I'll be shifting the Mass Effect timelines a lot to fit in with MCU's events. The first hint of Mass Effect lore - or rather, pre-Mass Effect lore - coming up!

Thank you to my beta, ElessarII, for reviewing this chapter!

… The bones

of the past splinter between our teeth.

This is our life, love. Why did I think

it would be anything less than too much

of everything?

- Sink Your Fingers into the Darkness of My Fur; Ellen Bass

October 17th, 2023

Oval Office, The White House

1600, Pennsylvania Avenue

Washington D.C.

"And how are we with Exodus?" President Robert Kelly asks.

"The project is in its final legs, Mr. President. Dr. Manswell assures us that the Ark is almost ready. There has been no indication of delay - everything is proceeding according to plan."

"And S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't know about this, right?"

"They remain unaware, as ever, sir. We caught a few of their spies trying to break through the firewalls of Operation Exodus, but they haven't been able to glean anything from their attempts. They'll find out when the rest of the world finds out - when we want them to."

"That's good. They've been helpful and all these past few years, but I don't want them to somehow sabotage…"

He is interrupted by a loud shout followed by the bang of a door. He looks up in alarm only for his chair to be pushed back violently, and not by his sometimes overprotective security detail, but by the addition of a large weight on his lap.

The chair crashes into the back wall, jostling the curtains and the weight slides off his lap to land on the floor with a thump. His bad knee twinges sharply, and he really should get that looked at some point, but right now, his gaze is fixed at the lump sitting dazedly on the carpet of the Oval Office, blinking with bleary eyes.

All around him, his security detail is shouting, and there are two men beside him now, pulling him off his chair roughly, their guns drawn and pointed at the intruder who had somehow appeared in the White House, directly on top of the President of the United States.

The men are too loud, too panicked, and he feels himself being shoved to the bookshelf on the far side of the room - behind which there's a secret passageway that would take him to the underground nuclear bunker, he knows this - and he wouldn't have resisted his detail if not for the fact that his eyes are fixed on the rather confused man blinking at the circle of guns pointed at him, making no move to either surrender or threaten.

He's just about to call for order or backup or something when the lump speaks.

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Gyrich?"

There's silence for a second there, a silence so profound - forget a pin, one could have heard a feather drop. The guns are still trained on the man, the intruder, but they are hesitant now, their ears trying to place that oh-so-familiar voice.

But Kelly knows that voice. He knows it like the back of his own hand. He has heard it in his nightmares all these years.

"Mr. President?" Henry Gyrich's voice rings through the Oval Office like a gunshot, making everyone flinch. It is hesitant because he isn't referring to Kelly - no, not at all. The head of the security detail of the President has been serving in the White House for ten years, now, and he would remember that voice almost as well as Kelly himself.

"Who else?" Matthew Ellis snaps as he pushes himself off the floor with a muffled groan, brushing the dust off his suit, the suit, the same suit he had been wearing five years ago. "Now put those damn guns away or I'll have you all court-martialed!"

The guns wobble as realization seems to hit the men like an invisible wave. But they still don't lower their weapons. Their gaze seems to flip between Kelly and Ellis, which is when the latter realizes that something is truly off.

"Mr. President?" Gyrich says again, quieter, and this time, Kelly knows that that address was for him and him alone.

Kelly swallows the lump in his throat, unable to take his eyes off his predecessor, his mentor, his best friend. "Put them away, boys," he says, and if his voice sounds a little weak, well, that's the advantage of being President - nobody can call you out on it.

Ellis's eyes flit around the room, watching as the men obey his (former, not that he knows that) Vice President's orders above his own. Then he fixes them on Kelly, taking in his disheveled, yet still stately appearance. "What's going on, Robert?"

Robert Kelly breaks. "Matt," he sobs, as he rushes towards Ellis and throws his arms around him, not heeding his men as they uncomfortably look away from his shameful breakdown.

"Matt, oh God, Matt!"

November 1st, 2023

Somewhere in New York Airspace

"Twenty minutes out from the Lighthouse," Major General Talbot mutters. His lips are pinched, and his back is ram-rod straight as he takes a seat opposite her.

Glenn Talbot had been one of the few people who had survived the Decimation relatively unscathed, with his wife and son being spared. He had even gotten promoted for his services in bringing some order to the shitstorm that had been the past five years.

