Bree was smart enough not to divulge that she had the ability to read minds.

Apparently she was the only one in her family that was.

Ever.

Literally.

She wasn't sure what it was about her cousins or ancestors that they felt the need to try to convince people they could read minds, but a family history of "schizophrenia" and institutionalization clued her in that it was a bad idea.

Perhaps she wasn't powerful enough where the family gift overwhelmed her, she had no problem ignoring the various voices she heard in her head. It didn't seem any different to her than being in a crowded restaurant with everyone talking at once. To her it was white noise and she could tune it out.

Maybe she had the advantage of being part of Gen Z and had the cognitive ability to take in so much outside stimuli and multi-task without stumbling. Maybe because all her peers and most adults were so focused in their own little world, either on their phone or tablet or just worried about their own life they didn't have time to worry over others', that they didn't notice any slip up she might do such as answer a question that wasn't asked out loud or if she looked like she was listening to something no one else could hear.

Maybe with the surge of ADHD or other cognitive problems, people brushed off her regular inability to pay attention.

Whatever the reason, she knew to keep a low profile and no one paid that much attention to her; she was able to act like any other family member without the gift and she learned from others' mistakes.

It was hard to make friends, especially in the tight knit Seattle suburb she grew up in. She just knew too much about everyone, and none of them had ever divulged their inner workings. Bree didn't know how to be friends with the people they faked to be when she could hear what they truly thought. She also didn't think it right, she knew intimate secrets they wouldn't want anyone to know about, much less her.

She had always felt uncomfortable around people, knowing them far too well far too soon. She had tried to fake smiles as people around her also faked their way through life. It became too exhausting, knowing the truth. Eventually she started to retreat into herself, took up art, and people just didn't try when she didn't try.

So she developed a loner reputation. No one had anything bad to say about her, she was perfectly polite and cordial when spoken too. But she just never clicked with anyone and she never put forth any effort to join any group. People just wrote her off as someone happy to be by themselves.

The only thing anyone knew about her was that she had a weird name and preferred to be called "Bree," that she liked the draw and write in her journals, and she constantly had earbuds in.

Bree was a nobody at school, but she preferred it that way. The town was too small and too nosey for someone like her to do well. Her best hope was to lay low and survive through it.

The only time she ever caught anyone's attention was the first day of class every year when she was in a new homeroom with a new teacher. Because of the PATRIOT Act, they would never just change her name in the school roster to "Bree." They would always have her real full name and consistently she had to remind teachers to just call her by her nickname.

Homeroom was the most anxiety ridden class she ever had in all her years at Fairview High School.

It wasn't a real class, just the first stop to make sure there weren't any truant students. The teacher tried to be excited and happy they were all there, but Bree knew that in a few weeks the teacher would be as dead inside as the rest of them and questioning their life choices.

"Tara Armstrong?"

"Here"

"Mika Collins?"

"Here"

"Sebastian Edwards?"

"Present"

The roll call torturously stretched on and on, the teacher would call out a name and the student would unenthusiastically alert the teacher that while they may be there in body, it was mostly against their will and would mentally check out at the first available instance.

And like a movie where she had seen it a million times and knew down to the second everyone's cue and lines, the teacher got to her name and there was a pause; a longer pause; then it was a tense awkward hostage situation. The teacher instinctively frowned as they came across a word they had never seen before; a word where they were unsure of its origin and couldn't even begin to guess how to pronounce it. There were too many consonants and vowels in unfamiliar places, no obvious place to put the emphasis.

Her name was a clusterfuck and some days she truly hated her parents.

The teachers always tried, by God did they try.

"Br-eye…? Lee…"

"Just call me Bree," she would interrupt, knowing it was her name they were struggling with and in hopes of sparing them both the embarrassment. A tight grimace that she tried to pass off as a smile, to let the teachers know she wasn't angry and just wanted to get on with the rest of the day. Most teachers were more than happy to accept the easy and normal sounding nickname and move on.

Sometimes the ordeal would be repeated, she loved the teachers who didn't give a crap; the ones who thought that roll call was stupid and it was a waste of time. It was to the students' detriment if they skipped and they weren't there to hold their hands. The "real world" didn't have roll call.

But normally that nightmare was only during the first days of school. She would be known as "Bree" thenceforth and the incident forgotten as soon as it happened.

She was grateful for being in the age of social media. It kept people occupied and attention away from her. If people thought it odd she didn't have a profile on any social site, they soon forgot with the latest gossip and those who were so preoccupied with having the most followers and likes.

Instagram and Youtube stars were the golden calves that distracted the masses and allowed Bree to move about freely.

Bree knew from a young age that reading minds was not something everyone could do and certainly not something people would believe she could do.

She was also smart enough to realize that it was something she didn't want people to believe she could do. She's read and seen enough science fiction to know that there was probably some deep undercover part of the government that would lock her away and use her for her gifts. Or perhaps they would simply kill her so no hostile foreign government could use her against the United States. She wasn't about to find out which it was, so she learned early on those voices she heard in her head that weren't her own, were better kept to herself.

Perhaps it was also lucky, in the most fucked up way possible, for her that she had a cousin who had the same gift. That cousin was not as quiet about his gifts as she was of hers. Or she was young enough that any mention of mind reading was brushed off as having a vivid imagination.

He was the unlucky example she knew not to follow.

At the time, she was too young to understand why they put him away, but she understood enough that being put away was a bad thing and it was connected to their gift. When she got older and her powers increased and understood what happened, she knew to remain silent.

When her cousin committed suicide, she knew it was a secret she'd take to her grave.

Hearing the thoughts of her family members at his funeral, it was clear they pitied him but they would put him away even if they had a second chance. They would put anyone away who showed signs of the "family illness."

So high school was not her time to stand out and be noticed. She figured college would be more her speed. She would go to some ultra-liberal university where it was acceptable, if not encouraged, to be a little eccentric.

She lived her life as quietly and unobtrusively as she could.

Her junior year of high school, she had started to notice something peculiar around town.

The voices had become background noise, like being in a crowded lunchroom where everyone was talking, the music was blasting, and if there were several TVs with several sport games on at once. It had taken some practice to keep her voice at an acceptable decibel; her earlier yelling had been brushed off as a hearing problem.

As she got older, she had started to recognize certain voices, some were just louder thinkers than others or she just listened in on them more often. She could admit that she liked to eavesdrop regularly on certain people since their inner life was more of a shit show than they led on, it was better than any daytime or teen soap opera. It helped to deal with the loneliness, kept her entertained for hours.

She would keep the gift a secret, but she was more than willing to use it to amuse herself.

Sometimes she liked to fantasize where she was Gossip Girl and could blackmail other students or even adults into doing her bidding or giving her money.

It was too bad that computers were not her forte and she was paranoid that the police, FBI, or whatever underground deep state government there was would trace her and she'd go to jail or worse.

But one of her favorite people to listen in on, a barista named Javi at her favorite independent coffee place, had changed. He looked exactly the same, but there was something off about him that she wasn't sure what it was. Not only did he not make her macchiato the exact way she liked it, which after months of ordering the same drink was particularly odd, but his inner voice was different. It was as if an entirely new person had set up shop in his brain.

The voice in his head no longer matched the voice that came out of his mouth. The tone, accent, everything was different.

What was also odd, his voice no longer came in as clear. Normally when she heard voices, it was the same as if they were talking to her. Now, his voice kind of came and went, as if there was some sort of electrical interference or bad cell reception.

