TRIP - CREWR / TFP

“Invisible things are the only realities.” ― Edgar Allan Poe [[=>]]

You wake up to the sound of rain hitting the low roof above your window. The weather is not usually kind here, but the downpour outside could be best described as torrential, loud enough to wake you up by itself. You're not sure why this unnerves you so much. Rain is normal here. You would be more surprised if it //wasn't// raining, honestly. This rain is different. It's unsettling. You don't know why. [[Hey, who are you, anyway?]]

Your name is Trip. You know that much. You use //they// pronouns, and you stand at 159 centimetres tall. You don't talk. These are all concrete, unshakeable pieces of information you have about yourself. Everything else is a little more dubious. [How old are you?]<c1| (click: ?c1)[Good question! You have no idea.] [Where are you?]<c2| (click: ?c2)[Sunhaven (?) House. It's a Crisis Centre for Troubled Youths with Mental Health Difficulties, or something. And also occasionally time travellers that crashland in the general area, when they don't have anywhere better to put them.] [How long have you been here, anyway?]<c3| (click: ?c3)[Like, a month? Time is kind of irrelevant in your field of work.] [You should probably get up and check the rain out.]<c4| (click: ?c4)[Fuck yes. [[Let's go!]]]

You get out of bed. That's a feat in itself. Your joints are weak, and they're feeling the cold as much as the rest of you, if not more. You're really achy. Yikes. But you're too restless to settle back down now. You grab your Various Pieces Of Very Important Equipment. (It's not a painless process. You probably could have done without breaking your leg. Never mind.) [All kitted up, you consider your options.]<c1| (click: ?c1)[ [[Head into the bathroom.]] [[Head into the kitchen.]] [[Open the blinds.]] ]

You open the blinds. You can see the rain, now, hitting the garden and patio outside at full force. The onslaught drowns the shed and the bench swing and the bird feeder, floods the grass around the stepping stones to each of these places. The flower pots don't seem to mind it too much, but you do still feel a little bad for them. There's a weird fog on the horizon. This is a thing you have to Sort, isn't it. [[Go outside.]]

With your basic biological functions sated, you focus your attention back to the incredibly unsettling storm outside. Which is disturbing you more by the second actually. You've been doing this job for a long time! And you know when things are Wrong, and this seems like a prime candidate. Nothing about this scares you. That would be ridiculous. This is your job. [[Open the blinds.]]

The sound of the rain continues to echo outside as you make your way into the kitchen. The kitchen is fairly spacious, but not extravagantly so. As you enter, there's a reasonably sized dining table on your left. On your right are appliances, and overhead cupboards containing cups and plates. And whatever the hell //that// is. There's some horrific triangular contraption here, fitted neately between the cupboards. It does nothing except make a stupidly loud noise. You regard it with the ultimate distrust. There is very little use for you being here, unless you want a quick cup of tea. (if: $bathroom is false) [[Head into the bathroom.]] (if: $bathroom is true)[You don't need to go to the bathroom again, thankfully.] [[Make a quick cup of tea.]] (set: $kitchen to true)

Usually, during these little middle-of-the-night jaunts that you're quite used to, by now, your plan for getting outside is to climb out of the window. Unfortunately, this is not an option that you have, here. The window probably did open, once, but the handle seems to have been screwed into place, and when you rattle it, it stays firm. Perhaps this is evidence that the staff here are concerned for your wellbeing. Or, at least, the wellbeing of any other resident who has ever slept in this room. Unfortunately, you do kind of have to go outside, which leaves you with no choice but to consider your //other// options. [[Break the window.]] [[Attempt to undo the screw.]] [[Try your watch.]]

The disturbance seems to //thicken//. You feel like it's seen you. What should you do? [[Approach.]] [[Wait.]]

Yeah, there's no way you're getting any closer to this thing than you need to. Luckily, you don't need to move, because there's a shift, in the atmosphere. Nothing noticably changes, but you feel like there's a slight difference in what you //can't// see. It's obvious, and entirely unperceptable. It's weird. If air could //leer//, you'd say that's probably what it's doing. [[Stand your ground.]]

