Mobius was getting more than a little annoyed by all the people in his division congratulating him over and over; vague acquaintances patting him on the back as he went down the hallway, random people asking him if he remembered them when he most certainly didn't. He was just trying to get his lunch in the cafeteria. He'd had to capture a few rather narcissistic beings who considered themselves celebrities… didn't they ever get tired of everyone knowing who they were? Mobius had suffered through it for less than a day and he was already exhausted.

It wasn't just the extra attention eating at him, though. It was that damned interview. He couldn't forget those variants' faces, ever, for as long as he lived.

They won't just prune us if they find out, they'll kill us.

He hadn't put together exactly what that implied right after he'd walked out of the holding cell room, but he should have. Pruning was obliteration into the Void. This variant knew what pruning was, had perhaps even seen it happen, and he thought there was something worse? And he'd said something about going into the Void, when he'd been masquerading as 'Ben'...

"Hey, you're holding up the line."

An old woman spoke from behind him at the cafeteria queue, wearing an archivists' signature beige dress shirt uniform, scowling at him over her thick glasses.

Mobius took a little orange bowl from the selection of desserts-a block of quivering, lime jello with peeled grapes inside and festooned with whipped cream-then moved down the line to the exit.

He regretted not sending them for interrogation, now, even if they'd pegged him as some kind of anarchist. The thought was as amusing as it was disturbing. Those two were hiding something absolutely enormous, if they weren't both just insane. Mobius resolved to check with Ravonna after lunch, to see if they hadn't been pruned already.

Mobius' colleagues, Jet, Libby, and G., waved him over to a circular table right next to the window overlooking the magnificent, endless cityscape of the TVA. Before he'd even sat down, Jet embarrassingly started to sing.

"For he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fellow-"

"Knock it off, Jet."

Mobius' words came out a little meaner than he'd intended as he placed his tray down at the table and poked at his lasagna with a fork.

"So-rry," Jet muttered back, with a smirk and a waggle of his eyebrow to Libby, who giggled through a bite of wedge salad. G. kept silent, a withering expression on his face.

"What's the matter, Mobius?" said Libby, her smile fading away as she seemed to realize he was actually annoyed, and not just joking around.

"Nothing," Mobius lied. "Just kind of sick of all the attention."

"Bask in it for a little while," said Jet, putting his hands behind his head. He spread one hand in front of him, eyes big, feigning wonder. "You're famous! You're a star!"

"Good Lord," mumbled G., stabbing at his half eaten breaded steak and ferociously cutting it.

That was about how Mobius felt about the whole thing, too. Jet had always been a bit of a clown, but an excellent agent, nonetheless. That might have been how he'd gotten his hands on a notoriously slippery Deadpool variant, which had garnered him a moderate amount of fame in Division Nine-for a few weeks, at least. To catch a clown, maybe you had to think like a clown.

Jet had always had their friend Libby right next to his side, too, for as long as he'd known them. Jet had trained her, but they'd quickly become friends and peers, attached at the hip. In his many years at the TVA, he'd never seen them fight like they had in the chronomonitor room. Even though Mobius had been immersed in studying the timeline, he'd noticed.

"You guys are okay, right?" he asked Libby, pointing his fork between her and Jet.

Libby's expression turned to discomfort, and Jet's humor finally sobered.

"Yeah, no, it's fine," said Jet dismissively, more to Libby than Mobius, quickly taking a bite of square-shaped pepperoni pizza.

Libby sighed and pushed her hair behind her ear. "I'm sorry, Jet," she mumbled. "I was an asshole."

"No, no, no," said Jet through a mouthful of pizza. "Everyone was frazzled. We all thought we were going to lose the sacred timeline. Until this guy stepped in…"

He leaned towards Mobius, obviously trying to get a smile out of him. Mobius refused to give him the satisfaction, not today. He gave Jet a warning look, which made him roll his eyes with a little huff.

"Fine," he said. "You're a nameless, faceless nobody in a sea of nobodies. Happy?"

"Very."