She also noticed that his voice wasn't the only one in his head anymore. At first, she felt pity for Javi as she believed that perhaps he was showing signs of schizophrenia. There was so much she didn't know about her powers or the human mind. She brushed it off, thinking he was mentally ill and her gift couldn't pick up on his thoughts anymore because his mind was broken.

It wasn't until several other people around the city were exhibiting the exact same signs that she started to suspect it wasn't mental illness. She didn't know all of them, of course, but ever since she could remember, inner voices always matched physical voices. At first she thought a couple people were normal enough. It's a big city and mental health might not be talked about but it existed.

But then it was dozens of people, she started to suspect something was off. The fact that they all had similar thoughts they repeated also confirmed that something was going on.

What where the chances that dozens of people would repeat the same "protocols" in their head, over and over again?

Bree felt herself beginning some teen dystopian novel, so she decided it was not something she wanted to get involved in.

She was in the middle of her junior year, she didn't have time to go on some weird adventure. So anyone who had that multiple voice, static issue she would ignore like any other white noise and focus on school. She didn't care about "protocols, the Director, or Travelers." That was decidedly none of her business and she wasn't going to entangle herself with it. The rest of the year went by without an issue, she kept to her own business so nothing happened to her. At one point, she even forgot there was ever an issue.

It wasn't until the school's star quarterback's inner voice also changed that Bree started to pay attention again.


Trevor Holden was the school's biggest asshole and all-star bully. He regularly shop lifted and stole his mother's prescription pills. Normally Bree wouldn't care, that kind of reckless behavior would only really hurt him, but he took out his massive amount of aggression out on other students.

He was a miserable dick and made sure everyone else around him was just as unhappy.

She didn't understand why teachers never did anything about Trevor. He might have been the star quarterback and showed promise for the college league, but their town wasn't that much into football. It wasn't like they were in some backwards Texas town where the sport was the end all, be all for the school. But he would shove, hit, and verbally assault as he pleased.

She had even heard him be as rude to his parents as he was to his fellow students the rare times they showed up, and they just took it. She didn't understand, he wasn't that talented.

She lived a block down from him, they had been going to the same school since she could remember. He had been an alright kid up until middle school, when he got into football. Something about joining the sport and becoming an alpha male had given him liberty to do whatever he wanted to whomever he wanted; that alone would have been enough to ruin anyone's character. His father Gary had grown up with the same entitlements and pressured his son to follow in his footsteps.

Trevor hadn't gotten totally out of control until they reached high school. It wasn't until then that he had really stepped up his cruelty and after a particularly harsh confrontation with him, she hadn't spoken to him since and he was forbidden from the administration from talking to her after a complaint from her parents and a quasi-restraining order was put in place.

She knew in general what went on with him because his behavior caused him to be on several students minds.

Bree wasn't the only one who thought Trevor deserved Asshole of the Year. She didn't understand how someone who was clearly universally disliked could be so popular and fawned over. Since First Year, she left him alone and he left her alone; she was more than happy to pretend he never existed.

It wasn't until one day when he came back to school with a brain injury that she started to pay closer attention to him.

Bree noticed that Trevor was a completely different person ever since his concussion. She heard rumors, spoken out loud and otherwise, that he had post-concussion syndrome. She wasn't a doctor and from what she pulled from Google, she still couldn't confidently say it was or wasn't what caused his 180 personality change.

But given that his inner voice was totally different and she had seen thought patterns like his in others, it piqued her interest and she was certain that the Trevor she saw currently wasn't the Trevor she had known since grade school.

She had been in his head before, it was a constant storm of anger and violence since First Year. There was an odd blank space, something he couldn't handle thinking about so he suppressed it into a mental box and kept it hidden away. She had seen it in others before, pieces of themselves that they couldn't face. She couldn't tell what it was, part of her didn't care. Whatever it was, it didn't excuse his asshole behavior.

To her great shame, Bree was particularly disappointed with herself that she had such a huge and weird crush on him. There were several instances where she talked to herself, wondering what the hell she was doing.

She didn't even know if she could consider it a crush, perhaps just attraction. Other than his looks, she more or less hated him with her whole being. While he was a major douche, there was just something about his presence and looks that always caught her attention. He was that tacky guilty pleasure show she couldn't stop watching although she knew it was rotting her brain.

It wasn't fair that he was ripped and in general a great looking guy. His friend Kyle was the same way. Kyle wasn't as big of an asshole, but he was still in Trevor's circle of jerks that liked to pick on people or laughed while others did.

Bree was one of those unfortunate people, but it wasn't a constant barrage. It was mostly when they deigned to notice her, they made sure to make fun of her name or family. It seemed as if they just had some sort of compulsion to ruin people's day for the fun of it. Trevor wasn't allowed to talk to her, that didn't stop his friends from picking up the slack.

Bree didn't think it was fair that the universe would bless such terrible people with good looks.

Good people should be good looking, bad people bad looking. That's how the universe ought to work.

But it seldom did.

Bree was more than happy to ignore the duo over the years, she refused to let her ill-conceived attraction waste her time on people who weren't worthy of her attention.

But she noticed right away when Trevor's inner voice had changed. It wasn't just his voice, it was his entire demeanor as well. He was softer, gentler, and the tempest that was his barely concealed rage was gone.

Bree was certain there might be pod people in Seattle.

Why did dad get me into sci-fi? Why couldn't I just be dumb and never pick up a book? Having an imagination is terrifying.

From Rene and Kyle's thoughts, they noticed it as well.

She tried to brush it off, like others brushed off her own weirdness. She had gleaned from Kyle and other football players that Trevor was into illegal cage fighting. The fight that caused his concussion could have killed him. She tried to convince herself that his brush with death woke him up to his cruel ways and he had a change of heart.

Perhaps that was the case with all the others. They had some sort of profound experience that literally changed them fundamentally.

She didn't know the circumstances of others she had noticed with inner voice changes and odd thought patterns. Perhaps they too had some sort of concussion or brain injury that caused it. With the others, she just noticed one day they weren't the same as before, she had no knowledge of what happened between the last time she saw them as they were and the next time as they were new.

What haunted her and prevented her from completely letting go were the similar thoughts themselves that they all had in common. It nagged at her that it couldn't possibly be a random occurrence.

Protocols 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6.

The Director

Traveler…

She heard that over and over again. She couldn't make out exactly what they were, but those were the common thoughts they all had and she could ascertain.

She knew she should mind her own business. She would hate it if anyone truly noticed her weird behavior and pressed on to find out the cause. She should respect boundaries and live her own life.

There was also the possibility they were all involved in some deep state scary shit she really wanted no part of.

She made an effort to ignore it, but even her music wasn't enough to distract her from the odd voice in Trevor's head.

Trevor Holden
Grace Day
Charlotte Ball

The first two were confirmed people in her high school that had different inner voices, disrupted thought patters, and change in behavior. The last one was someone who had broken into the school, had attacked Ms. Day, and later had died by police fire, of all things. News reports later had stated she had killed her parents.

By all neighbor and family accounts, it was wildly out of character and no one saw it coming.

She was annoyed that these were all such strange events but no one was questioning them further. Someone, not her, should be investigating all the weird circumstances and they should be the ones to get mired in the paranoid conspiracy theories.

There has got to be some Nancy Drew asshole around here, just itching to pry their nose into this crazy business.

Unfortunately there wasn't, she had checked.

Bree just happened to be in the hallway where Charlotte had passed on her way to the guidance office, the psychic had only caught a second of the thirteen year old's thoughts about "finishing the mission." Even if she wanted to butt in—which she absolutely did not—Bree didn't have enough time to warn anyone of an impending attack.

