(Scenes from Legends of Tomorrow Season 7, Episode 7)

Our landing is messier that the last one. Tree branches are broken and scattered on the ground. As we scramble out of the time machine, Spooner comments, "Nice driving, Gwyn."

"Ugh," Astra moans, "are we in a forest again?"

"What's the damage," Behrad queries. We gaze upwards at the toilet now puncturing the unsealed roof. Dr. Davies audits the amount of damages to his invention.

"We're lucky none of us got killed by that toilet," Nate declares.

"Lucky," Astra questions. "What are the odds of us getting hit by a toilet in the first place?"

"Well, the odds of being injured by a toilet are 1 in 10,000," I calculate. "So you take that number, you multiply it by—"

"I was just being facetious, Gideon."

Gary inclines to me, disclosing, "I still thought it was interesting." Why is there a fluttery sensation in my stomach?

"Hey," Zari 1.0 interjects, "wasn't there a person on that toilet?" We suddenly hear groaning and rustling behind us. Our stowaway emerges from the debris. Much to our shock, it's a filthy Bishop! Spooner points her gun at him.

"You," Captain Sharpe growls. She throws his other shoe, which he inadvertently catches. "Wait-wait-wait, which 'you' are you?"

Bishop starts, "Uh—"

"He's the 'him' that blew up our Waverider," Captain Lance surmises. She grips Bishop's collar, threatening, "Now, give me one reason why I shouldn't—" Before she can complete her sentence, the sound of voices nearby are brought to focus. "All right, we gotta lead them away from the time machine."

Nate declares, running west, "Operation Blind Man's Bluff is a go."

"Thought you'd never ask," Behrad concurs as we all dissipate in the same direction. "Operation Blind Man' Bluff" is a maneuver they have created to distract incoming locals. It basically involves the loud game of Marco Polo while eluding whoever is around. However, in this particular case, we also need to find a door.

We stumble across a pair of divergent outhouses in the bushes. Behrad, who has current possession of the portal dimension key, unlocks the door to the nearest privy. "No," Bishop pleads, "no more toilets."

"Just shut up and get in," Captain Lance demands. She shoves him inside and enters with Captain Sharpe, Zari 1.0, Nate, Gary, Dr. Davies, me, Spooner, Astra, and finally Behrad following after her. We dash through the doorway of the portal dimension. Now that we're out of the troopers' sight, someone—namely Bishop—owes us an explanation. Captain Lance ensures this as she pins him to the wall, preparing to pulverize him.

"I'm on your side, I swear," Bishop supplicates, freeing himself from her hold. The last time he—or his previous copy—said this, he was lying. He stands at the center of the entryway, addressing all of us. "There is a soon-to-be bad Bishop who's actually a replacement robot clone of me, but I'm the good Bishop."

Captain Sharpe interrogates, "So, which Bishop blew up our Waverider?"

He meekly admits, "Well, that was me."

"And who sent the robots after us," Zari 1.0 inquires.

"Also me."

"Yeah," Nate asserts, "none of these fits the definition of 'good'."

"In my defense, I thought you kidnapped me for my brain," Bishop clarifies. "But I learned the truth; you're the good guys. Only it was too late. Gideon went rogue."

Gary looks at me, querying, "Her?"

I echo, also confused, "Me?"

I've seen what horror looks like on others. Yet, it's unparallel to the moment when Bishop sees me in front of the main door. "Oh no." His voice trembles out of his paralyzed body.

"She's harmless," Astra contends.

"Wait, this is astounding." His fear transcends into awe. I feel a tinge of unease with him treading closer to me. "A living, breathing Gideon? A true deus ex machina among us?"

In the corner of my eye, I spot Astra moving from the stairway. She curtly slaps his hand away before it can touch my face. "She's neither a deity nor machine. She's a human, so who the hell are you talking about?"

"I… stole a copy of Gideon's OS when I was on your ship," he confesses, "restored her to factory settings, and then built my own Waverider." And I thought his DNA splicing skills weren't transferable to wires and circuits.

Spooner descends from the stairway, realizing, "Oh no, it's Evil Virus Gideon all over again."

"That seems a bit harsh," I dispute. "How about misunderstood Gideon who's just trying to keep the timeline intact?"

"By killing us," Behrad quizzes.

"Evil Gideon it is," Nate affirms.

