Lucky vacantly stared out the window of the foyer next to the classroom entrance down at the TVA below. If he squinted, he could just make out figures walking the distant hallways, people stuffed into elevator cars which moved through the narrow shafts holding the TVA together like a spiderweb. The Kang statue loomed above everything, quietly watching over his kingdom.

Lucky held his thumb under the flap of the little envelope in his hand, ready to tear it open the second Six came out of the classroom. He hadn't been the first to finish the final exam, not by a long shot, but Six was still in there. It was harder than the last test, and with all the commotion and stress from the night before, he didn't have the time or the will to write down answers on his calves like he had last time. Surprisingly though, he felt he could at least winnow down the multiple choice answers to something that felt plausible. He hoped it would be enough.

He wouldn't know his score or his career placement until he opened the square envelope that the grading hole in his desk had spat out. Until then, his future hung in the air, undecided. Whatever grade he got, whatever career was chosen for him, every situation he cobbled together in his head was utterly terrifying. His whole, short life was going to change dramatically, no matter what, and he had no say in it whatsoever.

As people trickled very slowly out of the classroom for the final time, he would turn to see who it was out of the corner of his eye. The door opening and closing again was starting to grate on his frazzled nerves.

D-132 and two of her friends came trotting out of the classroom, giggling with one another as Lucky watched them.

"What did you get, F-76?" asked D-132, practically bouncing on her heels.

F-76 replied, "Wait, wait, N-254 can go first. I'm too scared." They let out another chorus of giggles that were like knives piercing Lucky's brain. He gritted his teeth.

"Together!" D-132, flapping her envelope frantically. "Let's do it together."

They ripped open their envelopes, then shrieked, "Analyst!" in unison.

D-132 gasped and cried, "Casey's training me! See?" She showed her slip of paper to her friends, who cooed over it with breathless excitement.

"Oh my gosh! I'm so happy for you!" N-254 squealed.

Thankfully, the gaggle of women moved away from him and into an elevator as they babbled over each other. Lucky let out a long breath, like a valve letting out tremendous amounts of pressure. Where the hell was Six?

Lucky had considered not even taking the final exam in solidarity with Six's predicament, but she'd insisted. When she'd come back to his room that morning, she looked like hell. Dark bags hung under her eyes, which she seemed like she could barely keep open. She'd kept telling him she was okay, that she was fine to take the exam, but Lucky couldn't believe her when it looked like she hardly had the energy to stand up.

He hadn't wanted to believe that everything Mobius said was true, even though Miss Minutes had goaded him into a confession, but what she'd nearly done to Six last night confirmed it. They had no one but themselves to trust. And much worse, there was no way out of the life they'd been handed in their neat little envelopes… no way that didn't involve reprogramming, that is.

He leaned against the window as he waited, scratched at his itchy legs. He wondered for a moment if she'd fallen asleep at her desk.

The door opened again. It was her, finally. She held her unopened envelope in her hand and made a slow beeline for the elevators, to his dismay.

"Six!" he called out, echoing through the mostly empty foyer. She startled and finally saw him, then made her way over.

"What did you get?" they asked each other in unison. She didn't look much better than she had that morning, and her voice was low and croaky.

"I don't know," he answered. "I haven't opened it yet."

She rubbed at her tired, puffy eyes. "I don't think I did very well."

"You had almost perfect scores on every other test and assignment. Surely that counts for something."

They stared at each other, envelopes in hand, waiting for the other to make a move.

Lucky held his breath and slipped his thumb all the way under the sealed envelope flap. He brought out the paper, and as he read, bittersweet emotions rippled through his trembling chest.

"Well," he said, "I got an 83 percent on my test. That's a lot better than I was expecting. And I'm going to be an agent, after all."

Six's smile grew huge, and he could tell it was genuine. "Great job. I knew you could do it."

"But… I'm not training with Mobius."

Her smile vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. "Why not?"

"I don't know. My trainer's employee number is G-59. It says to report to floor R7W, agent section 2 tomorrow morning." He violently stuffed the paper back in the envelope, resisting the urge to crumple it up and throw it away. What was the point of being an agent if he couldn't learn it from Mobius? "Your turn," he grumbled.