The longer the school year went on, the more government (her own or a hostile one) brainwashing Manchurian candidate pod people were starting to look rather possible.

Which was such a terrifying thought that she almost went into full denial mode and stopped her investigation before it even started.

Most adults had noticed a change in both Ms. Day and Trevor. They questioned him, but he brushed it off and in turn the adults thought he was going through some phase.

Bree wasn't sure why the go to excuse was some "phase," as if teens were that mercurial and would act out in a vacuum.

But she knew better, there was some fundamental part of Trevor and Ms. Day that was gone and replaced by something completely different.

For Ms. Day, people figured she was an adult and could handle her own business. The most popular theory among the faculty was that she was into drugs or had been jilted by a lover and no longer had the grace and patience as she did before.

Annoyingly, it wasn't as if she could go around saying "I noticed you were different because my mind reading abilities is picking up strange signals from your brain…what's that about?"

Trevor quit the football team and started to care about his grades. He was also noticeably absent from all school activities. He wasn't exactly Mr. School Spirit, but he was a star football player and popular. He was the sun that most high school parties and social groups revolved around. And he just stopped caring about them and ditched his friends. The other students were all at a loss as to what happened but too afraid to confront him further on it.

Ms. Day went from a compassionate, tactful, and caring guidance counselor to saying whatever was on her mind and giving out harsh, albeit truthful, observations and advice.

Bree promised herself she would never get involved in the weirdness. She purposefully avoided people in police and the government, whatever weird secrets they had; she didn't want to know.

But this was Trevor Holden, the guy she's had a crush on since 7th grade and known for longer. Ms. Day had actually been helpful with her situation with Trevor, and most students went to her for help. She at least came across them every day, it wasn't something she could ignore.

If there are pod people, then I should at least confirm so I can protect myself. Right?

She justified her light stalking. She created a dummy account and tried to befriend Trevor on Facebook. After a week of not accepting her friend request, which she very much resented, she had gotten the email and password from someone who was his friend, went to a local computer café, paid in cash, and stalked his social media. Ever since she noticed the change, he had not been updating anything. It's as if he completely apathetic to his old life and dropped off the grid.

Bree still wanted to think that maybe he had some sort of epiphany; maybe he found God and wanted to become less of a self-centered jerk. All she wanted was for him to go into a church or to admit to as much in his mind, then she could stop. But his inner voice kept talking about protocols and the Director; same as Ms. Day. So he was part of whatever it was that everyone else with broken inner voices.

He also had intricate plans for engineering, things she couldn't even follow the thoughts if she wanted to, they were so beyond her understanding.

So Trevor was some sort of secret genius under all of that?

Sometimes she wished her father wasn't such a science fiction nerd because she was definitely starting to worry about aliens invading earth.

His thoughts were a bit more coherent than the others, however. Perhaps she had more access to him because of school, so she didn't have that much to compare to, but he was particularly enamored with the school food.

Not only where thoughts of how delicious everything was that came in clear, she could also feel how in awe of it he was. He had loved the food so much, he was projecting actual feelings.

For cafeteria food?

She also followed him to a park, he was amazed by children and trees. The more she followed him, more questions she had. The closest she could describe it was Trevor had been reborn and experiencing everything for the first time.

But why? Is it some sort of cult?

The "Director" certainly sounded ominous enough to be the head of some weird new age hippie techno cult for indigo children.

Put it on the list of "terrible horrifying things Bree didn't want to really find out about."

Government Experiment

Aliens

Cult

Trevor would constantly go to this innocuous run down garage downtown. There was a hole-in-the-wall eatery across the street that she bunkered down in when she couldn't figure out a plausible excuse to follow him inside. She enjoyed some of the greasiest fries and burgers Seattle had to offer while she spied on her classmate and tried to get some homework done. Regrettably, her gift didn't extend to across the street. So she had no idea what he was doing for hours in that garage. She did notice an older guy in a suit, two regular looking women in their mid-twenties, and what looked to be a guy in his early-twenties always came and went. It didn't look like any of them had anything to do with the other, five random strangers all meeting at a garage for hours, sometimes leaving together in a government SUV.

One point for government experiment.

She had observed them for weeks. She couldn't glean anything, and she was getting frustrated.

She had looked over public records of who owned the place, some guy named Ray Green who was an attorney. That told her nothing. He was on Facebook but it was all regular stuff, nothing that jumped out at her as him belonging to a cult. He had bought the property free and clear, with no obvious use for it and all cash. It didn't look like it was a business, at least not a legitimate one with customers that would come in during daylight hours.

It seemed as if it was just a property deal and Mr. Green rented to someone else. She didn't have the resources to dig deeper.

After another week of not getting anywhere, Bree was giving up. Whatever strange thing that was happening, it wasn't something she could divine with her gifts and she had limited computer and sleuthing skills to fill in any holes. She certainly wasn't going to spend what little allowance she got on paying someone to investigate.

She also stopped caring,

If there are pod people, I'll burn that bridge when I come to it. I can't keep wasting my time on this.

Bree still wasn't sure what was going on, but she couldn't dedicate her life to it. She had a million tests to study for and infinite amount of chapters to read over the coming weeks.

And it's just Trevor Holden. He was an asshole, if he's an alien or government replacement or in a cult then it's a certainly better version of him.

So it was the last burger and fries she was ever going to order from Edie's Take Out, she gathered her belongings and was preoccupied with the mountain of homework she had to do. She felt relieved, certain that her curiosity was the beginning of some wonky adventure she would be sucked into. Luckily, it seemed real life was not a sci-fi novel and her temporary insanity caused by curiosity led to nothing. She was almost cheerful when she checked to make sure she had everything, because of her ability to ignore all outside noise, physical and mental, she was particularly prone into running into people as she never could hear anyone approaching her. She had haphazardly swung her book bag and then ran into a solid mass.

She was used to such things, but when the mass had reached out to get his balance and equilibrium back and grabbed her arm, the world had started to spin. Everything when white for a second and Bree's senses dulled and were incomprehensible to her.

"Hey, are you alright?" Traveler 3326, known as Philip Pearson to everyone else, asked the girl he had run into.

"Yeah, I'm sorry…I think I stood up too fast," she replied, although she didn't look too convinced of her own explanation. She kept blinking as to get her focus and he wondered if she was on something, something he could relate to.

People were starting to stare; she noticed when her mind cleared.

What the hell was that?

She stood straighter when she realized who she bumped into, it was one of the five people she had been spying on the past month.

His mind was surprisingly quiet. She had never run into anyone who she couldn't read, all she heard was a low humming noise.

Odd…

She also couldn't help but notice how particular good looking he was, strong jawline and long hair and a nose piercing, it was something she didn't know she was attracted to but she learned something new everyday. Whatever weirdness he had going on, it was beyond her capabilities or schedule to figure out. She also wanted to not be some creepy weirdo that just stared at hot guys and couldn't speak to them; although from the quizzical look on his face, that ship had sailed.

So she, as gracefully as she could muster, muttered she was sorry and made her escape.

I'll remain too boring for pod people to even want to replace me.

She tried not to think of all the time she wasted, and on Trevor Holden of all people, on the bus ride back home. She had tried her best and was willing to put it all behind her. It was her senior year, she couldn't let this weirdness derail her plan to get out of the little suburb and try to live as normal of life as she could.

Fate had other plans.

That night, she started to dream of a world where the sun was blotted out by constant grey metallic clouds, the air was thick with misery and tasted like metal, and she could barely breathe.

