"There is only so much terror you mortals can take, before the weight of this terror is enough to break you."

Max huffs away the frustration, "I am aware of that. You don't need to remind me."

"Yet, you do not learn."

"Wrong," she pointedly corrects, "I choose to ignore you."

Maxine smiles, then cocks her head to the side, "Why might you do that, friend? I'm only just trying to help you."

"You know why."

"I do?"

"Yes, you do," Caufield glances over her shoulder, eyeing the entity as it stands near the ashes of a makeshift campfire, "And no amount of words coming out of your mouth is going to convince me otherwise."

The entity hummed. Much like what Max did whenever deep in thought, the doppelganger balanced on one foot, and swayed as it contemplated. It came to some grand revelation, and seemed to beam its joy through its speech, "Fair enough! You are right indeed—your conviction knows no bounds! I still have a lot to learn when it comes to you. To think, you've made one-thousand three-hundred thirty-seven attempts, and only now have you expressed to me how much it means to you: that no amount of terror can move you, even if it threatens the integrity of your soul!"

Max stared indifferently at the entity as it shifts over to the bench, and beckons her with shining golden eyes and an outstretched hand, "Won't you give me this opportunity to show you how far my convictions take me? It's only fair after all, I've been the guest of your journeys all this time, but you've not experienced the same!"

"Fuck off."

"Oh please, just this once!" it coos, "I promise it won't be a trick. Besides, you might learn a thing or two about me that you don't already know~"

Max scowled at the outstretched hand, then at the innocent eyes of the entity. Its honest smile, its cheery attitude, it screamed danger. But, try as she might, she found herself tempted at the offer…

She slowly raises her hand, and places it hesitantly upon the entity's own. It locks its fingers with hers, intertwining their hands together. A seal, a binding contract.

It's smile grew ever the slightest, "Wonderful."

"Wait—"

Max is pulled, and the two fall through space-time. Caulfield flinches, and does not see what exactly happens at first; but when she looks, she sees stars flicker across her vision and the nothingness twirls about them, spinning and curling and oscillating into incomprehensible strands. These strands give way to tesseracts, large and all-encompassing, like cubes folded unto one another. They are sorted and assembled, great stacks that reach to the end of one's sight. Untold quantities, housed in an unimaginable space.

They pass millions of them every second. Maxine is guiding them through the maze, their destination already determined.

"…is this…?"

"This place has no name," the entity answers, "it is whatever you mortals call it. But it serves its purpose well, and aids me in my corrections."

"…so this is what you do, when you're not bothering me with your constant nagging?"

"Yes," it admits, "Though I do not pester you for the mere sake of it. In truth, I enjoy coming here. When I have the opportunity to use this place, it is a wondrous playground of mine, where I can mend all the damage you cause."

"How touching," Max retorts, but Maxine takes no concern—the doppelganger slows their pace, and they hover close to one of the many cube-like structures. Its sides are static, the kind that reminds the brunette of old, blocky television sets. Mind-numbing static it was, but with a touch of the hand, Maxine turned it into a ripple of pixels, morphing into a screen of black.

"Here is where we shall start."

"…so, what—"

Maxine raised her free hand, and curled it into a fist.

Max froze. Her hand froze as she tried to gesture. Her mouth froze as well, and the syllables died out. She was frozen still, like a statue. Only her eyes remain unoppressed. They flickered this way and that, trying to make sense of what has happened, but nothing gave her an answer.

"Shh," Maxine took her hand and closed Max's mouth, then pressed a delicate finger upon her lips, "We would not want to disturb such a moment as this. If I remember correctly, then this is the first of many inflection points we saw on this thread. Not that it would matter what happens hereafter, but if you are to see my work then you must see it properly: as unedited as possible."

Max tried to shout, tried to move—but nothing came of it. She could not even pinch her brows in desperate rebellion—she was helpless. Maxine took its time, picking the brunette up by the arms and placing her directly before the screen, then adjusting her much like a child would do to their favorite action figure, so that she would not topple over. Then, the screen gave color and sound—a thunderstorm on a cold autumn night, the streetlights a dull yellow and two beams of white moving down a quiet lane. A car with its headlights turned on, driving further into the town.

Max watched as the entity assumed its position in front of the screen, judging her work and its outcomes, and deciding its punishment.

"Let us begin."

It was silent in Warren's hatchback. Neither he nor Kate were interested in talking about what happened. As far as they were concerned, they had come across a great opportunity of getting some much needed support for their investigation—but they both felt as though they have left empty-handed. Both of them knew why this was.

Kate ducks her head to her lap, and rubs at her eyes. Warren glances over worriedly, but the rain pelting his car and blurring his windshield keep his attention. He tries to help, nevertheless.

"…Kate, it's…it's okay—"

"No, it's not," she bitterly noted, "I ruined it. I had it, right there in my grasp, and I let it slip. I'm…I just keep making stupid mistakes."

