Same disclaimer as previous chapters; I have purposefully dropped out of trawling the Loki fandom on tumblr, etc. to avoid seeing other people's fabulous fix-it ideas. So if you recognize anything, it's a matter of great minds thinking alike in a fast-growing fandom.

Thank you very much to all you kind people who've taken the time to comment on this little adventure, and I will endeavor to not disappoint as we continue into the drama-with-an-endgame-purpose.

-THREE MONTHS LATER—

"Agent Mobius. This is not in any extrapolation what we meant when we said 'allocation of resources at your discretion,' and you know it."

"Well, yeah." Mobius shrugs, glancing around the table as if to say you mean you didn't see this coming? to anyone foolish enough to make eye contact. Only one much-amused councilman does, and then quails under Gamble's glare and promptly slides down in his chair to hide that fact. "But the whole point of this project is that we have to start thinking outside the box, isn't it? Innovation! New ideas, progress. Switching things up."

"He's not wrong," B-15 interjects, albeit a bit like an exasperated parent mediating between two equally stubborn children. "We won't win a multiversal war by refusing to make key strategic policy changes when the opportunities present themselves."

"Look, if it's the temporal impact of the thing you're worried about –"

"Not just that, but yes!"

"Then I understand and acknowledge the concerns, and I've proactively addressed them. Hey, O-55?"

The minuteman on notation duty at the door straightens automatically. "Sir?"

"We talked about this, remember? You don't have to call me 'sir'."

She's also expressed interest in choosing a name other than her numeric designation, but hasn't decided yet, so. Baby steps.

"I know, sir."

Mobius sighs and lets it drop for now. "What's the number one rule of Special Acquisitions and Retrieval?"

"Don't get caught, and don't tell the Council," she replies promptly.

B-15 snorts, and only half-successfully hides her cackling in a water glass.

"Okay, yes, thank you for that. But the official number one rule. The one in the new A&R guidebook."

"No ad-libbing or deviating from script on mission, sir."

"Exactly." Mobius leans forward, tapping the file folder in front of him to punctuate his point. "At least thirty hours of planning goes into each mission, creating a step-by-step outline of the plan and doing a practice run, and it's set in stone down to the second. If there's any deviation from that plan while it's being executed, then the whole thing is scrapped, to make sure we don't disturb the timeline. No debate, no argument, no questions asked. No impact whatsoever."

"That you know of," a councilman on Gamble's right points out, not unreasonably.

"Second rule, O-55."

"Ten minutes maximum, no exceptions."

"Also correct." Mobius turns back to the circle of unimpressed faces. "We arrive precisely twelve minutes prior to the end of the apocalypse, and at the two-minute mark we leave, whether the objective's been accomplished or not. It leaves us enough of a time buffer for the odd travel variance, but not enough time to cause a nexus event or branch split in any apocalypse, no matter what we do. No one but us knows we were even there, because the branch dies less than ninety seconds after we leave. In and out is the name of the game here."

"And who exactly is overseeing these…retrieval missions?" Gamble inquires sternly.

"Right now, I am. But I'm training Casey to take over, at least until the new hub is finished."

"Of course." There's no real surprise, just resignation, in B-15's tone. "Casey's Sacred Timeline occupation was specializing in particularly difficult and intricate bank robberies," she adds, in response to a vaguely inquiring noise from another council member.

"I do like to play to people's strengths," Mobius agrees cheerfully. "He's doing great so far. The man knows how to plan a heist!"

"But…this goes against every institutional law of temporal anachronism ever implemented in the TVA," Judge Neilssen interjects.

"I mean, yes, that's technically true." Mobius sits back in the chair. "But you know about the alcoholic black market in the Dream department, Neilssen, it's been around as long as I can remember. Maybe longer."

"True. And even Judge Renslayer would bring back the occasional souvenir from a mission," Neilssen says, clearly giving the idea actual consideration.

"Exactly. Anachronisms have existed in the TVA for hundreds of years without any real consequences. So it's not without precedent, at least."

