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Doctor Who: Empty Graves


Sir Wearer of Hats

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In the carmine riot where history jostled with imagination, a battered and defiantly blue box tumbled and danced. This blue box was a TARDIS,  one of the last of its kind. As far as its owner, pilot and faithful companion knew, it was like him the last of its kind, but the TARDIS knew better, but for reasons of its own, kept that secret. Inside the impossibly large console room of the TARDIS, the Doctor found himself in a quandary, he was unsure if he should be glad of the quiet coutesy of his absent companions or to miss the happy noise of his fellow travellers discovering the cosmos. Rose having decamped to a place the Doctor swore was made up called "Skegness" with her mother for their annual holiday and Jack gone to America to attend Comic-Con, something he'd always dreamt of doing. The Doctor went once, and was mistaken for some actor who played a wizard. Never again, he resolved after the fortieth photograph. The last Doctor never seemed to travelled alone, loving the life companions brought to the TARDIS and the new perspectives they brought to his ramshackle life. His last self, however, travelled alone. Forced himself to be alone, maybe that's why .... He visible shook himself out of that dark train of thought. No, he decided, he liked having friends around, but he also liked the quiet. "The Best of both worlds," he said, his accent unique to the northern climbs of England and as far as he could remember, unique to his current face. He decided then, to enjoy the quiet and put his feet up. Maybe go to a football match, or cricket, he wasn't sure if he liked cricket this time around. "A test match it is!" he decided eventually.

he looked around the console room and wondered if it was time to redecorate. Previously the cobbled and barely held together look of the console suited him, he felt it mirrored his own internal chaos, but now ... Now he thought he might go for something different, maybe something in a classic white or bronze. Before this idea could fully take shape in his mind, his telephone rung. He regarded it warily. He was trying to have a holiday, he wanted some quiet. People only called him when they wanted something. "That said..." he said, only his friends, his nearest and dearest (and Jackie Tyler) friends has his number. So much for the cricket, or the football. "'Ello?" Despite his age and experience, answering the telephone always seemed to fill him eith a sort of existential dread. On the other end of the phone was a stentorian voice, something heavy with age but still full of life. A voice that caused the Doctor's face to split into a wide grin. "Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart," he beamed.