After a few moments of eating in silence, G. piped up, who'd been suspiciously quiet the whole time.

"So, Mobius," he asked nonchalantly, "are they going to make you a judge, now?"

Mobius shook his head. "Nah, I don't think so. It's the promotion paradox, you know?"

"The what?" asked G.

"You have to be good at something to get a promotion, right? But if you get too good at something, they don't want you to leave, so you stay in the same job."

"Hmmph." G. scowled slightly and stuffed a bit of steak in his mouth.

"Even if they offered me the sash, I don't think I would take it."

G. stopped chewing and stared at him, eyes wide in shock.

"You would turn down a judge's position?" asked Jet, wiping the grin off his face.

"But all the perks!" said Libby. "You get an office, you get to boss people around-"

"You get an extra day off!"

"Oh, two days off instead of one! The luxury." Libby sighed wistfully and leaned her head on her hand. "That's the dream, isn't it?"

"I love my job, what can I say? It suits me."

"You wouldn't be allowed to turn down that position," said G., with a little venom in his voice, surprising all of them.

"We're talking about a hypothetical here, G.," said Mobius quietly. "Chill."

G.'s scowl grew deeper. He put down his fork and tore the paper napkin off his shirt, which he'd been using as a bib.

"Ambition is just a waste of time to people like you," he muttered, then before any of them could react, he took his tray and left, dumping his half eaten steak into a trash receptacle and prowling off.

"Sheesh!" exclaimed Jet after a few uncomfortable seconds. "What crawled up his butt?"

Libby rolled her eyes and leaned in towards the middle of the table, speaking low.

"He's been vying for a judge's position for a long time now. He's pissed that someone with less experience might get it before he does."

Mobius spread his arms wide. "Guys, I am not going to become a judge! I swear to you, if I was, I'd tell you."

"Don't mind G.," said Libby, leaning back and finishing the last bite of her salad. "He's got some kind of a complex from working in maintenance for too long."

Jet made a little face at the mention of maintenance work, but Mobius kept his expression level.

"Don't spread rumors, Libby. It's bad for morale."

"It's true, though!" she retorted. "He worked his way up all the way from maintenance. He's been obsessed with being a judge forever."

Mobius raised an eyebrow, though he couldn't help but be impressed, if that was true. It was an open secret that maintenance was the absolute worst job one could have at the TVA. He'd heard horror stories of workers wading through raw sewage, getting their fingers torn off by machinery, sustaining third degree burns and debilitating injuries. They were never allowed to leave the inner workings of the TVA, either, unless they were promoted to a different line of work, which seemed like a very rare occurrence.

Mobius tried a bite of his jello. G. had always been a quiet man, and Mobius, admittedly, didn't know much about him. He didn't seem like he'd enjoy being a judge, though, if his only goal was to move up the ranks. Ravonna had done the same, with a ferocity that never ceased to amaze him, but she was meant to be a judge. She wasn't just trying to make sure she never got demoted.

That must be a lonely existence, never really fitting into any career at the TVA. Your job was your whole life, after all. If you couldn't be content with it, what was the point?

Mobius' tempad buzzed and beeped urgently from inside his coat pocket, startling him slightly, making the jello wiggle off his spoon. He reached in his pocket and took it out. A message scrolled from right to left across the cover screen in bright, yellow letters, beginning with his employee number… something he hadn't seen in a while.

Agent J-888, report to Division Nine, section ZX2, examination room 5… Agent J-888, report to-

"What is it?" asked Libby.

"Oo-h," said Jet excitedly, picking up his tray and crossing over to Mobius' side of the table. "I bet this is it! Your lucky day!" He leaned over Mobius and sang again, in a loud whisper, "For he's a jolly good fellow…"

Mobius nudged Jet's gut and scoffed, a smile coming to his lips. He couldn't help it that time.

Libby crossed her fingers together tightly on both hands, giving Mobius a toothy grin.

"Keep us posted!" she said, then picked up her tray and followed Jet to the trash receptacle.