"There's a considerable difference between swiping a seashell from a beach about to be hit by a reset charge, and intentionally entering a doomed timeline to purposefully plunder several million dollars' worth of advanced technology and construction materials to use for our own gain," B-15 says dryly.

"Do you have a better idea that will accomplish the end result without taking decades we probably don't have before the war breaks?" Mobius retorts, with unusual fire. "These timelines are already doomed, like you said. Free will makes sure of that, and we've pledged not to interfere anymore. So why not make some good come out of an apocalypse, when we can?"

"Mobius. I'm actually really intrigued by this idea," Judge Dawson finally speaks up from B-15's left. She's been carefully listening through the entire hearing, and only now has her thoughtful expression cleared sufficiently to indicate she has questions. "And we do have to start thinking of the long-term here. War carries a high cost, and we've never really thought about expenses until recently. There wasn't any need to."

"Logistics is a weak spot we still haven't fully addressed," Gamble agrees, a little reluctantly.

"But if you're cutting it as close as you say, then it's legitimately dangerous to our agents. That's a level of risk we can't conscionably endorse as an official strategy, if we're trying to shift the paradigm into a more responsible regard for all life in all timelines."

"Understood, and that's a fair point," Mobius agrees. "But that's kind of also why we're doing it the way that we are."

"Explain."

"O-55?" The minuteman snaps to attention again, but relaxes when Mobius pats the empty chair next to him. "C'mere and sit down a second."

"Sir." She sits, a little stiffly, and folds her hands neatly on the table.

"Tell them what you told me and Casey, please."

"Well." She clears her throat, and glances somewhat hesitantly around the table. "There's…well, there's a lot of us who want a more active role in things, now."

"Meaning what, exactly."

"Meaning we're Hunters. Have been for centuries, most of us," she replies. "So now that we're not hunting variants anymore, or at least not very often…what the hell are we actually doing? Hunting skills don't transfer well to archiving and observation, you know, at least in most cases."

A few reluctant mutters of agreement are heard around the table.

"And we liked hunting," O-55 admits. "We were good at it. It was everything we knew. Most of us understand now, we can't just do that anymore, those variants are real people, just like us. And we believe in the organization, in the mission. We want to make a difference in this new system. It's just, well. Kind of…boring, now." The last words are a little small, a little obviously afraid of repercussion, but clear enough to be heard in the quiet room.

"Boring." Gamble repeats flatly.

"It's a valid point." B-15 shrugs when she receives a half-dozen incredulous looks from other council members. "I was a hunter, or did you forget?"

"I didn't," Mobius says quietly, not that anyone is really listening to him.

"There's a lot of us who went into hunting because we just like field ops," B-15 adds. "But there's a much bigger percentage who did it because they liked the hunt. The thrill, the adrenaline rush, the physical activity, the immediate sense of accomplishment that comes with being a hunter. A desk job is a nightmare for someone like that. And we've already seen what happens when a hunter abandons his post for the timeline because the new system wasn't exciting enough, haven't we."

"Exactly," O-55 adds, clearly bolstered by the unexpected support. "Although X-05 was always an egocentric asshole, and I don't think it goes that deep for most of us? At least I hope not. But he's a good bad example. What we're doing now is just really boring compared to what we could be doing. So when we heard through the grapevine that there might be something more interesting than Field Observation potentially on the books?"

"I didn't even have to recruit, when it all came down to it," Mobius tosses in by way of concluding commentary. "We have more than enough volunteers, plus a waiting list for program trainees. And I think covert ops would be a better fit for these guys than making 'em watch a timeline monitor or document variant behavior for ten to twelve cycles a day. Don't you?"

He hears a few non-committal hmphs.

"And you said it yourself in the last council meeting." This addition he makes directly to Gamble. "We can't keep hemorrhaging minutemen or agents indefinitely, if we're heading for a multiversal war. And if we want a higher retention rate, we have to pivot, to offer something more exciting than a branch would. Otherwise, we'll just keep losing people to their previous lives on the Timeline. And there's nothing wrong with that! But I can attest, it's not all you think it's going to be. I bet I'm not the only one who's gonna find that out the hard way."