****

windswept and rain sodden moore were never the cheeriest of places, Sir Alistair Lethbridge-Stewart thought. At least there wasn't a nest of primordial reptiles sleeping beneath his feet, or at least he hoped so. A noise broke him from his nostalgia, he'd heard it described and himself had struggled to describe it to an eager daughter, and each time they'd failed to capture the magical quality of it that made him feel like a young child again. With a wheezing groaning thud the TARDIS arrived on Sudhendge Moor. It was instantly damp and defiantly solid as the doors creaked open and a man with a long face and battered leather coat emerged, hiding under a familiar question mark handled umbrella. Although Sir Alistair had never seen this man before, he had known him for decades, and a smile twitched during under his silver beard. "Doctor," he said.
"Brigadier," the Doctor replied. To an outsider, the simplicity of their greetings would seem distant or even rude, but that outsider would be wrong. for a moment the two regarded each other from under their umbrellas. "I like your beard, it gives you a grandfatherly air." 
"Well," Sir Aliatair chuckled, the Doctor always did have a nack for being both rude and companionable at the same time, "it's fitting as I am a grandfather. Several times over."
A maudlin expressing haunted the Doctor for a moment, "I know the feeling. Now!" The expression was washed away by a burst of enthusiasm "what's this about empty graves?"
"Well, an old chum of mine contacted me, summoned really, because of somethings he found in one of those barrows," Sir Alistair pointed at a series of raised hillocks dotting the moor, "he said he thought it was right up my alley. Up UNIT's alley too."
"I prefer to let the dead remain dead, they've earnt that much," the Doctor said, a hard almost venomous edge in his voice giving Sir Alistair pause. This was something he recognised in some of the Doctor's other selves. "I see," he said, realising that he was once again meeting one of the later Doctors, one of the Doctors who had fought in something they called "the Time War". Sir Alistair recognised the look, the edge to the Doctor. He'd seen it before in his men and, rarely but more then enough, in his own reflection. This Doctor didn't hide it as well as the others he'd met. "The War?" Sir Alistair asked, more than willing to let those sleeping dogs lie, even willing to forgo his friend's company if it meant saving him from another trip into that dark place. 
Still bristling, the Doctor quickly looked away, "so you know?" Was all he said.
"I've met you, not you you, but you enough. 12 of you in fact. You...." He stopped, having gotten perilously close to saying "you'll get over it" which is both untrue and facetious boardering on the offensive.
"You're not the oldest Doctor I've met" he added, rather lamely he felt.
"How many?" The Doctor still couldn't meet his eye.
"Twelve."
The Doctor could have told him "that's the whole set", given he know the past him never met Alistair. But that was rude, and his oldest friend didn't deserve that rudeness. "Don't feel you're being rude if you want to get back into the TARDIS and go" Sir Alistair said eventually. The Doctor considered it, but no. His oldest friend had asked for his help. "Lead on Macduff!" The Doctor said.
They walked in silence for a while, but Sir Alistair couldn't resist the chance to correct the Doctor on something, having been on the receiving end of a Doctorish lecture more than once. "The line is actually "lay on McDuff"". The Doctor said nothing, but smiled ruefully as he surveyed the moors. 
"Empty graves," the Doctor said, "so what's the beef?" 
Sir Alistair took a moment, knowing how raw the Doctor's feelings could be on the matter of the dead "Professor Godwin Rowley was a school chum of mine. I went into the military, he went into academia. Strange how life leads us away from people and then back to them..." 
"You're talking to a peripatetic Time Lord who has no home but a battered old box and friends across the universe who if I'm lucky I meet once a life, and even then if I'm even luckier they've met me when I meet them. Merely Strange would be a nice change," the grin offset the hurt in his voice.
"Anyway, Rowley was excavating out in Peru of all places and came across some writing that lead him here to Sudhenge."
"Hang about, he read something in Peru that lead him to Rising Damp?" To emphasise his point, the Doctor stomped into a puddle, splashing Sir Alistair. Ignoring his glower, the Doctor went on "why call in you, or did he call UNIT first?"
"UNIT keeps me around as a sort of lucky totem, and whenever something comes up that they think is interesting but ultimately fruitless they send the totem. Hence Sudhenge Moor."
"Hardly a totem," the Doctor said protectively and then impishly, "more of a kindly old grandfather. Or a mad one they need to humour from time to time." 
The Doctor was too busy stomping in puddles to notice Sir Alistair's glare. 
"What was it?" The Doctor asked, mid-puddle stomp.
"What was what?" Sir Alistair said, unable to keep up with the Doctor's lightning switching moods.
"what was it that liked Peru to Sudmoor?"
"apparently some writing, writing that Rowley found here in Sudhenge Moor. Something no one could translate"
"Something alien?" The Doctor asked.
"Potentially, it's what UNIT's, ahem, new Scientific Advisor thinks".
"Fantastic," the Doctor's grin lit up the damp Sudhenge Moor.

Professor Godwin Rowley was, as many would be willing to tell you (himself the foremost of those many), an expert linguist. He could read a dozen supposedly dead languages and with time and the work of others in his field he could interpret a dozen more. Therefore a language he couldn't read, or even interpret, was vexing. The fact he had to call in aid from military contacts developed in the 70s and 80s when he was "read into" extraterrestrial secrets was bad enough, the fact that UNIT had sent an old fool like Lethbridge-Stewart galled. The final insult was that Lethbridge-Stewart had called in his own expert, some gangly Northerner in a leather coat named "Smith". It was only natural then, that Rowley would come to butt heads with Smith, it was something of a surprise that it took exactly thirty seconds for Rowley to be shouting at the Doctor. In fact, the first thing the Doctor Said set him off. It wasn't abusive. It wasn't inflammatory. In fact, it was simple, to the point and an answer to six months of research offered in a blithe off hand manner. "Mondassian," he had said. 

Sir Alistair ushered the crowd of onlookers - excavators, fellow linguists, various computer and other technical experts - out of the main tent when he saw the look of combatative glee in the Doctor's eye and the flush of anger on Rowley's face. He knew the Doctor well enough, no matter his face, to know that he revelled in matching wits with experts, especially with the arrogant ones who are unsurprisingly less knowledgable than himself.