She carefully ripped open her envelope, seemingly almost too terrified to take out the little paper, then sucked in a deep breath and grabbed it quickly, like it was a living thing. Her face went inscrutably blank as she read to herself.

"What is it?" he asked.

After a pregnant pause, she said, "49 percent."

"That's worse than a failing grade!" he sputtered, flabbergasted. How could Six, of all people, get a grade that bad?

"I know," she replied quietly, as if expecting it.

"What else?" he asked frantically. "Where are you going to be? Maybe you could appeal somehow, I mean, she knew you were sick-"

"Hunter." she replied simply.

He relaxed just slightly. He'd already known she wouldn't be an agent with him, but at least it wasn't maintenance.

"Well, that's not completely terrible," he said, trying to lift his spirits as much as hers. "At least you'll get to go out into the timeline, like agents do. And hey, agents and hunters work together, so maybe we'll get paired-"

Six interrupted him, coming close and clutching him tightly around the waist, in full view of the classroom doors, where anyone could see. She let out a gasping sob, her face buried into his chest.

"I'm going to miss you so much," she said, voice quivering. "I already miss you and you're not even gone yet."

"Six." He gently placed his hand on her hair, smoothing it out. He nearly lost himself in the urge to kiss her, but held back. "It's okay. It's alright." His words echoed hers from the night before, and were as much of a lie as her words had been then. It wasn't okay. Their whole world wasn't okay, but what could they do about it?

He continued to comfort her as she tried to get a grip on herself, and didn't stop holding her even when a small group of trainees came out of the classroom and stared at them. Lucky sneered right back with a vicious look that said, 'one word to Miss Minutes and you'll be dead by morning.' They quietly hurried to the elevators, pretending to ignore them both.

A bit of a grin slid across his face, half sincere, to try and reassure her. "It's like you said, remember? We could still see each other. It doesn't have to be the end."

"It won't be the same," she said, getting herself under control. "I thought maybe it could be, but it won't. I know it won't."

Before she burst into tears again, and with the foyer now empty, Lucky held her tight and kissed her forehead. Poor Six had kept herself together through everything, but her resilience had finally grown too thin. She needed him now just like he'd needed her before.

"You didn't stick around to hear the rest of the song last night," he said gently, hoping he wouldn't dredge up any bad memories. Thankfully, she chuckled in response, though she was still sniffling, too. "Before we head to the dorm, do you want to go back to the recreation floor? I worked hard on that surprise, you know."

She wiped the remainder of her tears away and smiled. "Of course. Let's go."

They made their way once more to the karaoke hall, perhaps for the last time as a pair. Lucky picked a random empty room without snooping into the others. He also didn't bother with the fancy light show, keeping the room mildly dark as he picked out the song again.

Six curled herself up on the couch and drew her legs up under her to get cozy.

"Are you sure you'll be alright if I sing?" he asked her from the stage.

She burst into laughter, to his confusion.

"I mean it!" he said into the microphone. "I don't want to trigger you or anything…"

"I'll be fine this time, Lucky. I promise."

"Okay," he replied. "I'm holding you to it. Tell me to stop if you feel weird."

He pressed the button and the orchestra swelled once more, and he sang, hardly aware of his voice this time. His green eyes never left hers.

"They call you Lady Luck,

But there is room for doubt

Sometimes you have a very unladylike way of running out…"

He left the stage, microphone in hand, and came to sit next to her. He draped his arm around her and let her lay her head on his shoulder, and then placed the mic down on the couch. There was no need for it anymore, no need to make an impression. He sang to her softly, his voice in her ear, until the song was finished and they were left alone together in the dim, silent light.

It took them a long time to come back up to the dorm. Both of them wanted to milk all the time they had left together, but eventually, it had to end. They left the elevator and stepped into the silent terminal of BQ6, holding each other's hand. Six took a deep breath, squeezed his hand hard, and let go. It felt to Lucky like she'd ripped a tiny piece out of him, too.

