He has spent his entire existence trying to turn himself inside out. Like every child, the first sound he heard was that of his own scream.

"Look at you, the Master of Time. They've turned you into a babysitter. Why am I even here?"

Let the world burn to ashes, let the world crumble to dust. Scatter even the memories of it past the edges of time and still it will never be silent.

"The Observers' little lapdog. You aren't even fit to lick their scaly hands. All you're good for is cleaning up their mess."

There is no reply, only a sad smile from a visage as stern and unmoving as the sphinx one moment and shining with a child's beguiling innocence the next.

"Do you really think you can keep me here? I am this world's future!"

He has been watched, this child born of enemies, from one timeline to the next. Observed.

"But you already know that, don't you, Clockwork? After all, it's your fault I still exist."

Something almost like reproach in that, almost like regret. There is still no reply. Silence.

"I will not be mocked! You will answer me!"

But there are no answers. Not even for the Master of Time. Watch them both across an infinite number of timelines and always those two enemies are drawn to one another. And always it ends like this.

"Answer me! Why am I here!"

Of all the lies Clockwork told, silence is the only sincerity he has left to offer.