Oxygen

“They're not your rescuers. They're your replacements. The end point of capitalism. A bottom line where human life has no value at all. We're fighting an algorithm, a spreadsheet. Like every worker, everywhere, we're fighting the suits.”

DOCTOR: Oh, look, Bill, it's Nardole. What a lovely surprise. I thought I sent you to Birmingham for a packet of crisps. 


NARDOLE: Yeah, I saw through your cunning ruse. 


DOCTOR: Yes, well, if you will go thinking for yourself. What do you want? 


NARDOLE: I was given strict instructions to keep you at the university. 


DOCTOR: Who by?


NARDOLE: You.


DOCTOR: Well, you're not doing a very good job, are you? I'll overlook it this once. 


NARDOLE: Do you know what this is? 


DOCTOR: If it's not crisps, you're sacked.

BILL: Doctor, you okay?

DOCTOR: Bill, I've got no TARDIS, no sonic, about ten minutes of oxygen left, and now I'm blind. Can you imagine how unbearable I'm going to be when I pull this off?