She never really paid attention to her dreams. Most of the time, they were just odd nebulous recreations of what happened that day and she had no clear memory of them. These dreams were different, it was almost as if she were living another life rather than dreaming. Her recurring nightmares were something she was horrifyingly trapped in with no way out. She was haunted by thousands of people, not all of them had faces but all she could do was wake up crying.

She didn't have any idea what was going on. She heard no messages, she read no thoughts; she was just overwhelmed with the feeling of dread and the need to do something.

"The reveille bell rang at precisely 0600, waking everyone up just seconds before they died…it's not fair," she whispered, having no idea what it meant but could see it clearly in her mind and it would not stop whirling through her mind. She started to draw hellish landscapes of ice and dried up lakes; of people who didn't have faces but numbers tattooed on their backs. Of children sitting in front of screens with millions of lines of indecipherable codes and memorizing each one. She drew people feasting on white muck that smelled and tasted sour but it was all to be had.

She woke up one day a different person, one who would not let such things come to pass.


Phil Pearson was used to sitting at his computer station for hours, even days on end. His job as Historian was to keep the team financially afloat, track possible candidates, and use his knowledge of the future to help with missions. Most of his knowledge was locked away in his genetically engineered mind, ready to be pulled forward when he needed it.

For a moment, he worried that his position in the team was redundant after they had changed the timeline just enough for most of his knowledge to be obsolete. While he could hack into computer systems, the Director's missions didn't always need someone at the computer helm. He wasn't trained in the medical field nor in martial arts beyond self defense. If he hadn't gotten the update, he was pretty sure he'd be more or less dead weight at worst or a glorified Sherpa at best.

So his life still revolved around the computer screens, monitoring their investments or scanning the deep web. It was rare that he got a mission to do research for someone in the 21st century. Normally the Director had access to everything from the historical records and social media.

It seemed the new target didn't have much of either.

It was rare but not completely unheard of, a person in the 21st century not having much of a digital footprint. There were plenty of people who lived off the grid and therefore, the Director would not have anything to go by in terms of making them a candidate or knowing what their place was in the Grand Plan. It was why most of their teams consisted of those who lived in major metropolitan areas. People in so called "fly over" states just didn't have enough records or T.E.L.L. coordinates for them to consistently be able to over write them.

It was also possible that the person in question may have deleted their profile or whatever digital trail they may have had and since most companies had limited data storage, deleted anything that wasn't active in so many years; so it wouldn't be available to the Director in the future.

Phil was curious as to what the Director wanted with a seventeen year old girl that went to Trevor's school.

"And one I ran into…literally…a few months back…" his curiosity piqued as he recalled the girl he had bumped into, wondering if she had been Faction and the team none the wiser.

"Bree-lye…what in the world?" he gave up trying to figure out how to pronounce her name as there wasn't anything available to prove him right. A quick search and it was apparently that her name was completely made up and unique as it didn't hit for anyone else's name.

And it wouldn't any time after if his memory was correct.

Which of course it was.

They had gone over such a phenomenon in their training on how to blend into the 21st.

"Sorry Ms. Hatch, but you are the unfortunate casualty of the 'I want it to be cute and unique' fad that unfortunately goes on for another twenty years," he told his computer as he tried to see what he could find.

Other than a few college prep courses and art classes, she didn't have much of a record outside of school and basic government forms. Her extended family had a bit of a colorful history, but nothing that would or should worry the Director.

With a few clicks on the keyboard, he was now in her house's IP addresses and quickly figured out which computer was hers. On another screen, he had hacked into the Fairview High School database and looked up those records.

For the school, again there wasn't much. She got good grades but wasn't in the top 3% and for the first two and a half years, she wasn't in any club. A few months back, he noticed a drastic uptick in her participation of school clubs.

Earth Justice
Flexitarian Society
Artists for Change

She even made the school newsletter,

"Ms. Can't-Pronounce-Her-Name petitions the school board and raises funds for an inner city vegetable garden and greenhouse to feed Seattle's Homeless."

No one was there, but he was certain Poppy was listening with rapt attention in her happy little terrarium.

"OK, interesting in the small scheme of things and basically the type of people we want in the world, but what does the Director want with you?"

He wondered if there was some other update he needed since destroying the Quantum Frame. Maybe she was someone important to the current trend for the future. His currently knowledge of history didn't have her as anyone significant. She wouldn't die until much later, when she was too old to be much of a candidate and no idea if they would even still be doing missions that far into the future. She also wasn't part of these groups in the future he had stored in his head, so something definitely had changed. He hoped he wasn't due for another update, something that was both physically and mentally exhausting.

It wasn't until he searched her personal computer that it started to get really interesting.

Google searches for:

0158, 47.6324402,-122.3701538, 47°37'56.8"N+122°21'41.0"W

1700, 47.62947, -122.35941, 47°37'46.1"N 122°21'33.9"W

0506, 47.66153, -122.31654, 47°39'41.5"N 122°18'59.5"W

0942, 47.60732, -122.3381, 47°36'26.4"N 122°20'17.2"W

"Alright, these are definitely T.E.L.L. sites…why would she put them into Google? Why wouldn't she delete her trail?"

He asked the obvious question of why wouldn't a Traveler, probably Faction if the Director was pursuing her, delete the evidence.

He also found out that she had put the coordinates into her Waze app to get to those places. She had a blatant and easily found trail of a Faction Traveler.

Still, even the Faction had back channels and resources to do such research and reconnaissance without leaving proof. If they had all been so sloppy, their team would have been able to find them and the Quantum Frame that much faster.

So his first instinct was to assume she was setting a trap, make it obvious that she was Faction and have them come to her.

He recalled the mistake he and Carly had done, finding a Faction member and confronting her directly. All they got for their efforts was running away while never confirming and the cops after them.

So they definitely were not going to do that again.

But what was stranger was that she did not go into the deep web. Her computer activity was restricted to Google, some site called Pinterest, Wikipedia, Tumblr, and YouTube. It was rather typical for a teen in the 21st century, but nothing stuck out otherwise as Faction.

He checked local computer café's but there was no Traveler type activity from there.

"She must be covering her tracks some way," he wagered, not knowing how else she could have gotten T.E.L.L. sites and dreaded the idea that she may have superior computers skills than he did.

Later that day he had called the Team to Ops along with the other team led by Hall.

Perhaps the Director had a sense of humor, it kept assigning missions to Hall and MacLaren; the two rather hated each other but where willing to put aside their differences for the sake of the mission.

Not gracefully or with any sense of decorum, as they were prone to sniping at each other but still they worked together.

"What are we here for?" MacLaren wanted to get to the point quickly and out of Hall's presence.

"We have a Ms. Hatch, seventeen years old and a senior at Fairview High School," Phil started as he had a computer monitor show their target and her stats.

"I've seen her around," Trevor volunteered, getting a closer look at his classmate.

They all looked to Kyle as he also attended the high school.

"I'm still trying to get my bearing and navigating the 21st century young adult institution…I don't recall seeing her."

"How do you pronounce this name?" Trevor asked, looking at the screen and pointing to her name.

"No idea," Phil responded, most were surprised as he held the breadth of all 21st history.

"What is it? Greek?" MacLaren wondered, seeing if he could get a country of origin to hazard a guess as to how it was pronounced.

"No, from what I can tell it's a completely made up name…so I guess you'd call it 'Suburban American.'"

"Seems mean to do that to a child."

"Yes, she is not the first and she is certainly in good company across the U.S. coasts. My guess is Br(eye)-lye-ah."