****

Later, as the Doctor exited the tent with a look that would shame the cat that got the cream, Sir Alistair asked "finished now?"
"All good thanks," the Doctor grinned. His face then hardened, "now, about those Cybermen."
Sir Alistair looked alarmed, working for UNIT filled his nightmares with hordes of monsters, but foremost amongst them were the silver giants. "But you said the writing was Mondonian"
"Mondassian, from the planet Mondas. It's the Cybermen's original homeworld. You remember in the 80s? That other Earth in the sky?"
"The 80s are something of a mess for me, no thanks to you," Sir Alistair said pointedly "but I do seem to recall something like that."
"Well that was their original homeworld. It was Earth's twin planet many millennia ago. They must have sent scouts back to Earth centuries ago."
"But why bury their dead? And what happened to the bodies?" 
"Two very good questions with less than good answers. I haven't the foggiest." 
"Very reassuring," Sir Alistair said dryly. 
The Doctor grinned, his teeth bright "isn't it just?"


Despite the damp and the gloom of the tumulus, the Doctor couldn't be happier as he was lowered into the excavation in order to make a personal inspection of the empty graves. As he was jerked to a stop several metres above the floor of the tomb. He considered making a wry comment, but he realised he's been rude enough for one day. Especially, he realised, to Alistair. Rowley deserved it, but Alistair meant well, and out of all the various inhabitant of the universe was probably the one who knew him best. "Ohh a Doctor, why can't you just be happy?" He mumbled to himself.
"What was that, over?" Sir Alistair's voice interrupted his brown study. The Doctor had forgotten he was wearing a Bluetooth headset to communicate to the others above ground. "Ohh nothing, just a fugue in the fugu" the Doctor said, enjoying the play on words. 
"Muttering under the mound?" A wry comment the Doctor could imagine causing Alistair's moustache to twitch.
"Langue in a long barrow." The Doctor shot back.
A third voice, one of the technical experts monitoring the Doctor's transmission cut in with "prattle in the pit?" Causing the Doctor to laugh and Sir Alistair to let out a soft chuckle. The same voice added, "sorry about the winch, the drive's got about a pint of water in it". 
"The wet's wrecked the winch? What a waste," the Doctor couldn't resist. 
"Doctor, really!" Sir Alistair huffed.
Further exchanges were cut short, when Rowley curtly told the Doctor, "Remember, you're in a mostly undocumented tomb, please be careful the contents are priceless and ancient."
"Listen professor, this isn't my first rodeo. I'm the most careful, tactful and least destructive person I know," the Doctor said. Over the head seat he heard Alistair say something that sounded like "Devil's End" but chose to ignore it.
"Besides," the Doctor added as he unhooked himself from the harness, "looking around down here, Im probably the oldest thing here." The Doctor advanced down the central corridor of the tumulus, offered observations as he went, the primary one bring how clear it all was. When Rowley offered a predictable rebuttal and snarky comment, the Doctor could almost hear Alistair's eyes rolling and said "no, not clean, although it is, almost clinically clean," to which Sir Alistair interrupted with "don't start that again," 
The Doctor continued unperturbed "there's no chisel or tool marks on the walls, they're smooth. The floors dust and dirt free. Ohh hang on...." The sound of the Doctor thumping over to something was clearly heard over the Bluetooth headset, "there IS writing. And debris on the floor, but only near the writing. It's ....hang on .... Looks like runes. Vikings? Professor, have there been any indications this places been opened in the past?" Rowley hemmed and hawed, obviously unwilling to comment, the Doctor grinned impishly when in a proper parade ground rebuke Alistair told him to "spit it out man and answer the Doctor." He'd been on the receiving end of that tone and was glad that despite anything else he'd lost over the years, his commanding personality remained undiminished. Rowley admitted reluctantly that there was some subsidence at one end of the tumulus, which could be indicative of someone digging in. "Typical innit?" The Doctor said, "people ask for help and then lie to you about what they're asking help with, all to salve their little egos. Ohh I've discovered an unopened tomb. Ohh Im Howard Carter.... Carter was a lovely fellow, loved peppermint ice cream as I recall, used to have it shipped out at stupid expense to Mina House in Cairo." 
"As interesting as that is, I'm sure, Doctor, could we please go back to why you're in there? The Cybermen." Sir Alistair politely but firmly interrupted.
"Right, yes. Anyway, no sign of Cybermen, which is good as Im in a hole, armed only with my wits and .... There's no need for half armed jokes Professor," the Doctor said I reply to something be heard muttered over the headset, "but the writing on the wall's interesting. Well, I say interesting, I could also say "worrying" or even "blooming unsettling", as it says "keep out, only death inside". Which is exactly what you don't want to read right before ... Sigh ... Right before your torch goes out."
"Doctor, what's wrong?" 
"Me torch has just gone out...."

