Chloe dropped her mug and book, threw her body forward, drew her pistol and aimed it at the bald man. Before she could fire her weapon or scream her warning, her life ended.

Max heard a sickening crunch of wet bone and meat behind her as a needle plunged into her neck. A distant rifle cracked. As she fell, world closing, Chloe lay dead. A hole in her head, the back half missing.

For Max, there was only darkness as her ears popped.

Michaels shot up from his chair, hands on his head, staring blankly at the screens on the big wall. Found his voice. "What the fuck just happened?!"

The cavernous operations center exploded into a buzz of activity.

Their ops staff tripled in size in recent weeks, continuing to grow as they learned more about Max - and as budget, interest, and attention from 'higher up' increased.

Samuel jogged in from the hallway, spilling coffee. "Status please."

One of the operators ran a dozen cameras back while another addressed Samuel's question in barest terms. Only seconds passed.

"Price and Caulfield were on the roof doing their morning routine. A bald man appeared behind Caulfield. Price's head exploded, the man grabbed Caulfield and literally vanished. Top two floors of the hotel are currently on fire."

Phones rang, foot traffic in and out increased.

"Fucking hell. They killed Chloe—" Michaels swept folders and his laptop off his desk and across the room in an angry fit. "Fuck." He dropped into his chair.

He knew the job, their mission, how things might go. Knew to keep distance. But he'd spent more than a month on direct surveillance of the girls, immersed in every aspect of their lives. Histories, personality profiles, social deconstructions, conversations, recordings, emails, texts - everything.

It was rare to crawl into the life of an average, everyday person and not pick up on the good in them. Most people were decent, likable. The ones who weren't scumbags, anyway. Max and Chloe were no exceptions. Likable kids on the receiving end of a powerful gift they didn't ask for.

He didn't realize how much he'd grown to like them as people. Chloe was funny as shit. Max is one of the sweetest, most sarcastic— "Fuck!" And they were so…poor Max. Aloud, "She's gonna be fucking devastated. Angry…determined— Oh. …oh. Goddammit."

Playback on the video-wall paused seconds before the man appeared.

Samuel sipped his coffee, winced, sat on a desk. "Run it back at 1x - need to see this. Keep processing. Face rec, deconstruction of the scene, get an angle and location on the sniper who shot Chloe. Everything. Ping Max's phone - see if she had it on her, and if so, where they went. Run traffic cams, thermals on all buildings line of site, whole net. You know the drill, folks."

Michaels stood, shaking it off. "I'm going for a beer. Maybe shots. Anyone wanna come?" He casually threw his jacket over his shoulder, turned to leave.

A few ops people exchanged confused looks.

Samuel held out his arms like a question. "Michaels? Where's your head?"

John, halfway to the door, stopped. His cadence slow, "Nothing matters. None of this matters. She's fucking dead."

"Don't fold on me. We need to play this through. She was a good kid. Bad break. Didn't deserve this. But we need to find out what happened. Who happened. Where they took the Caulfield girl. We need to know these things, so we know who we're dealing with. We need to ensure that she doesn't fall into the wrong hands. We still have a chance to recover from this. The mission hasn't changed - only the circumstances and plan. We adapt. We're all professionals here—"

John rolled his eyes, faced Samuel. "No, no - that's not what I mean, Sam. I'm not folding up. Jesus. I mean this very literally - nothing we do here will help us or make the least bit of difference. We might as well grab a beer and take the rest of the day off."

"Explain," Samuel demanded.

John chuckled. "Listen. Chloe's dead."

"Obviously. Which is why—"

"No - that's why it doesn't matter. It's not real anymore. We're on a dead branch. Doomed timeline. Whatever you want to call it. Nothing we do here stays - it'll all be wiped the second she goes back. There's no way for us to communicate anything we might learn here to whatever version of ourselves might exist in the past or on another branch, right? So we might as well fuck off and have a drink? We won't remember any of this. It'll be as if we never existed beyond that moment on the roof."

Samuel crossed his arms, angry, impatient. "She's God knows where right now, Michaels - I don't think—"

"Sam - listen to me. I mean this respectfully, but seriously. There's exactly zero chance Max is going to let Chloe stay dead."

"But what if—"

"I know her. Them. Look, we all do. Think! They've been best friends since before they could talk. And now they're in love. And I mean honest to god for real hearts and flowers soulmate young love. Right? Honeymoon phase. You've heard them. Seen how they are together. And these sorry asshats, they ended Chloe, her Chloe, about three minutes ago."

