fires had burned out much of the vital systems and there was no Lord President Rassilon or even Daleks. The Guards were gone, having passed back through to the world beyond for some unknown reason. Tombs was left alone within a lifeless pocket dimension. Any attempt to establish a connection back to Gallifrey through the transdimensional doorway failed. Tombs continued to try and was continuously disappointed, with most of the systems simply informing him that the time and spatial coordinates he was attempting to reach were unavailable. He rerouted power from whatever was left functioning and tried to brute force his way through, but the systems overloaded and most of the Foundry that wasn't destroyed in the firefight died.
Without the Temporal Buffers and Regulators the fabric of the pocket dimension began to unravel. Tombs calculated he had three weeks at most before total event collapse, where the pocket universe would cease to exist. He scrambled desperately to escape, planning on cobbling together a TARDIS with half finished material, suddenly haunted by dreams he hadn't had since he first looked into the Untempered Schism. Bleeding temporal effects began to kick in too, with Tombs running into paralleled versions of himself and even into his own past and an impossible future. Not only was the Time Lord now racing against the collapse of the pocket dimension, but time was effectively creating duplicates and triplicates that would attempt to kill him and steal what he had worked on so far, so they could try to escape. Occasionally his TARDIS would just be completely reverted to bare bones, or have parts built into it that he had hadn't made with his own two hands. Towards the end however, it nearly began to assemble itself, with him doing nothing but double checking every screw and button.
Finally he was able to craft together a working prototype. He poured an entire regeneration into the heart of the Time Machine, just to get it going for half a minute. Using the spatial coordinates for Gallifrey, he crashed into the dimensional barrier separating the pocket universe from this one and failed to make it through. In desperation he tried once again, changing the coordinates for any where in the universe. The ship materialized quietly in empty space, it's heart ignited with time and intrinsically linked with his own two. Centuries had passed since the Time Lords had been wiped out in the Last Great Time War. The universe was a much quieter and a far, far lonelier place. Since then, Tombs has crept through creation, afraid that if his knowledge about Time Travel and TARDIS construction was abused... Well. Anything could happen.
Addition Medical Information: An extensive improvement of many other sentient species, but that's to be expected with Time Lords.
RP Sample:
The Foundry had been beautiful, once. Tombs had never seen the exterior (no one living ever had, bar possibly the Great Rassilon) but he knew it was shaped like a spinning top and that if it wasn't transcednetally dimensional it would barely support a single person. Because it was bigger on the inside and because of its incredibly important function, the Timelords filled it with their civilization's opulence. Each hallway was huge and hexagonal, latticed with gold plating and occasionally broken with Gallifreyan symbols made out of shimmering obsidian, giving the Foundry an open airy feeling. It was nearly impossible to tell exactly where the light was coming from, but many places were lit a stunning burnt orange and felt as warm and breezy as a cool spring evening on old Gallifrey. The design gave The Foundry the feeling of a palace and the huge Timelord sigils of Rassilon reinforced this illusion. The living quarters were nothing short of a small city. Tombs lived in a two story apartment and could eat practically anything, see any movie or read any book in all of creation. The very center of the habitat zone were large luscious gardens, tended mainly by a small sect of Administrators in their free time, who's own officers were located there.
Even the Factory Floor itself, located beneath the habitat zone and accessible through only a few routes, was awe inspiring. It spanned actual light years (Twenty to be exact), going for so far that it gave the area a perpetual sense of night. Dark gold horizons gave way to inky black "skies." This space was more of a necessity. The TARDISes were tempremental with size when they grew, some spanning the width of a gas giant while others never felt more comfortable then a small chair. Tombs never stopped marveling at the sheer dimensions of the place. Under it all, the Temporal and Spacial Engines whirred quietly, the size of a star. They generated the pocket universe, detailing its laws of physics while simultaneously keeping continuity consistent throughout the facility. The Engines also maintained the security fields for the growing time machines, carefully ensuring that no critical overloads would place the population under hazardous circumstances. No one liked to think what the hazardous circumstances would be like.