Gamble glances around the table, noting Neilssen's thoughtful expression and the half-dozen frowns from the others, and finally pins Mobius on the end of a steely glare.

"You have until the construction of the secondary hub is finished, to prove this assessment is accurate, and that the benefits outweigh the risk," Gamble states at last, and that's at least a better outcome than he'd anticipated, when this meeting was called in response to his latest report. "But Mobius," she adds, when his expression visibly clears, "I expect this to be intensely regulated. Is that heard?"

"Loud and clear." Mobius indicates the files he'd had O-55 pass to everyone prior to the meeting starting. Only B-15 has even glanced at it. "But I'm also way ahead of you, ma'am. Regulations and bylaws marked up and ready for your review."

"Of course they are," she sighs. "We will review the regulation changes and vote on official implementation of a special acquisition task force at the next council meeting. Are there any immediate questions for the Analysis department?"

Mobius counts himself fortunate there are not, only a few tolerant eyerolls and two headshakes. The rest just look kind of bored, or possibly hungry, and he doesn't exactly blame them. His reputation for being an Unexpected Wild Card increases every day, and he can't fault anybody for wanting the boat to stop shaking, just for a little while.

"Council is dismissed, then."

O-55 bounces in her chair a bit and then looks at him as the noise escalates with background chatter and the collection of personal items. She looks happier than he's ever seen her to this point. "That went well, yes?" she asks.

"Definitely better than I was bracing for." He smiles, and jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Go on, escape while you can. And thanks for your help."

"Yes, sir." Her eyes twinkle briefly at his exasperated expression, and she files out along with the rest of the council.

"Go ahead," Mobius then says resignedly, gesturing across the table at the only other remaining occupant of the room. "I've already been told I'm out of my mind a lot this week, though. You're not even gonna break the top ten."

B-15 snorts and leans back, fingers tapping absently on the chair arms. "You're very much in your right mind, actually," she finally replies, eyebrows raised. "And that's what is truly terrifying to most of them, I think."

"You mean it's too much, too quickly."

"Not at all." She shrugs as he looks back up at her. "Deviation from centuries of established process is always going to be terrifying. But that's on us, not you. They'll get used to the changes. This change? This change is good. Capability looks fantastic on you, Mobius. Are you sure you don't want to find yourself a project manager, and step into a judge's chair?"

"Yeah, no, I don't think that's a best scenario for anyone involved." He fidgets with a pencil until it rolls away, plummeting off the tabletop. "I'm the same old regular guy I always have been, B. Just…maybe a little louder than before."

"I think we both know you habitually undersell yourself," she counters, but she's smiling. "But how have you actually been, Mobius? It's been weeks since I saw you outside the war rooms."

"I'm fine."

"Are you? You look exhausted."

"It's just the time differential," he replies, waving off the concern. "Going back and forth from Central to the Void hub multiple times a day is like…what did they call it on Earth. Jet lag? Traveling across conflicting time zones," he adds by way of explanation, when she gives him a blank look. "Your body gets used to one particular cycle, and then its internal rhythm gets all shaken up because you move to a different time zone. Your brain thinks it's morning when your body thinks it's evening, or whatever."

"That sounds…unpleasant," she observes cautiously.

"It's manageable." Mobius stifles a yawn, which is just because they're talking about it, not because he actually needs sleep, thank you very much. "I was hoping to figure out a way to minimize the physical effects early on, at least in the new living quarters, but we have bigger fish to fry right now. So that's been put on hold."

It might end up being a bigger problem than he'd originally thought, though, because it is noticeable. The energy drain doesn't just happen with the Tempads, it happens with the work force as well. And even though they've found some temporary solutions, the consequences are only going to escalate with time.

And time? Is a finite resource he can't just pilfer more of from a timeline branch.

-EIGHT WEEKS AGO-

"No. We're on the very fringe of the End of Time, so it's like…" O.B. pauses for a second, and then picks up an empty coffee mug, tipping it on its side so the concave opening is facing a pencil held horizontally in his other hand. He moves said pencil back and forth in relation to the mug, in a gesture that in other circumstances would be…a little inappropriate.