The room quieted, all eyes on Michaels.

"It doesn't matter how long it takes her. It doesn't matter what she has to go through. She's a time traveler, Sam. Among other things. And the love of her life is dead on that rooftop. Anything that happens anywhere in the universe after that moment is essentially forfeit."

Others in the room exchanged glances. Some stopped what they were doing altogether, as the gravity of what Michaels said sank in.

"Son of a bitch." Samuel's hand went to his chin, as he stared off into the distance.

"Yeah. We've been watching, so we know what she can do. It's why we're eyes only for now, right? Do these guys have any idea what they've just done? They can't hold her. No way this timeline stands. None. We're the only people on earth right now who know that we're all going to stop existing the second she gets control of her situation. So drinks don't sound like the worst idea?"

One of the analysts interrupted "Sir - we have an ID. The man I mean. Alexander Vankin."

"Russia's teleporter. Shit. Yeah, of course. Run him on the ground. They must have a team here. How did they find out about Caulfield? And shit - there isn't any way to communicate with ourselves after she resets, is there?"

"No. She'll be the only person with any memory of what happened in this timeline."

Samuel kept the distant stare for a moment, snapped back. "But she will, correct?"

"We're pretty sure, yeah."

Samuel, projected his voice, taking charge. "Alright, everyone. Listen up. All hands on deck. This op just went from a covert investigation to an all-access priority-one rescue mission. We're going public. The narrative is we have a US citizen and friendly intelligence asset illegally detained by foreign nationals on US soil, under immediate threat of execution or forcible rendition out of the country in the next 24 hours. Get her photo out to every federal, state and local law enforcement agency within five hundred miles of Las Vegas. TSA, FBI, CBP, Coast Guard. Military. Update our teams and remote participants on the situation. I want to see her photo in airports, bus stations, taxi cabs. Every hotel concierge. Move her age down a few months - call it abduction of a female minor and get it on the news, Amber alerts, road signs, perverts grabbed her, whatever. Get the public on the lookout. Checkpoints in and out of the metro. Get us some air assets out of Nellis to eyeball the dark spaces. Put her on social media. Go wide. Lock these fuckers down. She doesn't move without someone seeing her and calling us. Any edge we can give her. Her safety and successful recovery are the only things that matter now. Come on. Let's go people!"

The room burst back to life with renewed purpose. Michaels suspected others here had privately grown fond of them as well.

He set his coat over the back of his chair. "What's the play?"

"You know her as well as any of us. I want you and a tac team wheels up for Vegas five minutes ago. Take the jet. Take Miss Margaret, but keep her background until Caulfield's secure. Be clear with the team - this is a full-on stars and stripes style military rescue mission - not a detention. Help her out, give her whatever she needs to get back to Chloe. She's free to make her own calls."

"So…what's the play? She's going to get out on her own somehow. Why the full public press here?"

"She'll remember, John. Even if no one else does. Even though we won't. I want her to know she has friends out here."

"Sir?" as they walked together toward the exit.

"She'll remember you. That we tried to help her. Our job here is to recruit her. The alternatives are all unacceptable, and I think you agree. Mission hasn't changed, even if this all evaporates. I'd rather she sees us as friends when we meet again, not enemies. Makes it easier for all of us. Both of them too. If she's to imprint on a friendly face, I want it to be you. I know you care about her and Chloe. It's okay - we're not robots. She'll sense that too. Be honest with her. Don't tell her everything, just a friendly version of everything. Enough so she understands. If you or Miss M. learn anything from the Russians, give it to her. Give her your mobile number before she goes back. But don't push. It's got to be her call. She might get in touch herself, once everything's reset. Might give us some intel, might agree to come in. That would be the best thing for everyone, agreed? Unless you'd rather go get that beer?"

"No. Agreed. This is the right call. Thank you."

One of the aides jumped in, "Michaels, confirming the strike teams are on alert, standing by at LAX with runway priority. There's a helo on the roof to take you and Miss Margaret. Your gear's already on the plane. Good luck. And…sir - keep her safe?" Teammates around the room looked his way as if to agree.

He nodded, double-timed it out of the room and up the stairs.

Max heard a woman speaking. The world was all dark and scratchy. She felt too sideways. Couldn't move. "Chloe?" Her voice barely carried to her ears.