There was always an air of familiarity with the Foundry that Tombs had rarely felt elsewhere. It was more like home then The Valley of Rapture and the others use to joke that he would spend all thirteen lives quietly being a genius, hidden from the rest of the universe, as long as it was on a Time Machine. "Gallifrey's best kept secret working on the Timelords most sacred one," they would joke.
And now it was all gone. The Foundry's spacetime had been mortally wounded. He could taste it, feel it in the tips of his fingers, in the beats of his two hearts. The engines were quiet, the TARDISes were mutating unhealthily in a flood of poisonous chronoradiation, the huge gold hallways buckled under their own transcedental dimensions and became a deadly looping labyrinth, the city had simply ceased existing and the gardens burned uncontrollably. The indications of bleeding time were innocuous for the first three days; He would misplace tools he was sure he was just holding. A cup of rationed water would be filled again. The lights in Hallway 8-A would stop flickering and become a solid burnt orange glow. Once, while scavenging from the wreckage of the Time Restorators he would hear quiet but familiar voices, just outside the room, lost in their own conversation. He called out but the voices simply faded. It frightened him.
The bleeding became more extreme as the first week neared its end. On the fifth day, he saw a version of himself from another time. The Other Tombs had been hunkered over a Quantum Coupler, back to the first, unaware of his presence. Desperate to avoid paradoxes, the Technician crept away from The Other Tombs and waited for his own timeline to catch up to him. Sure enough, on day six, he realized the protoTARDIS he was trying to build needed a brand new Qauntum Coupler. Things only deteriorated from there. Paranoia easily set in. He started to hide his tools, his rations and he would have risked pushing his protoTARDIS a second out of sync with what little cohesive time there was. The damn thing went missing before he could, only to turn up again an hour later, with a complete engine overhaul that would have taken weeks to physically do but which boosted it's capabilities by 130%. Tombs found himself looking for shadows and trying to listen out for footsteps while working as fast as he could. Resources became incredibly rare; The Technician would realize suddenly that he needed one component or compound only to find the stores completely empty, as if hundreds of him had come to the same decision all in parallel but moved slightly faster. More then once he stumbled into a foxhole on a parallel Foundry, which had just the right things he needed. He would tell himself that it wasn't really stealing if it was taken from himself.
Terrible thoughts began to creep into his mind. What if he wasn't the Original Tombs? What if the original had been killed in the revolt and they were all echoes, possibilities of a single entity trapped in a hellscape. Sometimes he heard skittering in the air ducts and felt predatory eyes on him. There were screams in the night, his own screams from far away, sometimes wails of loneliness but more increasingly of fear. He never found many bodies, avoiding locking himself into a loop of death, but there were horrible gore stains and scenes of utter violence. He once found a hull torn completely open to the utter nothingness of the mircouniverse beyond, but what scared him most was that the wall was peeled inwards. Something had skittered out onto the exterior.
At the end of week two he was forced to defend himself. A robot, hastily assembled and resembling a Cyberman, marched into his workspace and attempted to seize everything he had for the rightful Lord of the Universe, Tombqwortamazlocklidon. Tombs arm was broken in the struggle, but he was able to stick a isomorphic welder into the thing's brain and blow it to bits. Injured and now hunted by his own insane duplicates Tombs had to move the protoTARDIS around the station, blowing life into it long enough for it to make a quick transmat jump. Time was running out. Large sections of the station ceased to exist. The Factory Floor had grown into a new mutated plane of existence, imposed upon the back of a new amalgamation TARDIS that called itself the Evermind. It lured other versions of himself into it's sick corridors and then crushed them, feeding off the released temporal energy. Tombs sabotaged it, burning it alive in a sea of radiation released from the engines below.