(Here in the shadowy alcove that's been temporarily repurposed as a sparse breakfast nook containing various beverages, a random bunch of bananas and some sad little nutrient bars someone stole from a branch, it's just confusing.)

"It's basically like being continually drawn toward the event horizon of a black hole."

Mobius squints blearily at the objects, because he's barely been awake for twenty minutes and that was his coffee cup, damn it, and it had not been used yet, damn it. He is not prepared to assimilate any kind of temporal physics lecture before coffee and/or breakfast, and O.B. is clearly one of those morning people who roll out of bed fully alert and already rambling about ten different things, making otherwise normal people consider a potential career in mercy killing.

"I thought the closer you get to a black hole, the slower time passes," Mobius finally mumbles, when O.B. stops for breath. He then decides to Helheim with it and picks up a can of lukewarm soda instead of coffee, popping the tab and chugging half of it in one go.

"That's a very simplified explanation, but it's not entirely wrong." O.B. shakes the pencil emphatically. "But the two important variables to consider: One, time dilation due to the gravitational field density means the passage of time is slowed – but because we're accustomed to a time-locked TVA, it's still actually moving quicker than we're used to."

"Got it."

"And two: No matter what the flow of Time does closer to a temporal anomaly, it doesn't actually feel slower on the human body; it's imperceptible to anyone on the inside, even if the body itself subconsciously reacts to it. The entropic effect of time-passage is negated in a time-locked location like the central TVA. Here in the Void, it's just mitigated. It still exists, it's just a weird sort of temporal no-man's-land we've never really documented and so have no point of reference for. So we don't have any idea if it's a serious problem until the problem actually appears."

"Mmhm."

"Therefore, anything running on a type of energy – whether that's man or machine – is going to experience the effects of increased entropy here in the Void, where they wouldn't experience them in the central TVA. Or even on a branch, at least not to this extent."

"Uh-huh."

"That perception of increased entropy is then conflicting with an unnaturally slow temporal passage rate, due to how close we are to the event horizon at the End of Time. And when you start to bend the given rules of a reality, things start to not work right. So the power drain is going to continue to happen until we find a way to stabilize the time differential between the Central hub and this one, all while compensating for the flow of time against the accelerated rate of decay and new rules of passage here."

"Absolutely."

"Ergo, the black hole conundrum. Energy drains much faster, because of this." O.B. once again demonstrates with the coffee cup, stabbing the pencil at it for dramatic effect. "And until we can block that effect without time-locking the hub, it's going to continue to do so."

"Yup, makes sense."

"So to answer your question about the differential: time passes much more slowly than 'standard' here; but it doesn't feel like that to us because we're in the fringe gravitational field of the event horizon. What is one hourly cycle in the Void might be ten days, might be a thousand years on a timeline branch. There's no way to tell without scientific investigation and documentation."

That wakes him up. "Wait, what?"

"Were you actually listening to any of that?" O.B. asks suspiciously, pushing his glasses up with the end of the pencil.

"The Void has a higher rate of entropic decay than we're used to, coming from a time-locked location," Mobius recites, gesturing with the soda can for emphasis. "And because we're nearing the event horizon beyond the End of Time, even though time is moving faster than it is in TVA Central, time is actually passing much more slowly than normal through the gravitational field here. So the human body and our Tempads can't decide what to do with that conflicting entropic decay, because the decay rate is mismatched against two different flows of time and being standardized by a place where time doesn't flow at all. It's just a complex math problem, O.B., it's eventually solvable once we have a variable set that can be properly measured."

O.B. blinks at him in surprise, and mild respect. "Well…yes, technically. That's the very short, very simple version, but yes."

"I'm not as worried about that as I am with what you just said - about an hour here being years on the timelines? Is that really accurate?"

"Probably, yeah."

Mobius sets the Josta down, nausea curling in his stomach. "So the months we've already spent here could have been thousands of years passing on a 'real' timeline."