[[Any moment now.]]

[[Your wrist is starting to beep.]]

(Acknowledging this openly would probably just clue it in. That's the trouble. You have to wait for exactly the right moment, and ignore the fact that the distortion looks a little like it's about to absorb you whole.) [[Is the right moment now?]]

Yeah okay you decide the right moment is probably now. [[Neutralise.]]

- * - [[=>|c2: mr burger]]

You have learnt, in the short time that you have lived here, that what the people of Scotland* call a “city centre” is very much open to interpretation. ⃰ You are fairly certain that you are in Scotland. Any attempts to communicate the question so far have been met with… mixed responses. Maybe people don’t usually need to ask where they are, but it’s kind of become second nature to you. The street is probably only half a kilometre. Or a quarter of a mile. Or walkable in like, ten minutes, depending on which unit of measurement you’re more comfortable with. It’s packed with shops, some of which you understand are “chains”, and have other, identical shops stationed elsewhere, and some of which exist only here and nowhere else. Remarkable that you got to see them, if entirely accidental. The building that you are currently standing in calls itself “Fergus’ Burgers”, yet the person at the counter appears to be labelled “Keith”, which leaves you speculating on the validity of this claim. No matter. You have an important decision to make. [[The eponymous "Fergus Burger".]] [[The "Big Chicken".]] [[The "Mushroom".]]

Ignoring the rain outside, you head into the bathroom. Everything is white and very clean. Some of the wall tiles have little blue flowers on them, as if that would suddenly make it all seem less clinical. This is a //friendly// bathroom, says the decor. A friendly, completely normal bathroom where everything is just... coincidentally freakishly clean. And all the cabinets are locked, which is a totally normal thing that happens in totally normal bathrooms. You don't care. You're kind of too tired to care? You sit down. God damned biological neccessities. You've got out of bed on far too many cold mornings for this. (You wash your hands. Now you are only //slightly// less clean than the rest of the bathroom.) [[Head into the kitchen.]] [[Go back to your bedroom.]] (set: $bathroom to true)

Sure. Why not. Milk, a little sugar. You put a splash of cold water in, too, because nobody likes drinking actively boiling liquid. (Or at least, they really should not.) Unfortunately, although the tea is delicious, you still have things to do. [[Go back to your bedroom.]]

Usually, you would play this sort of back and forth game, where you would wait, let it come to you, stand your ground. Watch as the air thickens around you, as the fog descends. Chokes the life out of your surroundings. Sometimes you would see plant life stuck in some sort of Shrodinger's timeloop, all points of the cycle forced onto it at once, its personal timeline corrupted. Living, dead, and everything in between. Visually impercetible, as everything crams into itself. Sometimes-- you've seen it happen to animals too. You've had enough of waiting. You activate your watch and [[raise it to the sky.]]

Using all of your five foot two of determination, you manage to peek over the counter far enough to point at the Fergus Burger on the counter's menu. Maybe this would confuse most people. You can vaguely see, in the reflection of the counter’s dirty mirrored plating, a man behind you takes a side glance to his equally greasy companion. Keith, however, seems unphased. Perhaps this is not the most unreasonable thing to happen to him today. “Ah, the Fergus?” he says, and you nod. He smiles at you. Perhaps he thinks you are a child, which is hilarious, because you have lived longer than he (or you, actually) could possibly comprehend. He gives you a crayon, leans back, and bellows in a far less child-friendly tone. “Ian!!! A Fergus!” You can vaguely hear someone mumble “Aye, fuck off.” from the kitchen. There continue to be a distinct lack of Ferguses (Fergi?) working here. You have not been given anything to supplement the crayon, so you put it in your hoodie pocket in case it becomes useful later. (set: $fergus to true) (set: $crayon to true) [[Burger achieved.]]