He desperately scrambled to complete the protoTARDIS. It was a unique creature, humming with life, even as it sat cold and separated from the universe he had to get back to. Tombs lied to himself in the most stressful of moments that maybe the Time War had been won. Maybe the Daleks were destroyed by some great hero or maybe Tombs himself could use this bleeding edge time machine to change the tide of battle. The last piece of the puzzle was a tiny snythesized crystal, built to hold a regeneration at the heart of the TARDIS. Tombs had been installing it when someone had fired up Proto. Or, their version of Proto at least. It dematerialized through the Foundry and spun out into the tiny universe. There was a terrible sound as it collided hard with the barriers of reality. And then it ceased to exist. Tombs considered it a small mercy that it didn't explode and doom them all.
But other ships began to launch. Tombs scrambled to his own control seat and began preparations, his screens displaying a hundred Time Machines, all scrambling and vying with each other to escape. One of them was going to get through before him. One of them was going to escape back to Gallifrey if Gallifrey even existed anymore. He realized with a sinking feeling that it didn't matter if he thought he was the original, if he had survived the Evermind or a mad Timelord's robot minion. This Tombs was about to die.
And quietly, barely a moment after one of them finally escaped, the Foundry ceased to exist.
In another Universe, far away in time and space, a protoTARDIS shined brilliantly in the light of a new star.
Armstrong Lunar Uniform, circa 2089. "Borrowed."
Name: Tombqwortamazlocklidon, prefers Tombs.
Age: About 660, Three Regenerations in.
Gender: Male.
Species: Time Lord.
Planet of Origin: Old Gallifrey, within the constellation of Kasterborous, at Galactic Coordinates Ten-zero-eleven-zero-zero by zero-two from galactic zero center. Destroyed.
Occupation: Once a respected TARDIS Technician and Temporal Mechanic, the Time War has rendered him homeless and without purpose.
Physical Description:
Tombs seems very disinterested in his outward appearance, rejecting most of the pretension that many other Time Lords have. This is most evident in the way he wears his hair cropped very short so that he doesn't have to worry about style, his preference for wearing serviceable and durable jump suits over anything else and his generally sickly, disheveled demeanor. The Time Lord's hands also have the unusual quality of nearly always being in some kind of disrepair, like he has been sticking his fists into buckets of hot coal or something. He isn't very tall or fit, standing at 5"8 and unlikely to win the Mr Universe contest for muscle mass, but he does have the advantage of blending in very easily with many populations on many worlds. He tends to slouch or lean on things and appears to be either completely disinterested in most things or lost in his thoughts. However in emergencies Tombs can move very quickly.
Personality:
Tombs was never much of a social person, no matter the incarnation, preferring to stick to himself and what he knew then to socialize. However since the destruction of Gallifrey, he's been trying to find his own sense of self. This has led to some tension occasionally as he struggles with feeling far superior to much of universe around him, being unthinkingly critical or dismissive of "inferior" tech and culture. Generally he appears as a slightly odd man, occasionally talking to himself. He deals with a lot of guilt over surviving the Time War and tries to avoid most difficult situations with humor. The best way to describe his personality is 'Lost' however, with much of his motivation now being about trying to find some place to call home.
History:
Tombqwortamazlocklidon grew up an only child, raised by a single Time Lord in the Valley of Rapture on the continent of Wild Endeavaour. His early years are filled with very happy memories, spending long burning days playing with the foundation blocks of reality while preparing for induction into the Time Lord Academy. His father was a prominent member of the Time Lord courts and Tombs often felt as a young boy that he would follow him into Time Lord high society. At the age of eight he was taken from his home and led to to the Untempered Schism, where the entirety of creation was laid bare to young Gallifreyans. It was there he saw his true purpose.
In the flow and eddies of spacetime, he saw the long intersecting lines painted by millions of TARDISes crisscrossing from the beginning of the universe towards its very end. He heard the engines of every TARDIS that had been made, that would be made, that would never be made and felt the heat of each of their hearts, beating along with his own. He saw their infinite shapes, learned their private names and grieved as he saw each one come to its final resting place and turn to dust. Through the eons he finally saw his own ship. Rather then elation, the sight filled him with a terrible fear. He saw it bursting fully formed into the universe, blazing brighter then any star, after a huge wave of death of it's brothers and sisters, of twisted monstrosities tearing themselves apart with time based weaponry. Tombs tore his gaze away from the Untempered Schism and resisted the urge to flee into the Mountains of Solace and Solitude, but the unexplained images would continue to haunt his dreams for many years until he simply forgot the darkest of them.