The woman's voice grew. Closer. Receded. Scratchy. A man's voice. A third.

Max couldn't see. Couldn't feel. Anything.

Which Max?

Scribbling.

Her throat was al dente.

She couldn't feel the rest of her. Just her tongue. Too big.

Her heart talked in bumps. Too slow.

Through a heavy blanket maybe. A voice. "…'s waking…"

A pinch. Behind her head, holding tube. A liquid.

A burning line of orange, slowing.

a dream.

A white expanse.

"Hello, Max." A surprise voice? Not made of mouth sounds.

"Hi?"

"Hi."

"um."

"It's going to be okay Max. I'll stay here with you for a time."

"Thank you?"

"You're welcome."

"Where?"

"Nowhere."

"Why don't I—"

"Remember me? We haven't met."

"What is—"

"You're in an old branch. You'll find your way again."

"What's—"

"You've been given a neuroinhibitor. It separates you from you."

"What—"

"No. It doesn't exist yet."

"That sound—"

"It's you. You're accelerating. On the Inside."

"Why?"

"To burn it all away."

"What about—"

"Chloe?"

"Yes."

"Spoilers."

"But—"

"It's almost time, Max."

"It's always almost time."

"You're beginning to understand."

"Will I meet you—"

"You just did."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome, Max. It's now again."

…A white space

…An expanse

…A cocoon

Michaels and his team hovered fifty feet above the target site in two stealth-modified UH-60 Black Hawks, rotors thumping at the air. The mid-morning clouds would break in another hour. The stealth helos were quieter than unmodified versions but still sounded like helicopters. And they were clearly visible to anyone who looked at them.

Image analysts back at the Joint Operations Center LA picked out signs of Alexander's landing in the wide-field thermal recordings from one of the drones. Through that hit, they identified the address, floor, and probable rooms where they were holding Max.

Local PD quietly secured the ground level and cleared the suspected floor, while LV Swat positioned sharpshooters on a few buildings overlooking the target. All held position.

"Time to go." Michaels tapped the condenser mic on his throat.

Getting Max out safely was their only priority. They weren't concerned about Alexander jumping away. The timeline would reset when Max went back, and Alexander wasn't his fight anyway.

They descended thick black ropes to the hotel roof. Half the men secured lines and rappelled farther down the sides of the building, stopping above floor 7. Others raced down one of two stairwells at each end of the structure. The inside teams were weighed down with heavy steel plate body armor, and a standard mix of MP5s, M4 assault rifles, and sidearms. Two men in each group also carried short breaching shotguns for the doors.

Michaels was point on the north stairwell team. His group of five went down in a tight line, covering corners and hides in a practiced flow as they dropped levels. They reached the seventh-floor stairwell exit, holding for the other teams to signal ready.

On count, they opened the doors to the hallways from each side, moving to center.

Outside teams were to stay put until the target locations were confirmed and the breach began.

Inside teams crept down the hall, one member examining walls on each side with handheld Terahertz scanners to ensure no one got missed or behind them. They closed on the doors of two adjoining rooms housing the suspects. The rest of the floor was confirmed clear.

Michaels scanned outside one of the suspect rooms, picking up three adults at a table. Farther down, his scanner showed a fourth person lying on a bed.

Only four, including Max, and she was away from the other three. Michaels signaled the others, then tapped a countdown to zero with his finger on the mic. The rest was noise and controlled confusion. They breached the doors with shotguns, tossed in flash bangs, and each team rushed into their assigned room as a unit. External windows blew at the same time, outside operators covering targets while suspended upside down from their lines.

"Shit." Inside the room was all kinds of wrong. The family at the table screamed as the doors and windows blew, and the men stormed the interior. A child, asleep in the bedroom, cried for his parents, terrified.

"Eyes open. Targets not present. Repeat targets not—"

Half the windows of the hotel across the street blew out, shaking both buildings and showering tons of glass onto the sidewalk below.

A crackle over the radio, "…opposite side…anyone got eyes on?"…"Shit - wrong building. Does anyone see her? Anyone?"

Michaels, already on the move, took control. "Teams one and two, on me. Team three, drop and secure. Team four, scan, cover in place. LVPD - secure the perimeter of the building across the street. Swat - please cover and scan for the hostage. Anyone gets eyes on her, call it out."