Mobius pressed a button on the side of his tempad to relay that he'd gotten the message, and the scrolling words disappeared.

An examination room? That didn't sound right. Exam rooms were where employees went when they needed stitches or medicine or vaccinations… or where variants were interrogated.

Mobius pushed the worry deep down inside. It was nothing. Some minor bit of paperwork that he forgot to sign, or a pill he forgot to take.

Mobius took the very long elevator ride from the division's cafeteria near the common area to section ZX2, then walked the halls, passing countless reception tables, offices, and other assorted rooms. A few more people he swore he'd never seen before greeted him by name, but thankfully this time he had an excuse to walk on by and not talk to anyone.

He found exam room 5 and walked inside. The place was small and brightly lit, with a beige, padded table in the middle of the room, a chair in the corner, and a small medic's cart to the side. The linoleum tile on the floor was flecked with bits of brown, the orange walls made of some slightly fuzzy material, like the soft half of Velcro.

The room was utterly empty. No medic greeted him, no judge, nobody. The door slid shut behind him and locked with a little click.

"Please wait," Miss Minutes' soothing country accent floated from the room's intercom overhead. "Someone will be with you shortly."

Mobius sat down on the chair and twiddled his thumbs in the perfect silence, counting the seconds in his head. This definitely wouldn't be a promotion. It was probably nothing at all. Probably. Even though only a few minutes went by in reality, it felt like an hour to him. He hummed to himself, just to be able to hear something in the maddening quiet. He couldn't even hear anyone outside in the hallway, though people were probably passing him less than six feet away through the door.

"Hi, there, Mobius!"

Mobius startled as Miss Minutes suddenly appeared, standing on the padded examination table. The holographic AI clock had made herself about two feet high, approximately eye level with Mobius sitting down.

He let out a relieved sigh and chuckled to himself.

"Hello Miss Minutes," he said. "So… um… where's the medic? I'm missing a vaccination, right? A flu shot?"

"Nope!" she said brightly with a shrug of her rubber-hose arms. "You're all current with your shots and boosters."

"Okay…" Mobius swallowed and could hear his throat click in the silence.

"I just need to ask you a couple questions about those variants you brought in, that's all."

Mobius' heart skipped a beat, but he played it as cool as he could. If he was honest now, then they surely wouldn't give him a demerit for his sloppiness. Miss Minutes paced casually across the table with her hands behind her back, still with the friendly grin on her face.

"Now, did you know anything at all about either of them before bringin' 'em in?"

"No, ma'am."

"Accordin' to B-15, both the male and female variant knew you by name. Is that true?"

As she stopped to hear his answer, her grin fell a little, her gigantic cartoon eyes grew just the slightest bit suspicious.

"That is true, but I've never seen either of them before. I do have a confession, though."

"Oh?"

He took a deep breath before answering. "I broke protocol. I should have brought them in for an interrogation."

"That's obvious, ain't it?" Her eyelids fell, and her grin was nothing more than a small, curved line. He'd never seen a sarcastic look on her face before. It was deeply unsettling. Too human. "Why didn't you?"

"I… uh…"

Mobius realized, too late, that he couldn't tell Miss Minutes the entire truth of his suspicions. He could fudge it, though, tell half a lie, something that would sound plausible.

"I've been an agent for… gosh, I don't even know how long-"

"Twenty one Null-units, seventy-nine days, and three hours," said Miss Minutes helpfully.

"Wow," he replied, almost forgetting what he was about to say. "Anyway, I didn't think I'd ever meet a variant that could rattle me. There was some hubris on my part. These guys… they messed with my head, got under my skin. Played me for a fool. And they won, too. I acted hastily, unprofessionally. It won't happen again."

Miss Minutes stared at him for another long moment, her face not changing, her white-gloved hand tapping behind her back. Pondering. Her eyes changed to a lightly annoyed scowl.

"That's the wrong answer, J-888."

