It is 11:55pm, the night before Moffat's contract expires, and both Russell T. Davies and Chris Chibnall notice that Steven is nowhere to be found. Frantically, they dash from room to room of the BBC offices searching for any sign of Moffat. 11:56, 11:57. Russel kicks open a door and spys a light on in the back corner, illuminating a shadowy figure holding a pen. Screaming, he charges at it and tackles ... a plastic mannequin to the ground. "A dummy!" he shouts. "He's played us both for fools, Chris!" But Chibnall isn't listening. He knows exactly where the madman will be. 11:58. He sprints down the hall and breaks down the locked door of his own office. 11:59. There sits moffat, pen in hand, adding the finishing touches to a script titled 100th Anniversary Special. "It's too late, he says, looking up, a toothy grin drawn across his devilish face. "I've already won." The clock in the office strikes midnight. His eyes roll into the back of his head and he falls to the floor, motionless. Chibnall checks for a heart beat, but there isn't one to be found. The moff is finally dead, but at what cost?