"It could be "Bree-lee," Luca chipped in and wondering if some of the letters were silent.

"Who gives a shit?" Hall lost his patience, not knowing why it was important and wanted to leave as soon as he was able. He still resented that not only was he put in prison with the Director's blessing, but his team would have to work with a much less experienced one with Maclaren at the lead. "Why are we here?"

"Is she a target for elimination or saving?" Carly wondered as she cleaned her pistol while sitting at the work table, wondering if she would need it soon and ignoring Hall's grumbling.

"Neither, this is a reconnaissance mission,"

"Reconnaissance?" Marcy wondered, it would be first since the Director was more or less all knowing.

"Yes, it seems that Ms. Hatch is a suspect member of the Faction. Her web activity shows proof of T.E.L.L. sites and security camera footage as her being present at several of them. A few months ago, I had run into her at Edie's across the street."

"She left proof of T.E.L.L. sites on her computer and she's been casing us?"

"Not just her computer, but she used Google to find them and then Waze to get there. I would presume so, otherwise it's a hell of a coincidence that she was at a restaurant in the city and no business being here otherwise."

"Google and Waze? That's very…21st century. Why would a Faction member leave such an obvious trail?"

"No idea, I can only assume she wants us to find her."

"It's so…inelegant."

"It is rather obvious she's setting a trap…but a little too obvious. Even the Faction that came through the Quantum Frame had enough 21st know-how to erase traffic footage evidence. I also don't know she would bother with T.E.L.L. sites at all. Faction had no issue with taking whatever candidate was most opportune, regardless if they were about to die or not. It also doesn't make sense to go to T.E.L.L. sites, despite the Frame being dismantled the Director is in control. So there's no way for any Faction to be able to jump back to the 21st and they haven't been able to for a long while. So I can only guess she's not as up to date with the Faction or she has plans for any new Traveler.

"Has she interfered in any jump?"

"No, at least not that I could tell. From the footage, she's just been in the approximate area and then left; regardless if there had been a jump or not."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that from the Deep Web records, there had been a few successful jumps that she had been to and some that haven't. For the successful ones, she did nothing. She wasn't even in the exact T.E.L.L. site, she was just in the approximate area…areas where normal pedestrians would have been. It doesn't even seem to be apparent that she even noticed anyone almost die."

It was odd, what was the point of going to T.E.L.L. sites and just hang around?

"How long has she been here? She wasn't with the group that had protected the Frame," MacLaren was in F.B.I. agent mode, trying to get to the bottom of things.

"It's hard to tell. Her records are bare as is, but given her sudden interest and participation in environmentally focused clubs and charities and when I ran into her…I would put her arrival sometime in November."

"So she was before the Quantum Frame, why are we just now suspecting her?"

"Her presence at T.E.L.L. sites wasn't detected until now. It was during the time the Director was shut down and we were fighting other Faction members that were actively trying to kill us."

"If she were here that early, why overwrite Charlotte and send a thirteen year old, someone too young to be in the high school, to kill Grace? It would have made more sense, and the host would probably be stronger, if they sent Hatch," Carly reasoned out, her tactician mind thinking something wasn't adding up.

"That is what the Director wants to find out. We are not to directly engage in the likely case this is a trap. Any Traveler with any kind of computer training would have covered those tracks. She has, however, managed to cover her tracks in finding the T.E.L.L. sites form the deep web. It suspects that she is some sort of deep cover Faction member with a mission outside of overtaking the Director."

Phil and Carly met eyes and recalled their failed attempt at forcing a Faction member to confess that they were Faction and what their plan was. The Historian also sadly remembered the Faction mission he was unwittingly apart of, the flu that had almost wiped out thirty percent of the 21st population.

"So that's where Trevor and Kyle come in. You two are to observe and report her behavior."

"We don't have any classes with her and I doubt Protocol 5 would allow for us to befriend her. The 21st has strict social structures that rarely overlap with other groups," Trevor explained, hoping to get some direction on how to handle the mission.

Kyle nodded as that was his observation the few weeks he has been in school, willing to let Trevor take the lead as the senior member.

"Protocol 5 is…not suspended but let's say can be loosely interpreted in this instance. With Trevor's newfound 'inner peace,' perhaps he wants to expand his social circle. Kyle as the beta male of the group will obviously do what Trevor does. Even before he was overwritten, he had quit the football team and looked for guidance from Trevor."

It was a stretch but they could make it work. It wasn't as if anyone who did question their strange behavior would ever make the leap to "they were taken over by a consciousness from the future."

"OK, we'll start Monday."

"Right. And everyone, Protocol 3 is in effect; do not take a life. While Faction, the Director would prefer to keep the host viable for overwrite."

They all nodded their understanding and left, Phil left to monitor the girl and everything else with only Poppy for company.


Even though they had hundreds of hours of training in 21st century culture and behavior, neither Trevor nor Kyle were prepared for what high school was actually like. It seemed like there was a test every other day, there was assigned cafeteria seating according to what social group they were part of, and because they were under age they were limited in where they could go and what they could do.

Trevor fortunately had a reputation of being truant regularly, so most just assumed he was going back to his normal personality. Most teachers had given up on him, Grace Day (the real Grace Day) had been one of the very last to have any hope for him. Even with his surge in grades, he had missed so many classes because of missions that he was almost kicked out.

He was more than lucky, and probably a few well-placed Travelers he wasn't aware of, that let him make up his work or do extra credit assignments.

Kyle had been better off academically and with attendance, but he was quickly on his way to getting into trouble.

Perhaps they ought to suggest to the Director that they should avoid over writing anyone under eighteen. Trying to maintain Protocol 5 and accomplish missions were not compatible for those who had to answer to parents.

Trevor knew he was expected to go to college. He wasn't sure if he would even be able to graduate, and he couldn't imagine suffering through another year of high school if he failed to pass.

But that was an issue for the future, he had to figure out how to talk to a girl he had no classes with and no social overlap. Her locker wasn't anywhere near his. He was in no clubs and he had not been particularly social outside of football and completely withdrawn from anything outside of mandatory attendance after he had taken over his host's life. Part of it was leaving the football team, another was all the time he had to spend on helping the mission.

Sometimes he wished he got another body, not one from his team: MacLaren had a wife, he didn't think he could handle stringing along a partner and pretend to love them. Marcy's host had brain damage and almost died because of it. Carly had a child, he definitely could not deal with raising another son. Phil would be ideal, as he was old enough to live on his own and live a solitary life with no parents interested enough in his whereabouts. But Trevor did not envy having to deal with addiction.

Neither he nor Kyle were the tacticians of the team. They had a hard time figuring how they would easily and naturally approach her.

Luck was on their side, however, as one of her clubs was having a bake sale.

In the concourse of their school, there were three tables lined up and covered with all sorts of confections. The school allowed all clubs to have a bake sale as long as they clearly labeled what each item was and their ingredients; some items were banned altogether, such as peanuts, for those with fatal allergies.

Normally there were homemade signs with varying degrees of sloppy handwriting in neon markers.

Trevor was rather impressed with the calligraphy of the signs for Earth Justice. Even the little notes with ingredients and names of the baked goods were done in careful penmanship. There was added artwork of landscapes and flowers, all depictions of endangered species and what the proceeds from the bake sale were going to help. He started at the end of the table, the one he happened to be closest to while their target was at the other end, collecting money.

He was surprised to see so many things that looked appetizing, marveling at how plentiful the food was in the 21st where they could bake for charity rather than just for survival.