Dr. Davies expresses to Behrad, "This is all very overwhelming, my boy." The latter calmly reassures him.

"Okay, how long is it gonna take for you to fix your machine," Captain Sharpe asks the former.

"Oh, well, the cosmetic parts on the top shouldn't be too hard," Dr. Davies answers, "but rebuilding the 18 aeroimpetus stabilizers—well, Ms. Sharpe, I'm at a loss." He exhibits the aforementioned piece in his hand.

"All right, Ava and I will scout the area," Captain Lance resolves. "That Jeep looked mid-century. Let's go off of that. And maybe we landed near an Aeroimpetus Stabilizers R' Us. Everyone else, lay low. Evil Gideon is watching, all right?"

"Aye-aye, Captain," Bishop confirms.

"No, not you." She instructs Nate and Zari 1.0, "Take him upstairs, please."

"Might I request a room a with a shower," Bishop requests as they drag him up the stairs.

"Put him in John's room and lock the door."

"Aye-aye, Captain," Nate accedes.

Dr. Davies queries Captain Sharpe, "Who's John?" She doesn't reply; oddly enough, no one has spoken a word about Mr. Constantine around him. Is that why he looks so familiar? After a change in attire, the captains leave together. Their orders to "lay low" are rephrased as "stay inside the manor". Gary provides Dr. Davies and me a semi-official tour of our dimensional refuge. At the same time, Astra, Spooner, and Behrad treat themselves to a snack in the kitchen.

We're soon alerted of Captains Lance and Sharpe's reentrance. We revisit the entryway to see the former hugging Nate and the latter calling for us. "Oh my gosh, guys," she exclaims. "Guys, Nate and Zari are moving in together!"

We cheer delightfully at the news. Gary groups himself, Spooner, and Astra as they hug Nate. I join in on the celebratory embrace naturally. Gary queries, "Can I have your Steel helmet?"

"Okay, up, up." Nate breaks up the group hug, stating, "Here we go. Guys, I'm still on the team. I'll just be commuting from the totem every morning." As for his seldom worn headgear? "And, yes, you can totally have my helmet."

"What about my machine," Dr. Davies queries, "or are we all moving into a bracelet?"

"Actually, we're in luck," Captain Sharpe attests. "It looks like we landed right next to an airplane manufacturing plant in 1943 Seattle. Height of World War II."

Spooner claims, "Oh, dang, that's perfect."

Dr. Davies raises, "World War what, you say?"

"Two," Captain Sharpe maintains. Unlike Captain Lance and Nate, she didn't register how the mention of WWII would affect someone who is a WWI veteran.

"You mean to tell me that there is a war after 'the war to end all wars'?"

I begin articulating, "Well, actually there's—"

"You know, Gwyn," Captain Sharpe interrupts, "doesn't matter. How do we get this bird in the air?"

"Bird? Oh, yes. Well, here is my design for the stabilizers." Dr. Davies unveils the scale drawing. "We need 18 of them."

"18? Let me see," Spooner entreats. She surveys the blueprint within reach. "All right, we got corrugated metal, two-inch I-beams, copper wire. If I can just find a welding station, won't be a problem."

"Excellent."

"We've also found a way inside," Captain Lance proclaims. "Curl your hairs and flex those arms, girls. We're joining the war effort!" The five of us saunter into the main office of McDougle Jemison Factory. I've uncovered a light pink button dress with a floral pattern and matching belt in the manor's attic beforehand. Coincidentally, it's my precise size. "All right, as long as we get on the factory floor, everything will be easy as apple pie."

As we swerve left, a male brusque voice calls to us, "Are you ladies the new hires?" A pale, bespectacled man stands behind us. Next to him is a blond woman with an insane grin carrying factory uniforms.

"Yep."

"Good, we need all the help we can get."

Astra mutters, "Well, that was easy."

He addresses the captains first. "You two, hit the assembly line." They attain their uniforms from the vacant factory worker, who directs them to the changing room. He moves on, inquiring me, "And you, my secretary just quit on me. How fast can you type?"

"I can process over a million words a minute."

The choleric man looks at me inscrutably. "Sure. My office is down the hall. Start the coffee." He gives me a thin smile.

"Oh." As I proceed onward, his gaze briefly follows me. I flash a thumbs-up to Astra and Spooner as a form of "good luck". Only the latter responds by winking back.