"It's not the end of the world," he reminds her, "Madsen doesn't know the things we do, he's not seen what we've seen—I'd bet that if he had a glimpse of the journal, he'd know why we couldn't just tell him. There's only so much you can do to convince someone like him."

Kate kept her head turned away, and stared out the passenger window into the darkness. The rain was picking up, and every once in a while there'd be a flash of lightning in the sky. Warren could not see her face, but he could hear the sniffles, and see the sleeves of her overcoat brushing against her eyes. He knew it could not be like this, not now, not when it seemed like their hope was being washed away.

He pulled over, and parked the car amongst many other vehicles lining the sidewalk. It was a straight shot to Blackwell along this street, but he could not drive knowing what has been left unsaid between them.

"Kate."

She slowly turned to him. There wasn't much light besides the streetlamps and the faint green glow of the dash, but he could see the glimmer of tears all the same.

"…I'm sorry," she whispered, "I…I don't know what's wrong with me, I…I'm scared. I…I don't know what to do, now that…"

He offered a hand to her, and she took it. It was a wordless attempt at therapy, where his hand molded into hers, and their fingers locked together. The staccato of rain pitter-pattering on the hatchback was all that could be heard in these solemn, fleeting moments.

"…what have I done," she whimpers. He hums questioningly, and she responds, "What have I really done to help us? What point is there for me being here, if I'm just getting in the way? Was it not enough that I might have caused all of this, and then dragged you all down with me?"

"Kate, please—"

"You know it's true!" she sobs, "I can't help myself—I've already ruined our chances with Madsen, what's to say I do it again, and when it matters most! I'm not capable, no matter what I do—I should've gone alone, I should've never brought you all into this—!"

Her eyes are wide with fear. Bloodshot. Panicked. Her lips tremble, tears glisten as they fall.

"What if I have made the wrong choice after all, and am simply getting what I deserve?"

"No," he argues, "That's not it. You're not dooming anyone; if anything, you've given opportunities that would not exist if you hadn't reached out for help. Where would I be, or Dana and Juliet for that matter, if you hadn't given us the chance to do something good, something that we know for sure will bring good to this world! You've given us purpose by trying to figure out this mystery, and nobody is denying that. Don't think you're the reason that things are going south, there's always more to something than what we perceive. You should never doubt what you are capable of, or else you'll cheat yourself out of doing the right thing when it matters."

"I promised Max that I'd be strong," she weeps, "That I'd be there for her through thick and thin, no matter what—but it's all in vain. I've lied to her, and to all of you—!"

"No, you have not," he knowingly counters, "You say it's over, but it's not. You haven't truly given up yet."

"How?"

"Because you are still here."

She blinks, then turns to him. She doesn't quite get what he means, and so he repeats it again, "Because you chose to be here, instead of somewhere else. Because you could have given up a lot sooner, you could have gone at it alone, and made certain that nothing good would happen—but you didn't. You have faith, and so you are here. You care about your friends, and so it hurts when things seem bleak."

"Remember," he gently squeezed her hand, "We do not need Madsen's help, but we do need to help each other. Max is counting on us, and we have to follow through—and I know we can, so long as we have faith in each other, even when everything's telling us it's doomed from the start."

She's still hung up on her doubts, is still looking off into the emptiness surrounding them, and so, Warren dares to act. He takes his free hand and cups her chin, guiding her from the dreadful storm and into his eyes, brimming with determination, "Believe in me, Kate. Believe in Dana and Juliet. And most importantly, believe in yourself."

Her heart leaps at this heartfelt sincerity, and she sobs. She simply cannot believe such hope might exist in such a terrible and cruel world—but Warren pulls her into an embrace and grounds her to reality, where afflictions of the mind might try to carry her off to despair. He is warm, and smells of pine trees and root beer. He is a rock, solid and assured. She clings to this with all her might. Her hands curl into shaky fists as she holds onto him.

"…one day, sometime in the near future," he imagines, "we'll all be back together again. Max will be out of the hospital, and she'll introduce us to Chloe. The gang will be back together once again, Nathan and his family will be met with justice. And though we'll go on with our lives someday, and take paths that might never intersect, I know that we'll always have each other's backs, that we'll all grow old and live our lives to the fullest—"

He smiles, for he knows the truth is with him.

"Because our purpose is out there, just out of reach—we need only the courage to take that final step, and seize it once and for all."

There is a vicious stinging in Max's eyes, for salty tears brim and flow uninhibited. She trembles, for there is nothing she can do to stop what's coming. A hapless spectator of a horrible crime. No chance to intervene, no method to return. The entity understood this, and leaned in close to whisper into the weeping human's ear—

"Remember, chrononaut," it whispers solemnly, "It was not me who set this path into motion. Unlike you, I have no other choice."

The entity raised a hand, and snapped its fingers.