So she doesn't know why he's her escort.

He hadn't said much to her when she'd boarded the Quinjet, just offered a gruff greeting and - surprisingly sincere - condolences, the latter of which she has resigned herself to receiving from everyone she meets.

Talbot shifts uneasily and meets her eyes. He's scowling faintly, but she's relatively sure it's not directed at her.

"Agent Collins," he begins.

She nods when he hesitates.

"I've gone through enough footage and reports to suspect that you aren't as much of a hothead as your brother was, may God rest his soul. Am I wrong?"

"Not really much of a fire person, sir," she says, completely straight-faced. It works, as he rolls his eyes and relaxes in his seat.

"A word to the wise, then," he murmurs. "Maybe I'm asking for too much, considering, well, everything… but I'm hoping you can rein in any possible violent urges when you meet the Director."

She gives him a blank look. "Is there a reason why I would react aggressively to the Director?"

Talbot sighs. "I was told - and I'm quoting Tony Stark here - 'his face is reason enough'."

She nods. "Sounds like him," she says. Talbot throws her a sharp look at the non-inflection of her voice, and this is another thing she knows she has to get used to all over again - the surprise and unease everyone displays when talking to her.

She knows what they called her at S.H.I.E.L.D. She knows what her assessment says. It hadn't bothered her before when almost everyone had known her only as Isabelle Collins, but now…

"You don't need to worry about…," she begins.

"Major!"

Agent Davis' eyes are wide, trying and failing to keep panic at bay. "I think you should see this," he stammers, before swiping at a panel on the dashboard with trembling fingers.

An orange hologram pops up between them. The Major is already half out of his seat, his eyes arrested by the view of the Statue of Liberty from what she assumes is a helicopter. For a blessed second, she's confused, because nothing is happening…

It's a simulation, a hologram, and it has no bearing on the real world, but Talbot still staggers when the first explosion hits.

The collapse seems to occur infinitely slowly. The pedestal crumbles first, consumed by the conflagration. The robes swiftly follow. Isabelle spots the broken chain of the Lady Liberty for a split second before it, too, falls into flames that roar underneath the statue.

The feed doesn't have audio, but she can almost hear the thundering sound the head makes as it breaks off from the rest of the statue. It doesn't fall into the raging fire but is carried by the rest of the collapse, and rolls down the visitor's approach until it comes to rest right at the tip of the eleven-pointed star of Fort Wood.

The torch, ironically enough, is the last thing that feeds the flames of its own destruction.

Talbot's face is white. "Collins," he says, sounding as though he'd been holding out on breath for a while. "Looks like you've just received your first mission."

He seizes the grab handles as Davis opens the ramp doors, buffeting them with frigid air. She doesn't hear his command but can read his lips just fine - put out those fires.

She doesn't bother with a parachute.

Liberty Island

She can taste the smoke in the water.

She plunges deep, cutting a swift, graceful arc in the river. Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a pod of whales in the distance. She has missed this, she realizes - the water is the one place where she's always been able to forget the things she's wanted to forget. A part of her longs to stay, to sink into the depths of the Hudson, or perhaps swim out to the Atlantic, become one with the deep.

But Isabelle can still taste the smoke.

She shoots out of the water, and a large wave rises behind her. It's massive, easily twenty feet tall. It splits from the river, tumbles into itself until it resembles a large rolling sphere of swell and surf. The wave-sphere chases her as she heads towards the center of Fort Wood, where it hovers over the burning remains of the Statue of Liberty, wobbling for a split second before plummeting.

It smashes into the fire, rapidly rushing down the ruins, dousing the flames that lick at the feet of those fleeing the scene. Guided by hands poised high above the island, the waves completely avoid the panicking tourists and frantic NYPD officers flooding the walkway and scrambling into emergency ferries.

Instead of retreating into the river, each stream does an about-turn when it reaches the shore and rushes back into the inferno, smothering the fires, until, at long last, nothing is left but smoke and ruins.

Isabelle feels light-headed as she slowly lowers herself to a part of the Fort Wood platform that has, miraculously, escaped being crushed or consumed by fire. She crumples to the ground, draws in deep breaths as she cradles her numb arms.

The smoke is still heavy, but there's little she can do about it without taxing her body even further. Vapor has always been more finicky, more volatile than liquid water, and manipulating the amount required to repel so much smoke is just asking for unconsciousness.

