[With a distinct lack of ceremony, a man abruptly appears on the Plane. He is thin and sly, perhaps vaguely reminiscent of a weasel, and dressed in the working uniform of the Celestial Intervention Agency, for those who would recognise it. His tired, weary look is quickly replaced with one of surprise when arrives, and he is instantly wary.]

No. No, this isn’t the Matrix. We would have noticed if there had been a Matrix door this close to the Cloisters. This shouldn’t be possible.

[He turns in a circle, observing his surroundings with an air of suspicion.]

Commander Hallan?

Madame President? ...Romana?

[There is no answer, and Narvin begins to look even more alarmed. He makes another turn, this time taking in the mismatched mix of buildings and objects that are on the Plane. Unamused with the entire situation, he crosses his arms, his tone acerbic.]

If whoever is behind this would care to reveal themselves, now would be an excellent time. I must return to Gallifrey. I don’t have the time for whatever game this is.

[...there's probably a joke to be made here about a Time Lord not having any time.]