𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐠𝐨
𝐣𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲, 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓

from the eyes of
— 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐉𝐀𝐃𝐄 —

I stared long and hard at the big blue police box that sat ideally across the busy street. Chicago, despite the harsh cold and icy roads that winter brought, was busier than ever this fine afternoon.

Even with the many cars whizzing past, my gaze remained locked on the box, which was anything but subtle. A few people gave it a curious glance as they walked past it but nothing further.

My lips pursed as my head tilted. I knew better than to believe it was just some relic on the street made for decoration.

A police box was a public telephone kiosk that allowed the public to contact the police and for police officers to communicate with their station. And they only existed in London, not Chicago.

Oh yeah, and the police box went out of use sometime in the 70s due to radio and telephone lines.

Anyone familiar with the history of Earth should know such a thing. Then again, it's 2025, and most people barely give enough of a fuck to care about the present issues, let alone the past or future.

How long had I been stuck in the 2020s? About five years now... it's been five years since my Time Vortex Manipulator broke.

Piece of shit.

And with current technology, I was still about five years away from being able to fix it myself. Nothing that I needed to fix it had been invented yet leaving me to make everything from scratch.

Not being able to hop through time for so long was risky and it left me slightly exposed and very much in danger. I was basically a sitting duck the longer I stayed in one place.

However, the police box across the street was promising. Mostly because I am not an idiot and I recognize that the "police box" across the street is not actually a police box. It's only some of the most advanced technology ever created—a time machine crossed over with a spaceship.

Its cloaking tech must be broken; however, considering that it was in no way blending in with the public as being a damn police box.

A TARDIS, I believe is the correct phrase for the time machine. Technology created by the Time Lords of Gallifrey and lost along with the rest of the Gallifreyans after the Time War wiped them out a few hundred years ago.

Why the fuck did it look wrong? And what the fuck was one doing on the city streets of Chicago? The answer was not hard to grasp, it seemed an alien that I had heard much about finally crossed paths with me.

Fucking finally—I had only been looking and waiting since my Vortex Manipulator broke five years ago. Then again, as a half-breed who was practically immortal and unaffected by the passage of time, five years was nothing more than a blink of an eye.

Not when I was teetering at the edge of age 393 in actuality. However, physically, it seemed that 25 was my 'good luck charm'. Forever youthful but not a child. And not old.

Thank fuck.

And a better perk—I keep the same face. Unlike the sorta 'immortal' TimeLords who had to regenerate to stay alive. But if the legends are correct then they were capped at 12 regenerations... and after regeneration 12 then they kick the bucket.

I think?

This was all information and histories I had learned by word of mouth from various people throughout my travels. Before that piece of shit Vortex Manipulator broke and left me stranded, at least.

My mind flicked as I considered everything that had been left in my apartment. Nothing important. My broken Vortex Manipulator was wrapped around my wrist as it always remained. A Chicago Cubs baseball cap (America's favorite past time) was sat low on my head—and my backpack was filled with everything I would need.

After all, I never knew when I might need to make a hasty escape, therefore, keeping my backpack filled with everything I needed seriously came in clutch.

My view of the TARDIS was interrupted as the 1 o'clock bus pulled in front of me. I had been sitting at the bus stop waiting for it.

The people around me quickly shuffled aboard. And while I too stood up, rather than hop on the bus, I pulled my newly purchased energy drink from the confines of the backpack's water bottle holder.

Toward the end of last year (which was only a few weeks ago seeing as it's mid-January) this Austrian energy drink company called Red Bull came out with my all-time favorite energy drink flavor.

Not that I needed a pick-me-up seeing as I am a hoppy person as is, but damn, the Winter Edition Red Bull always seemed to hit the fucking spot.

Opening the can that I bought literally minutes before I sat at the bus stop, I sipped on it before practically flying across the busy street. Cars, of course, honked at me and I might have caused the tiniest crash, but it was the fastest way across the road.

Flurries started to fall from the sky catching my attention. There was supposed to be a big snowstorm tonight.

Beautiful planet Earth—got to love her.

Although I do hate the cold. Chicago hadn't been my first choice but after bouncing around all the warm parts of America for the last five years—I finally ran out of places to go.