So she coughs and waits as the remaining trickles of water from the wave slowly seep into her body, rejuvenating her. She's just contemplating another, longer soak into the Hudson when she sees figures in the smoke.

She rises on trembling feet ready to fold into two. "Who's there?" she croaks, coughing into her arm and squinting.

There are three of them, their figures getting clearer in the smoke. One man raises an arm, and she brings up her own hand, above which hovers a swirling elegant sphere of water slowly freezing into ice. A warning.

But the figure isn't holding a weapon. It's just a palm, both palms now, raised in surrender. Slowly the rest of him comes out, and it's undoubtedly a him - navy blue suit and tie, an N95 respirator, receding hairline.

The mask hides half of his face, but she would know those eyes anywhere.

The ice sphere splinters. She barely even feels the sting of the shards, staring as a dead man pulls off his mask.

"Hello, Agent Collins," Philip J. Coulson murmurs.

Agent Jemma Simmons hums as she fusses over Isabelle's Vitamin IV drip. The biochemist has already forced her to down lots of water and a cup of steaming tea. Isabelle's insistence on taking a dip into the Hudson to heal her lungs of the smoke inhalation has fallen on deaf ears.

Or ears well-practiced in the art of obeying Phil Coulson's orders over all others.

S.H.I.E.L.D. has managed to finagle one of the ferries the NYPD had been using to evacuate the tourists. Talbot and Agent Davis had climbed aboard not soon after she'd been brought in - the former had taken a long look at her and Coulson, and then nodded grimly before disappearing with the current Director of S.H.I.E.L.D.

In the span of a few seconds after laying eyes on Coulson, Isabelle had already discarded the obvious solution - resurrection via what is now colloquially, and unfortunately, known as the Blip.

He looks shockingly older, and a whole lot healthier than the last time she'd seen him - pale with blue lips, unnaturally still on a metal slab.

Sleep well, Phil.

Coulson hadn't been brought back by Bruce's Snap. He'd been alive this whole time.

"Another ten minutes and you should be good to go," Simmons chirps, the smile on her face in stark contrast to her soot-streaked hair. She can see the red marks on her face where the respirator had pressed too tight.

Isabelle rips off the IV with a harsh yank, ignoring Simmons' protests. "I'd like to speak to the Director," she says firmly.

Simmons doesn't quail and stares her down for a long moment before reaching for her comm unit. After a brief conversation, she nods unhappily.

Isabelle's out of the door before Simmons can tell her where to go.

She finds him on the deck, on which is parked a rectangular pod. She has seen these before - modules able to contain rogue Inhumans that had erupted after the Terrigenesis outbreak.

She stares at his back for a long moment, steeling herself. She is not keen on being smacked in the face by repeated reminders of betrayal. She feels as fragile as an ice sculpture, with cracks running to her core, but there are questions she needs answered and she needs to confront him for those.

Stepping next to him, she fixes her eyes on the reinforced glass through which she can see Talbot and Coulson's second-in-command, one Melinda May, bearing down on another man in his late thirties.

The prisoner's wrists are red from struggling against handcuffs that magnetically clamp to a panel on the wall of the containment unit. He's singed and bruised, but Isabelle guesses that it was from the backlash of the destruction, and not Talbot's heavy-handedness.

"Who's he?" she asks.

"Member of the New York chapter of Freedoms First. They're an extremist faction of secessionists protesting the union of the United North American States," he explains.

Isabelle exhales. The UNAS as a concept is a lot more unbelievable than a purple alien with six gems managing to wipe out half of all life. A union between the United States of America, Canada and Mexico - borne out of the devastation caused by the Decimation - seems like a dream.

It'd taken five years of talks and desperation and funds being moved around until they'd finalized the union in April. She's a cynic, always has been - she had expected the Decimation to have splintered the world, not bring it together. It's an idyll that seems like something from fiction.

But considering the smoke still pouring out of the ruins of the statue, it hadn't been all that idyllic.

"What've they got?" she asks.

"From whatever May's gathered, we surmise they smuggled small arms and upwards of ten tons of explosives onto the island. They shot or captured the guards, planted the explosives under the pedestal and detonated at exactly 7:37 am."

"Where's the rest of the chapter?"