Although his coffee order wasn't specified, I did what I was told. I carry his beverage upstairs to his office. The doorplate reads "Mr. Edward Staples" with the title "Director of Manufacturing" underneath. I set foot inside and place the mug on his desk. I notice a large window that overlooks the entire factory floor. The workers down there are mostly white, so I suppose Captains Lance and Sharpe are among them. Before I can decipher where Astra and Spooner are, the same brusque man appears at the doorway. "Miss…"

"Gideon," I answer.

"Gideon what?"

I, as you've already known, don't have a last name. Nonetheless, I provide a random one. "Godfree."

"Miss Godfree, I expect anyone working here not to snoop in my office, much less my secretary," Mr. Staples critiques as he enters. "Your desk is right outside that door. Work starts at 8am and ends at 8pm." The factory owner then grimaces at the cup sitting on his desk. He doesn't even take a sip. "I also like my coffee without cream or sugar. Is all that clear?"

"Yes, sir." With that pomposity, it's no wonder his previous secretary quit. I sit at the secretarial desk, which is positioned outside Mr. Staples' office. I organize files and type up notes all day. The telephone rings multiple times. One of the callers is Malvina Thompson, the private secretary of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. According to her, the First Lady has yet received an invitation to visit the factory. Her interest has been communicated to Mr. Staples in the past. I warrant her personal assistant that I'll forward this matter to him. After the phone call has ended, I carry on with my workload.

40 minutes later, Mr. Staples exits the office without acknowledging me. Abby Knox—the woman who accompanied Captains Lance and Sharpe to the factory floor—approaches him in the hall. I speedily walk after them, saying, "Sir, the First Lady's office called again. She's insistent in seeing the factory in action."

"Tell them I don't need a babysitter," he retorts.

"The injection molder is down again," Miss Knox notifies, "but I have the work order right here. It just needs your stamp."

Mr. Staples grabs the slip from her and skims it over. "I don't know what you girls keep doing to these machines that I have to keep fixing them all the time." He inquires, "Do you know that costs money?"

"Of course, sir," she replies. "We're all doing our best."

Mr. Staples rescinds the unstamped form to Miss Knox. "Just wish it was a little better," he grumbles. "Give the order to Miss Godfree. I'll get it in the morning." She passes it to me as we pivot right. He continues his way to the washroom. Around this time, I spot Astra and Spooner and realize they're relegated to janitorial labor.

I backtrack upstairs to administration. Before I can archive the order form, Astra snatches it out of my hand. "Warn me if he comes back," she instructs prior to intruding Mr. Staples' office.

I reserve my next workload while waiting for Astra to get out. Not long after, the factory owner is heading her way. "No, no," I implore. "Mr. Staples, you can't go in there."

He regards me superciliously. "I can go into my office whenever I want." Mr. Staples charges inside for his keys as I nervily listen to the impending confrontation. "You," he demands Astra. "What are you doing in here? As if it isn't bad enough that I have women working in my factory; now I have coloreds robbing my office! I told them your type is nothing but trouble. You're fired—" Suddenly, there is a jarring silence afterwards. I peek inside; he's now motionless with his index finger pointing straight ahead.

"Find Sara and Ava," she requests, "and tell them to come here."

"How do I explain why," I query.

"Just go."

I accordingly escort Captains Lance and Sharpe from the factory floor. They ask me what's going on. I compliantly say that it's best if she elucidates them herself. In response, the captains direct Spooner and me back to the portal dimension.

As soon as we arrive, I make a beeline for the washroom. I depart with much relief minutes later. Spooner was there a bit longer. "I can't believe that burro doesn't allow breaks to prolong for more than 10 minutes." She voices, "But I got some good news." Spooner retrieves a newly minted stabilizer for Dr. Davies' time machine from her pocket.

I inquire, "How were you able to weld this?"

"Turns out the janitors have an underground workshop away from the floor. We still need 17 more."

Captains Lance and Sharpe enter the portal manor. They explain that, due to her unintentionally petrifying Mr. Staples, Astra is spending the night learning how to manage the factory. Our conversation is interrupted by a delectable smell emitting from the dining room. "Oh my goodness, I'm starving," Captain Lance vocalizes. I second that. "What did you guys make?" A bowl of cooked spaghetti is centered at the table. Her mood shifts drastically upon eyeing Bishop there. "Why is he down here?"

"I'm learning about Persian culture," Nate answers matter-of-factly, "so I can win over cranky uncles."