He wished he had more money as he wanted to try one of everything. He did have enough to pick up one treat for himself and each of his team, happy there were so many vegan options for MacLaren. Feeling confident that he had a respectable amount of goods to purchase and maybe make some small talk, he walked towards their target. Kyle had followed suit and grabbed a few treats of his own.

He ignored the weird looks he was getting from some of the other members of the club, he was used to being slightly odd for "Trevor."

Bree had processed and thanked the student ahead of them for helping their club, her genial smile had immediately fallen when she noticed him.

Dread had settled into his stomach, thinking they were already off to a bad start if that was her reaction to seeing his host.

She must have been an unfortunate target of his cruelty.

Which made him angry at the boy whose life he had taken over. But he couldn't think of it, he had a mission to accomplish.

"Hey Br(eye)-lye-eh," he greeted in what he thought was his most genial tone and smiled, hoping that maybe he could convince her he was a new man (figuratively if not literally).

He wasn't sure how, but he knew he had royally screwed up when she remained silent and her gaze fell as if she was unable to even stand the sight of him. After an awkward pause, Trevor not having the slightest clue how to even attempt to salvage the situation, she had taken a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and looked directly into his eyes.

"Fuck you Holden," she grounded out, unwilling to cry in front of him but finding it hard as every memory she had of his malice bubbled to the surface. "Let's not talk for another three years, alright?"

"I…" he started but had nowhere to go, but he desperately wanted to say he was sorry and do anything so she wouldn't look at him the way she was.

What the hell did Trevor do to you?

Her eyes narrowed, unsure of who exactly she was looking at but wasn't about to give him a chance to say anything, not that he had even the slightest idea what to say, and had snatched her book bag from under the table and stormed off.

A couple other students who had been manning the table with her had given him evil glares, clearly also of the opinion that Trevor was the lowest scum of the universe and had trespassed where he was not welcomed.

"Sorry…" he slowly stuttered out, dropping a twenty on the table. "Keep the change."

Kyle quickly followed suit as the other teenagers weren't too keen on him either as everyone knew they were best friends. They only made it a few steps of their escape when they were confronted with the disappointed eyes of Kylee Dawson, the shy girl whose phone Trevor had replaced at the start of school when Renee, the host's girlfriend, had shoved her aside and broken it.

"That was really mean Trevor," she said quietly, coming to the realization that maybe he hadn't changed and was still the same horrible bully he had always been.

Trevor knew he hadn't technically done anything, but he couldn't help the guilt that ate at him seeing how people reacted around him; he knew that his host must have done something particularly heinous as it was the first time people were mad on someone's behalf, and even unafraid to show their displeasure.

Whatever the late Trevor Holden had done, it was enough that others didn't give him a pass either because he was popular or they were too afraid of his ire directed at them.

"Hey, Kylee, I'm sorry. I don't know what's going on, could you walk with us?"

She was surprised at his sincere apology, even more so that he wanted to keep talking to her. The old Trevor would have probably said something mean and obscene and simply walked off; probably would have thrown in a shove as well. Not knowing what else to do, she agreed and they started to walk towards the library as he knew it would be deserted at that time.

"Look, I'm sorry to bombard you with this but could you tell me what exactly happened?" Trevor asked as they sat down at an empty table and made sure no one was around to overhear them.

With a cock of her head and furrowing of her brow, clearly she didn't understand what he meant.

"It's just that with my concussion…I lost a lot of memories, including…whatever incident that caused that reaction from…Br(eye)…?" he trailed off, hoping Kylee would fill in the rest.

"It's just Bree, no one knows how to pronounce it and you have been making fun of her name since we were ten."

Jesus, Trevor was a little shit since forever.

"OK, Bree. I'll be sure to remember that, but that can't be it," while annoying and insensitive, he couldn't imagine simply making fun of her name would cause such a reaction.

Kylee looked away and hunched over, recalling the events of their first year and not exactly biting at the bit to rehash that story.

"Do you really not remember?" she hoped that maybe the memories would suddenly come back and she wouldn't have to tell him.

"I'm sorry to make you say it…but it's important I know…I can't apologize if I don't know what happened."

His gentle tone and wide remorseful eyes made her heart nearly burst out of her chest, in that moment she'd do anything to help him.

"Please," he implored, softly putting his hand on hers. She looked to Kyle, hoping maybe he'd fill in his friend but he looked just as lost.

Jerk probably doesn't even remember, of course the second prince of the school wouldn't recall being mean to us lowly commoners. The new Trevor must be rubbing off on him if he's going along with trying to be a better person. Wow, Trevor is so cute; I can't resist those eyes.

"It started out with making fun of her name. Bree started to kind of do her own thing, not really making friends with anyone and eventually you went on to pick on other kids. But then in 8th grade, her cousin got committed to Briarcliff…the mental asylum," she filled in the blanks when she saw he didn't know what she was talking about. "and then you and the others started to really harass her. You started to call her schizoid—saying it was better than her real name—defaced her locker, filled her book bag with garbage, locked her in a closet and told her she ought to get used to it."

Both Trevor and Kyle winced, they couldn't imagine anyone, much less someone so young, being so cruel.

No wonder the world got so fucked. Evil kids running rampant.

Trevor started to wonder if maybe they ought to just have everyone from the future jump into the past. Maybe the world would have a better shot if they had the numbers; maybe the Faction was partly right, some people in the past didn't deserve the planet or life they had.

"Then came First Year," Kylee huffed out with an exasperated sigh. It was the part of the story she really didn't want to go over, but Trevor pleaded with his eyes for her to go on. "You basically found any excuse you could to make fun of her or give her crap about. How she had no friends, how she wasn't on social media because she was too weird or ugly, she has ADHD so when she spaced out you'd purposefully startle her so she'd drop her things and you'd kick them away, you kept stealing her art pads, you destroyed her art pads, and then…"

Kylee was lost in her thoughts, growing more somber before she finally told him,

"When her cousin committed suicide, you brought white sheets to school and tied them into a noose…you told her she ought to do everyone a favor and follow his example."

Trevor was pretty certain that if his host hadn't been available and he had gotten another body, he would have killed Trevor Holden himself. Despite knowing the origin of his host's rage, he couldn't help but think it made no difference and that the old Trevor was truly a horrible person.

"She stayed home for like a week. I don't know what happened after that, but you finally let off and hadn't bothered her since."

"Thank you Kylee…I have a lot to think about…and a lot to make up for."

With a sad smile, he and Kyle left; both unsure how to proceed but the Director couldn't have picked a worse person to tail.

Kylee was glad it was over, but hopeful that perhaps Trevor had really turned over a new leaf and wanted to make amends.


"Why would the Director send you two bozos when I'm the guidance counselor? I have access to all these cretins' files," Traveler 0027, who preferred to be called Grace, railed at the injustice of once again being left out of a mission.

Trevor and Kyle had gone straight to the guidance counselor's office, finding Grace bemoaning how stupid and vapid the students were and that she hated Protocol 5 as she wrote reports.

Trevor rolled his eyes, tired of the same complaint. He was certain the Director had its reasons for not including Grace, probably because she was as tactful as a punch to the face. He also personally thought that she was not properly trained to be part of any mission, although she seemed to think she could just fill in whatever spot due to her own genius.

In this case, however, he did think she would be useful.

She immediately started to go through her drawers, trying to find a file on Bree Hatch, muttering how both of them were idiots for not coming to her first and asking again, why not send a messenger to her to go to Ops for the mission. She finally found what she was looking for and started to read the girl in question's file.

"I don't know, go on Skype and ask it." Trevor suggested sarcastically. "What does her file say?"

