"Time Crash Redux" - Part One

 

Part One

“Ugh! These pants, man! I think they’re losin’ the ongoing war with my butt. I swear, just when I think this regeneration has shown all of its surprises, another comes along and tests my wardrobe!”

Thomas loved traveling with his father, especially this sixth incarnation of him.

In physical appearance, Rania was a beautiful brunette in her early to mid-twenties. She had an athletic body that was complemented by the fitted black top she wore, clinging to her frame—practical and embellished—emphasizing movement over decoration. It was the kind of clothing chosen by someone who expects to act at any moment—run, fight, build, fix. There’s no wasted space in it, no excess. Just function shaped into form.

Then there were her pants…the ones she was in the process of griping about.

A worn-in pair of earthy brown jeans that looked like they had seen more than a few timelines. The fabric had that lived-in quality—not distressed for style, but naturally broken in from movement, travel, and the kind of situations where standing still wasn’t an option. Subtle creases at the hips and knees suggested constant motion, like she was always either arriving or leaving.

They were functional above all else. The snug fit wasn’t about fashion—it kept everything streamlined, nothing to snag or slow her down when she was climbing, sprinting, or ducking through tight spaces in a TARDIS or some off-world structure. The waistband sat securely, practical enough that she didn’t have to think about it, which was exactly how she liked things—one less variable in an unpredictable universe.

But there was also that quiet confidence woven into them. She didn’t wear them to stand out, yet they accentuated her presence anyway. Like the rest of her, they struck a balance—uncomplicated, efficient, and undeniably intentional.

And if she complained about them being tight, it was probably half genuine… and half her way of reminding Thomas that even a Time Lord wasn’t immune to something as annoyingly human as clothes that didn’t quite cooperate.

Truth be told, the old monolith had gotten too quiet lately.

Rania figured it was the lack of one cute little 9-year-old kid from a magical place called ‘The Creek’ running around the ship. Unlike her preceding incarnation (Scarlet), who was always against Craig accompanying them on their journeys across the Infinite DC, Rania really wanted Craig to join in on the fun. Unfortunately, because Scarlet was so convincing in her arguments, Thomas wouldn’t bend. But Rania wasn’t giving up.

No. It was something else.

Rania noticed it, too.

When they arrived at the console room, she stood at the console, her fingers hovered over a cluster of glowing Gallifreyan symbols, her expression tightening—not in panic, but in recognition. “Neas…” she whispered.

Thomas glanced up from the opposite side of the room.

She didn’t look at him. “Something is wrong.”

The lights dimmed—not fading, but failing, like reality itself was losing confidence.

Then—

The monolith screamed.

Thomas had never heard it do that before.

Not the engines—not the time rotors—not even during a temporal inversion cascade over New Barcelona—nothing like this. The sound wasn’t mechanical. It was alive. Like time itself had lungs and was gasping for air.

“Okay…okay, that’s new,” Thomas muttered, gripping the central console as golden Gallifreyan symbols flickered wildly across the walls.

The interior shifted—no, glitched. One second it was the familiar warm amber of the TARDIS-like chamber…the next, it was a frozen wasteland…then a neon city…then—

Everything snapped.

Rania’s voice cut through the chaos: “We’re not drifting.” She turned, eyes sharp. “We’ve been hit.”

The air split open.

A vertical fracture of blinding light tore through the center of the room.

Time folded inward—

And someone stepped through.

Boots hitting the floor like she belonged there.

Dark hair pulled back, eyes sharp, posture coiled like a spring ready to snap. She didn’t look surprised. She looked annoyed.

Yet, at the same time, she was calm…controlled…unbothered.

Collecting herself, Rania studied the woman who had entered through the fracture, seeing how she stood with an effortless, grounded confidence, her posture straight and unyielding, hands resting at her hips as if she owned not just the room, but the timeline itself. There was a physical strength to her—defined arms, controlled power in every line of her body—that spoke of a life lived in motion, in battle, in relentless forward momentum. She wasn’t just strong; she was tempered, like something forged and reforged across centuries.