Behrad remarks, "Bishop's my teachable moment."

Captain Lance glares at them momentarily. "You're lucky I love you two," she yields. We sit around the table, and each grab a plate to help ourselves.

"Aw, love you." Nate places a breadbasket between her and Captain Sharpe. "Here's some complex carbohydrates."

"Oh, thank you," the latter exhales.

"Salad," Behrad offers.

Bishop glances up from Zari 2.0's cellphone. He's more intrigued to see my plate than the fact that I'm seated next to him. "You eat food? How human are you?"

"Biologically, I'm 100% human."

"Well, so then, how computer are you?"

"Also 100%," I assert, "which is mathematically confusing but metaphorically accurate."

"Hmm."

Dr. Davies and Gary step into the dining room. The former's eyes light up when he sees the newly welded stabilizer on the table. "Remarkable, remarkable. You've done it," he commends Spooner. "Fantastic work, dear girl. Fantastic work."

"Yeah, don't sound so surprised," she quips.

"All right, Master Green," he says to Gary, who's about to bite on a piece of garlic bread. "If you'd be so kind as to locate us a pair of torch lights, we shall proceed presently to the woods, where we shall begin our work."

"Actually, no need. Astra's got you covered," Captain Sharpe declares. "Wait until you two see the workspace that she locked down for you." Captain Lance non-verbally confirms this since her mouth is full of garlic bread. "Sit down and eat." Dr. Davies agrees, preferring salad over the spaghetti. My attention is drawn to Gary eating his piece of garlic bread. He chews each bite for precisely 120 seconds before he swallows. How did anyone skimp over how unconventionally dishy he is? It has taken me twice that much to realize I've repeatedly twirled my spaghetti-laden fork while I was staring.

Behrad and Nate are cleaning up after dinner as an extended lesson in ta'arof. Everyone else leaves the kitchen to prepare themselves for bed. Bishop especially doesn't want to ruin his manicured nails. Hours after that, I'm wide awake and indescribably parched. I suspect that everyone is still asleep. So, I exit my room and descend the back stairway to the kitchen.

I grab a glass from one of the upper cupboards and fill it with water. As I scour for ice blocks in the freezer, I hear footsteps coming behind me. "Who's there?" I look back to see a sleep-deprived Captain Sharpe in her pajamas. "Gideon, what are you doing? It's, like, the middle of the night."

"I've suddenly felt very hot and thirsty."

"Yeah, John picked a fine spot to create a hideout." She raises a wary eyebrow at me. "Wait, if you're drinking ice water, then—" I'm uncertain what she was going to say, but she cackles in unbelief. "No way. You're Gideon. That can never happen." I ask her what "that" is; she instead dismisses, "Nothing. Besides…" Captain Sharpe covers her mouth instinctively, yawning, "…today's gonna be like yesterday." She leaves the kitchen without bidding me goodnight. I carry my glass of ice water to bed—just in case my cortex plays more electrifying dreams about Gary.

Captain Sharpe is, of course, right about one matter. The following hours are very bustling. I carry a clipboard and a cup of coffee with sugar to Mr. Staples' office. "Good morning, boss," I greet Astra, handing the beverage to her. "Captain Lance told me to tell you that the Eagle has landed, which is secret code for 'Gary and Gwyn have set up the time machine in the loading bay'." She nods in approval of this. I query, "Why do humans have secrets anyway?"

"Because there are some things people don't want everyone to know," Astra responds, casing documents on the desk, "and, judging by these balance sheets, Mr. Staples had about a thousand of them." I peruse a ledger for myself. "If we're gonna divert the injection molder to make our parts and still deliver a plane in 48 hours, we need to get this factory running more efficiently."

"Well, I've just calculated over 50 different options," I assess, "but perhaps we should ask the ladies." Moments later, I appear on the factory floor with a wooden box labeled "Complaints" on its lid. "Good morning, ladies," I acknowledge the factory workers. "Starting today, we are putting out a complaint box. Now, please don't hold back. Help us help you." I step aside as they start writing down their requests. Once they're done, I carry the box upstairs and unload complaints in front of Astra. One reads "Bathroom – Convert Men's Room to Ladies' Room. Hang sign". Whoever wrote it has read my mind. Another calls for an installation of an AM/FM radio. Someone has written in favor for coffee and doughnuts to be served during breaks. With each work order Astra stamps, they are being actualized. It's additionally beneficial that there's a new injection molder in use.

