Jack saw the approaching Dalek, he turned to run, finding only a door. A dead-locked door. He turned back, and in that moment, as the Dalek neared and as its terrible metallic voice let out on singular word, Jack's mind froze. Everything seemed to go half as fast as it should have been but his body wouldn't move, his thoughts stayed on a singular syllable, a singular word.
"Shit." His eyes widened and the Dalek's strange limb rose and pointed at him and the Dalek spoke,
"Exterminate." The blue electricity was the last thing he saw, felt, as his body crumpled to the floor.
Then he found himself in darkness. Empty darkness, the kind you might have if you had your eyes closed too tight for too long in utter silence. Time span itself, hours and then years and back to seconds, it stretched and squeezed and was entirely un consistent. After millions of years, or perhaps a few seconds, he felt his sanity leave him for someone younger or prettier or something. He began to imagine voices, not hear them but imagine them, imagine images and what the images would have looked like if he could see them.
He imagined it would be his face.
That it would be his voice.
That it would be the Doctor.
He began to hold onto these fragmented thoughts of imagined visions, these would-be voices, he clutched to them as seconds passed in centuries.
Suddenly, his silence and empty darkness was ripped from him as an explosion of light and noise and colour cracked through his eyes and ears, as everything became something, and it was barely something he recognized, but could name as life...or existence. He found himself on the ground with a tight chest of a person who had been held under water for far too long but not quite long enough. He gasped in heavy breaths, or maybe only one extremely heavy breath. He realized what had happened as he pulled himself to what he named his feet, as the previous events flooded back into his thoughts and he remembered.
He ran to the control room, to the vast metal room where he had last seen the Doctor, where he should have been. He expected to see the Doctor, arms crossed, with a sly grin on his face, standing by the TARDIS, Rose leaning against the blue doors with her hands by her sides, laughing or talking wildly. But as he entered the room he was only met with silence and a completely lack of Doctor, of TARDIS and of Rose.
His stomach dropped. There were only wires, sprawled over the ground, evidence of the Doctor's previous presence but not him. Not anywhere.
The darkness was inching into his thoughts as his mind went blank, as he dropped to the ground, silently and screamed nothing, knowing that the one who had saved him from the darkness had abandoned him.
And in that room he found his mind returning there, the imagining of possible images returning, but this time as more than an imagining.
And from then on he searched, endlessly for the man who had brought him back, not only from the darkness of the Daleks, but from the darkness that had set in long before that.
He searched for the Doctor.