Tombs' performance at the Academy afterwards proved exemplary but he seemed ill fit to Gallifrey's court. He really shined in his extensive knowledge of Temporal Mechanics and the Technology used to manipulate them, including but not limited to TARDISes. He was pleased however when his Father revealed that he was proud of Tombs at his graduation ceremony and was soon privately acquired by The Foundry, a facility built and maintained to create TARDISes for their Time Lord counterparts. The Foundry was highly secretive facility, shunted to a pocket dimension only accessible from Gallifrey through a spatially connected doorway, where the TT capsules could be safely weaved without worrying about destroying all of reality with a single faulty wire.
Tombs and a group of other like minded Engineers, Mechanics and Technicians spent many years of their lives sacrificing the chance to explore the universe so that others might get a chance to. During his time there they were able to push the technology significantly, thrilled with the chance to design new matrices and to tweak Dimensional Transcendentality and it's implementation. TARDISes went from Type 80s upwards, gradually ever on wards to Type 100s, before the Time War erupted and brought malefaction to a grinding halt. At least, for exploratory vehicles. All in the facility were lied to about the way the Time War was actually going through official channels, even as all non-essential staff were enlisted as Soldiers. Tombs and a small team of Scientists were worked tirelessly by the new Lord President Rassilon to create endless fleets of War machines. The demands become more frantic until Time Lords that did not work themselves ragged were being executed on the factory floor for treason.
News of Gallifrey become more sought after when fear began to set in, until a partially built TARDIS was used to sneak in signals through the dimensional doorway. Images of Gallifrey burning, of Daleks screeching in madness and filling the sky, spilled into the facility. Tombs saw The Valley of Rapture as nothing more then a burning, smoldering slag heap and watched as Time Lords were slaughtered in the streets of the Capitol. They also discovered that Rassilon was finally preparing for his last emergency evacuation into the Foundry, his attempts to repel the Daleks having long failed. Tombs and the others decided they couldn't allow this; If Rassilon made it to The Foundry, the Daleks would surely follow after him and then not only would they all die, the Daleks would be unstoppable with TARDIS technology.
The Guards fired upon the revolting Technicians when they discovered they were attempting to seal the quasi-reality off from Gallifrey. In the confusion, Tombs was injured badly and fell from a walkway to the factory floor below, where he was knocked into a coma. His limp body suffered for days and weeks until he finally regenerated.
When he awoke, writhing in pain from the Regeneration, Tombs found The Foundry abandoned. The bodies of his colleagues were left were they had fallen, fires had burned out much of the vital systems and there was no Lord President Rassilon or even Daleks. The Guards were gone, having passed back through to the world beyond for some unknown reason. Tombs was left alone within a lifeless pocket dimension. Any attempt to establish a connection back to Gallifrey through the transdimensional doorway failed. Tombs continued to try and was continuously disappointed, with most of the systems simply informing him that the time and spatial coordinates he was attempting to reach were unavailable. He rerouted power from whatever was left functioning and tried to brute force his way through, but the systems overloaded and most of the Foundry that wasn't destroyed in the firefight died.
Without the Temporal Buffers and Regulators the fabric of the pocket dimension began to unravel. Tombs calculated he had three weeks at most before total event collapse, where the pocket universe would cease to exist. He scrambled desperately to escape, planning on cobbling together a TARDIS with half finished material, suddenly haunted by dreams he hadn't had since he first looked into the Untempered Schism. Bleeding temporal effects began to kick in too, with Tombs running into paralleled versions of himself and even into his own past and an impossible future. Not only was the Time Lord now racing against the collapse of the pocket dimension, but time was effectively creating duplicates and triplicates that would attempt to kill him and steal what he had worked on so far, so they could try to escape. Occasionally his TARDIS would just be completely reverted to bare bones, or have parts built into it that he had hadn't made with his own two hands. Towards the end however, it nearly began to assemble itself, with him doing nothing but double checking every screw and button.