"It says you're a real shithead."

There's the tact I was thinking about.

Again he rolled his eyes and cocked his head, silently asking "Really?"

"That's what it says, it's in an official complaint from her and her parents. It says 'Trevor Holden is a shithead.'"

Both Kyle and Trever hovered over Grace, reading where her finger pointed and there it was, clear as day "Trevor Holden is a shit head."

"So Mr. and Mrs. Hatch file a formal complaint against you, stating that you threatened their daughter. They list the many instances of bullying, many caught on video. The incident with the noose was also caught on video, they threatened legal action for possible attempted negligent homicide as telling someone to commit suicide is potentially criminal in Washington. Jesus, you were a real shithead."

"I don't disagree. How did Trevor not get expelled? Doesn't Fairview have a zero tolerance policy?"

"It does on the books, but it seems it's not really acted upon; especially not for their star JV quarterback."

Trevor scoffed and shook his head at the double standard and how the school could let such despicable behavior go on just to win a trophy.

"So it seems Coach Perry, stellar guy," Grace scoffs sarcastically but not surprised he would be part of such a terrible cover up, "stepped in. Spoke on Trevor's 'behalf.' It seems the school was willing to lend its support to Trevor, on the grounds that it couldn't let itself be held liable…blah blah blah. So it seems the former Grace Day also felt that Trevor would do better with more counseling rather than any jail time. That part of shot down, but the compromise was that Trevor had to sign a form stating that he'd keep away from Bree and no longer harass her. All videos were to be destroyed. Bree could then test out of gym, was guaranteed any class she wanted, and the school would pay for summer art lessons in Vancouver. So far, it seems that Trevor and the school have honored that deal."

"With a threat of jail time, I'm not surprised. But this probably also means that she can't be Faction, right?"

"How do you figure?" Kyle asked, still trying to catch up.

"Well, Bree was genuinely upset to see me. This happened three years ago. Kylee said I had been tormenting her since grade school. A Faction member wouldn't have responded to me like that. They probably wouldn't even know who I was."

"Maybe not, if they've been here a while and undercover since about November, that's months of recon she could have done on her past life. With no missions, or just one mission while others tried to bring down the Director, maybe she's just more thorough about Protocol 5. All these instances are also on video, maybe she's seen them and was prepared. Even if none had survived to our time, there are probably still some around right now. I mean, she has to be from the future, how else would she have had T.E.L.L. sites?"

Kyle made a good point, but something in Trevor's old soul told him differently. The hurt, the anger, all of that was real and written all over Bree's face.

"Well either way, she hates your guts so no way are either of you getting close to her. And she sees her own therapist, so this is all I have on her. I've done my part for the mission, next time call me. This backwards time does have cell phones. I'm going to go steal the leftover donuts and bagels from the teacher's lounge."

And with that, Grace left them to their own devices.

I guess she's stopped caring about helping with the mission.

"So what do we do now?" Kyle wondered, their plan had fizzled before it even really started.

"I have an idea, but Phil's not going to like it."


Phil sometimes hated that he didn't have a "job" like the rest. The others could use the excuse of "Protocol 5" and they were "not it" for certain missions. So he was stuck with recon since he didn't have to make an excuse to a boss about missing work.

Luckily Carly had a fairly flexible job where she could disappear for an hour or two and no one would be the wiser, so at least he wasn't alone.

Even though he was there for a mission, there was just something skeezy and wrong about a twenty-something man in a teenage girl's room, going through her stuff. At least with Carly there, it felt more like a mission and not like he was some creeper.

"Well, she has a piece of Post-It note over her computer camera, that's suitably paranoid enough for a Faction member," Phil thought out loud as he hacked into her sticker covered laptop.

"She also has a fondness for young adult dystopian novels, perhaps a healthy sense of ironic humor?" Carly observed as she read the synopsis of several books that were piled around her bed and in her book shelf. "She also likes classic science fiction," she mostly muttered to herself as she put back Caves of Steel by Isaac Asimov back onto the shelf.

She saw a pile of artwork for Bree's various clubs, several books on going vegan and environmentalism, there were posters of good looking men from bands she had never heard of on the wall, and art supplies. Nothing to her shouted "Faction" to her yet. She started to check under the bed, in the drawers, and the closet.

"Well, nothing on her computer. All she has on here are school assignments, power point presentations for her clubs and community garden, and Descendants fanart and fanfiction."

"Fanart? Fanfiction?"

"Yeah, apparently she is quite fond of Cameron Boyce."

Carly hadn't caught up on 21st century pop culture and with a child, even if she had cared about trying to blend in better she wouldn't have had the time.

"He's a rather famous Disney actor of this time, his movies are big hits. Many 21st teens and young adults like to create art or writing based off current popular media. If she's Faction then she is the most consummate study of the 21st century I have ever seen."

She wasn't sure what all of that meant, but she would take his word for it.

"Gotcha," Carly said in triumph and brandished a black leather bound book with "Journal" etched on the front after finding a locked case in the closet, easily able to pick it. She started to flip through it, seeing if anything was amiss. She would have assumed a Faction member wouldn't have been foolish enough to write down anything significant, and probably would have stopped once they jumped into the body.

But she was surprised to see how prolific a writer Bree was and it was up to date.

"This Faction is really committed to Protocol 5. They keep extensive records of their thoughts, looks pretty spot on as the host's personality. Even the handwriting hasn't changed."

"What do they write about?"

"Basically everything, seems she was rather observant. Wrote down who is sleeping with who in the school, dinner plans, one girl's struggle with an eating disorder…it just goes on and on with other people's secrets. Looks like there are dozens of these."

Phil got up from the desk to check it out, there in the chest were several neatly put away journals, all the same style and brand. He picked up a random one to see what it held and read that it was like the one Carly had, detailed entries on other people's lives. He looked through several more,

"Wow, these go back to when she was nine."

"So what does this mean?"

"It means I wouldn't want her around us if she writes everyone's secrets and lives down. How could she possible know some of this?"

"Trevor said Grace said she was a loner, maybe no one notices when she's around and are more liberal with their secrets," Carly shrugged, it could also be that people in the 21st were so self-absorbed that they had given this kind of information out without thought. "Although I'm surprised that the Faction would have kept up this hobby, seems like a waste to go this in depth to a host's past and keep up their life. What could she be doing for them?"

"You really think she's Faction? We've made this mistake before."

"No, we went about confronting her the wrong way, not that she wasn't Faction. And yes, I do think she's Faction. There's no other way to explain how she knew T.E.L.L. sites. She just must be very good about covering her other tracks."

While Phil slightly bristled at the insinuation Bree was so good to even fool him with his computer expertise, he also couldn't explain the T.E.L.L. sites any other way. And Carly had been right about the girl at the rave, so he started to look elsewhere in the room; wondering where there could be other secret items hiding away.

With a keen eye, he roved every inch of the room and tried to see something that looked out of place. There was no secret knob or book to pull to open a hidden door or hatch, he felt like they weren't going to find anything else.

There was a professional leather artist's portfolio in the corner, out of sheer curiosity he had opened it to see what was inside. After thumbing through several pages,

"Holy shit," he breathed out when he realized what he was looking at.

"What is it?" Carly hurried over, looked at the pictures Phil had in his hand. "Well, there's our proof she's from the future."


Later that night both teams were back at Ops.

"We found these sketches and artwork in Bree's house, she's definitely from the future. Faction or possibly a disillusioned Traveler who is opting to stay hidden and live out Protocol 5 indefinitely," Phil started, putting pictures of the sketches they took with their phones at her house.

