“Yes, that is my job, but I assure you I can do a better show for you outside of this.” He pleaded, though he knew it probably would have no effect on the sadistic man in front of him.
No, he wasn’t imagining it, the temperature was definitely climbing in here. It felt a little like a sauna, which wouldn’t be a big deal, except that fully clothed it was excruciating. And he had a feeling it was only going to get hotter. “Please.”
"No, no–! Come on, magician. Do magic! ‘Poof’ yourself out of there!“ And with that, the Doctor’s eyes grew wider as if to take the moment in as much as he could. His mind raced. Such complicated beings, these humans. He wondered what would happen when radiating one with heat in this claustrophobic glass box.
Daniel was skilled at what he did. Hell, he’d been hanging around with the others so much, he could almost tell exactly what someone was going to do, and when.
But no amount of skill could’ve foreseen this. He didn’t even know how he’d ended up there. One second he was doing a trick, the next he was in a transparent box that was almost unbearably warm. Daniel stared up at the man who entered, trying in vain to hide his nearly crippling fear.
“What do you want with me?” the man’s words unsettled him and he wished the man before him wasn’t right. But he’d tried. He couldn’t get out.
“What I want with you..” The Doctor trailed around the outside of the cell, grinning. “I want to see a show. That’s what your job is, isn’t it? Making shows. Showing the world you can practice the art of magic– right?”
His fingers ticked the glass. The forcefield was one-way; touch it on the inside and you will get electrocuted. Touch it on the outside and it’ll feel like knocking on glass.
“So that’s what I’m going to do. Sitting here and wait..” He sat down, “for the show.” And the show was about to start, as the temperature of the box was now ascending.
An illusionist, working with cards. How pathetic. The Doctor leaned forward, sending a slow slime towards the showman. J. Daniel Atlas, caged in a glass box. No way out but death. The Time Lord would enjoy every second of this.
His feet swiftly trailing beneath him, the Doctor opened the transparent vault, eyeing the illusionist without blinking. The man had strands of hair sticking to his forehead, intertwined with drops of sweat. The Doctor couldn’t deny the impenetrable cell was warm. "The illusionist.. ay?“
Drawing a knife from his belt, he held up his thumb. In the soft light of the one bulb in the room, the metal of the knife resembled a winking ghost, smiling up to the old man. Pushing his thumb without force against the tip of the knife, a drop of blood appeared. ”Seems like you didn’t have the skills to disappear from this cell.“