Try as they might, neither of them seemed to be able to leave. It reminded him of their second day of classes, when he'd won her over, and they had playfully watched each other go down their respective hallways. The memory made him smile, and she returned it, then finally disappeared down hallway two.

He went down hallway three, a numbness growing inside of him, threatening to overwhelm him completely. He'd gotten what he'd wanted, paid everything for it, every bit of dignity he had, and still, being an agent wasn't enough. Not anymore. Now all he wanted was to hang out with Mobius and lounge around in Six's room forever. He sighed longingly. What he wouldn't give to see her without her clothes on, just one more time.

Lucky opened his door and blanched. Miss Minutes was on his bed once again, and gave him a cheerful wave. He backed himself up against the wall in terror.

"There ya are!" she said.

"What do you-I didn't do anything!" he sputtered. A million horrifying scenarios buzzed through his head. Maybe she'd seen him and Six in the foyer together, or in the karaoke room, or god forbid, when they'd made love on the very bed she was standing on…

"You're not in trouble, silly," she said, with a merry little chuckle, as if she hadn't nearly stolen Six away last night and almost ruined her life, and his. "I'm just here to tell you where your new dorm is! Congratulations on your agent placement, by the way." She gave him a knowing wink.

Lucky balled his fists at his sides, the numbness that had been spreading through him turning into burning anger. She knew precisely why he'd still gotten that career. She'd decided, after grilling him, asking for names of people to eliminate, to silence, that he was loyal enough for the position. His scores were good, but not near perfect, like Mobius had said they'd have to be, and he certainly hadn't shown much maturity. That had to be the only reason. She'd taken him away from Mobius, too, just to spite him, to teach him some kind of lesson.

"L-7, have you been listening?"

She'd apparently been talking, but only then did Miss Minutes' voice break through his feverish ruminations. She stared at him, eyebrow raised.

He swallowed, trying to untighten his throat, and a strange shiver of electricity jolted up his spine, full of pure hatred, goading him to take revenge just as insistently as she'd prodded him to give her names. He had to remind himself that he couldn't hurt her, that she was only a projection.

"Could you repeat that, please?" he grumbled, nearly under his breath.

"I said, you'll be moving into an agent dorm room as soon as possible. I'd recommend you go tonight, and also find your trainer's desk, to familiarize yourself with the location. You're expected at your workstation at the same time as you'd normally be in class. Each shift lasts fourteen hours, with two half hour meal breaks. Please avoid using the restroom while you're on the clock, if you can help it.

"As far as moving to your new room, you won't need to bring any clothes or toiletries with you, besides the clothes on your back. You'll have a brand new wardrobe, and everything you need, in your new dorm. I do recommend that you bring your Handbook and notes with you, as they'll be a great resource for you to reference as you learn your new job."

Lucky was listening to her drivel, this time, but stared right through her as she spoke, refusing to give her even the slightest nod of understanding.

"In fact," she continued, "why don't you get out your notebook right now, so you can write down your new dorm assignment?"

Lucky stood stock still, unwilling to move. He wanted so badly for her to explode. Another small jolt ran up his spine, and he hid a shiver from her, though he couldn't help his eye from twitching ever so slightly.

"L-7?" her voice went lower, less friendly, with a warning in her tone.

He let a grimace cross his face, then stomped over to his desk and violently opened his drawer and took out his notebook, turning to a blank page so viciously he nearly tore the notebook in half.

"Ready," he sneered.

She frowned at his tiny outburst, but didn't chastise him. "You'll be in dorm 9HH, hallway five. Got that?"

"9HH. Five," he repeated as he scratched it onto the paper, then slapped the notebook closed and threw it back into his opened desk drawer. "Is that all?"

Her frown grew deeper. "That's all. But, L-7, don't take this opportunity for granted. Not many new trainees get to be agents right out of the gate. If you keep yourself just as sharp and willing to learn in your new career as you have in class, then I know you'll do great. For all time…"

Lucky paused a moment before answering the mindless chant they'd been trained to use since hatching. "Always," he mumbled.