Using all of your five foot two of determination, you manage to peek over the counter far enough to point at the Chicken Surprise on the counter's menu. Maybe this would confuse most people. You can vaguely see, in the reflection of the counter’s dirty mirrored plating, a man behind you takes a side glance to his equally greasy companion. Keith, however, is more concerned with your choice of food than your method of choosing the food, and follows your hand along, leaning over slightly in some attempt to read the menu from your perspective. (And, you suppose, it would be upside-down from his, so that seems reasonable.) "A Big Chicken?" he says, and to your nod, follows up with "Coming right up, boss." He fishes around in his pocket and gives you a crayon, before leaning back in the general direction of the kitchen. "Ian!" He bellows, in a far less child-friendly tone. "A Big Chicken!" The reply comes near instantly, if slightly muffled. "Your mum's a big chicken." Your mother, you presume, is dead, but this does not feel like a fun fact to share at the moment. "Ian," says Keith instead, saving you the trouble. "Our esteemed guest here would like a Big Chicken Burger, if it pleases the lord." And, predictably, "Your mum's a Big Chicken Burger." You have not been given anything to supplement the crayon, so you put it in your hoodie pocket in case it becomes useful later. (set: $chicken to true) (set: $crayon to true) [[Burger achieved.]]

Using all of your five foot two of determination, you manage to peek over the counter far enough to point at the Big Mushroom on the counter's menu. Maybe this would confuse most people. You can vaguely see, in the reflection of the counter’s dirty mirrored plating, a man behind you takes a side glance to his equally greasy companion. Keith raises an eyebrow. "Ah, the Mushroom?" he says. "Can't say we sell many o'those." He digs behind the counter and gives you a crayon, and leans over, a little, in some bastardised attempt to meet your height. "Can't say I've met a wean your size who goes anywhere near 'em, either." Oh, he thinks you're a child. That's cute. Keith leans back, and bellows in a far less child-friendly tone. “Ian!!! Kid wants a mushroom!” You watch in continued silence as an equally greasy looking man comes into view, from what you assume is the doorway into the kitchen. "A //what?//" he says. "Y'know." says Keith. "The mushroom ones. There's a bunch of big ones in the bottom of the fridge, y'just-- stick it in the fat fryer." Ian looks at you. Keith looks at Ian. You try to devote an equal amount of visual attention to both of them, until Ian drops a perturbed "Okay." and slides back into the kitchen. He appears to be unfamiliar with the concept of a mushroom, which is very sad, because you personally think they're quite tasty. You have not been given anything to supplement the crayon, so you put it in your hoodie pocket in case it becomes useful later. (set: $mushroom to true) (set: $crayon to true) [[Burger achieved.]]

<img src="data:image/png;base64,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" alt="TRIP"> Peregrine Cascarino UP2081425 MA Creative Writing: The Final Project Contains themes of; time travel, depersonalisation, glitch horror, and a brief mention of hamburgers. [[=> play]]

With your burger in tow, you make your way to a table. You did consider perhaps taking your burger and sneaking back into your bedroom, but it doesn’t feel as fun when you do that. It feels a little more like you’re imprisoned (which you suppose technically that you are) and you’re just sneaking out for your token Meal of The Day. Which…. Again, you suppose technically that you are, but at least here it feels like an actual outing. You eat the burger. It is delicious, and contains all of the flavours that you would expect from whichever burger you picked. There are still people milling about, ordering their food, collecting it, to either leave or to sit on the same dodgy tables you are. You watch a family unapologetically shove fries into their mouths, and vaguely wonder about the nature of the universe. Statistically, you suppose that anything is possible. While the chances of something may be one in a million, if there are a million options, then the chances of anything else happening are equally low. Something always has to be picked. The likelihood of something happening is always a hundred percent, regardless of what it is. You feel that being here, specifically, while nothing more than one of the many million options, a quantum drop in the ocean, was…. Fortunate. You don’t particularly enjoy the constant interruption to your job, of course. It was a hell of a lot easier to do while there weren’t people paying very close attention to your actions, and attempting to cross-analyse them for any information about your underlying mental health. You can’t say you enjoy that very much. But it’s also a lot less lonely. And you’ve spent a lot of time alone. Speaking of which, [[the seat across from you is unceremoniously occupied.]]