Michaels and his team ran for the stairwells, while the outside squad split - half stayed suspended where they were, scanned the open front half of the building for signs of Max or her captors, while the other half dropped to the ground to cover exits and compare exiting civilians against the face cards.

"Fuck. Sam - Alexander must have used this building as a relay. Heading across. What can you guys see with the drones? Be good to know where we're heading before we get there."

"On it. Stand by."

Max was coming out again. Pounding inside. That dream. …something familiar.

Her mouth tasted nickels. Bad.

Opened her eyes.

Brightness. Unfocused.

Drugged?

Whatever they gave her was strong. Her mind was catching up, even if her body wasn't ready.

She squinted against the light. Tried to roll. Couldn't. She was in a hotel room, on a bed. There was a window. Blinds open. Outside, above. Helicopters. Why? Blurred sounds. Helicopters went away. Just spidermen. Still can't move.

She struggled to maintain attention.

Focus. This is important.

She looked again. Men. Guns.

Doing something across the street.

Chloe. Fuck. Chloe.

She remembered. Before she went black.

They…they killed her. Chloe was dead.

For the moment.

Oh my god. Her head. You motherfuckers. You meant it. You meant that for her. Then you drugged me. How? Why? This is too close to Jefferson to be coincidence, isn't it? He was the only one who stopped my powers like this. And even he didn't know. How the fuck did they know?

Ok, Max. Enough fucking around.

Wake yourself up. Please?

A noise. Commotion outside the room. The people who did this. They saw outside too. The woman…she knew Max was waking up. Their voices rose.

Explosions in the other building?!

Line of glass vanished.

She was coming! A needle.

Shit! Do something, Max!

She remembered what the voiceless said.

You're accelerating. On the inside. To burn it away.

Could she do that? Could she speed up her internal body clock to metabolize the drug? Free herself? It might look the same from the outside, but it was different from slowing down the world and then her body, wasn't it? The difference between mind time and body time - if she could reverse their tuning ratios - shift the other way?! While the world continued to slow.

Focus Max.

The needle drew closer. But more slowly now.

The woman's face… Fear.

She can feel my mind racing away from her.

My body going almost as far.

I can feel her in there.

She knows what's coming.

It doesn't matter. Keep going. Push, goddammit!

Burn it all.

Burn it away.

The world slowed…to a stop.

Max kept going.

Pushed hard.

Her mind ran in the same frame as her body, both faster than the world.

How do I do it? How do I push my body faster?

Her mind! It would always think it was the one moving at regular speed.

It perceives itself!

There was no other way.

Of course. Now it totally makes sense.

That was the block.

Go. Go beyond.

Mental frame-locks removed, the world stilled behind. Her body time raced far, far ahead. Her thoughts riding somewhere between.

Burn out the poison.

Now she understood. She knew how this worked. Femtoseconds of real time.

Never again.

A few perceptual minutes of thought.

But my body will age 12 hours or more in that span… Never. Fucking. Again.

Keep burning.

Chloe. I'm sorry. Every fucking time you die, it's been my fault. At least the last two were fast. Painless. But I always come back for you. And I always will. Sorry for the hurt I cause you, even if it's erased. I never wanted any of that for you. But I'm selfish. I'll never send you away.

Burning away.

Just a little longer love. I don't know where you are right now. If you're dead in this timeline, where do you go? If anywhere? If there is an afterlife, they must be installing a revolving door for you. I don't know if what I said about Rachel is true. If her spirit lives on in some form. If some of her awareness lingers. But if it's true for her, then it must also be true for you. When you're between, can you visit with her? Does time work the same way? Or are you outside it all? Can you hear me? Can you see across the timelines?

Can you feel how much I love you?

Burning out.

Well, fair warning. If you're aware at all, you might wanna look away. Least until I bring you back. These motherfuckers are gonna pay. And shit's not gonna be pretty.

Burned away.

See you soon Chloe.

"Time to wake up Max."

Max snapped open her eyes to a frozen world.

The tip of the needle was less than an inch from her skin. Unmoving.

She reached out, slowed her body, aligning the rate of flow to match her mind. She pushed herself off the bed. Stretched. The drug was gone. Visuals shifted as she caught interference waves. Light still moved at the speed of light, even in a frozen universe. But even so, reality didn't always appear the same.

She looked at the woman. Blond hair, curly. Average height, weight. Maybe 35. Blue eyes. Face reflecting a full-blown panic. Frozen. Telepath? Max felt some presence where it shouldn't be. But why here? Why was she interested in Max? Why the fuck did they kill Chloe? It would explain how they knew to drug her though.

