Chapter Text
Oliver is standing in line for coffee when the world decides he is something else.
It isn’t dramatic. There’s no flash of light, no scream, no sudden wind. Just the soft, creeping sensation of being noticed by something that does not care who you are—only what you resemble.
Emma is beside him, nose buried in a book she insists is for school but is very clearly about a haunted lighthouse.
“You’re going to miss it,” Oliver says mildly.
“I’m not,” she replies without looking up. “The barista does that thing where she taps the spoon on the cup twice. That’s when it’s ready.”
“That is disturbingly observant.”
She grins.
The door opens.
The temperature shifts.
Every human in the room pauses in that way people do when a shadow passes over the sun.
Heavy boots strike tile.
Armour fills the doorway.
A Judoon.
The creature’s helmet rotates, scanning. Its weapon hums—not charging, just… present. The barista drops a spoon. It rings far too loudly.
Oliver knows, in the same instant everyone else does, that this is not for them.
It is for him.
The Judoon locks on.
“Wo flo sho kro no to blo.”
The translator clicks.
“Doctor-unit located.”
Oliver swallows.
Emma looks up.
They move quickly. Not violently. Efficiently. Two more Judoon enter, flanking. The café becomes a holding area. Humans become furniture.
Emma’s chair scrapes as she stands.
“That’s not—” she starts.
Oliver puts a hand out. Not to stop her.
To anchor her.
“I’m not the Doctor,” he says clearly.
The Judoon tilts its head.
“Wo sho flo no.” A translation again. “Doctor-unit confirmed. Anomalous signature matches.”
“Look at me,” Oliver says. “Look properly. I’m human.”
The Judoon’s scanner flickers.
“Deviation acknowledged. Human subtype recorded. Doctor-unit has exhibited variance previously.”
That’s worse.
Emma’s skin prickles. “They think you’re him,” she whispers.
Another Judoon turns toward her.
Its scanner pings.
“Secondary pattern detected. Companion-unit present.”
Emma blinks. “Oh. No.”
Oliver’s hand tightens, just a fraction.
“She’s a child.”
“Companion-units frequently juvenile,” the translator reports.
Oliver feels something cold settle in his chest.
He kneels.
Right there on the café floor.
Puts himself at Emma’s eye level.
“They’re going to take us somewhere,” he says softly. “They think they need me. They think they need you because of me. I’m going to keep you safe. I promise. But you have to stay with me. Not them.”
Emma nods. Once. Hard.
The Judoon waits. It is not impatient. It is inevitable.
Oliver stands.
“All right,” he says. “But you listen to me. She is not an asset. She is not expendable. She is with me.”
The Judoon processes.
“Doctor-unit authority acknowledged.”
That’s how it happens.
Not with terror.
With classification.
The world steps sideways.
And Bannerman Road doesn’t know yet that two of its pillars have been quietly removed.