Suddenly, the medic cart sprang to life, a thin, black screen popping out of the top of it, wearing a blank, yellow face: two dots and a straight line. A multitude of snakelike, metal arms popped out of the side of it, some with clamps on the ends, some guiding plastic tubing that ended in tiny needles. The robotic medusa rolled over to him with a loud rattle, bumping into his knees. He couldn't have stood without pushing the cart away. He was too surprised and terrified to move.

Miss Minutes made an effortless leap from the table to the top of the cart, her transparent body showing the face and screen behind her. Her voice was bright and cheery again.

"J-888, please roll your sleeves to your elbows and place your hands palm-side-up on the arms of the chair."

"W-wait a second-"

"If you don't, the medic cart will do it for you." She put up one wagging finger, just as he'd seen on the posters all over the TVA. "He's not very gentle."

The cart lifted up the clamps on the ends of its arms and clicked them rapidly.

Shaking, his heart pounding out of his chest, he complied. The second he did, the robot stuck out four arms and clamped them tightly around each wrist and elbow, securing him to the chair. Mobius struggled instinctively, kicking at the cart, which brought out two larger clamps that held his ankles firmly to the legs of the chair.

"Miss Minutes," he said, throat dry, "I was going to go straight to a judge after lunch to correct my mistake. I was, I swear to you."

"Too late for that!" she said, with a roll of her eyes, still smiling. "The variants have been incarcerated for a life sentence."

A time loop, for life. And who knew what was in there, if the TVA really wanted to punish them.

"Does that make you upset, Mobius?" she asked.

He must have let something slip on his face. Or she was trying to goad him into a confession.

"No," he whispered. "Look, I don't know them. I swear on my life, I've never seen them before."

"We'll see," she said, her grin turning the tiniest bit sadistic. "Now, relax the muscles in your arms. If you struggle, it'll only take longer… and hurt more."

Ten tubes with needles encased in them positioned themselves above Mobius' arms, five needles just touching each arm. It was impossible to relax with those sharp little points barely jabbing his skin, like snake teeth ready to strike. Mobius shuddered, his stomach tying itself in knots. This couldn't be real. He'd been loyal, and worked hard, even on his off-day, sometimes.

"Please," he said, voice trembling in fear, "Please, Miss Minutes…"

Without warning, the needles stabbed into his skin, like white-hot pokers. He let out a primeval scream of pain and fear. The fire radiated from his upturned arms, spread to his fingers, up his arms, to his chest, down his spine, like smoldering coals burning him to ashes. He went cold with shock, his brain numbing itself to the pain and horror.

This isn't happening. This isn't real.

"Now, J-888," said Miss Minutes, her voice strangely soothing, "I'm going to ask you a series of questions, mmkay? You're going to answer them to the best of your ability. Ready?"

Mobius made a choking noise instead of an affirmative. She looked distorted to him, wavy, discolored. His peripheral vision was nothing but gray.

"Do you know either the male or the female Loki variant?"

"No." It didn't feel as if he was speaking. He was someone else, watching his own mouth answer for him. Some other part of his mind, deep down, was on fire, working overtime, while Mobius could only watch from the more evolved part of his brain. Her questions came rapidly.

"How do they know your name?"

"Don't know."

"Did you aid them in their crime in any way?"

"No."

"What did the male variant tell you when he arrived at the TVA?"

"Ben… Void… cit-cita… stop time…"

Drool started to pour out of Mobius' mouth in a long dribble that dripped down his chin and neck, soaking into his collar. He could feel it, but couldn't even close his mouth to stop the flow.

"Mobius," said Miss Minutes, "Stay with me, Mobius."

His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he slumped forward. That room was gone. He was far away, somewhere else, locked deep in some fantasy that made no sense. Random scenes flashed in his mind. Someone else's life.

He swerved along the road in his Ford pickup truck, laughing and hollering, with one friend in the passenger's seat and two more hanging on for dear life in the bed of the truck. They sang along to "American Pie" playing on the radio. He had one hand on the wheel, the other holding a can of Budweiser.

Suddenly, red and blue lights flashed behind him, a siren letting out short, loud whoops.