****

Sir Alistair felt that familiar tickle down his spine. He had felt it often since the first day he saw a Yeti, and each time it presaged a fight for survival, his own and often that of all humanity. He closed his eyes and mustered his fortitude. Opening them, he looked at one of the technicians, the young woman who had spoken early whose name Sir Alistair belatedly
 remembered was Rebecca. Quietly, with deadly earnest, he asked her to go fetch a case from his tent, she opened her mouth to argue, but the look of determination in his eyes killed the argument in her throat. She nodded and jogged off into the dusk. “Doctor,” Rowley was about to lecture him again, Sir Alistair was sure. Instead, he was calm, collected and helpful. “Doctor, don't panic. Despite being dark you're safe, all you need to do is reach out and touch the wall with your left hand. You should then be facing away from where you entered. Slowly turn around and replace your left hand with your right hand. Then you'll be facing towards the harness.”
“Thanks professor, that's actually quite helpful. I could do that… or….” A faint buzzing caused interference across the headset “Or I could recharge the torch batteries using my sonic screwdriver.” There was a pause after the buzzing finished. “I've found a body, looks like a Norseman, broken axe and all.”
“Can you tell how he died?” Rowley was in his element. 
“Wasn't old age, that's for certain. Poor soul looks like his neck was broken.”
“A fall?” Rowley asked, but Sir Alistair knew the answer before the Doctor spoke.
“Doubt it, more likely he was ambushed by something that snapped his neck. I can see his shoulder blade though the tatters of his armour, it's been smashed too. Cyber killing 101, go for the neck.”
All Sir Alistair could do was swear under his breath as Rebecca returned with his case. 

****

Like most pre-Saxon burial sites, the actual burial chambers were off set from the main corridor, the Doctor turned left and right, taking in his surroundings as he reached the end of the corridor, deciding which side to investigate first when he noticed a bundle of rags in the corner of the left hand chamber. No, not rags. A body. The Doctor shook his head sadly at the corpse, another death he couldn't have prevented, although he could avenge it. Setting his shoulders, he set off down the tumulus. “Well, isn't that interesting.” He said, kneeling down above one of the shattered graves. “Whoever you think built this place, where they not on air tight seals?” The Doctor asked Rowley.
“What?” Was the curt reply.
“Could the people who made this place make an air tight seal?”
“No… Why?” A note of worry had entered Rowley’s voice. 
“Cos I'm looking at the remains of an airtight grave. Whatever was put in here wouldn't  have rotted over the centuries. Pity it broke its way out.”
“What?!”
“You can tell from the fracture patterns that the stone lid was broken from within the grave.whatever was inside is now … Outside. Blimey, I feel like an extra in a Hammer Film.” Sir Alistair could tell from the tone of his voice he was enjoying himself. Which was Typical of the Doctor, look like an entire orchid of sour grapes at a wedding, and be as happy as a pig in mud trapped in a tomb with a monster on the loose.
The Doctor continued past another six empty graves, each broken from the inside. He reached the end of the corridor and looked about in confusion. “How big did your sonar say this place was?”
“GeoPhys says three hundred meters. Your ingress point was at about mouth plus fifty metres.”
“I haven't walked two hundred and fifty meters. One sec….” The Doctor produced his sonic screwdriver again and it's sapphire glow illuminated the burial chamber. There was a click and a whirl of alien machinery and the wall at the end of the main corridor slid open. “Fantastic. Hey Prof, did you know your tomb was just a foyer?” He stubbornly refused to reply to Rowley’s acidic comment in his ear. “I just love a hidden door….”