"Four of them were killed by the falling debris." He hesitates. "They had a getaway aircraft with rudimentary cloaking technology, probably reverse-engineered from the S.H.I.E.L.D. files that were leaked during the HYDRA Uprising. One of my agents is on their tail as we speak… as well as one of his," Coulson indicates to Talbot with a nod of his head.

"The Air Force is working with us?" Not exactly an unheard-of circumstance - after all, Talbot was the former's official liaison to S.H.I.E.L.D. But to her knowledge, there was no one else, and it couldn't have been him because he'd been escorting her.

Coulson shifts beside her. "A lot's changed in the past five years. After the Snap, we realized we had to develop an open relationship with the military if we wanted to save humanity from complete and utter extinction."

"And now?"

He shrugs. "The relationship continues. This… wasn't a militaristic operation, though. It was an assessment."

Isabelle remembers the last major assessment - Natasha Romanoff's infiltration of Stark Industries in order to evaluate Iron Man as a potential candidate for the Avengers Initiative.

Coulson, and by extension S.H.I.E.L.D, do not throw that term lightly.

To anyone else, it would've seemed like so long ago - Vanko's alliance with Hammer Industries, the palladium poisoning and the creation of Starkium. Tony hadn't put the pieces back then, hadn't connected her to the S.H.I.E.L.D. operative known as Aquamarine.

Compared to all the years, decades, he'd spent not knowing who she was, what she was, it doesn't seem like that long.

"Who was the asset?" she asks, yanking her mind from the edge of the pit of memories that would drown her if she let them.

He takes a deep breath. "Victor Manswell. Ring any bells?"

Apparently she had escaped one pit only to fall into another, deeper one.

Would the bombshells never end?

"Plenty of them," she says, fighting to keep her voice even. A faint wind has sprung up, and she can smell rain in the air. "Tech billionaire, CEO of Manswell International, visionary who spent his money on space exploration and extraterrestrial colonization. Gained recognition for his designs on colonial modular buildings."

A single Wikipedia search could reveal all that, but Coulson's asking for something more from her - something personal. When he realizes she isn't going to be forthcoming, he nods slightly.

"Perhaps the most important fact of all," he says, and a cold lump forms in her stomach, " - batchmate of Tony Stark at MIT. One of my agents uncovered a photograph in an off-campus bar; four individuals sitting around a table, celebrating what appears to be the annual MIT Robot Design Award - Manswell, Stark, Rhodes… and you."

She closes her eyes against the bombardment of memories. It doesn't help.

She remembers that day - how could she not? Tony and Manzee had been going steady for a year, his longest relationship outside of Pepper - and it had also been the first time she'd met Rhodey.

It'd been one of her happiest memories - in a time which had too few of those. Ironic, considering Manswell had literally bumped into his future husband, Jake, in that very same bar, on that very same day.

God, they'd been so young.

"Tony and Manswell were working on something?" she asks with some difficulty. Coulson wouldn't have brought up her brother, not so soon after… not if he didn't have a good enough reason.

He passes her a StarkPad. The screen displays the schematics of an advanced aircraft that look a hell of a lot like the Insight Helicarriers, except larger. And powered by industrial standard arc reactors.

"Project Exodus," the Director explains. "Victor Manswell's private interstellar exploratory mission. Three hundred colonists cryogenically frozen aboard the Ark will be the first colony to settle on an extrasolar planet."

She hands it back. Her fingers tremble for an instant before she snaps back her hand and slips it into her pockets - but he's already seen it. He shoots her an incomprehensible look.

"It's departing in three months," he continues. "S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Air Force were assessing the conditions of the Ark when the attack occurred. We were… close, which is why we were able to respond so quickly."

She's long since stopped paying attention to the interrogation that's starting to become increasingly heated. "Space colonization," she says, proud that her voice remains steady. "After everything, after Thanos - how does he think he'll get away with this?"

She has not completely managed to suppress the grief in her tone, but she likes to think she's masked it enough with her abundant bewilderment. But if anyone could see through it, it would be Coulson.

There had been a time when he had known her better than most. Trusted her better than most - and vice versa.

"The President's already approved of this, Isabelle," and he says, using her given name for the first time, and it's so gentle on his lips she bristles. He doesn't deserve it, the intimacy, as though they were still friends, instead of strangers divided by time and tragedy and betrayal.