Miami had been the last warm city I lived in right before I came here.

Finally, my attention snapped back to the blue machine that I now stood in front of.

Glorious.

Immediately I felt her presence. It was something no average human would ever be able to feel. The telepathic connection this gorgeous machine had was addicting.

I slowly walked around her, tracing the fingers of the hand that wasn't holding the Red Bull over her wood.

Or at least, the material that was made to appear and feel like wood but in actuality was not. I wondered what the true visage of this TARDIS was. As in what she would look like if she was not constantly disguised as a Police Box.

Walking around the TARDIS did not take long and soon I was back to the front of it. My hand fell to my side as I made my official decision.

"Do you care if I live here now?" I shamelessly questioned the spacecraft before taking another sip. A loud belch left me afterward—ugh, the fizz always hits right. "I'll be a good roommate, pinky promise!"

Thankfully, the people who lived in Chicago were both too busy and were used to crazy people to give a damn about me talking to what they perceived as an inanimate object.

I just looked like another crackhead.

To my surprise, the TARDIS lock clicked open, and the door was suddenly ajar.

I can't believe that actually worked! Especially considering I like totally burped at it.

Grinning, I wasted no time in stepping inside happily.

"Why, thank you, ma'am...!" I chirped, closing the door right behind me.

My footsteps echoed as I stepped past the metal grating. The sight that greeted me was nothing short of awe-inspiring.

I was greeted with perhaps one of the most remarkable console rooms I had ever seen. An amazing albeit empty console room—it would appear that the pilot was not home. No wonder the TARDIS doors were previously locked.

Unsurprisingly, it was much bigger on the inside

The TARDIS console room stretched before me, a mixture of golden-orange light cascading from the towering glass column in the center of the room. Strange, pulsating hums filled the air as if the ship itself were alive and breathing.

She was nothing like any other spacecraft in existence.

The console, an eclectic mix of levers, buttons, and odd trinkets, seemed to be cobbled together from the most disparate of parts—some ancient, others impossibly advanced. It sat on a raised platform, surrounded by a maze of walkways and staircases that led to other unseen parts of the ship. Above, the ceiling curved high into a domed structure, ribbed with glowing arches that pulsed faintly, as if syncing with the heartbeat of the universe.

"I think I'm going to love it here..." I muttered to myself.

After five years and much planning, it finally came together. And completely by chance at that. To think that I bought a one-way ticket to London and I was meant to leave in a few weeks all in the hope that it would be easier to find the Doctor—the last of the TimeLords there. According to those who knew of him, that was the place he frequented when he was on this planet. It was also the place that practically all of his companions hailed from.

Hopefully the TimeLord didn't have anything against American women.

Nevertheless, it seemed I would not need to use that airline ticket, after all. Thank the universe for that, I hated traveling by such archaic methods.

My mind worked quickly and like a clock. Everything had to be perfect, my lies had to be seamless. Assuming the Doctor was everything and more that people had spoken of, he would be able to sniff out lies quickly.

He was one of the most intelligent creatures in this universe.

But I had been preparing myself for this for a long time—the fate of the universe, no literal reality, rested on my shoulders.

A fucked situation for sure. It was a miracle that the Doctor himself was somehow still blind to the situation, and that we had somehow not crossed paths before.

But now it all came down to my ability to lie and on the hope that traveling with the Doctor as his companion will shield and hide me from the true threats.

The sad truth of the matter was that I could trust practically no one, and that included the Doctor. Because if he knew the truth then I can't imagine what he would do, but it was certainly nothing good.

For me, at least, according to most he was generically a good person. Like uber good. Like save the cosmos time and time again good.

Which was good. Great even.

If this was anything else then I probably would be able to trust him. More than just trust, actually, I could completely dump the problem (it was like WAY more than just a 'problem') on him, leaving him to deal with it and call it a day.

Wipe my hands clean and live out the rest of my long damned eternity in peace.

But sometimes for things to work you had to play between the rules. Sometimes you had to stop caring how you get things done and just get it done.

Sometimes... very rarely... but sometimes it was the 'bad guy' who could see the greater good.

It was all for the greater good. And in this case, most might consider me the 'bad guy'.