This would probably be terrifying if circumstances were slightly different. By rights, it should be terrifying. But you’ve both done this before, and you stare up at her, the image of anxiety-ridden innocence, and then you consider that you might have something on your face, which causes actual anxiety. You subtly try to wipe it off. Tish finishes typing something on her phone. Everything you know about Tish, as follows; her full name is Laetitia Tran. She is half Vietnamese, on her mother’s side, which she has dropped into the occasional conversation (with people who aren’t you) as something that apparently causes problems. She enjoys mindless entertainment, when not otherwise preoccupied with her job. Stuff like “binging Pretty Little Liars” or “starting arguments on Twitter” or, as you have discovered, occasionally starting arguments in real life. She likes spaghetti carbonara, which is wild, because you’re the one who actively has to eat whatever they cook for you, and here she is, choosing to. Mad. (Or maybe you don’t have to eat their food specifically, actually. You are currently eating a non-Sunhaven approved burger. But they do worry if you don’t eat, which you have discovered.) (You can’t say you have a particularly wild appetite. If anything, the burgers are just something to do. An excuse for the comparatively safe thrill of breaking out of your room. Because nobody is going to kill you for doing that. But, again, they’re not particularly big fans.) [[“Good burger?” says Tish, and you nod.]]

Nothing else for it. You swivel a little, so you're facing the window, rather than side-on. With all the power you can muster, you shove your non-injured foot towards the glass, and [brace for impact.]<c1| (set: $window to true) (click: ?c1)[Your foot bounces off with a dull thud. You try again, a little harder this time. It doesn't even make any noise, though your socks probably contribute to that. There's just a soft little //thunk// noise as your foot bounces off the pane. [What the hell is this window made of??.]<c2| (click: ?c2)[You scan the window with your watch. It helpfully informs you that the window is made of a dense plastic compound known as "polycarbonate". Go figure. [[Try your magic teleporting watch, stupid.|Try your watch.]]] ]

This seems like a reasonable alternative, actually. Though you probably shouldn't call it a //watch//. It's more like an armband. It takes up the entirety of your wrist, with thick straps and a touchscreen. And more, of course, if you want to get out the weapons. But you call it a watch because you have the //slightest// hunch that the people here would rather you didn't have a "giant armband with time-distorting weapons in it". From that context, "watch" sounds better. So it's a "watch" now. You glide your fingers across the touchscreen of your Giant Armband With Time Distorting Weapons In It (and it's so long to //say//, too) and [[will yourself outside.]]

The ground is damp. You try to keep your injured leg off it, as best you can. Apart from the fog, and the suffocating darkness, the garden looks pretty much normal. If a little.... shimmery. [Turn back.]<c1| (click: ?c1)[You can't.] You don't know what time it is, but there's no indication that it's particularly close to sunrise. The moon is still fairly high in its' cycle, and you can see, from your position firmly on the ground, that it's a little obscured. Black clouds cover all but the strongest refractions. You squint. Before the dawning comprehension hits you in the face. [[Those aren't clouds.]]

You don't really have any nails long enough, but your thumb is getting there, so you sort of shuffle in a little closer, and attempt to pinch the screw between your index fingernail and your thumbnail, to twist it manually. This, of course, doesn't work. If it did, some Victorian-era man named Arnold Screwdrivers would not have had to invent screwdrivers. (Or, at least, that's how every other invention down here played out, so you figure this must be logically correct.) You put your thumbnail in the ridge of the screw, and attempt to twist. Your nail breaks instantly. Drink your milk, kids. [[Try your watch????|Try your watch.]] (if: $window is false) [[Break the window.]] (if: $window is true)[ ]

Because //usually//, your tactic is to wait until the last minute, because the closer it is, the better chance you have of getting it all in one shot. And, usually, one shot is the maximum you really want to take. You don't want any of it left over, with the //knowledge// (somehow? You are pretty sure it can think) that you're trying to kill it. Or... neutralise it. Or something. You're not sure if it's a hivemind with many particles, or one uni-cognizant fog monster, or just... like, a //thing.// But you know it can think. And maybe that scares you. You are so sick of being scared. You [[attempt to neutralise.]]