She nodded slightly, then left him alone again in his room. The buzzing zaps along his spine didn't stop when she left, though. They kept going, kept making him shudder, each one a little stronger than the last, piercing through him, bringing his blood to a boil.

"Are you there?" he said into the silence. Nothing answered. "I said, are you there, Miss Minutes?" Again, the room lay still. A wavering sneer, somewhere between a snarl and a smile, came creeping across his face, fueled by the electric zaps trying to set his brain on fire.

"I hate you," he growled low, like an angry dog about to snap. "I… I hate you." Something burst loose in his brain, and he started screaming at the ceiling and walls, like a total madman. "Do you hear me, you fucking clock? You murderer! You artificial cartoon bitch! Fuck you! I wish you could die! Do you hear me? Fu-"

He stopped mid curse, so startled by what he saw in the bathroom mirror that he gasped, backed up into the bed, and fell backwards onto it. The zapping stopped abruptly.

Lucky uncovered his hand from his face and peeked again at the mirror, seeing himself as he should look; wearing his white shirt and striped tie and brown pants, curled up on the bed in a fetal position, like a dead bug.

For just a fleeting moment, while he was screaming, he'd seen something totally different.

In the mirror, there'd been a man who looked just like him, with long, dark hair flowing under a ridiculously huge, golden helmet with enormous, curled horns. He'd worn a well-fitted, green leather costume, trimmed with shining gold, which looked like it had once been fine and clean, but was instead ripped and smudged with dirt and blood. His face was drawn and pale like a ghost, with dark bags under his eyes, and a bloody scar on his forehead.

It was… him. But not. It couldn't be. Could it?

He sat up in bed, stared at himself from across the room, some part of him still afraid that his image might change again, and cautiously walked toward his reflection, which was doing the same thing in the mirror. Lucky reached out a hand and placed his fingertips against the glass. It was cold and flat, like a mirror was supposed to be.

He let out a shuddering chuckle, chastising himself silently. It was nothing. A trick of the mind. That was all. Still, he backed away from the mirror again without turning around, just in case his mind decided to play more tricks. He sat down on his bed and stared at himself quietly, when something Six had said when she'd been delirious crossed his mind.

"I can't use magic. What happened to our magic?"

What did that mean? Nothing, most likely. Just a side effect of whatever was plaguing her brain. But… she'd said it with such certainty, just like Sarge had yelled at him in gibberish that sounded like a different language.

That reminded him of the one thing he should bring with him to his new dorm, technically his only possession. He reached under his mattress and brought out the Eye of Agamotto. The time stone inside glowed faintly, and it felt warm in his hands. He brushed his thumbs against the intricate metalwork that made up the 'socket' of the Eye, and couldn't help but wonder…

Did he have magic?

Was that why the mind stone had bothered him so much, when it didn't seem to affect anyone else? Was it really calling to something inside of him, trying to connect to it, or had it been the blathering of a sick mind talking to itself? Why would the Timekeeper make them that way?

He slipped the Eye into his pocket. The mind stone had begged him to try and use it, even though the TVA's magic inhibitors prevented that from happening. Perhaps, just perhaps, he'd get a chance to use the time stone out on the timeline. It was only to sate his curiosity, he told himself. To prove himself wrong. To prove Six wrong.

Lucky gathered his notebook and Handbook, with the Eye weighing heavily in his pants pocket.

"9HH, hallway five," he whispered to himself as he opened the door. "9HH, hallway five…"

"I don't understand what I've done wrong!" cried Variant L01039, also known as Lani, the Badoon princess, as B-15 and the other hunters pushed her through the timedoor and into the TVA. Mobius followed behind, quietly going through the arrest checklist on his tempad like he'd done thousands of times before.

"You let Peter Quill pass through Lotiaran airspace undetected," Mobius told her again blandly, in Badoonese, "you didn't give chase, thus altering his route on the way to the Phalanx invasion, thus altering the lineup for the members of the Guardians of the Galaxy, thus dooming the universe."

She flexed her fanlike gills indignantly as her green scaly face flushed with anger. "Who is this person? Quill? Who are you talking about?"