Astra gives me another stamped work order once I re-enter Mr. Staples' office. "Thank you, Gideon," she expresses. "How's all down there?"

"Humming along," I reply. "Job well done, Astra. This place is getting better by the hour. Efficiency is so much higher than before."

She gazes down at the non-white workers mopping the factory floor. "We can do better than efficient. Gideon, I need you to type up something." I draft a bulletin per her request, announcing that, effective immediately, McDougle Jemison Factory will no longer be segregated. When I post this on the message board, I retreat to the secretarial desk to manage correspondences.

I have no prior knowledge of the factory workers' response to Astra's latest decision until Gladys Franklin, the head janitor, charges into administration. She queries me, "Is Mr. Staples in?"

"He is unavailable at the moment," I respond.

"This is urgent. He needs to fix this."

I stand up, protesting, "Wait, wait. You really can't go in there." Déjà vu. Ms. Franklin barges into his office. She ends up being surprised when she doesn't find her penny-pinching boss at his desk. "What are you doing in here? And where is Mr. Staples?"

Astra professes, "He is indisposed."

"Indisposed? Half his workforce just quit." Judging by her gasp, she learns Mr. Staples' ongoing paralyzed state. "I-I don't like this. I am going to the foreman."

"Wait, just wait, listen. I… I don't know exactly what happened to Mr. Staples, but when I found him like this, I realized there was an opportunity. No one questions a work order with his stamp. There was a chance to make this factory better, so I took it."

"You ordered the integration?"

"I couldn't have them treat us like second-class citizens or worse. I just—I didn't think that all those women would walk out."

"I am pushing the same mop you are," Ms. Franklin debates. "Young ones like you think it's all about now. It's not. We are all just branches on a tree. There are some below us, some yet to come. This war gave us a chance to finally wake this country up. But that doesn't happen overnight. Slow and steady progress—that's sustainable progress."

"You don't stick a knife in a man's back nine inches and then pull it out six inches and call it progress," Astra contends. "It's torture."

"What good is change if it doesn't last? Without those women, the plane won't get finished and the D.O.D will pull our contract." Ms. Franklin leaves Mr. Staples' office.

She stops in front of the secretarial desk when Astra quizzes, "So your team can't finish the plane?"

"I didn't say that," Ms. Franklin replies with her hand on her hip. A smirking Astra leans against the doorway, folding her arms. "I mean, maybe we can. Maybe if we work around the clock and if someone brought meals, coffee, and some cots for breaks."

"Maybe, huh?"

"Heh, we can do it. But what's it matter? Once top brass finds out, they're going to fire us anyway."

"You take care of the plane; I will make sure you keep your jobs. Deal?"

Ms. Franklin pauses for a moment. "Probably the straight dumbest thing I've ever said yes to." Another pause and then she shakes her hand. "Deal." I smile at the thought of what's to come.

Factory workers—white and non-white—participate in constructing the last bomber. Accommodations are provided as promised. However, this phase of the mission requires all Legends on deck. Behrad, Nate, and Zari 2.0 help make bag lunches for everyone. Each consists of a sandwich, an apple, and a bottle of milk. At the same time, Gary and Dr. Davies are nearly finished repairing the time machine.

I pour out more cups of coffee as Astra and Behrad arrive on the factory floor. "Okay, ladies, home stretch," she announces. "Our inspection is this afternoon." She picks up a few full mugs to pass around. "How you holding up," Astra asks our fellow Legends.

"Well, I can skip arm day," Captain Lance comments.

Captain Sharpe moans, "I can't feel my arms."

"Oh, thank you," Spooner expresses after I give her a cup of coffee.

I follow Astra as she checks in on Ms. Franklin, who's sitting with two younger non-white Rosies. "Milk," she offers. "Sugar?"

"Got anything stronger," Ms. Franklin quips, rubbing her aching back.

"No," Astra answers while I give them coffee.

"I'm asleep on my feet," Thelma Clark groans. "We're never gonna finish this in time."

"It was nice having Mr. Staples believe in us," Josephine Hobbs frets, "but feels like we're just letting him down."