In your right mind, you know this is a clumsy and ineffective way of doing it. You see the fog crack, so you know it's working, just not nearly as cleanly as it normally does. The rest of it descends upon a tree, and you limp after it, jamming the Quantum Stabiliser like your life depends on it. (What a stupid turn of phrase. Of course it does. And everything else's, as well. Who does things "like their life depends on it" if their life //doesn't//? Has anyone? Part of you can't help but hate metaphor. Part of you understands it.) Either way, you're not letting the tree fall victim to... that. Sometimes, with some things, you manage to put the timelines back. It's never been //worse// after you've tried, so you can comfort yourself with the idea that you can make it better. But sometimes it's not entirely fixed. You [[try again.]] You watch it crackle. You watch it dissipate.

This is all on you. For old time's sake. [[And every other part of time, as well.|Neutralise.]]

She puts her phone down and leans back in her chair, moreso draped over the backrest than using it for its intended purpose. “I never really got the appeal of this place, myself. Always found it a bit greasy, yknow? Went here a lot when I was a kid, too. Always full of like…. Plasterers.” Briefly, you think about plasters. Tish sits up a little straighter. “Okay.” she says. “Listen. I’m happy to tell anyone in administration that I took you out for a happy-go-lucky burger jaunt and nothing bad happened, okay? But you and me, buddy - between us, I mean - you have to stop this heading out all the time. Cause nobody knows where y’are, and there’s a serious risk that you’ll hurt yourself, or– look, you’re really not supposed to be out by yourself for a reason.” Of course, whatever can hurt you here is the specific reason that you need to be out by yourself. The most dangerous thing out here is your job to fix. But there’s no way, you think, that you can explain that to her that she’ll understand or believe. You don't have a lot of peripheral vision, and what you have is blurry, but you can see Keith stood awkwardly near your table. He appears to be staring at you. You give your face another wipe, just in case. "Alright, Tish?" he says. "You want a burger or nah?" He's speaking in a decidedly different inflection from before, and you wonder if something is wrong. The more paranoid part of you wants to check for distortion, but he doesn't seem to be barely-perceptably decomposing, even as you tilt your head to see him better. "Thanks," she says. "Um. We were just leaving, actually." You can see Ian in view again, leaning back slightly to see through the kitchen door. Keith looks lots. He shrugs, and moves his hands around a few times, like he's not sure where to put them. "Great." he says, and then starts to say "Ah, give us a sec," cutting himself off as Tish stands, putting her phone back into her bag. Keith fumbles, looking around like he's trying to find something, and as you head towards the door, wrapping your half-eaten burger in its paper (for later, maybe) you hear him say "Don't you need your receipt?" Tish is halfway out of the door by now, but she stops, holding it open for you. You duck under her arm to take a look outside. It's quiet. "I don't think they're taking it back." she quips, and you watch a bird merrily fly into the skyline, before diverting its course, heading back down to perch on a building. All of a sudden, you [[need to get out of here.]] Or maybe you really do [[need your receipt.]]