"…c'mon, let's get back home."

Kate nods, then disengages from the hug. Warren shifts the stick, and they're back out and driving down the road once again. He checked the dash with a glance: all was good there. He checked the road—the headlights painted a clear path with no potholes or anything of the sort. The asphalt was very wet from the rain, which was still pouring down incessantly, but so long as his windshield wipers did not break, they would make it to Blackwell before curfew. A few more minutes, and they'd be back in the comfort of their dorms—

The air grew cold. Very cold. He checks the A/C knob on his dash, which tells him it's switched off.

"…huh."

"What?" Kate asks. She's clasping her elbows and shivering in her seat.

"The air conditioner is not running, but it's chilly all of a sudden," he glances down again, then inquires, "Is it just me, or was it always this cold?"

"I—I thought you had it turned on this whole time," Kate nervously chuckled, "That's why I've been shivering so much."

Graham slows the car to a crawl, then looks down at the controls.

"Well, I could put the heat on, if you'd like."

"Please."

There is a slight snap as the air conditioner is turned on, and Warren resumes driving—

Everything unfolds within the span of a few seconds. The shock of a bolt of lightning suddenly encompasses the hatchback. Warren gasps in fright, and slams his foot down on the gas pedal without any chance to think. Kate cries out from the blinding illumination, shielding her eyes—

Heat and energy swept over them, then a pop-flash! The hatchback shimmered, yet held its own against the torrent of bright light—and then it was over just as quickly.

Warren clutched hard to the steering wheel, and eased his panicked gasping—only to realize they were not where they should be. He was no longer heading up the slope to Blackwell's heights. He was driving them back down the slope—and towards the sight of concrete barricades and the striped lever-arm that signified a militia checkpoint.

He also realizes, if not because of his shocked nerves, that he was speeding towards this checkpoint! He swears, then slams down on the brake. The sudden change in speed making the car swerve to the right and drift from its inertia. The road was wet with rainwater and facilitated a harrowing game of chance; but luck would find them, and their distance was just enough that they stopped short of the barriers.

"Kate—are you alright?!"

"I-I'm okay," she stammers, her face covered by her arms, "What happened—?"

"I don't know," he rasps, eyes flickering to back to where they came, "We—we shouldn't be here."

"Don't fucking move!" a voice calls. A flashlight beam flickers in front of them, and a silhouette beckons, "Step out of the vehicle with your hands up, now!"

"Oh shit—!" Warren then barks to his passenger, "Get down, get down!"

"Warren—?!" she tries to say something, but the hatchback jerks forward, and suddenly the lever arm is pushed up and they burst through the checkpoint, the tires spinning so fast that they kick up streams of water as they go. Voices bark orders to them with harsh tones, but they do not hear—for the thrill of motion has caught them in its grip.

Then, the shots rang out like sharp peals of thunder. One, then two at a time. Glass shatters as hot lead zips through the car, and Warren swears again as one buzzes in front of his face by mere inches. One bullet slams into the passenger door, another ricochets off the sideview mirror. Kate curls into her seat as best as she can, her screams punctuated by the sound of metal striking against metal. More rounds hit the backseat, and Warren hears his pack of root beer get eviscerated by one as it punches through the car's frame. More bullets find their mark as they drive on.

They drifted in a wide turn, then sped towards another barricade, the couple militiamen guarding it too stupefied to believe what was happening. The hatchback zooms past them, then disappears into the night.

"…it is done."

Maxine touches the surface, and it fades into static. A moment of silence passes, where one of them refuses to speak and the other is unable to.

"…the die is cast. There is nothing left for us to do."

Golden eyes flicker to their ocean-blue counterparts, "You wound me, chrononaut. I want to help you, I want you to succeed—but the path you choose is one that I cannot allow. And I know you mortals will break down if enough hardship is brought upon you, if you are beholden to enough terror. I've seen it."

Tears roll down Max's cheeks, these which are colored red from teeming emotion. Bloodshot. Resentful. The indifferent glare she gives is all she can say.

The entity continues, "Might you at least see, with thine own gaze, that terror is universal, and will not spare anyone. Not even you, nor I."

Maxine takes one of Max's hands, and upon securing the hold in a solid clasp, raises their other hand as a fist, which is slowly unfurled.

Max gasps, then nearly collapses. Though Maxine offers a hand in support, it is swatted away, and Max stands on her own two legs; her glare is unabated this time, and burns hatred into her doppelganger. Yet, she says not a word.

"I will take us back. This place does not tolerate solicitors," Maxine explains, "I hope you have learned something, chrononaut."

Caulfield says nothing. She watches silently as the entity closes its eyes in concentration, and then feels the pull of energy as they start moving. The brunette looks down to the way their hands are locked together, and now sees the fantastic sight of energy coursing through her veins, passing from one to the other. Something clicks in her head, and she realizes what it means.

She has learned something, indeed.