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The metal didn’t creak, didn’t hum - just... silent. The room was devoid of corners. Grey-white walls, soft light that gave no shadows, no time. No clock. No windows. No sounds beyond her own breathing.
Kate sat in a chair - hard, plastic, as if taken from the school canteen, only too new. She didn’t know how long it had been - hours? Days? But she didn’t dare ask. They wouldn’t answer anyway.
“Kate...” A voice cut through the silence, soft, almost caressing. “Tell me, how many times have we discussed this?”
She looked up. He was here again.
Colonel Ibrahim. Only... no. Not him. The face was his. The voice. The way he spoke. Even the look - the same, confident, but calm, with a slight tinge of concern. Only... the eyes. They were empty. Like there was no one inside.
“You’re not him!” Kate squeezed out through tight lips.
“But I remember the way you held his hand after the explosion in Archive 7. How you were trembling, but you didn’t let it show. How you said you had it under control. I am his memory. His voice. I am what’s left.”
Kate clenched her fists. She didn’t know who to believe anymore. That voice was too precise. They’d driven her into a trap built out of her own memories. And they’d used it.
“You’re not him. Christofer would never... never play games like this with me.”
“And if he did?” ‘He’ stepped closer, each step sounding like a drop on bare metal. “If you had to admit that you didn’t trust him. That you were afraid. That you wanted to hold on to him not because the charter required it, but because...you couldn’t lose another man.”
Kate looked away. Her heart was beating in her throat.
“You’re not him! Stop it! Go away...”
“Kate.” Softly, almost matter-of-factly. “We’ve been here a long time. A long time. And you still pretend you’re one of the strong ones. But I’ve seen you cry when you thought the cameras were off. I know how you whispered his name at night. Do you remember how his jacket smelled? Buckwheat tea, gun oil and wind. It’s all inside you. It won’t go away.”
She jumped up. Gasping.
“Stop it!” She screamed, and the walls shook. Or did they? “You’re not him. He wouldn’t let me break. And you want to.”
Silence. It’s like ‘Christofer’s’ face became a little less clear. Like in a bad dream.
“I don’t want you to break, Kate. I just want you to admit That you miss me. That you’re scared. That you want him to come in here - real, alive - and hold you. But he’s not. It’s just me. And you. And the infinite now.”
Kate sat back down. Her breath hitched. Her hands trembled.
And the voice - his voice - whispered again.
“Tell me. Just this once. Tell me you miss me.”
She closed her eyes.
And for the first time, she wasn’t sure whether to say ‘yes’ out of love... or out of desperation.
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
When was it yesterday? Today? Or had it been going on for ages?
Kate didn’t count the days-they didn’t exist. There was no time in the room, no boundaries, and she was beginning to think it was all her own hell, built of fear and regret.
Him. ‘Christofer’s’ phantom came more and more often. His voice grew quieter. More real.
“You knew.” He sat on the floor across from her, as if tired of being questioned. “When I walked into that lorry in Wales. You knew it might be booby-trapped. But you didn’t stop it. Why didn’t you?”
She clenched her fists.
“It was a mission. People on board. I couldn’t…"
“You could have. But you didn’t. Because you were afraid to be weak. To be afraid for someone is to put yourself in harm’s way. And you can’t love and survive at the same time, Kate.”
He said it so quietly, so evenly, as if he was suffering for it. Or maybe he was. Maybe her own pain, reflected in him, was what made him so alive.
But this time... something was different.
There was silence behind the wall. But she heard it. A slight click. As if someone had unlocked the door.
For the first time.
Kate stood up abruptly.
“What did you do?” The phantom’s voice trembled for the first time.
“It wasn’t me.” She whispered.
The door opened. Slowly. Without a sound. As if, for the first time in years, the mechanism remembered how to be a door again.
And there he was. The real him. Christofer. Her Christofer.
Tired, unshaven, in his UNIT uniform, with a patch she’d hand-stitched herself while he slept on the floor of headquarters. He was dishevelled, but alive.
“Kate...” His voice. Real. hoarse from the silence, but alive.
She didn’t move.
“If you’re another projection.” She said in a muffled voice. “I’ll break…”
He took a step forward. The second.
“You forgot the code. We came up with it ourselves in Sheffield. A condition of evacuation if anything goes wrong. Name it.”
She didn’t say anything. Her lips quivered.
“The kettle will boil twice.” He whispered.
Tears - not from his eyes, from his chest. Everything inside snapped like a taut string. She stepped forward, and he caught her before she fell.
He held her tightly, as if he was afraid, she would disappear if he let go. She sobbed into his shoulder, clawing at his straps with her fingernails, clinging like an anchor.
“You’re real. You’re real.” She whispered. “They... they made a copy of you. They... made me doubt. About myself. About you.”
“I know they did. I’ve seen the tapes. UNIT was looking for you. They kept you here - out of time. No coordinates. In some pocket dimension. Those things wanted to, uh. to break you. Through me.
She’s straightened up. Her face is still wet, but her gaze is the same.
“I will destroy them. Every last essence of them.”
He nodded. His fingers found her palm.
“I know. We’ll do it together.”