The Doctor explored the hidden room cautiously, knowing full well that empty graves and working doors meant the Cybermen were active. The room was, typically for Cyber-Architecture, spartan and efficient. There were a half dozen recharging cubicles and a large power source in the centre of the space. The Doctor was surprised to see a form slumped in one of the cubicles, the cloth and plastic shrouded form of a Mondassian Cyberman. Using the sonic screwdriver as a diagnostic tool, the Doctor scanned the Cyberman, and shook his head, it was dead, obviously not all the tombs were as hermetic as he and they had thought, this one has succumbed to the ravages of time rotten where it lay, the others following their programming had attempted to revive it, he scanned it again, revive her to no avail. “Then there were six” the Doctor said, looking at the machinery he saw it was tapping into geothermal springs beneath the moor, “not exactly effective, it must have … Ohh of course. It did take centuries to store enough power, that's way you stored yourself away.”
>Correct< a sickeningly artificial sing-song voice said from the doorway to another room.

****

On the surface Sir Alistair heard the voice and snapped into action. Opening the case Rebecca had brought him he produced a pistol, he carefully inspected the weapon with a trained eyed and snapped a clip of ammunition into the grip. Rowley looked at him with a look of near terror. “What do you intend to do with that?!”
“What I've done for nearly four decades Godwin. Stand between the monsters and the innocent.” Rowley regarded him open mouthed.Cliched, but it had the effect he intended, the air of panic had subsided a little and Sir Alistair had been firmly established as the leader now. “Right, leave the equipment, we need to get to the vehicles and return to the village. From there we need to mount some sort of defence while we wait for UNIT and the big guns” no one argued with him, at least no one argued with him after the look he directed at Rowley when he began to complain about the loss of their equipment and the potential damage to the tomb the military would inflict. Privately, Sir Alistair wondered if his gun was nothing more than a prop. The Cybermen he remembered were all but bullet proof, he had to hope that all the centuries buried had weakened them enough that his sidearm could effect them.

****

The small part of the Doctor’s mind he had assigned to listen to events on the surface smiled as he heard Alistair shepard everyone to safety. The rest of his mind was focused on the Cyberman as it lurched towards him. “Well, isn't this nice. A cosy little hole to hide in.”
>No. Cybermen do not hide. This is a survival chamber.<
“Yeap, saw the things that you needed to survive out there. Beardy and his mates with sticks. Brr, terrifying” the Doctors tone dripped sarcasm, but as predicted the Cyberman missed it, and instead continued to talk. Always a weakness in these older versions the Doctor remembered.
>Incorrect. The local lifeforms posed no threat to Cyber-Security. The lack of power from Mondas was the concern. Remote probes were sent back to this world, but this probe’s primary power supply failed on landing. A secondary source was identified, but due to low yield, stasis chambers were required.”
“You dug this place to bury yourselves away while your batteries recharged?”
>Correct<
“Your brilliant. What are your plans now?” The Doctor gambled.
>Further Cyber-Units are required. Further power is required. Both will be sourced from this location.<
“Thought you'd say that.” While he was speaking, his mind was racing. The room was dark, illuminated by only a dim light from the power source and his torchlight. The Doctor switched off his torch and aimed the Sonic Screwdriver at the torch. In quick succession he aimed the torch at the advancing Cyberman’s face, activated the sonic screwdriver to supercharge the torch’s light and finally the torch itself, shining a light akin to the noonday sun into the face of the Cyberman.
>Ack ack< was all the Cyberman could say as its optics overloaded. The torch popped and the Doctor ran, relying on the scant light of the sonic screwdriver to direct him back to the harness and winch and then to the surface.
****