"Oh." O.B. seems to finally understand his dismay, and shuffles nervously in place. "I mean…that's the most probable scenario. But it's also possible it's not been that long! I still can't get any kind of temporal reading from the area immediately surrounding the Tree, and it's definitely possible that this theory only applies to the timelines themselves, not…"

"Not the one holding them," Mobius finishes, the tone hollow with dread. "Possibly experiencing them all at the same time."

Four hundred years of time looping in the TVA, followed by possible millenia of solitude? Any human would have lost their mind a quarter of the way through the former, much less the latter.

What if they're already too late?

"I might be wrong. And we don't know if he's actually feeling time at all, or just…acting as a conduit of it, so to speak." O.B. doesn't look in any way convinced he actually is wrong, but Mobius appreciates the effort. "It's all theoretical at this stage, you know. Definitely could be way off base."

"Just this one time, I really hope you are." He sighs, and picks up the can again. "But that's gotta be a problem for later us. Right now, I need to know what to expect on a mechanical and a human level, so we can troubleshoot before we bring a larger task force in. We can't ask them to work under these conditions indefinitely."

"Well, for starters…"

-PRESENT DAY-

"The new work Hub is temporal-locked, like the central TVA, so O.B. and the structural work force aren't having the same issue now as they were at the beginning," he explains. "But the rest of the complex isn't, it's just running on the same flow as the Void itself; and that's where I've been spending a lot of my field time lately. Scouting missions and that kind of thing."

B-15 frowns, quizzical. "Scouting missions. Are you looking for Renslayer?"

"No, not really, although I won't be surprised if we come across her at some point. I've been trying to find the original Loki variants I met, that very first time. I think the kid at least might come around to helping us out occasionally, if given the right incentive. But they've become nomadic, I think. For sure, they're not hiding out where they were before, and they're not playing easy to get. If they're even still alive. We really haven't seen many living creatures at all, and definitely none on the outer fringe where the satellite hub is."

"Hm. With a severe drop-off in pruned matter a year ago, there might have been a drastic supply shortage that caused them to have to scavenge outside their usual territory," B-15 replies thoughtfully.

"That was my thought, too. And another reason why I figured Special Acquisitions and Retrieval might be the next item to prioritize, instead of the variant reformation system we were talking about. If we're successful with relocating the majority of the supplies we need from dying timelines, instead of having to manufacture almost everything from scratch? It will accelerate the Phase 1 completion by at least six months."

"That would be huge. And it would be good to iterate a bit anyway, so we aren't stuck testing things in potential future expansions."

"Work the bugs out now before all hell breaks loose, exactly. And then we could start to invest the time savings into doing a controlled pruning of matter from timelines that are moments away from apocalypse. To keep Alioth better-fed. Maybe a sort of supply drop for Void survivors, even."

"Those survivors, Lokis or otherwise, are likely to lay siege against your shiny new satellite TVA once it's finished and visible," she points out. "Are you prepared for that?"

"I'm working on it." He grins, and shakes his head when she gestures for more information. "Nope, keepin' those cards close to my chest for now. The council's had enough of my hare-brained ideas for one week, let's let the chaos simmer down a while."

"Fair point." She stacks the half-dozen file folders into a neat bundle, and leans forward as she prepares to leave. "Are you sure you're all right, though? No one would blame you for taking a couple of days off. Go back to your beach house. Ride that jet ski. Just reset, for a while."

"Nah, I'm fine. I've become the undisputed king of power naps. Oh hey, before you go, take a look at what else I'm working on." He pulls HWR's temporal device out of his jacket pocket, and waggles it at her.

"Is that…"

"Yeah."

"And you're experimenting with something that a goddess couldn't even use correctly the first time?" she asks, incredulous.

"No. I'm experimenting responsibly."

"That is definitely not the first word that comes to mind in reference to your own sense of safety, no, Mobius."

"Oh ye of little faith. Take a look." He closes his eyes, and concentrates, swiping a finger over the controls. Her little noise of surprise alerts him to open them again, and he grins at the sight of exactly what he wanted to see – two miniature Time Doors, one at each end of the long table.