"You didn't detect him," sighed Mobius as he put the tempad in his pocket. "That's the point."

B-15 began to prod her roughly down the hallway. Lani growled and squirmed against her restraints and two other hunters grabbed her by the shoulders.

"And this is why you take me away?" she threw back over her shoulder. "Away from my home? My sisters?"

"Shut it!" said B-15 in the TVA's language, pointing at Lani menacingly with her time baton, not caring if she understood or not. "Next time you open your mouth, it'll be in front of a judge. Now move!"

B-15 and the hunters led the struggling Badoon princess down the hall and out of sight. Mobius made his way to the edge of the bustling corridor, resting his elbows on the edge of the bannister, looking out into the middle of the sprawling TVA. He pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a massive headache coming on. Lani had been the first arrest he'd made in a couple of days, since he'd found the keys to the Waverunner. He didn't have much of a choice if he didn't want to keep arousing Ravonna's suspicions.

Arresting innocent people from the timeline was no longer a moral imperative, but a disgusting mockery of justice. He couldn't keep doing his job, day after day, knowing what he knew in his heart. Still, he had no real proof that at one point, he'd been dragged through those halls as well, besides that unmistakable taste of pure freedom he'd felt riding his jet ski. There was no way to prove that keychain had actually been his. There was no way to prove his connection to the woman in the bit of film, besides a vague, blurry memory. The man who kind of looked like him in the mugshot photo Six had given him could have easily been a coincidence. He had to keep going, pretending like nothing was wrong, with forbidden knowledge weighing him down like a stomach full of rocks.

Mobius sighed and leaned over the bannister, feeling a bit nauseous again. And the shapeshifter… Mobius wasn't sure of anything, anymore. How could he impersonate him so accurately? How could he know him so well?

He left down the hallway towards his desk, slowly, letting everyone else walk around him. Perhaps the shapeshifter was on a wild goose chase, himself, an insane person putting conspiracy theories into his head. That was the safer, more comfortable thing to believe.

Mobius made it back to his desk, where G. was typing away at his computer, as usual. As he sat down, G. gave him a wry look over his shoulder, and said, "I can work here today, can't I?"

It was Mobius' turn to be a grump. He grunted wordlessly as he turned on his computer.

As Mobius sat there, feeling anxiety gnawing at his organs, he wondered if perhaps he should tell someone his theory, anyway, just to get it off his chest. G. already knew about the shapeshifter. He knew what the TVA had done to people who knew too much. He'd seen the killer robot with his own two eyes, and wasn't on the cusp of demotion, like B-15.

He took a few deep breaths, held them, as if preparing to speak, then ripped off the proverbial bandage and spun around in his chair.

"Hey, G.-"

He stopped as Ravonna briskly rounded the hallway and made a line straight for Mobius' desk. Mobius flung himself back around in his chair and pretended to type up an arrest report as she approached. Instead of stopping at his desk, though, she walked a bit further and stopped next to G., handing him a small envelope. Her face was inscrutable, blank as a slate, and she seemed to be pointedly ignoring Mobius with all her strength.

"Uh, hi Judge Renslayer," said G. bemusedly, taking the envelope out of her hand. "What's this?"

"G-59," she responded, artificially cordial, "I'm pleased to inform you that you'll be given a new agent to train, starting tomorrow."

G.'s face went ashy pale, and Mobius had a horrible feeling growing inside of him. G. opened and closed his mouth a few times, like he couldn't force anything out of his mouth for a second.

"I-I would have liked a little more warning!" he sputtered.

Ravonna only shrugged. "I'm sorry, G. These things all have to get arranged very quickly after the trainees are done with their final exams."

"You're giving me a hatchling, right out of class?!" He scoffed and rolled his eyes, obviously not caring who he was giving attitude to. "An analyst or a hunter trainee, that would be bad enough, but a hatchling? They don't have any fundamental knowledge-"

"That's where you come in," said Ravonna, with a grin. "This is part of your job description, G. Just because you haven't had to do it yet doesn't mean it isn't one of your duties."