The Doctor would no doubt view me as such as well. And even if he could understand, he wouldn't agree and he would ultimately stop me.

This was the only way. To use him for a greater purpose.

Trust nobody.

Living by that rule has saved me plenty of times—it's why I'm still alive.

Then again, breaking into his ship was definitely only proving that I myself could not be trusted either. Nor was it the best way to introduce myself to this old savior alien. But it was also his ship that welcomed me inside, so... whatcha gon' do?

Humming, I quickly took off my winter jacket and placed it on one of the seats around the console. It was rather warm in here, a nice contrast to the harsh cold outside.

Upon my winter jacket coming off, the ugly Christmas sweater that I wore underneath was on full display. Not only was it ugly, but most would even consider it inappropriate.

Alright, who am I kidding? Everyone would consider it inappropriate. I personally thought it was funny.

Especially because it's January, but I s̶t̶o̶l̶e̶ bought this and will stay wearing it until it proves to be too hot.

The sweater was quite simple, a holly-jolly green with bold white letters printed on it.

It read: I'M SO GOOD SANTA CAME TWICE.

Hilarious, as soon as I saw it I had to have it. Especially seeing as I definitely hooked up with a suspiciously good-looking old man who had been dressed up as Santa Claus in a mall.

His name was John, and he was way too fit and far hotter than should be legal for a 50-something-year-old man.

Oh yeah, and he was Scottish.

Talk about daddy vibes.

It was a fun night and I certainly don't remember most of it after he agreed to go with me to a bar downtown.

12 drinks will do that to you.

But John was well-off and retired. He was only playing Santa Claus because he enjoyed it.

"For the kids," He had claimed, very Scottishly at that.

Is that a word? Scottishly? Oh well, it is now!

It was a miracle that he didn't give me a kid of my own that night. But then again—even if I didn't look it—we were both much too old to deal with a baby.

Also fuck kids, they kinda suck.

Not to mention getting knocked up from a one-night-stand by a human about to push into his elderly years would be something I could never live down.

We never saw each other again. John was pretty proud and sorta flustered when he woke up next to me the following morning.

Proud because, fuck yeah, he still had it well into his 50s. And exasperated because, in his words; "I can't believe you did this to me..." whatever the fuck that meant, but he sounded more bemused than angry.

It was probably because of my age. He looked double my age. Hot but double my physical age.

I did not bother to tell him my actual age. Average humans who were otherwise unaware of space and all things between would not be able to wrap their minds around a woman who looked and acted 25 actually being 393.

Back to the point though!

Considering I had no clue what the Doctor looked like or where the hell the alien currently was—I decided to explore more of the place. Readjusting my backpack, I hopped away from the console and toward the corridor nearest to me.

The TARDIS hummed beneath my feet, the sound reminiscent of a heartbeat. The corridor seemed endless—infinite.

The first room I stumbled upon seemed innocuous at first: a library. But then I noticed the ceiling stretched higher than a cathedral, the shelves spiraling endlessly upward. Books hovered mid-air, flipping pages of their own accord, as if eager to share their secrets. One floated past me, its title written in a language I couldn't comprehend, yet it resonated as though I already knew its story.

Further down the corridor, I found a swimming pool—though calling it a "pool" felt like an understatement. The water shimmered unnaturally, catching light from nowhere, and the surrounding walls seemed to flicker with projections of alien oceans and starry skies. The air was cool, and the ozone smelled faintly.

Then, there was the wardrobe room. My breath caught at the sheer magnitude of it. Racks upon racks of clothing stretched into infinity—Victorian ball gowns next to spacesuits, feathered cloaks, and something that looked suspiciously like armor made of light. I couldn't resist running my fingers over a crimson velvet coat.

A gleaming sword caught my attention, and humming I swung it around for a small while. Interestingly enough, it fit my figure and its weight was perfect.

But the most intriguing of all was a room that defied all logic. The moment I stepped inside, I was weightless. Miniature yet astonishingly detailed planets orbited lazily around my head. I reached out to touch one—a gas giant with swirling purple storms—and it responded, emitting a low hum that felt like a greeting. The room seemed alive, a tiny galaxy contained within four walls.

