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They call her the Task Phantom of Polus.
The name changes sometimes. The Task Master. Simply 'The Phantom'. No one knows what colour she was originally, reports straying from one moment to the next, some saying they saw a flash of lime green, a hint of red, the purest white of a phantom. Those who got regenerated always say they didn't see any ghost that didn't belong in their group. Some don't believe, others do so quietly, and yet others more loudly.
The method of calling her changes; some say she cannot be called, and only does as she wishes, others insist they've seen wires move before their eyes. Plenty don't understand why someone wouldn't choose to be regenerated, and no one knows for certain what happens to those unregenerated within the time.
But the rumour persists, in the cafeteria on the Skeld, murmured by the vending machines in the Mira HQ. It changes a bit, but ultimately it never goes away. Enough people have seen things unexplainable by science to believe in some way, and there's always the hope of her help.
They say, if you're in dire need, if there's an imposter on the loose or your card just won't scan, ask for her. You might just get a miracle.
At least, that's what he's hoping for. The eerie silence of Polus pools around him, only interrupted by gusts of wind and the bloop of a lava bubble popping. He doesn't know how many are left, but he knows there's an imposter. A prolific one; by the time the first body got reported, there were already three gone. Polus is too big, and he rarely runs into people, but it's just too silent.
And a miracle is what he needs. Before him are wires, cut and tangled and all generally a mess of colours he can't see well enough.
He clasps his hands together, takes a brief look around to check he is truly alone, and squashes his eyes shut.
"Task Phantom Task Phantom Task Phantom," he tries, shakily, waiting a moment before opening one eye. A silly chant they used to try back when he was on Earth. He squashes his eyes shut again. He hates this task the most. Sometimes he's able to swap it, most of the time he prays he doesn't get it; he's just unlucky this time, but it will always take him too long and he still aches from his last regeneration.
"Please, if you're there, can you help me?" He whispers. "The wires all look the same to me. I- I'm going to get killed again all because I take too much time sorting stupid wires 'cause this stupid colour-blindness and-"
Clunk.
He freezes, eyes flying open. The vent? Twisting, he finds nothing. No one else in the room.
Shffff.
The wires.
One is connected when he sets his gaze back on the task at hand, and another wire wobbles ominously in the air, guided by an unseen hand. Insulation tape, from nowhere, flits into existence only long enough to secure that wire before it too is connected.
Slowly but surely, the tangle of wires dissolves back into order, and the cuts are mended as he watches, aghast.
There is a tap on his shoulder.
Biting back a cry, he whips around and surveys the room- the vent. Just enough to catch the top of Red's head disappearing, the little sprout catching slightly on the grates.
Go, he hears, murmured as though merely a puff of wind. Come to think, there's no one around to even tap on his shoulder-
He'll think about it later. He's got a button to press.
"Thank you!" he whispers, as loudly as he dares. One wire waves in the air for a second; he nods and makes a run for it. Red didn't know he saw, he's pretty sure.
Somehow he wins that debate, and so saves the remaining three of them, in the end. It's rare to catch an imposter in the act of venting, they say, how?
Scratching his head, he blusters that he doesn't really know what made him turn around, maybe it was a faint noise or something. Privately, he's certain it was another work of the Task Phantom. And so it continues; he says to his juniors:
"If you're ever on Polus and in need of some help, ask for her, and you might just get a miracle."