Good luck with that next time, fuckers.

Max saw them. A young man and woman, dead, dumped haphazardly in the space between the bed and the wall. Poor couple. Must have been their room. I'll have to remember to check on them later. Earlier.

She walked past the blonde woman to other room. Two men. One, the smaller of the two, was caught mid-stride, running into the hallway. The other was tall, head shaved. There was something weird about his appearance. Max walked around him.

The hell?

Like there was a mirage extending a quarter-inch outward from his body on all sides. But as Max walked around, the contents, visual distortions, changed. She looked closer. Like he was in a bubble? Right against his skin. Somewhere else was showing through the edges.

Sunlight. Ground. Trees. Wait. Like over there, outside? Shit! This guy is fucking tunneling!

In the margins of his body, she was looking down the barrel of a forming wormhole. In Seattle, they thought I was a teleporter. That's what they meant. Son of a bitch. They're fucking real. Teleporter. Telepath. These are…powered people. What were they doing with me?

She thought she understood how he worked, frozen in an instant. He wasn't moving between two places. He was breaking space, joining two volumes together, sticking to the second one as the wormhole destabilized. Was that the popping I felt as I blacked out? Oh man. Chloe is gonna love this way too much.

Okay, Max. Detective hat time. We've got a room full of powered people. They killed Chloe. Drugged you. Murdered two other people. So, not friendlies. Check.

Across the street, we've got an armed incursion going on. The way these three are reacting, flight, panic, I'm guessing they're either the targets, or…yeah. That's pretty much it. They'd sit tight otherwise. Doesn't make those other guys friends, but—

She walked to the window, looked carefully at what was unfolding outside. Uniformed cops down on the street. A few snipers on the building across the plaza. And right across the street, what looked like special ops guys upside down on lines with their guns. The windows of one of the rooms were blown out. Couldn't see anything more inside.

So, real cops? Military? Do they all know about the powers these people have?

Huh. Okay. Well, I'm back in control. This shit's out of my system. This timeline is a bust anyway, so yeah. Let's find out what's going on. Could be important for us. Just a little longer, Chloe. Recon intensifies.

She checked the room for any documents, papers, IDs. All three of her captors had passports, probably fake, but she'd take them anyway. Boarding passes. Entry stamps. Looked like they came in through South America. Moscow to Sao Paulo, then to LA and Vegas. A key. To what? Nothing in here. Check the hotel lobby for deposit boxes later. Nothing in the safe. No computers. No mobile phones. Interesting by itself. She found hers, switched off.

Picked it up and powered on. Looks like it syncs to my time once I pick it up. Interesting. Right, small objects. No signal, of course. She took pictures of each of the three, as well as the young couple just in case. Pocketed her phone.

Now to see what's up with the COD guys across the street. Could walk out. But then these douchenozzles would get away, and I want to see how they interact together. Could blow out the windows. Wave? Maybe I could fuck with this dude while he's in two places at once. Or while two locations are in him?

Powerslide? Yeah. Powerslide.

Max went through the door again, to the far side of the room. Remembered Chloe's advice. Don't think about how. Think about what. Okay, Chloe. See? I'm listening. But the how helped me earlier with the drugs, so… She wanted to blow the windows out of the room without damaging the structure. Maybe a shockwave, aimed only out at the glass? Okay, Max. Let's do this. She shifted frames and walked in slow-mo to the other side of the room, returning to regular time once she stopped. Slight delay coming out to shield her from the blast.

No…

She caught the air-wobble as soon as time allowed visible movement. The wormhole. It reacted, created a shockwave resonance, the cavity amplifying the blast and redirecting it in new directions like a spherical lens.

Dammit. Too late. Hold on.

The whole building shook as the glass shattered outward - furniture flew, wall decorations flattened. The ceiling and floor expanded out, buckled. The telepath flew face-first into a wall. Crunch.

Yeah, she's gone.

The teleporter was caught in the center of the shock amp. He turned into a swirling red mist. Fortunately, most of him landed outside in the parking lot as the wormhole collapsed.

Yikes. Sorry dude. Guess I could rewind, but meh. I'll find you earlier. We have some chatting to do. Looks like I have their attention across the street now though.

Hallway dude kept going. Maybe they'll catch up with him on their way over.

Shaking stopped. Building seemed stable, at least for now.