"God damn it, Jeff!" yelled his friend. "Fucking cops!"

He was behind bars along with his friends, feeling sick and drunk while they glared at him.

"Your mother posted bail," said a guard at the prison door. It opened, and there was an old woman, gray hair in a beehive updo, deep wrinkles on her face, scowling at him, shaking her head.

"Mama-"

"No, Jeffrey," she growled. "You're coming home."

"But Mama-"

"I don't want to hear it!" she yelled, then turned and walked down the prison corridor, heels clicking on the concrete.

The scene changed once more, a happy time. More drinks, more beer, more friends, and a pretty, overtanned girl with badly dyed hair wearing a skimpy bikini.

He waved at them from his brand new jet ski, bobbing along on the choppy lake.

"Guys!" he shouted, getting the girl's attention. "Watch this!"

He revved up the jet ski as loud as he could, then took off, making a sharp turn. Too sharp. He flipped the jet ski and it flung him into the water.

"Is he breathing?"

One of his friends stared down at him, the same one that had been in the passenger's seat of the truck.

"He's awake, he's fine."

The man moved away, then the girl's face looked down at him, mildly amused as he lay face up on the lake shore. Joanne, that was her name.

"You're an idiot, Jeff," she giggled.

"Did the jet ski make it?" he groaned, pulling himself upright.

"Nah, it's trashed."

"Aw, shit!"

He threw a full, open can of beer into the lake, watched it bob to the top.

A lamp came flying at his head and crashed into the wall behind him. Joanne scowled at him, tears and mascara streaming down her face.

"You think you can fucking cheat on me and get away with it?" she screeched, grabbing a mug and tossing it at him. It narrowly missed his arm, shattering against the door. "You piece of shit! Get out of my house!"

He opened the door, but took one last look at her.

"You know what, Joanne? I should have cheated on you sooner!"

She screamed, then found another ceramic tchotchke and flung it straight for his head.

"Mobius?" Miss Minutes' voice cut through his mind, but couldn't stop it. The scenes kept going.

He was in an office, sitting in front of a heavy, wooden desk. A man in a suit on the other side flipped through some paperwork. His stomach was in knots.

The suit looked up through his wire-rimmed glasses, smiled, and held out his hand.

"Welcome to the Yamaha family, Mr. Boyd."

He took the hand and shook it firmly.

"Thank you, sir."

"Mobius, I need you to listen to my voice," said Miss Minutes. "I need you to talk to me."

He was in front of a gravestone, a small, unassuming, rectangular slab of granite laid freshly into the ground. It read, 'Mary Boyd, 1922-1996. Loving mother and wife. May God rest her soul.'

"Talk to me, Mobius."

Mobius opened his mouth and did as she asked, though the words that came out of him weren't his.

"Mama," he said, his throat tightening involuntarily. The country accent of that unfamiliar voice was even thicker than Miss Minutes'. "Mama, I'm sorry I wasn't who you wanted me to be."

"Mobius?"

"I got a real job now, though, down at the Waverunner factory…"

"Stop the injections!"

The needles painfully ejected themselves from his skin, jolting him back into reality. The medic cart rattled back into place, the black screen and face disappearing into the body of the cart, just as it was before. Mobius felt dizzy, and sicker than he'd ever been in his entire life. Those weird, dreamlike visions were already fading into gray, like a bad nightmare. Nausea roiled his stomach and he let out a shuddering groan.

"You're all clear, Mobius!" said Miss Minutes in her usual cheerful tone, though her pupils looked smaller than usual. If he didn't know better, he'd say she looked a little freaked out, though he couldn't say why.

"I got all my shots?" he slurred, swallowing bile. He couldn't remember getting any vaccinations that made him feel that awful before.

"Yep!" she said. She put one gloved hand to her face, with an apologetic look. "Seems like you're taking 'em pretty rough, though…"

His stomach tightened, and a wave of cold sickness shot up and down his spine, like he'd been dropped twenty feet. He shakily stood, knees trembling.