As I wandered, I truly understood that the TARDIS really wasn't just a machine—it was a universe unto itself, each room a fragment of its infinite soul. And I had barely scratched the surface.

There was a kitchen that I came across, but it was very strange. It did not appear as most kitchens on a spaceship did. Rather, it looked straight out of a 60s home magazine. Light green walls, pastel appliances, and a large fridge filled with various leftovers.

I sat around snacking on Poptarts that I found in the cupboard for a short while before continuing on.

A few rooms stood out as I walked. Doors that had a name and had painted wood instead of steel. They were spread out from one another.

Their knobs were round brass and when you went to touch it, there was a whisper of warmth. As if someone just held it before me. It was fucking creepy.

"Martha" had grooves and was painted beige.

"Donna" was a light blue with some flourish on the door knob.

"Rose", as the name suggests, was a dusted pink with small, colorful flowers.

"Song of the River" was made of pure gold with intricate carvings, this door was much further down—located on a corner wall of its own. Very easy to miss, unless you're nosy like me.

I wondered what "Song of the River" meant; a name of a person? A music room, perhaps?

My curiosity could not be quenched, my questions about what was behind the doors going unanswered. Each of them was locked shut, so tightly in fact, that the door knob didn't wiggle no matter how much force was put in them.

And I was pretty strong.

Old companions were the likely answer. The entire reason that I found myself looking for the last TimeLord in the first place. His protection under the guise of being just another one of his "companions".

To him and nearly everyone else, I would be nothing more than another stray he picked up off the streets of some city. At least, that's what rumor has it he does.

British lady strays, at least. Hopefully an 'American' didn't change that.

However, it would appear that it was time to put the rumor as well my lying skills to the test. The TARDIS seemed to have rounded me back toward the console room, no doubt for the reason of the pilot himself having just returned.

My hearing picked up on the door opening as well as excited voices. Two to be precise—a man and a woman. The man was British and the woman Scottish.

Perfect, so it looked like it didn't only need to be British lady companions.

Although, I can speak any Earth language and turn my voice to any accent.

I briefly considered going British but that would not make much sense seeing as I was supposedly coming from Chicago.

It would make the Doctor more suspicious.

"I've always wanted to try Chicago pizza, I think I like it more than New York!" The Scottish woman was laughing.

The British man replied. "I offer you any point in all of time and space and you still choose to come here! But I do suppose Chicago has some of the best pizza in existence during this time, Pond..." The man sounded exuberant, indeed.

I knew without a doubt that this was the voice of the infamous Doctor. The one they call 'the Oncoming Storm'.

Hopefully, he is as kind as some claim. Then again, I was probably stretching his kindness seeing as I am about to reveal myself as having broken into his home.

I took another swing of my Redbull at that thought.

"Doctor, whose coat is this?" The woman asked just as I turned the corner and could see into the console room.

She was a beautiful and tall young woman. Flaming red framing a round face and even rounder brown eyes. Her skin was very pale. The woman adorned a low-riding skirt with cowboy boots and a brown leather jacket.

Interesting.

Peak outfit from the very early 2010s if I had to guess.

She was holding my puffy jacket with her face twisted in confusion.

The Doctor was not what I expected. Then again, I was not exactly sure what to expect. When you hear so much about a powerful immortal creature who is the last of his species—it definitely causes some imaginative pictures.

I, for one, envisioned a dude with golden skin... while I didn't think he'd look old I imagined at least middle-age appearing... maybe an all-powerful telekinetic stone stuck in the middle of his head... he might even have Gallifreyan runes tattooed all over him. Like a gladiator.

None of this was the case.

The Doctor, or who I presume is the Doctor, at least, was staring at the jacket in his companion's grasp with the utmost confusion.

The man before me—if "man" is even the right word—stood with an air of barely restrained energy, like he might leap into motion at any moment. He was tall and lean, his movements sharp yet strangely fluid, like a bowstring held taut. His face was young, but there was something in his eyes—a deep, ancient knowing that didn't belong in someone who couldn't have been much older than 27. That was the first hint that he wasn't like anyone I'd ever met.

That's saying something considering I was nearing 400 years of age myself.