She knows - she knows - that she has lied to and hurt and betrayed a lot more people than he had - than he could fathom. No one would ever find out the extent of her sins. But one fact prevents her from reaching out, from giving him absolution - she has done heinous things, yes, but only under duress.

Coulson had betrayed her and the rest of the Avengers of his own damn volition.

The door to the containment unit slides open and Talbot stalks out, May at his heels. Their expressions are poles apart - Talbot looks like a storm had made its home in his face, but May looks almost refreshingly blank. No chinks in that woman's armor.

Her expressionless countenance stirs a fifteen-year-old memory in her mind, helpfully titled 'The Cavalry'. Isabelle had been one of the few agents to have access to the unredacted reports of the mission that had granted May the nickname.

A welcome wagon to a potential Gifted Index candidate in Bahrain that had gone horribly south. She'd read between the lines and privately discerned the involvement of Inhumans.

Only Isabelle's kind is capable of that much chaos.

"He claims there was a rogue," Talbot is saying to Coulson. "One of theirs - the scientist who created those explosives, apparently - detonated them three minutes early. Four of the Fighters didn't manage to escape the rubble, and the scientist, Fred something, took off in their getaway aircraft along with the rest of the Fighters. We have to assume they worked with him to sabotage the mission."

"Does our friend inside know why?"

Talbot, scowling, shakes his head. "This Fred was new, apparently - brilliant, driven, focused. May says Rhodes and another of your agents snuck aboard their plane?"

She feels like her insides have been yanked to her outside. "Rhodes?" she asks sharply, but this is one question she doesn't need answered.

Who else would the Air Force send as a liaison to Victor Manswell? Rhodey was the perfect man for this, just like he'd been perfect as a liaison to Stark Industries.

Coulson nods. "His last report stated that there were more explosives on-board." His eyes are troubled, and his eyes keep snapping to the sky.

"Could've used War Machine right about now," Talbot mutters.

"Unfortunately, the suit itself doesn't lead to subtlety, so he left it here with us, Major."

Something is nagging at her mind. Broken links of a chain of events. Too many things are crowding her mind, too many bombshells have been dropped on her, and she isn't able to think.

Ignoring the others, she walks to the edge of the deck, bends over the railing. The river is clear, despite the smoke, and she stares down into the depths until she can feel the water clear her thoughts, structure her mind so it resembles a beehive, not a haystack.

The Statue. The UNAS. Freedoms First. Manswell, Tony, Rhodey. The Exodus.

It's all connected.

"What the hell?" May's low voice makes her turn around. She follows her gaze up to the sky, grayed out by heavy, stormy clouds and smoke. But just above the clouds, she can see an enormous shape that flickers from view, like a pixelated video.

For a moment, she thinks she's imagined it, but then it ripples again, and she's able to make out the shape of it as it leaves behind an echo on the back of her eyelids.

The huge structure hovering above them looks exactly like the Ark that was to depart on Manswell's Expedition.

It's a Helicarrier. Where else would it be except up in the air?

"The President's lost his marbles," Talbot grumbles, squinting at the flickering, ghost-like figure in the sky. "Whose brilliant idea was it to park that thing above NYC?"

"The Ark's making rounds of all the major cities," Coulson says. "Better question is - why is the cloaking fritzing like that?"

"Power triage?"

Coulson gives him a look. "It runs on four arc reactors. The power on that thing is not going to go out for at least thirty years."

May hums, and that noncommittal sound is enough to grab Coulson's attention. "What are the odds that the Ark is malfunctioning on the same day terrorists decide to target the Liberty?"

There's a silence. "You think this was a diversion?" Talbot asks disbelievingly, pointing over his shoulder to the smoking ruins behind them.

May arches an eyebrow. "I'm saying this level of coincidence is never actually a coincidence."

Isabelle has been staring at the Ark since May pointed it out. There's something off about the flickering. She's seen glitches in cloaking, and it's never been that abrupt, that uneven. It's almost as if… she exhales.

"May's right," she says, and their heads snap to hers. "That's not a malfunction. It's Morse Code."

All of them turn as one to peer at the Ark far above them. It's difficult to make out through the smoke and the overcast sky and after a minute, she herself is starting to feel unsure but then a voice calls out from behind them.