Her dress—a deep emerald green with subtle black floral patterns—clung and flowed in equal measure, elegant yet practical. It felt intentional, like armor disguised as grace. The high collar framed her neck with quiet authority, while the slit along her leg hinted at mobility, readiness—she could step into a fight as easily as she could walk into a royal court.

Her face was where the paradox lived.

Her eyes were sharp and focused—dark, almond-shaped, framed by clean, deliberate lines that gave her a naturally intense gaze. They didn’t wander. They locked on. When she looked at someone, it felt like she had already measured them, understood them, and decided exactly how much of herself they were allowed to see.

And now, they were all over the console room.

She froze. “…Oh.” Then she slowly exhaled.“아… 진짜야?” (Ah… seriously?)

Rania’s ears twitched beneath her long brown locks. That’s Korean she’s speaking, she thought. Plainly obvious from the woman’s ethnicity.

Thomas blinked. “…Hi?”

Rania didn’t speak. She was staring…not at Thomas…at the Korean woman. Recognition hit her instantly. “Oh…Neas…”

The Korean woman turned. Her eyes met Thomas’s.

And for the first time, the Korean woman’s confidence cracked. “…You.”

Rania smiled softly. Not surprised. Not threatened. Just…knowing. “You’re a long way from where you’re meant to be.”

Thomas looked between them. “…Okay, I’m missing something.”

“Neas,” Rania said, “she’s you!”

A long, measuring pause. And then Thomas straightened and breathed, “Oh, wow. She’s me.”

She walked a slow circle around him, arms folded, studying him like a flawed blueprint. “Younger me,” she corrected. “Prototype phase.”

“I am not a prototype,” he argued.

She tilted her head. “Mm. Version 11, right?” She pointed to herself and said simply, “I’m version 20.”

Thomas froze. “…No.”

She gave him a tight smile. “Yes. Hi. Chu Hyun. 미래에서 왔어.” (I’m from the future.)

Rania witnessed the interaction between the two Gladiators gleefully. She always found it adorable to watch Neas’s incarnations whenever they crossed each other’s timelines. It was better than whenever she crossed with one of her own—particularly one past bald regeneration.

Suddenly, the console erupted in warning lights.

Both Thomas and Chu Hyun moved at once. Same instinct, same motion.

The resemblance between them was unmistakable to Rania. It was in Chu Hyun’s eyes. The stance. The quiet defiance. The way she looked like she was already ten steps ahead of whatever came next. Where Thomas might’ve carried curiosity and chaos, Chu Hyun carried certainty and consequence. She was what happened when that same soul had seen too much—and decided to keep going anyway.

If Thomas was the question…Chu Hyun was the answer.

They collided at the controls, hands brushing the same switches, voices overlapping—

“Temporal feedback—”

“—loop forming—”

They stopped and looked at each other.

“…Okay, that’s weird,” Thomas muttered.

“Get used to it,” Chu Hyun said, already working. “We’re in a Time Crash Loop.”

He frowned. “Like a paradox collision?”

“Worse.” She tapped a panel—two overlapping timelines spiraled into each other like a double helix tearing itself apart. “Two incarnations. Same space. Same time.”

“And the universe doesn’t like that.”

She gave him a look. “The universe is about five seconds away from having a complete mental breakdown.”

Rania, meanwhile, had gone very still. She wasn’t looking at the console anymore. She was looking at the dark. “…It followed you,” she said quietly.

Chu Hyun’s jaw tightened. “…Yeah.”

Thomas frowned. “What followed—”

The lights bent.

Not dimmed.

Bent.

Like they were being pulled toward something that didn’t exist in this dimension.

They were being eaten.

A shadow moved—not across the room, but through it. Between frames of existence.

Thomas felt it before he saw it. A presence that didn’t belong to time.

“...What is that?” he whispered.

Chu Hyun’s expression hardened. “Chronophage.”