Finally he was able to craft together a working prototype. He poured an entire regeneration into the heart of the Time Machine, just to get it going for half a minute. Using the spatial coordinates for Gallifrey, he crashed into the dimensional barrier separating the pocket universe from this one and failed to make it through. In desperation he tried once again, changing the coordinates for any where in the universe. The ship materialized quietly in empty space, it's heart ignited with time and intrinsically linked with his own two. Centuries had passed since the Time Lords had been wiped out in the Last Great Time War. The universe was a much quieter and a far, far lonelier place. Since then, Tombs has crept through creation, afraid that if his knowledge about Time Travel and TARDIS construction was abused... Well. Anything could happen.
Addition Medical Information: An extensive improvement of many other sentient species, but that's to be expected with Time Lords.
RP Sample:
The Foundry had been beautiful, once. Tombs had never seen the exterior (no one living ever had, bar possibly the Great Rassilon) but he knew it was shaped like a spinning top and that if it wasn't transcednetally dimensional it would barely support a single person. Because it was bigger on the inside and because of its incredibly important function, the Timelords filled it with their civilization's opulence. Each hallway was huge and hexagonal, latticed with gold plating and occasionally broken with Gallifreyan symbols made out of shimmering obsidian, giving the Foundry an open airy feeling. It was nearly impossible to tell exactly where the light was coming from, but many places were lit a stunning burnt orange and felt as warm and breezy as a cool spring evening on old Gallifrey. The design gave The Foundry the feeling of a palace and the huge Timelord sigils of Rassilon reinforced this illusion. The living quarters were nothing short of a small city. Tombs lived in a two story apartment and could eat practically anything, see any movie or read any book in all of creation. The very center of the habitat zone were large luscious gardens, tended mainly by a small sect of Administrators in their free time, who's own officers were located there.
Even the Factory Floor itself, located beneath the habitat zone and accessible through only a few routes, was awe inspiring. It spanned actual light years (Twenty to be exact), going for so far that it gave the area a perpetual sense of night. Dark gold horizons gave way to inky black "skies." This space was more of a necessity. The TARDISes were tempremental with size when they grew, some spanning the width of a gas giant while others never felt more comfortable then a small chair. Tombs never stopped marveling at the sheer dimensions of the place. Under it all, the Temporal and Spacial Engines whirred quietly, the size of a star. They generated the pocket universe, detailing its laws of physics while simultaneously keeping continuity consistent throughout the facility. The Engines also maintained the security fields for the growing time machines, carefully ensuring that no critical overloads would place the population under hazardous circumstances. No one liked to think what the hazardous circumstances would be like.
There was always an air of familiarity with the Foundry that Tombs had rarely felt elsewhere. It was more like home then The Valley of Rapture and the others use to joke that he would spend all thirteen lives quietly being a genius, hidden from the rest of the universe, as long as it was on a Time Machine. "Gallifrey's best kept secret working on the Timelords most sacred one," they would joke.
And now it was all gone. The Foundry's spacetime had been mortally wounded. He could taste it, feel it in the tips of his fingers, in the beats of his two hearts. The engines were quiet, the TARDISes were mutating unhealthily in a flood of poisonous chronoradiation, the huge gold hallways buckled under their own transcedental dimensions and became a deadly looping labyrinth, the city had simply ceased existing and the gardens burned uncontrollably. The indications of bleeding time were innocuous for the first three days; He would misplace tools he was sure he was just holding. A cup of rationed water would be filled again. The lights in Hallway 8-A would stop flickering and become a solid burnt orange glow. Once, while scavenging from the wreckage of the Time Restorators he would hear quiet but familiar voices, just outside the room, lost in their own conversation. He called out but the voices simply faded. It frightened him.