I'll hang out here for a few.

See how this goes.

Michaels' earpiece crackled to life as they were halfway across the street.

"Fourth floor, street side, midpoint. Max. Looks like she's okay. She's sitting against the interior wall to the right of the door as you go in. She…yeah, she just waved at the drone."

"Copy. Thanks." He looked up at the hovering drone, but couldn't see that far back into the room from his low angle. It was like the entire front face of the hotel sheared off. Concrete and wet carpet and broken furniture in the street, sprinklers spraying overhead. Sirens rose in the distance, fire probably. He ran into the lobby.

A uniformed cop pointed them to the stairwell nearest the entrance.

He ditched his plate carrier while rounding the second-floor stairs, continued up at a run. His team was fast behind. Skidded to a stop inside the room. "Max?"

"Down here."

He dropped down, gave her a quick once-over to make sure she didn't have any obvious wounds. "You okay?"

"I think so…wait. You just called me Max. How do you know my name?"

"Sorry - we should get out of here, this building may not be safe. Can you walk?" He offered his hand. "I'll explain everything, but we probably need to go now."

She picked herself up, gesturing for him to lead the way.

They descended to the street, where he led her to a paramedic unit to get checked out.

She waved him off impatiently but accepted the offer of the tailgate. "Okay - so how do you know me? Who were those people in there to you? I assume that's what all this fuss was about out here?"

Right to the point. "We aren't here for them Max. We saw what they did to Chloe this morning, your abduction, we came looking for you."

Max looked around, taking in the scale of the effort.

She's putting it together on her own. Time to get ahead of her. "We know what you are Max. We've kept tabs on you, but we've also kept our distance. You can understand that. I…we…know you're not a threat. But there are others - nations, governments, organizations - who wouldn't share that view. Or who would seek to use you for their own ends." He gestured toward the room where she'd been held.

"So you know?" She looked annoyed, but not completely surprised. She didn't bother to hide anything either.

Of course. She knows she's not staying. Michaels chuckled, "Yeah Max. Look, it's okay. We came to help. You're free to go at any time; we know we couldn't hold you if we wanted to."

"Fair enough John. But who are you working for?"

He smiled. "That was good. I didn't see you move. Assume you went through my wallet and phone?"

"Guilty." She shrugged, turned aside as though bored. "No wife? Kids?"

"More of a 'series of plentiful but shallow relationships' sort of guy."

Michaels caught Miss Margaret heading toward them, escorted by a police officer.

"To answer your real question, I won't bore you with the deep structural details, but it's a mix of public and private sector, representing the interests of the United States here and around the world. Personnel, policy, financing, and authority are all derived from a mix of government, military, law enforcement, academia, and public and private corporations. Operate in small teams. Come together around specific missions, then dissolve. Loose hierarchy. Expertise based. Problem-solving. Away from public view. This…" he gestured around, "is probably the loudest, most public thing we've done."

Miss Margaret rested to one side, not directly acknowledging Max or Michaels. As though waiting to ask a paramedic a question.

Max held his gaze, evaluating everything. But Michaels had the advantage of knowing Max, if not directly, then observationally, and in relatively fine detail.

He made a show of visibly relaxing. "We don't have to do this dance, Max. Look, we both know this timeline's dead end. You don't have to be so guarded. I'll share what I know with you. And nothing you say to me will survive once you go back anyway, right? So I'm not asking you to trust me. But I am telling you that I know it doesn't matter. There's nothing for me to gain here. So you might as well use this time to learn as much as you can before you go back and save her."

Her face changed completely. Softened. Surprised?

"You weren't kidding."

He laughed, "Nope. We've had some pretty smart people thinking about all of this. Not your enemy Max. We're not friends yet either. That's yours to call when you feel you have enough info."

Max crossed her arms. "Okay - so the first thing to confirm, telepaths, teleporters? Real, yeah?"

"Exceptionally rare. But yes. Real."

"What else? Other powered people? Are there others who can do what I can do?"

"Don't let this go to your head, but you're unique, Max. We have no record of anyone like you before. But who knows? If there were others, they could probably ensure that that was the case. But there are more than a few lab nerds who suspect that your powers come from a different source than the ones we're used to. They're that different. No idea what that means, but, they seem proud."

He gave her a quick overview of the known types and limitations of gifted. How they fit into history, international policy, and conflicts. Leaving out the part about how most are given little choice about their participation.