B-15 yelps hilariously and scoots back in her chair when he then promptly sticks his hand through the one in front of him, whereupon it emerges on her side of the table, waving cheerfully.

"Mobius!"

He withdraws his hand, grinning at her discomfiture. "C'mon, it's a little funny."

"It's a little disturbing," she corrects him, making a shooing motion at the hazy orange block, whereupon it dissipates. "Also completely impractical, isn't it?"

"Well, it's just the first experiment with a living subject. Also, it is practical, because now I don't have to come all the way back to the Central cafeteria to satisfy my Josta addiction."

"You're using the most powerful temporal technology we've ever encountered to steal from the primary TVA's vending machines." Her eyebrows are fairly in her hairline at this point.

"I mean. Not just for that," he grumbles, putting the device back safely in his pocket. "And if it's any consolation, that's peanuts compared to what I've stolen from an apocalyptic timeline this week."

"It's not any consolation."

"You're no fun."

-TWO DAYS LATER-

He steps through the Door reading the latest structural specs, and only realizes there's a slight problem when he looks up to see the conference room's skeletal interior doing a slow, stomach-swooping spin around him, the muddled blur of beige and gray dotted with watery halos from every light fixture.

"Whoa, hey." A firm hand catches his arm. "You all right, sir?"

He blinks rapidly, and everything returns to normal, blurriness smoothing into crisp clarity, the ringing in his ears fading to normal sound levels. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks," he adds, to the architect who had prevented him from an embarrassing sprawl on the unfinished floor. "Just one too many trips between the hubs for today, I think."

"Mm, that'll do it, yes, sir." The young man nods solemnly.

"Sorry, go ahead. I was just looking at your report. What's this about the acoustics in here?"

"Oh, right!" The architect then proceeds to launch into an animated explanation of latest progress, brandishing blueprints and insulation options and measurement tools in a flurry of excitement that Mobius honestly cannot fully keep up with. He nods and looks interested at what sound like the most appropriate times, and finally brings the flow to a gently interrupted end with a reassurance that he trusts the architect's judgment based on his impeccable work so far, because at this point he's having to pick his battles.

It's the right decision, because the young man fairly radiates pride and happiness at the response before returning wholeheartedly to his scrawls a note in the margin of the report to make sure he documents giving permission to proceed without active monitoring, and continues his trek down to Research & Advancements.

Ouroboros is about to clock out for the week, meaning he's heading back to the primary TVA to spend the next twenty-four hours in Repairs and the following sixteen off-work on his mandatory rest period, but he takes the time to catch Mobius up to speed on the progress of the perimeter defenses and the living quarters before heading out.

"So we are well ahead of schedule, and should know a revised completion date by the end of next week. Oh, and Mobius?" O.B. calls across the workroom, as he picks up his tool kit and Tempad in preparation to depart.

"Hmm?"

"You are taking your designated rest breaks, right?"

"Huh? Yes, of course I am. Why?"

"Because you look like you could just fall over and sleep right here on that pile of tools or something," O.B. says frankly. "And without Miss Minutes installed yet in the satellite mainframe, we don't have a good way of knowing if anyone is overworking themselves. It's just an honor system."

Mobius grins despite the headache, and tilts his head back against the wall, eyes closed for a precious second. "Do you want her popping up with a bullet-pointed list of critiques every time you turn on a Tempad?"

O.B. shudders. "No. But I don't want anyone working themselves into a breakdown, either," is his pointed response. "Just…take some extra time, if you need it, yes?"

"Duly noted." He shakes his head ruefully, posture straightening again as he reluctantly pushes off the wall. "I really am taking them, O.B. Guess I just need to get more out of them, maybe."

"Whatever you need to do. Let me know if I can help." The genius glances down for a second, fidgeting awkwardly with the Tempad. "I like having friends. And I want to keep them, but I dunno how all of it works, exactly. I've never been great with boundaries and social cues."