The first sign of the Cybermen were five lights bobbing through the dark. Sir Alistair saw the tents in the distance. He saw the lights from the Cybermen approaching inexorably. He knew he was too old to run to the cars. So be it. He set his shoulders and turned to face the Cybermen. He looked at the archaeologists and told them to run, to his relief they did. He then raised his gun and waited. Far too soon the Cybermen were close enough to see, they looked to him like corpses wrapped in plastic shrouds with lamps on their heads. In his career, he'd learnt that if it's possible to kill something, the head was the target. With as steady a hand as he ever possessed he emptied the clip into the nearest Cyberman. To his surprise the Cyberman fell. With shaking hands he replaced the clip with his only spare. Hoping against the odds, he opened fire again, gunning down a second Cyberman as his scrambled up a small hill. The Cybermen advance slowed and Sir Alistair’s gun clicked empty. He took a deep breathe and called out, “CYBERMEN! I am General Sir Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart, those people are under MY protection. You have seen that I can harm you, but I give you my word I will not if you stand down immediately!” It was a gamble.
>Reduction in number of units enables effective activation of weapon systems< the lead Cyberman said in its slurred sing-song voice. Sir Alistair knew exactly what this meant, but resolved to face his fate showing the appropriate level of contempt, setting his jaw he shouted “NEMO ME IMPUNE LACESSIT!”, the motto of his old regiment, fitting he felt for last words.
A whining noise split  the air as the blue light shone in the near distance.
“OI you lot! Over here!” A thick and very welcome Northern accent broke the tension.
>Superior technology detected<
“Yeap that's right, Im superior all over me”
>Non-Terran detected<
“well spotted sport. Listen, as an old friend and terribly smart fellow once said, “jaw jaw is better than war war”, can we speak?”
>You may<

….

>We must survive<
“BUT WHY? For what purpose must you survive? Mondas is gone, it burned. I saw it. But I've been there, my home burned as well, but I still get up each morning, I survive for a purpose, I have over two billion reasons to make sure each day I make the universe a little bit better,” Sir Alistair’s eyes widened at the pain in his old friend’s voice. 
>Mondas is gone<
“Yes, but that doesn't mean you have lost you purpose it just means …”
>Mondas is gone<
“Yes …but …” any argument the Doctor was about to make died on his lips as, as one, the Cybermen collapsed to the ground. “NO! Nonononononono…” he rushed to the closest Cyberman and produced the sonic screwdriver. He scanned the Cyberman and shook his head. “You bloody idiots….” He whispered. He covered his eyes with his hand. 

Sir Alistair walked up behind him and placed a hand gently on his shoulder, saying nothing. The Doctor stood, his eyes wet. “They defined themselves through their purpose Doctor, they couldn't …. They could evolve. They couldn't change. They had no purpose anymore.”
“Pointless deaths. More pointless bloody deaths.”
“For them, living would have been pointless. I've lived a long time, not as long as some, but all life, all true life is defined by change and facing and overcoming tribulation. If you succeed, you become more than you were, if you fail you're no better than those things there,” Sir Alistair said, his voice kindly but firm. 
“Two billion, four hundred and seventy nine million, six hundred and fifty-five thousand, six hundred and twelve,”The Doctor said, not looking Sir Alistair in the eye. “Versus one Human. You …. You never cease to amaze me Alistair. You have no idea what Ive done, what I've lost but you always ….” The Doctor trailed off emotionally.
“We both have a lot of empty graves in our past Doctor, our responsibly  is to make sure we create as few as we can in the future. There was nothing you could have done.”
It took the longest time for the Doctor to say “I know.”

“I found and deactivated the Cybermen’s power unit, should be easy for your UNIT boys to pick it up and dispose of it when they come for the bodies.”
“What bodies Doctor? I had Rowley’s team reinter the Cybermen in their tombs under the Tumulus. It felt fitting some how.”
“Fantastic. Seven less empty graves. What's next for you?”
“Peru I think. Rowley said he saw Mondassian writing there. Better investigate. And I’ve never been.”
“Beautiful country. Not too hot on their ball games though, they used to execute the winners to appease and feed their gods.”
“Nasty. What's their opinion on grumpy old grandfathers?”
“The gods? Too chewy.” The Doctor and Sir Alistair laughed.
The two old friends walked through the gloom back to the TARDIS, following the Doctor’s unerring sense of direction. Naturally then, instead of the TARDIS they found themselves lost. “I can see some lights down there…” The Doctor said optimistically, pointing into the distance.”One day I'll be too old for the…”
“Never!” The Doctor said leading the way to another adventure.

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5 minutes ago, Daughter of the Nine Moons said:

I don't like Cybermen

I rather like the original idea of the Cybermen, the stompy robots of the modern era are rather dull, but the idea of people who out of desperation replaced parts of themselves in order to survive and having lost the reason for that survival....

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While I get what you are saying, there is too much uncanny valley for me.

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