"Shit."

"Ha. Yeah. Blew my mind when I learned all of that for the first time. I still didn't believe it until I'd met a few though. You have an advantage there."

Max wasn't quite as relaxed or comfortable as Michaels knew she could be in her most comfortable downtime, but this was okay too. It was significant progress. Felt like they were on equal footing at least.

"So what, you guys are basically like…Shield, then?"

Michaels thought about it for a moment before replying. "Yeah actually. Pretty much exactly like Shield. Fewer helicarriers, unfortunately." He smiled.

Max smiled back. "Bright side, you guys bring some pretty cool toys to the party all the same. Chloe would love this," she motioned around to all the gear and chaos.

Michaels anticipated her likely line of questions, so he jumped in front of them. "The people who took you - Russian team. We identified the bald one as a teleporter, name of Alexander Vankin. They usually reserve him for assassinations, so you should feel special that he was here as part of an extraction team."

Max shrugged. "He's dead. Somewhere over by that park, I think. You won't find many…solids. There were two others. A blond woman, telepath I think. She didn't make it. And another man I didn't get a good look at. He ran out as you guys were doing your thing over there."

Caught Michaels off guard. "Seriously? Vankin's been on everyone's list for about a quarter century. No one could ever touch him. It's too bad that part of the timeline can't stay - they'd probably be lining up to pin medals on you right about now."

"Good to know."

"The woman I don't know. We could probably run her through the system, but she might not show up. It's also possible you'd be gone before we had any answers, so might just be wasted motion. Don't know about the third man. He may have blended out with the escaping crowd after the explosion."

Max tucked her knee under her chin. "Why Russians?"

"Just happened to be them that got wind of you first? It's not like they're particularly bad or anything. Or that they represent Russia in the general sense. Their people aren't any more aware of them, or their actions than the US public is aware of ours. I know what they did to Chloe is unforgivable, but this is a dirty, secret game we've all been playing for a very long time. Unfortunately, we can be a bit desensitized to it. And as much as we like to tell ourselves that we're the good guys, everyone else is telling themselves the same thing. It's a real war. We all want to see ourselves as the heroes."

Max looked away. "I'm familiar with the idea. I prefer mine to be the everyday sort though. Anyway, every one of us out here makes choices too, and they all leave marks. Guess we all have to live with our consequences. Believe me. I know something about that."

"You more than most, huh? Sorry, Max. I know you've had some hard calls," Michaels trailed off.

Max straightened up. "Okay. Next. Back in Seattle, some guys in vans came after Chloe and I. Your guys?"

"No," he lied. "We've been passive observers since Arcadia Bay. Was it the day you two went looking at lofts before you disappeared?"

Max hugged her leg. "Yeah. Jeeze. You guys do have us under tight watch don't you?"

"It's as much for your safety as our peace of mind Max. Case in point." He waved around. "Anyway, we saw you jumping around that day, but couldn't figure out why. We could have pulled traffic cams or something for you if we'd known, but… Well, probably doesn't matter now."

Max locked eyes with him. "You guys had us under surveillance on the roof this morning?"

He held her gaze. "Yeah. It's how we knew things went wrong." He figured she'd get here eventually. "And yes. We had cameras pointed there last night too. But we're not in that business Max. Most of this is DVR level stuff - it's automated, and only flagged or looked at if something bad happens. And if someone does see a private moment, people understand it's meant to be private, and those sections are deleted. I know it's uncomfortable, but we're trying to strike a balance between your safety and privacy. Sometimes we miss. We still behave like professionals and grownups."

Without looking away, she said, "You're almost as good at this as me."

Miss Margaret stifled a laugh off to the side.

You have something to contribute to this Margaret? Speak up, he thought to her with a mental smile.

He stood, handed Max a card with his number on it. "If you ever need a direct line. Intel, questions, whatever. I obviously won't remember any of this conversation, but if you tell me, I'll believe you."

She took it. Name. Email. Mobile number. Put it in her pocket with all of the other papers she'd taken from the hotel room. "Thanks. And thanks for all of…this." She made a circular motion in the air. "No promises. I don't know your agendas or anything yet, and I have a few of my own I'm working on."

"It's okay Max. Save Chloe. Bring her up to speed. You guys will figure out what you want to do. We're here if you need us. We're holed up in the Federal Building in LA. Feel free to pop by. You may find that our agendas align. And even if they don't completely, they may not conflict." Michaels spoke sincerely.