"Well, I think you're doing fine," Mobius replies, with genuine warmth. "Seriously, I would never have been able to get this thing off the ground without you. We're in it together now, you and me. For all time, and all that."

A wide grin, and O.B. finally nods, setting coordinates on the Tempad and producing a Door back to the primary hub. "Okay. Get some rest, and I'll see you in a couple days, then."

Mobius waves, and doesn't let the smile drop until the Door winks out, leaving the workroom cloaked in welcome darkness.

And considering that the pile of tools is actually looking a little appealing, he decides to call it a night and start fresh tomorrow.

-FOURTEEN HOURS LATER-

Fresh might have been a bit overly optimistic, because between restless dreams and waking up every hour with enough new ideas to ratchet the headache from a slow-simmering 1 to a nuclear 8, the night cycle is spent more productively than restfully. It's likely only by the grace of one god in particular that Mobius makes it through the morning briefing with anything resembling coherency, much less cheerfulness.

But with O.B. back at the primary hub and the construction proceeding far more rapidly than expected due to their latest 'time heist,' as Casey excitedly keeps calling them, someone has to be on-site for most of the day, and that falls to the man at the top.

It's still a little strange, to realize that man is him.

Mobius is not completely sure where or why on his own Sacred Timeline he grew comfortable using power tools, but his (unintentionally niche) knowledge is leaps and bounds above most of their current workforce, which is helpful. Safety first sounds great on paper, but is much more stressful to implement with a couple dozen eager but definitively analog-era construction workers and engineers, than you'd think. He has already pulled four of them off the work force for mandatory training sessions, and he's on his last nerve by midday break time, what with trying to make sure no one loses a finger or trips over a battery power pack into a pile of masonry. Or worse.

(They're just going to pretend the Tile Cutter Incident didn't happen.)

Added to this, the temporary lighting system which has been installed until they can come up with a permanent, possibly greener solution (doubtful, since you can't reliably solar-power anything when there's no sun to be seen), seems to have an unshielded bulb every twenty feet precisely set at just the right angle to drive the knife in his skull a little deeper, curl the nausea in his stomach a little tighter.

Still, it's not the first time Mobius has powered through a headache. It comes with the territory in Analysis, and is only noticeable now because these days, he actually doesn't spend as much time behind a desk or in the archives as he would prefer. There's just too much to do, and (ironically enough) not enough time to do it in.

Because they're running out a clock. Working under a time constraint that only Mobius really understands the scale of. No one else is living with that constant, gnawing undercurrent of anxiety, all too conscious of the unseen sword hanging over their heads. Over one head, in particular.

But finally, it is time for the midday break, and they've made enough progress, both in safety training and construction, that he considers it to be a good day so far. He wanders around the place for a few minutes after the task force has returned to TVA Central, to inspect things with more attention to detail – but the work seems precise and orderly, no mistakes that he can see. It's starting to actually look like something, now, which does a little to ease that sense of anxiety over the haunting knowledge that it's been too long without visible progress.

The main atrium and corridor spokes are rapidly taking shape, now that they don't have to manufacture supplies from scratch or pilfer them in unnoticeable amounts from the odd timeline here and there. The cupola and arched ceiling flow in a fluid, graceful set of contours, immaculately tiled in a modern white and gray; and all which remains to be done above is the weatherproof glass which will fill the empty spaces once most of the other work is done. Minimalist yet beautiful in its function, and it looks great from every angle below…

Well. It doesn't look as good from the damn floor, apparently.

How did that even happen?

Because apparently that wasn't just a momentary dizzy spell. He can hear the task force back at work, the clamor of construction occasionally punctuated by tense whispers. The noise slowly fades to normal volume, slowly replacing the overwhelming sound of his own pulse. There's something softer than concrete under his head, and his collar and tie feel a lot looser than they should be.

He blinks a few more times to clear away the hazy gray frame encroaching upon his vision, and then groans, putting a hand up once reality finally solidifies. "Oh, great."

"No, not great," B-15 replies dryly, as she sits back on her heels at his side. "Not great at all."