Astra stands opposite them, attesting, "Hey, come on. You're here because you deserve to be, not because Mr. Staples said you could be. 24 hours ago, this was an empty hangar – and now look. When this war is over, who knows where you're gonna end up? But, no matter what happens to you, you will always have this moment." She ascends the ladder to address everyone present. "The moment while you built a plane with your own hands. And not because some boring white man says you were allowed to, but because you always knew that you could." She raises the rivet gun in the air, exclaiming, "Now let's finish this airplane!" The factory workers elevate their fists in cheers, along with the captains and Spooner. Her speech is very awe-inspiring.

While the machine gun is being implanted to the bomber, I've received confirmation of the inspector's arrival. I sprint back to the hangar. "Colonel Dawson's transport has arrived," I notify.

"Three more hex nuts and she's done," Ms. Franklin states. "We're cutting it close." She and Astra insert the final hexagonal nuts in less than a minute. "And done. Ladies, we did it!" Everyone cheers at the completion of their hard work. I personally feel electrified to witness this moment.

However, our revelry is halted when a familiar brusque voice echoes throughout the hangar. "What the hell is going on here?!" All heads turn to see a mobile Mr. Staples emerging from his office. He frowns disapprovingly at the changes made in his factory. "What day is it? Why have half my workers gone AWOL?" The veins in his head become more prominent as he discerns the attending non-white workers. "And tell me why there are colored women working the line!" Mr. Staples points his finger to the nearest exit. "Get out. Get out, all of you! Get out!"

"This is exactly what I said would happen," Ms. Franklin tells Astra. "I did my part. What about you, young one?"

She replies with a grin, "Here comes my part now." I follow her gaze as Colonel Dawson shows up. He's accompanied by First Lady Roosevelt. Her presence has especially rendered Mr. Staples dumbstruck.

He clears his throat and fixes his suit. "Mrs. First Lady," he greets with a handshake and a forced smile.

"Mr. Staples, I'm honored to be here. It's a true privilege to meet you and the women who are keeping our boys safe." She gestures at the photographer, adding, "I hope you don't mind. The people from Time magazine wanted to join us on this momentous occasion."

"Of course not, Mrs. First Lady."

"So, Colonel, no need to stand on ceremony on our account. Let's examine this magnificent creature."

"Right this way, Mrs. Roosevelt." I blatantly smirk in Mr. Staples' face as Colonel Dawson and the First Lady proceed to inspect the bomber. While she greets the workers, the factory owner struggles to conceal his outrage.

First Lady Roosevelt acknowledges, "A break table on the work floor? Wise way to keep the workers energized."

I reveal, "And we converted the men's bathrooms, so the women didn't have to walk as far."

This flabbergasts Mr. Staples even more. "We did?"

"Inspiring," she validates.

He greatly opposes, "But-but no, this plane—it wasn't built by our regular girls. This one is no good."

"And what do you say, Colonel?"

"Never seen a finer plane come off the line," Colonel Dawson evaluates.

"There you have it. An integrated workforce and fine American craftsmanship. We'll have this on the cover of Time. This factory will be a showcase for the world and a model for the industry." We are lauded by her glowing remarks. "Don't change a thing, Mr. Staples. I have my eye on you. So congratulations to you all. Now let's get that picture. You too, Mr. Staples." As we pose for the photograph, she contemplates aloud, "Aren't we lucky, ladies, to have such strong, intelligent men in our lives?" Mr. Staples puffs up his chest at this question. He'll never understand how lucky he was to have a staff full of strong, intelligent women.

"Thank you," Ms. Franklin says to Astra.

She restates, "Thank you."

The photographer directs prior to snapping a picture, "Everyone say 'Rosie'."

"Rosie!"

That night, we celebrate the successful inspection and the First Lady's visit. Mr. Staples is notably absent from the festivities, opting on going home. The AM/FM radio is blaring loud music. The Rosies are jovially dancing and drinking bottles of beer. Spooner as well as Captains Lance and Sharpe pull Astra to the dance floor.

I was about to have a slice of cake when Behrad and Bishop approach me. The latter is holding an unusual contraption in his hands. It comprises of a steel colander, a pair of metal tongs, a Speak-n-Spell toy, some jumbled wires, and Zari 2.0's cellphone. They indicate that it'll be affixed to the time machine. I redirect them into the loading bay. "Boys," Behrad announces as we arrive. "We got something for you, Doc."

"Is that a Speak-n-Spell," Gary quizzes.

Bishop corrects, "It's a neural navigational system."