The bleeding became more extreme as the first week neared its end. On the fifth day, he saw a version of himself from another time. The Other Tombs had been hunkered over a Quantum Coupler, back to the first, unaware of his presence. Desperate to avoid paradoxes, the Technician crept away from The Other Tombs and waited for his own timeline to catch up to him. Sure enough, on day six, he realized the protoTARDIS he was trying to build needed a brand new Qauntum Coupler. Things only deteriorated from there. Paranoia easily set in. He started to hide his tools, his rations and he would have risked pushing his protoTARDIS a second out of sync with what little cohesive time there was. The damn thing went missing before he could, only to turn up again an hour later, with a complete engine overhaul that would have taken weeks to physically do but which boosted it's capabilities by 130%. Tombs found himself looking for shadows and trying to listen out for footsteps while working as fast as he could. Resources became incredibly rare; The Technician would realize suddenly that he needed one component or compound only to find the stores completely empty, as if hundreds of him had come to the same decision all in parallel but moved slightly faster. More then once he stumbled into a foxhole on a parallel Foundry, which had just the right things he needed. He would tell himself that it wasn't really stealing if it was taken from himself.
Terrible thoughts began to creep into his mind. What if he wasn't the Original Tombs? What if the original had been killed in the revolt and they were all echoes, possibilities of a single entity trapped in a hellscape. Sometimes he heard skittering in the air ducts and felt predatory eyes on him. There were screams in the night, his own screams from far away, sometimes wails of loneliness but more increasingly of fear. He never found many bodies, avoiding locking himself into a loop of death, but there were horrible gore stains and scenes of utter violence. He once found a hull torn completely open to the utter nothingness of the mircouniverse beyond, but what scared him most was that the wall was peeled inwards. Something had skittered out onto the exterior.
At the end of week two he was forced to defend himself. A robot, hastily assembled and resembling a Cyberman, marched into his workspace and attempted to seize everything he had for the rightful Lord of the Universe, Tombqwortamazlocklidon. Tombs arm was broken in the struggle, but he was able to stick a isomorphic welder into the thing's brain and blow it to bits. Injured and now hunted by his own insane duplicates Tombs had to move the protoTARDIS around the station, blowing life into it long enough for it to make a quick transmat jump. Time was running out. Large sections of the station ceased to exist. The Factory Floor had grown into a new mutated plane of existence, imposed upon the back of a new amalgamation TARDIS that called itself the Evermind. It lured other versions of himself into it's sick corridors and then crushed them, feeding off the released temporal energy. Tombs sabotaged it, burning it alive in a sea of radiation released from the engines below.
He desperately scrambled to complete the protoTARDIS. It was a unique creature, humming with life, even as it sat cold and separated from the universe he had to get back to. Tombs lied to himself in the most stressful of moments that maybe the Time War had been won. Maybe the Daleks were destroyed by some great hero or maybe Tombs himself could use this bleeding edge time machine to change the tide of battle. The last piece of the puzzle was a tiny snythesized crystal, built to hold a regeneration at the heart of the TARDIS. Tombs had been installing it when someone had fired up Proto. Or, their version of Proto at least. It dematerialized through the Foundry and spun out into the tiny universe. There was a terrible sound as it collided hard with the barriers of reality. And then it ceased to exist. Tombs considered it a small mercy that it didn't explode and doom them all.
But other ships began to launch. Tombs scrambled to his own control seat and began preparations, his screens displaying a hundred Time Machines, all scrambling and vying with each other to escape. One of them was going to get through before him. One of them was going to escape back to Gallifrey if Gallifrey even existed anymore. He realized with a sinking feeling that it didn't matter if he thought he was the original, if he had survived the Evermind or a mad Timelord's robot minion. This Tombs was about to die.
And quietly, barely a moment after one of them finally escaped, the Foundry ceased to exist.
In another Universe, far away in time and space, a protoTARDIS shined brilliantly in the light of a new star.