Since We'll Forget

The Trap

The statue led the pair of them practically to the other end of the city. It seemed the bomb at the Pinnacle wasn't the only one to have gone off; they picked their way through block after block of ruined streets, with scenes much the same as the one they'd just left.

How much more destruction could the statues do?

The crunch of rubble underfoot and the cacophonous screaming, praying, and sobbing faded in and out of Yaz's consciousness. Eventually, she'd gotten so used to it that, by the time they'd entered one of the crumbled buildings and the statue had shut the door behind them, her ears rang with the silence.

It was dark inside, and as they fumbled through, desperately trying to follow the sounds of the statue's echoing footsteps, Yaz was surprised that she didn't trip on rubble or choke on dust. This building had looked only slightly less decimated than the rest-- shouldn't they be afraid that it might cave in at any second?

Then, just as she was wondering how much longer she and Tapaxi could bungle through the dark without falling over or getting lost, there was a great cracking sound and torches came to life all around the walls. They sat in intricate, golden brackets of a fine filigree, and the walls, Yaz noticed, appeared to be some sort of deep green velvet. The floors and ceiling were made of the same warm mahogany, unevenly worn into a smooth patina. A vast blue ornamental rug sat in the middle of the room under a large glass chandelier, which, alongside the torches, cast a comforting, homey glow over everything.

The statue turned to face them, suddenly looking cheaply-made and very out of place here.

"This is the Illia. We are safe from the destruction here."

"Great," Yaz replied savagely. "Safe in the hands of a great plastic dummy."

The statue ignored them and continued walking through a wooden archway at the end of the room that neither Yaz nor Tapaxi had seen a moment ago. They followed it, and suddenly they were in a boiling-hot room thick with steam and humidity. An enormous vat stood in the center, and Yaz could see an angry-looking orange liquid bubbling and sloshing around inside. It stunk of melted plastic.

"This is the Consciousness," the statue said. "She will see you now."

Without meaning to, Yaz found herself and Tapaxi taking slow, wobbling steps toward the vat.

"What is this?" Yaz asked, her voice growing infuriatingly desperate. "Where's the Doctor?"

As she said this, something within Yaz constricted.

'She's alive,' she told herself. 'They're bluffing. Even if this thing says she's gone, it's bluffing.'

"Fool," came a deeper, more terrible voice from within the vat. "The Doctor is lost. Dead."

"You're wrong!" Yaz exclaimed, still unable to stop herself from moving forward. "I saw it, she escaped, she..."

"She is gone, is she not, my child?" the Consciousness said.

Yaz blinked. She wasn't sure what to say.

Then Tapaxi spoke, his voice shaking a little.

"She's gone."

Yaz's mouth hung open as she turned to stare at Tapaxi. He continued looking straight ahead, walking forward with her.

"What did you do?" she asked numbly.

Tapaxi said nothing, but continued walking forward.

"You've done well," the Consciousness said. "You will be rewarded with your life. Yasmin Khan, however..."

"No, no, no," Tapaxi said, stopping in his tracks. "That wasn't part of the deal. You said I plant the bombs and that's it. There was nothing about bringing me here, and nothing about killing her or the Doctor. 'Kill the Doctor,' and right before the bomb went off, too. I did my best. I could've been killed then and there!"