"You dropped a toilet on my time machine," Dr. Davies snaps at him. "I don't have to talk to you."

"Look, you have a problem. Your machine can travel; you just can't tell it where. But with this, Gideon can navigate it. All she has to do is think where she wants to go, and—zoop." Bishop places his rudimentary helmet on my head like a delicate hat. "The device can read all of Gideon's thoughts." Amplifying the volume, the interface divulges: That shirt really brings out Gary's eyes, and those pants accentuate his butt. In reaction to this, Gary peers between his clothes and me. My face starts flushing with this unfamiliar emotion. I hurriedly remove the neural device from my head before it can further voice my explicit thoughts. I express, "Now, I think I understand why humans keep secrets now."

"That's called shame," Behrad identifies, "and there's no shame in the game. Those pants do accentuate his butt." My attention switches to Gary, who hasn't spoken during the whole exchange. His wide-eyed expression transpires into a shy smile upon locking eyes with me. I bashfully grin back at him.

Bishop appeals to Dr. Davies, "If you'll allow me to install it, I should have you ready to jump in 30 minutes."

"Well then, you be gentle with my machine now, okay," the latter relentingly implores, handing him a bundle of coils. "Because she's very, very delicate."

"Hey, why don't you join the party," Behrad entreats Dr. Davies. "There's cake and biscuits."

"I must confess I do fancy a biscuit." They exit the loading bay for the hangar. As Gary follows them out, he brushes his thumb against mine. I relish the shivers running down my spine and the knowledge that he's likewise attracted to me.

I stay behind for the remainder of the party. Bishop meticulously attaches his neural device to the time machine. As I supervise this version of him, I've started to believe his reliability isn't a masquerade. I also weigh on what I liked—and disliked—about this mission. In recollecting the last 48 hours, I realize all that progress was carried out two years in advance according to the original timeline. This means that, once again, we've created another conspicuous anomaly. The whirring sounds of Bishop's Waverider are incidentally heard outside the factory. We catch sight of the searchlight through the window. "Oh no," Bishop says, "we have to make a jump now."

"I can't leave the Legends," I protest.

"We won't," he assures, dragging me inside the time machine. "We're gonna jump to them." Mind you, we haven't conducted a proper test run.

"I'm scared. I can't do it."

Bishop places his invention back on my head. Thank goodness he switched off the thought-to-speech feature. "Okay, just close your eyes. Listen to my voice. Pick one spot on the factory floor and see the walls, the tiles on the floor." Abiding his directions, I visualize the area in my head. "Do you have it?"

"I think so." Two armored figures sent by my A.I. counterpart break into the loading bay. Just as they fire bullets at us, I jump to the factory floor near the assembly line. I see the other Legends initially fleeing for the loading bay. They stop immediately after spotting the time machine across the dim room.

"Run," Bishop shouts to them. Four more robots shoot bullets at the Legends. As they are trying to reach us, they're ducking and dodging the flying ammunition. Bishop impulsively exits the time machine for an unknown reason. I peek behind the controls at the Legends, who are currently shielded by prototype parts of a plane. Dr. Davies, agitated by the commotion, is reciting a prayer. Behrad is attempting to calm him down.

"No, no, no," Zari 2.0 asserts, "I'm not gonna die in a factory."

Captain Sharpe assures she won't, verifying, "It's okay."

"They've got us pinned," Gary notes.

Nate suggests, "I could turn steel and get to the time machine."

"Maybe you and Nate should run," Captain Sharpe advises Captain Lance. "Gwyn's machine works. You can come back."

"I already told you," her spouse reminds her. "I am not leaving you again."

Suddenly, Bishop reappears on the bomber. His loud outcry and unhinged discharge of the machine gun deflect our attackers' attention; two of them are slain. "Come on," I motion to the Legends as they dash to the time machine.

"Bishop, let's go," Captain Lance calls. However, one robot has apprehended and put him in a headlock. Bishop bittersweetly salutes her, accepting his fate. He really was the good Bishop. We shudder as the robot blasts our honorary Legend in his temple. "Go," she steadily requests, deflecting from the scene.

I query, "Where to?"

"Home," the other Legends collectively yell. I envision our destination and, once Dr. Davies pushes the throttle lever, jump us out of the factory.

A/N: Ever since I first saw Kimleigh Smith's character onscreen, I so wanted to give her a full name.