And then there was his outfit. A tweed jacket that looked like it had been borrowed from a bygone era, elbow patches and all. A bowtie, too—not the ironic kind people wore to make a statement, but one he wore with unapologetic sincerity, as though it was the most natural thing in the world. Suspenders peeked out when he moved, and his trousers were slightly too short, exposing boots that were well-worn but clearly chosen with care. It was like someone had rifled through a history book and picked out their favorite pieces, then slapped them together without a second thought.

Yet somehow, it worked.

His hair was the opposite of his clothes—messy, unruly like it was in the middle of a fight against gravity. A single errant strand drooped onto his forehead, adding to the air of boyishness that was so at odds with his eyes.

Those eyes. They were old, impossibly so, but bright with curiosity and mischief.

He looked entirely human. And yet, if one studied him close enough then it became apparent that he wasn't. There was something about him—a slightly too quick tilt of his head, a gaze that seemed to measure the weight of a moment far beyond what most could see. It wasn't threatening, though. Just... odd. In a fascinating way.

And, if I'm being honest, in a way that was handsome. Not conventionally so—his features were a bit too sharp, his movements a touch too restless—but in his own right. There was a charisma in the way he carried himself, a kind of charm that wasn't really about how he looked, but about him.

Handsome, I decided. Strange, but undeniably handsome.

But who was I to judge knowing that I was more than strange myself?

I stood quietly in the archway that connected one of the corridors to the console room, watching the exchange.

"I'm not sure, Amy," His voice took on a more serious tone than he had previously been speaking with. "Bring it over here, please..."

Amy walked over to the Doctor, meeting him by the controls as the Doctor took the jacket from her and proceeded to take a long whiff of it. He quickly leaned away from it, staring at the article of clothing with huge eyes.

I wondered if my jacket stank? When was the last time I washed it?

Yikes...

"Ugh, Doctor, gross—! What are you doing?" She scowled at his weirdness.

He turned it every which direction, almost as though looking for something about to jump out at him.

Unfortunately, he would find no such thing. It was just a simple puffer that I thrifted from a random Goodwill last year.

Nothing special about it.

Nevertheless, the Doctor looked at the jacket as though it was the most interesting thing in the universe.

He did not answer for a while, only staring at the jacket for a very long moment until his gaze lifted to the woman he called Amy.

"It's January! We're in Chicago and it's January!" He was suddenly exhilarated, grabbing Amy by the shoulders and shaking her excitedly with his words.

Amy yelped before speaking. "And? What's that supposed to mean, Doctor?"

"It means it's time—oh, yes, it's definitely time! How could I let this slip my mind, I've only been waiting for..." He released Amy, pulling up the sleeve of his jacket to look at his wristwatch. "2 years... 7 months... 8 days... 11 hours... and 56 seconds!"

"You're waiting for something? What're you waiting for? What's supposed to happen today?" Amy's Scottish accent got thicker as she too became excited.

The Doctor continues to flounder around in a funny kind of manner. I tilted my head at the scene now utterly confused. It was my puffer jacket that Amy found, after all.

He opened his mouth to speak, but I just couldn't help myself. Something in me became eager; his excitement was contagious, and I was a victim of it.

"Does it have something to with me?" My mouth was running before I could stop myself, my hold on the Redbull becoming just the slightest bit tighter.

Amy jumped snapping her head to look at me as the Doctor whirled around at the sound.

Our eyes met for the first time. His gaze spoke a million things, so many words and emotions that I could not even hope to decipher. But he looked so happy and relieved. Even as I had never met him, it was like basking in the presence of a familiar friend.

His smile faltered for just a moment. There was a weight in him, something unspoken.

"Hello," He greeted softly—kindly—rubbing his hands together nervously.

"Hello..." I greeted back, head tilted in curiosity.

"What the hell—who're you?!" Amy finally questioned. "Doctor, do you know her?"

The Doctor and I broke eye contact as he turned to the redhead.

"Why, yes, of course, I do!" He happily said at the same time I answered a simple 'no'. "Although you did fail to mention that you break on board my TARDIS, dearest," He turned, still excited, but his voice had dipped into a playful scolding that had me furrowing my brows.

Alright, so apparently this was a bit more complicated than I thought.