That Saturday you have an art therapy workshop, which, historically, has been very little help for you. Any attempt to draw your fears, or where you see yourself in ten years, or whatever, is hindered by the idea that your fears are very real, and years don't really mean anything in your line of work. Perhaps if your issue was entirely contained within the condition of your mental health, they would be more than welcome to try. It would be a lot easier for everyone involved if you were just making this all up, whether out of intentional malice or genuine psychosis. Now, though, it’s a little different, because Tish has seen the distortion, too. As have Keith and Ian, but they have very little personal experience with you, and the ability to convince themselves that *they* were making it up, and to move on with their lives. Tish, though…. Tish lives with you, and has heard enough of your side of the story that she could potentially believe it. You have never had any allies in this task, so the thought terrifies you. It almost makes you feel like you’re doing something wrong, simply by…. exposure. There wouldn’t be anything to find out if you’d managed to fix it. And you don't really want to drag anyone else into this, too. Tish sits across from you, just like in Fergus' Burgers, but slightly more ominous. She doesn't seem angry with you (if anything, more concerned) but you do lean back a little, in response. There are pieces of paper stacked onto the table, as well as a variety of art materials. Markers, and pencils, and novelty shaped erasers. And-- you do still have that crayon, actually, so you pull it back out of your pocket and place it carefully on the table like you're doing some sort of trade deal. Tish nods. The crayon is obviously very important. "Okay." she says. "So. I guess you figured we'd be doing something a little different." You nod. You sure did get that impression. "So. Uh." She drops the volume of her voice, slightly. "We both know there's some weird shit going on here, my dude. And maybe that's why we're... yknow, working on... opening up." She offers you a sheet of paper. You take it. "So." she says. "Wanna draw about it?" [[Draw your truth.]] [[Do not draw your truth.]]

It's safe to say you don't remember much of the Protecterate. It's hard to measure exactly how long it's been since you were there. Again, your personal timeline is a little muddled. You can't measure how you've aged. You're not even sure you //have// aged, physically. You don't feel any different. But you don't remember how you felt before, either, so maybe it's just been so long that it's hard to compare. You have glimpses of memory, just about. You were a child, and your parents-- you don't remember faces, but you remember uniforms, and you remember them taking you to the Protectorate's inner walls. You remember it was busy, busier than the high street, and sometimes you'd be squished into the pods as they transported you between departments. You don't remember what happened to your parents. But you do remember the machine. And you do remember the Chancellor's quarters, as much as you'd rather not. The space/time continuum was cracking. You remember this, because your parents took you to the conference about it, and you watched the simulation on screen. Every time someone teleported, or jumped through space, or time, it would unweave just a little bit of thread, widen tiny little rifts. They described it like opening a hole that the person could fit through, in this new space or time they were forcing themselves into. They didn't *belong* there. But time and space travel was instrumental to the Temporal Protectorate. People needed to teleport, of course. They couldn't expect people not to use their ship's warp drives. It would take them billions of years to get anywhere in the galaxy. Some agents were stationed lightyears away. They couldn't just leave them there. [[And your parents--]]

Realistically, Tish should not have been exposed to the distortion. It was hard enough for her to comprehend that. This is not a profession for the faint of heart, and definitely not a profession for people who haven't grown up around it, who don't already intricately understand the movement of time, the very fabric. It's probably not a profession for people who have never even left their own time, their own planet, and have absolutely no understanding of their place in the universe, let alone anyone else's. You're not even sure if Tish understands the concept of other species, or other planets. How the hell is she going to understand you? You don't know where to start. You think of your parents, and you think of the Protectorate, and you think of the fire, and the chancellor, and you think of the fabric of time folding in on itself. There's no way you can explain it. You barely understand it yourself. You draw a line on the paper, and you pause. You draw another line, and it tails off, and you look up at Tish like you don't quite know what to do now. "It's okay." she says. "I get it. It's kind of hard putting it all down, right? There's probably a lot, and you don't really know where to start. That's okay." She leans back in her chair. "You wanna tell me about... do you have a family?" You shake your head, because you don't, and it's easier than explaining what happened to them. "Okay." says Tish. "Earlier was a lot of hard work, I guess. I wouldn't blame you for being tired. Why don't you just... draw something else, for now, and we can talk about it?" You very much doubt you're going to be doing any talking, but you nod, and Tish pushes you some paper. [[You draw.]]