"So a faction of the Faction?"

"That's the outside of a shelter, that's the very crowded inside of a shelter, that's the yeast vat, that's a very detailed drawing of the polluted sky, and…someone I don't know," Maclaren rattled off what each picture was, ignoring Hall's droll observation.

"That is H07, the Historian that raised and taught my cohort." Phil answered, revealing more about Bree.

"A rogue Historian, that's a bit surprising."

"It's surprising because it should be impossible."

It was, as Historians were raised from birth and genetically conditioned in order to retain all the knowledge they needed to survive in the past. They knew more than anyone the need for the Grand Plan, they were more loyal than anyone to changing the future according to the Director's design. Even the Faction member Jenny said they couldn't get their hands on a Historian as they were jealously guarded and not introduced to the team until upon arrival.

"So if she's a Historian, that means she came with a team and there should be a record of her."

"If there was, don't you think the Director would have figured her out by now? It's not like they have an unlimited supply of Historians they would replace her with. You know how it goes, if your Historian dies then you don't get another," Grace said condescendingly to Maclaren.

"A Historian would not have joined Faction, it wouldn't be possible. No one but the Director and a select few even know where Historians are raised. No one meets them until they join the team. If the Faction had their hands on a Historian…we would have been much more screwed," Phil interjected.

"So the question is, how do we have an unaccounted for Historian?" Marcy questioned, trying to bring them back to focus.

"Do you have something to add Grace?"

"What are you implying Maclaren?"

"Well, it seems this is the second unauthorized jump. It seems the programmers are not quite on top of the Traveler program. Maybe while the Director was down, someone had altered the records?"

"Oh do not insult my programing MacLaren. I was able to jump because of my vast genius, no one else is capable. No one else could have rewritten the future records to erase an entire Historian."

"Well clearly there is because we have a Historian on the loose and no one seems to have any idea who she is."

"She had to be working with the mole, 0029. As a programmer he could have easily snuck a Historian into the Quantum Frame."

"How? Programmers don't know where Historians are raised, how would Faction even begin to convince them to betray the Director? And if she was here, why use Phil for the virus? Jenny said so herself, they didn't have access to a Historian."

"Yes, let's take the word of a dying genocidal liar."

MacLaren did not appreciate her sarcastic tone and was more convinced than ever it was probably do to her own hubris that a Historian had escaped from the future and was their current problem, but before he could make a biting remark back, the lights started to flicker and the computers went haywire.

Enough. We do not have enough facts or evidence to make a decision one way or another. You will capture the unknown Traveler in the host known as Bree Hatch and bring her in for questioning.

The words appeared on the screen in bolded font, it was probably the closest the Director could come to yelling. All members felt a bit sheepish for arguing in front of an almost omniscient computer program and realized they had a mission to accomplish and sniping at each other was not helping.

"Regardless of how they got here or their motivations, they are a Traveler that is deviating from the Grand Plan and that is high treason. Historian or not," Maclaren's final word on the matter. It was a shame to lose a Historian as they were so valuable to teams and there had been so much time, effort, and resources in grooming them for their position but the Grand Plan could not afford someone with such knowledge, even outdated knowledge, to swan around unchecked.

They spent the rest of the night checking out available safe houses and instructing other nearby teams to set up the equipment for questioning and probably overwrite. While the Director only really needed some sort of definitive digital proof to establish a T.E.L.L. site and it could be done with a smart phone or two, it was preferred that they had a stable connection to the internet and an advanced web camera to avoid misfires as much as possible. It was also preferred to have overwrites happen in as much seclusion as possible to avoid detection or suspicion.

The finer details were ironed out; Bree Hatch would be kidnapped after school and taken to a safe house in the city, she would be questioned to get as many facts as they could so they could determine how exactly a Historian was able to go missing without detection, and then she would be over written with another Traveler. Most of both teams had gone home to whatever life they were pretending to fill.

Trevor lingered behind, not ready to go back to the Holden's house and keep up the pretense of trouble teen son turning over a new leaf. Some part of him wondered how his host's parents had never seen his behavior as a cry for help, or at the very least properly punished him for it.

Would it have taken Trevor getting arrested or actually hurting someone for them to wise up that there was something wrong with him? How could they ignore his cruelty? All for what? For a few years of glory as a football player? How could that have been worth someone's life?

Screw Protocol 5, I'm an adult according to the law. I can just stay at Ops with Phil. Or get my own apartment, pretending to be Trevor Holden is too exhausting. Who's to say how his life would have gone if he had lived, choosing my own direction can't be all that far off from separating from his parents and not getting into university. At least if I were on my own I wouldn't have to keep the pretense of explaining where I am all the time.

"'Penny for your thoughts?' as the 21st would say," Phil asked, not used to Trevor being so morose. He found his friend tinkering at a table, fixing some gadget from the future.

"Life as Trevor Holden is…exhausting. I feel like every month I find out something horrible about him. Sometimes I feel sorry for him, other times I'm glad he's gone. Am I a horrible person for thinking that?"

"Well, as someone who is also in an exhausting host, I would say humans are far more complicated in the 21st. Perhaps we are programed for our own self-destruction. Whether now or centuries in the future, we create these problems with no easy or even discernable solution. Something terrible happened to Trevor Holden, I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. But he also dealt with it in terrible ways. In NA, there's this concept: drugs or trauma explain the behavior, it doesn't excuse them."

"What would have happened to Bree if a Traveler didn't hijack her body?"

Phil wondered if he should reveal that to Trevor, he wasn't sure why he was asking him or what good it would do; holding onto guilt was not advisable to their line of work. But he found himself unable to deny his friend.

"Bree Hatch was supposed to live a very normal and mundane life. She was never a host candidate."

When Phil didn't elaborate, Trevor took that to mean he went as far as he was willing to go, even Historians had their own protocols about how to disseminate information. He thought it meant when the real Trevor Holden had died, she was probably free from his torment and got over what happened.

Now because of their interference, Bree Hatch's life had been cut tragically short.

"I feel like there is something off about this," Trevor admitted, going against the evidence and revealing what his instincts were telling him.

"What do you mean? Besides the obvious how did a sequestered Historian, one in my own cohort, managed to evade the Director and jump into a body that wasn't meant to be a host?"

"I know she has to be a traveler. Maybe not Faction, but definitely a Traveler…I just can't get over how she looked at me when I spoke to her. It seemed and felt so real, genuine hurt."

Phil knew how he felt, he did not have the luxury to forgive and forget what Jenny had done. She had played the "fellow Traveler on your side" and had even gone far enough to sleep with him and gave him something different to be addicted to. He felt used and guilty for helping the Faction, even if it were inadvertently. He was living proof of how a Historian could be misused, and as sorry as he felt for the former Bree Hatch, there was nothing Trevor or any of them could do for her or to make up for what the late Trevor Holden had done.

"Travelers can be good actors when they want to be," he knew he didn't need to explain further. "And it's a shame what Trevor had done to her, but none of that is your fault. And it's not your responsibility, or any of ours, to make up for past wrongs our hosts had committed. Protocol 5 says we have to maintain our host's lives, not rectify or improve upon them."

Although Trevor was technically the oldest person to have ever lived, he was glad that others had wisdom to impart to him. What Phil said didn't fix everything, but it certainly lifted some of the weight he had been carrying for the past few days.

It was sad what happened to Bree, even more so that Trevor would never be able to at least apologize on his host's behalf. But they were working on a better future, one where they could live freely above ground and in a conserved earth; maybe they could also work on making humans kinder to one another.