Max stood as well. "Thanks for not being a douche, John."

He laughed. "Thanks for not going back in time and killing my parents."

"You guys worry about that?" she laughed.

"It's an endless source of amusement for me that some of us do, yes. So how does this work? Do you need space to go back? Spin in a circle? Fly around the world backward?"

She smiled, hand on her hip. "I just need to get home. I took a photo this morning. I use those to target my jumps."

"Really? Wow. We had no idea how any of that worked."

"Good to know."

John remembered. "Shit. No…"

"What?" She turned.

"After they grabbed you, they torched your suite."

Max looked up. "Fuck."

"Yeah."

"They knew to drug me to prevent me from using my powers too."

"What? Shit. We didn't know that either." He leaned against the back of the ambulance, crossed his arms.

Max smiled. "Also good to know."

"So you think they knew you used photos and wanted to prevent you from going back?"

She paced. "Shit. Yeah. I mean… Telepath must have been keeping an eye on us too."

Gotta tell her. "I didn't mention this earlier - I figured it wouldn't matter with the whole 'universe is doomed' thing, but we heard a report from Seattle that your parents' house was also burned. Gas leak by the look of it. They're fine, out of the house, but it has to have been coordinated for the same reason. Damn."

For the first time, Max looked worried.

"Did you have any photos stored safely offsite? Besides your parents' house?"

She bit her lip. "Chloe's, but her house was destroyed in the tornado, and those photos would put me right back in hell week. Although, with my newer abilities, I might be able to navigate that fucking maze differently now." Her eyes darted, working things out as she spoke.

Reaching, he asked, "Does there have to be anything special about the photos themselves?"

"We've only ever used instant analog film. But that's only cause that's what I like to use. Haven't tried it with anything else, but there's no reason for me to think that it wouldn't work. Wait… I used a still from a phone once! You think some of the surveillance video might work?"

He leaned forward. "We have some. Last resort?"

Max stretched. "Maybe. It's always been stills though. And something I've taken, or something I was in, but close. Hey, can you get one of your guys to give me a lift over to our hotel? It's possible something might have survived. Or I might be able to rewind myself far enough to find something in the fire before it's destroyed."

"Of course." He tapped his mic. "This is Michaels. We're loaning Max one of the Black Hawks. Can I get an escort to take her over to the LZ, have the crew on standby? Wherever she wants to go, as long as she needs it…thanks."

One of the tac ops guys, an old friend of John's, walked over. Head-nod to John, introduced himself to Max. "Call me Ty. I'll be your flight attendant." He smiled, held out his hand.

She shook it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Max."

"Where would you like to go first, Max?" He gestured toward the huge grey helicopter hunkered in one of the parking lots.

Michaels added, "Call me if we need to look at Plan B. I can have them send a frame grab of any timecode you need to your mobile."

Max thanked him and waved.

Miss Margaret moved to sit next to Michaels, watched her walk away. "Such a sweet girl."

Michaels turned to her. "You sat there making faces for twenty minutes with your ear in her head, and that's all you've got?"

She seemed to consider his words for a moment. "Sorry. We're going to be erased, or this will all be erased for us, soon. Does it matter?"

"No, I suppose not." He leaned back. Miller time?

"It's a shame. That we can't get a message across to ourselves."

He nodded at her. "What do you know?"

"Well, you know I…usually operate in different circles than this…" She clasped her hands.

That was her polite way of saying 'way above your pay grade,' but he wasn't offended. It was true. She'd always worked more closely with them than ops. "Sure."

"Oh, hell, this will all be erased anyway, so it doesn't matter. Not like they can do anything to them now. I hear things…silent things…from time to time. I can't help it. I'm old. And they've used my children and grandchildren as leverage over me for more than ten years. Men of ego, power, can sometimes be careless with their thoughts. I never wished any of this for myself. It's only ever been to protect my family."

"What do you mean, Margaret?"

"You told Max the truth as you know it. Omissions, but you didn't intentionally lie. The trouble is, it's not all true. It's okay. You didn't know that. You're in a smaller box than I am. I've seen and heard things…after spending even this little bit of time with Max…comparing what fragments they've let slip with the fragments of futures I saw in Max's head…well certain things that didn't make sense before might just a bit make more sense now."

"What? Margaret - what is it?"

"John, I think…I think it's possible we're playing for the wrong team."