"GETAWAY HIJACK," Agent Simmons says, walking towards them. "Of course, I can't be sure, because the vowels are missing in the original message."

"What's that mean - getaway hijack?" the Major demands.

Coulson is looking out at the island, and he's silent for long enough that May starts to look concerned.

"Phil?"

His eyes are shadowed when he turns toward them. "I lost contact with Rhodes and Agent Johnson almost as soon as they left to pursue the escapees."

Isabelle and May stiffen in unison. "The getaway plane," May whispers. "What if it didn't get away at all? What if it just headed… for the Ark?"

"The plane had rudimentary cloaking tech," Talbot says, his face changing into one of dawning horror as he looks up to the sky. "Strong enough to block communications to the outside. Rhodes wouldn't have been able to warn us, or call his suit remotely."

"We need to get up there."

"What are we waiting for? We have Quinjets of our own!"

"We don't know what this Fred is doing up there," May point outs. "If we go in guns blazing, he might shoot any hostages he might have."

"Well, we can't just sit here and twiddle our thumbs!"

It rapidly deteriorates from there. Their rising voices and arguments become noise in her head, drowned by a silent mantra ringing through her - Rhodes, Jim, Rhodey. Everything inside her seems to have frozen. She shuts her eyes.

It's all conjecture - but she can feel it in her bones. He's up there. Without the armor. Vulnerable.

A memory of watching him fall in a dead suit in an airport in Berlin through a video screen flashes across her eyes, and she can't suppress the flinch in time.

"Collins?"

She's lost enough.

"Let me go." The words slip out because she's even consciously formed the decision. But she wouldn't take them back even if she could.

"Absolutely not. It's too dangerous - you could get caught, or worse."

She opens her eyes, and she knows what Coulson is seeing right now as he glares at her - brilliantly blue-green eyes - because while he doesn't react, Talbot blanches.

"No one here can get up there," she says, "I can shoot up from the water, make my way into the Helicarrier, and no one will even see me if I'm in my vapor form."

She's not getting through to him, and her frustration makes her breath mist over. All of that fury and grief and betrayal she'd been suppressing just to be able to function since the light went out of her brother's eyes are right there, simmering below the surface.

She can't see that with Rhodey, she won't.

"We're running out of time - we don't know what's up there, who's up there, how many of them are there or what they're planning!"

Coulson's shaking his head stubbornly, and she makes out the echo-shadow of grief-guilt-desperation that crosses his face for a second. "It's too risky - we'll come up with another way."

"There isn't one," and that's May. He looks as though she just stabbed him in the back, but she doesn't flinch, just stares steadily. "We'll never get a better plan, and the longer we stand here arguing - the worse the situation becomes for Daisy and Rhodes. Phil," and here her calm countenance breaks for an instant, " - trust her."

The words were only addressed to the Director, but it hits her just as hard. The perfect words to push Coulson to let her go - because he hadn't trusted her to reveal himself all these years, he hadn't trusted any of the Avengers. And now, May's words would force him to confront the reason why.

Was it because he hadn't believed in her? Or himself?

Neither questions are easy to answer, and Coulson knows it. He swallows, then shuts his eyes for the briefest of moments, before fixing them on her. They're flint steel, and for the first time in more than ten years, they're on the same page.

"Don't take unnecessary risks, and do not expose yourself unless it's absolutely necessary - am I clear, Agent Collins?"

"Crystal," she nods. She strides to the edge of the deck and climbs up the railing. Balanced precariously on the metal taffrail, her toes curling, she looks back one last time and meets his eyes.

"Good luck," he says, the wind barely carrying the words across.

Her eyes flash one last time, and she knows he can read what they say.

I don't need luck.

She shuts her eyes and lets herself fall.

Mass Effect Context: I'm combining two events that happened in the Mass Effect universe - the Manswell Expedition launch and the Statue of Liberty getting destroyed.

In 2070 of the canon universe, billionaire Victor Manswell starts funding his own private spaceflight expedition. It takes him about five years.

In 2096 of the canon universe, a group called the Freedoms First brought down the Statue of Liberty to protest the formation of the United North American States, a union of Canada, Mexico, and the US.

The above timelines are from the ME wiki. Canon details are very few. So I compressed the timeline to fit into 2023, wove in relationships, and plot details so it makes sense.