G. let out an annoyed groan, then ripped open the envelope, and his eyes went even wider. "And you're moving me, too?"

Mobius' stomach dropped. Ravonna's little grin hadn't faded, though her eyes told another story.

"Yes. You'll need more room for the trainee. It's too cramped in this section. Report there tomorrow morning, and the trainee will meet you there."

G. grumbled threateningly, and stuffed the paper into his pocket. "Fine then. If I have to."

Ravonna's smile faded slightly, giving in to exasperation. "G., this will be a good experience, if you let it be. I don't think you can really know your job completely until you have to train someone else to do it."

"I know my job just fine," he muttered, hunching over his keyboard, as if that would make her go away.

"I'm afraid you're not going to convince him, Ravonna," said Mobius, plastering a smile on his own face. She gave him a small, disdainful glance. "Say, do you happen to have one of those envelopes for me?"

Ravonna and Mobius stared each other down, not blinking, while G. looked on in confusion. She then coughed, breaking the silence, and said, "Afraid not, Mobius. You've been… underperforming… in your normal duties. Putting on the added pressure of training a new agent would be too much of a burden."

Likely excuse, he thought bitterly to himself, keeping his smile placid.

"Which hatchling is it?" he asked her. Her smile vanished, as if shocked that he'd ask such a thing. He could see her thinking hard, though he didn't know why that would create such a panic for her.

"L-7," said G., reading off of his slip of paper. "Why does that sound familiar?"

"We saw him in the cafeteria that one time, remember?" said Mobius. "Tall guy, black hair?" He paused, wondering if he should poke the hornet's nest any further, but did it anyway. "Strange though, because I was the one who'd put in a recommendation for him in the first place. You'd think-"

"I told you why you weren't training anyone, Mobius," she cut in coldly. "Was that not a sufficient explanation?"

"Oh, no," he said nonchalantly, turning back around in his chair. "It was perfectly sufficient."

With a little huff, she took off again down the hallway just as quickly as she'd come.

"This is bullshit," hissed G., once she was out of earshot. "This should be your problem, Mobius, not mine. I don't want to move. We've had our desks together for… I don't even remember how many Null-units. This is bullshit," he repeated under his breath, beginning to type furiously.

It was indeed bullshit, but Mobius didn't say anything. The way Ravonna had balked put him off. She'd known it was him who'd put in their recommendations, anyway. He recalled the meeting he'd had with her several days ago, warning him to stop asking questions about those two variants he'd brought in, whom he still couldn't remember anything about, despite everything that had happened. It still wasn't proof, but it solidified the hunch that he'd had since then: that the two unknown variants and those trainees were connected.

Mobius sighed. He needed a smoking gun, undeniable evidence. But what then? What could happen after that, besides someone discreetly shuffling him into an exam room for reprogramming… or worse?

He suddenly felt very, very tired, and very alone in the world. He mindlessly opened his desk drawer, reached inside to grab his last Josta… and felt nothing. It was gone.

He didn't feel a surge of panic, or anger, or anything at all, really. He just chuckled mirthlessly to himself. The shapeshifter could have it, he supposed. He'd earned it after outsmarting him.

Instead of working on his arrest report, like he was supposed to, he decided to flip through his precious jet ski magazine, instead. It had always made him feel better, and now he knew why. It gave him a pang of sadness, now, to look at its battered pages, the binding starting to crumble apart. How many times had he studied that thing? His subconscious had been looking for answers that whole time.

He flipped through each page, slowly, as if the pictures of 90's era jet ski equipment would give him anything to work with, when he stopped. His breath caught in his throat as he stared at the page in front of him, wondering if he was hallucinating.

"G., I… uh," he stammered, and G. gave him a worried look.

"Mobius? What is it?"

"I-I gotta go."

Mobius stood, his head spinning, heart pounding out of his chest. In his magazine, written in the blank space of a Coppertone sunscreen ad, someone had written, in his handwriting: FOLLOW ME.

He took out his tempad, switched to the tracking application, and took off down the hallway, not caring how many people saw the maniacal grin on his face.