"I… I gotta…"

Mobius fumbled to the door, which slid open for him, then ran down the hallway, hand covering his mouth. People stared at him as he stumbled, ready to lose his lunch. Where was the goddamned bathroom?

Unable to keep it down any longer, Mobius ran to the end of the hall to the main corridor, leaned over the balcony that faced the rest of the TVA, and vomited down the side. Bits of green jello and red sauce tumbled down into the TVA like a disgusting waterfall, most of it splattering against the walls and sticking there.

Mobius pulled himself back over the ledge, wiped his mouth, and sank to the floor, knees giving out from under him. Barfing had made him feel a little better, but his head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton. He took deep breaths, trying to ignore the horrible sour taste in his mouth. The details from those weird vignettes, those nightmares, were completely gone. In another moment, he forgot that he'd even had them.

A small mob of people had gathered around, staring in curiosity and mild horror. They muttered low amongst themselves.

"Is that Mobius?"

"Mobius, are you okay?"

"Is he sick?"

He shut his eyes tight, wishing everyone would go away so he could lay down for a second.

"Hey."

Mobius opened his eyes and saw an analyst crouched next to him wearing a white, short-sleeved button down shirt, someone that he actually knew.

"Casey, right?" he croaked. His throat felt slimy and raw.

Casey's mouth hung open slightly as he nodded, but he made no move to help.

"Can you get me some water?"

He hopped up, left, then trotted back to Mobius with a cone-shaped paper cup. Mobius took it and drained it in three swallows. It washed away the taste, but his throat was still burned with stomach acid.

"Are you okay?" asked Casey.

"I… I think so," he said, feeling his head finally start to clear. One more shudder went up his spine, but his stomach didn't react. He wasn't going to throw up again. "I think I had an allergic reaction to some vaccinations. Or maybe food poisoning."

"Maybe you picked up a bug from those variants."

"What variants?"

Casey stared at him again, expression turning from dumb to vaguely frightened.

"The-the ones you brought in. They screwed up the whole TVA, and then you caught them, right?"

Mobius groaned and rubbed his eyes. Everything had felt so… weird that day. He could have sworn he met Jet and Libby earlier, but he couldn't remember what they'd been talking about. A promotion? For what, though? Everything before that was just a blur.

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," he said, then stood up with a grunt. People started to disperse as soon as they realized he wasn't going to die right there.

"Huh." Mobius could almost see the cogs turning in Casey's head as he scrunched his eyebrows together and stared into space. Suddenly, he shrugged, his usual idiotic expression returning. "Maybe there's another Mobius that did that."

"Must be," Mobius replied. Casey left without another word, scratching his head.

His tempad buzzed in his pocket. The intercom button blinked rapidly, and Mobius pressed down on it.

"This is Mobius," he said.

"Hey," said the voice on the other end. Ravonna was the only person that would ever greet him so informally over the com system. "I've got another case to squeeze in for today, if you're not busy. There's a Xandarian general about to upend the Kree-Nova war and turn it into a flat-out victory instead of a stalemate-"

"I can't do it today, Ravonna," said Mobius. "I don't feel great. Think I need to start the paperwork for a sick day request."

"Sick day?" she said incredulously. Mobius knew how she felt about sick days: they didn't exist unless you'd gotten a body part torn off.

"Come on, Ravonna," he pleaded. "You know I'd never tell you I needed a sick day unless I really, really needed it."

There was a long silence on the other end of the com, then she answered with a sigh. "Okay, fine. Take a lazy day. I guess you earned it."

"Thanks for the confidence," said Mobius sarcastically. "I am actually sick, though. I'm going to go straight to bed and sleep for twelve hours."

"Oh, all right," she said apologetically. Maybe she finally believed him. "I'll put in the paperwork and sign it."

"Thank you." He clicked the intercom button twice, ending the call.

Mobius wiped his mouth again, making sure he didn't have any undigested bits of food left stuck to his mustache, and went in the direction of the elevators, wondering if he was supposed to fill out some kind of report for puking all over the balcony.