So to let you guys know, I'm doing college class again, but it's on Saturdays and Mondays at 8 and 9 am.
And also, why I didn't post was because it was my birthday on the 15th, yayyy! 😀 and then I got sick, really bad shit was painful, then I got in a Roblox game, anime vanguards xdÂ
Btw, there might be a part 2, or rewrite for this cause, I don't like how it came out
I probably will make a bio chapter later when there are more chapters, but I just want to say the engineer is a hero. I know people on Webnovel dont really like heroes that are really nice(like Superman), don't expect her to just go on a killing rampage on people unless there Daleks or cybermen
So dont expect her to be a dick to others like the doctor unless she's madÂ
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The house was quiet when she shut the door behind her. Too quiet.
Her boots squeaked against the warped floorboards as she stepped inside, shoulders hunched like she was trying to shrug off the whole damn world. Outside, the streets of London buzzed with the same indifference they always had, cars rattling over potholes, neon signs flickering, humans shuffling through their lives. Normal. Forgettable.
But in the eyes of the UNIT soldiers she'd worked beside? She hadn't been human. She hadn't been "normal."
She'd been Death.
Their faces still haunted her—the way men twice her size with weapons in their hands had gone pale, had stepped back from her like she was radioactive, like she carried some inevitability in her veins. No matter how casual she tried to be, no matter how many jokes she cracked, the truth was in their stares: they hadn't seen a woman. They'd seen something older. Something that wasn't supposed to be standing in front of them.
She tossed her trench coat over the couch and sank into her chair by the little desk she'd cobbled together out of scavenged parts. Her laptop hummed weakly as it powered on. She chewed her lip, her purple eyes reflecting back faintly in the black screen.
"…Why the hell did they look at me like that?" she muttered.
The System stayed quiet this time. Omega pulsed faintly in her coat pocket but didn't "speak" either. She was left alone with her thoughts.
The laptop booted. She opened a browser.
"Let's see what I will do."
She typed slowly, like saying a name out loud in a haunted house:
"The Engineer."
The results slammed into her like a freight train. Hits came up, but not just engineering jobs or universities. Strange, hidden threads—cryptid wikis, dusty scans of academic papers, conspiracy forums.
All of her.
Not exactly her, but it's always close enough to be undeniable.
 "The Purple-ClockWorkEyed Woman: History's Most Persistent Cryptid."
Pages upon pages. Paranormal forums. Folklore archives. Even Wikipedia had an entry.
She raised an eyebrow about that. "I do have purple eyes, but it's not clockwork. Did something happen to my eyes?"
Her stomach twisted as she clicked the first link.
The Engineer – Global Folklore Entity
A recurring figure in human myth, spanning thousands of years and multiple cultures. Characterized by distinctive traits:
– Black hair with purple streaks or white
– Purple, clock-like eyes
– Garments marked with the Omega symbol
– Accompanied by a strange sound described as a clock's tick mixed with a death whistle
Witnesses describe the figure as either a harbinger of catastrophe or a savior arriving at pivotal moments in history.
The being seems to be able to change its form itÂ
Her throat went dry. She clicked.
The page opened to a black-and-white sketch: a woman slim and strong, with black hair streaked white, clockwork eyes glowing faintly purple. A trenchcoat marked with a symbol: Ω.
The caption chilled her.
"The Engineer. Documented across at least 4,000 years of human history. Known by many names. None survived unchanged after meeting her."
"The Engineer, the unholy offspring of time and death itself, is unknown if it is a devil, a god, or a curse. Said to appear at moments of great death or healing. Always accompanied by a whistling sound and the ticking of unseen clocks."
"Never engage this being, your only chance is to hide and pray she does not find you
There she was.
Not exactly her — but always close enough to be undeniable.
[Archival voice, modern English translation.]
"This is the earliest known textual evidence for the entity later labeled The Engineer.
Carbon dating places it roughly five centuries before the rise of Uruk.
Linguistic markers imply the scribe had no framework for technology—what he describes as 'light without flame' and 'house that walks' may indicate a vessel or structure capable of movement and luminescence far beyond the period."
— Dr. Lena Rhys, Department of Parahistorical Studies, Cambridge.
Dr. Rhys's tone in the recovered reel is professional but tight. The hum behind her microphone betrays the unease in the room. On the table lies a photograph: the fragment's surface under ultraviolet. The grooves form an outline that no one expected—symmetrical arcs and a central circle call it an Omega sigil.
Engineer stare hard at the arcs on screen because, while it might seem like a random circle to humans, but to engineer, it looks likeÂ
"Isn't that the language of Gallifrey?"
A Sumerian tablet carving: a tall figure with clocks for eyes holding what looked like a burning gear.
The oldest written mention of her comes from a broken clay tablet recovered near the ruins of Uruk. The translation, though incomplete, reads like a prayer and a curse intertwined:
"The Woman of the Turning Sky walked among us. Her eyes were of purple flame, and her hair streaked like stormlight. She bore the mark of the Circle that Devours Itself. Where she walked, the dead whispered and the sick stood again."
Archaeologists at first dismissed the account as an allegory, but carbon dating confirmed that the tablet predates any known Sumerian concept of circular infinity or Omega symbolism.
By 2200 BCE, she appears again in Egyptian temple murals, always in the background, never named, her hand hovering over her face, hiding it
Over the next thousand years, new depictions surface like echoes through time. Wall carvings in predynastic Egypt show a tall woman with hair black as pitch, streaked white in front, standing before a pillar of mirrored stone. Greek pottery calls her Khronarchē, "the Architect of Hours." Always the same details:
eyes of violet light;
the halo of clock-gears turning behind her;
the great "house" or "tower" that changes shape but hums with the same low resonance, a note neither mortal nor divine.
"Which I'm guessing that whistle of death is the sound my tardis makes when the brakes are on, like what happens with the doctor."
Every age reacts differently. Sumerians carved prayers. Romans founded a cult the Fraternitas Tempus, that offered sacrifices of broken clocks. Crusaders swore they saw her standing over battlefields, cloak torn and eyes burning through the storm, raising the dying to fight once more. During the Black Death, monks in plague masks painted her guiding souls with a hand of light.
In each depiction, her expression shifts: sorrow in one century, calm amusement in the next. Never cruelty. Always inevitability.
Historians note that the myths evolve alongside human progress: whenever humanity reaches a new threshold fire, bronze, gunpowder, atomic energy—the Engineer's "house" reappears, changed to mirror their understanding. The fortress breathes like a living thing, its walls folding and reforming in geometric pulses.Â
Renaissance painting: In the corner of a fresco depicting a plague, a pale woman in a dark coat, purple eyes watching, hand resting on the shoulder of a dying king.
World War I photograph: Blurred, but unmistakable, a trench full of soldiers, one figure too tall, standing amidst smoke, eyes glowing faint clockwork violet. The caption read: The Death Woman.
Medieval tapestry: A battle scene. Knights clashing. In the background, a figure in black with white-streaked hair. A whistle was stitched into the scene like sound made visible.
Urban legends, modern blogs: Survivors recounting stories of a whistle in the dark, a presence watching, and a woman in a trenchcoat appearing where death and chaos gather.
A photo, early 1900s, a grainy black-and-white of a woman in a trenchcoat, an omega symbol painted bold across her chest. Soldiers blurred around her. The caption read: "The Watcher in the Somme, 1916."
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