It's not really for Tish's sake, specifically. As you watch the birds collect on the rooftops, clearly agitated, like they don't know what to do, you take a quick, furtive glance at your watch. You need to go home. You both do, actually. You need Tish, specifically, to go home and start paying attention to something else, and you need to stay here and neutralise the distortion collecting around the incredibly populated high street. (It's not that busy, probably, in relative terms, but one person would be too many.) You can't stay here, though, which means you need to go home, and then you need to teleport back here, and the sooner you can do that, the sooner you can come back. It's entirely possible that Tish won't want to let you out of her sight, but she needs to, and you'll do what it takes to get yourself alone for long enough. You duck under Tish's arm and make your way outside, towards the oncoming fog. When you look at it closer, it looks exactly as you expected it to. Black, cloudy, but almost viscous, with specks of colour, if you squint. The birds coo. You look back towards Tish. She drops the door, ignoring Keith's pleas of "Shit, hang on--" and follows you out. "What's his hurry?" she says, and then "I mean, I could ask what's yours. If you don't like it there, buddy, you don't have to go. I think we'd all of us like it better if you stayed where we could see you." She adjusts her bag on her shoulder, and looks up at the fog. "God, look at those clouds." she says. "Looks like we're having another storm. I don't blame you for wanting to get home." She's almost right about your reasons. Not quite. By now, you're a little way ahead of her, even at your speed, and Tish adjusts her bag again, keeps pace with you. "Are you-- Are you alright? You'll break it again if you keep this up. Look, don't worry about it, I have a brolly in my bag somewhere--" Behind you, you see Keith burst out of the door, a flurry of apron and paper. "Tish!" he says, as Ian appears behind him, timing his shout of "Keith, you bellend!" perfectly with Keith's shout of "Tish, your receipt!" The fog is thick, and viscous. It's coming closer. The birds coo again. It's like they're asking you to [[do something]]. But [[maybe you can't. Not here.]]

It's not really for Keith's sake, specifically. As you watch the birds collect on the rooftops, clearly agitated, like they don't know what to do, you take a quick, furtive glance at your watch. You get the feeling it might be a good idea to keep everyone inside for the next few minutes. Or, really, however long it takes for this particular cloud of fog to pass over. (You do consider that perhaps it's looking for you, but you only go to where it is, and it's always there before you, so maybe it's just a coincidence that it seems to have followed you here. That doesn't usually happen. And you don't usually have to deal with it when there are people around, either, and you would really rather not deal with it in the middle of a crowded high street, either, so you duck back under Tish's arm and head back to the counter. "Or--" says Tish, and then "I guess. Uh." She drops her arm, and follows you back in, as you peek back over the counter again. Keith has what looks like a receipt, and appears to be hurriedly writing something down on it. Ian has emerged from the kitchen, by now. "Tosser--" he says, and then "Look, she doesn't want your fucking digits, mate. She's like at work, right? And you're supposed to be at work, man, what--" There is nobody else in the queue, at this point, and maybe Ian acknowledges this too, because his shoulders drop. "You're lucky this place is empty for once." he says. Keith shoves the receipt paper into Tish's hands, crumpling it slightly in the process. "There." he says. "Look, it's, uh. For your records, aye, mate?" He nods at you. You nod back. Ian explodes in the background, a laughing mess of "Then why are you giving it to her?" as Tish unfolds the receipt paper and squints at it. "Does this actually have your number on it?" she asks, and Keith nods, wringing his hands. "In case you have, uh, professional enquiries." he says. There's also a number printed on the menu, and taking a quick look at both of them tells you that the numbers are completely different. You assume Keith has given you the number for their complaints line, or something, which is nice of him. You can't say you're really too worried about the food, at the moment. Tish puts the receipt in her bag. "Cool." she says, neutrally. "Doubt I'll have many of those, thanks." She doesn't usually make a habit of touching you, but you notice she has an arm around you as she [[guides you to the door.]] (The fog seems to have lifted.)

The high street is about a ten or fifteen minute walk away from Sunhaven, when one is using their legs, and the entire time you look around at the sky, trying to see any signs of fog. You watch another bird take to the sky, with the same cautious investigation as you, and you tense, for a moment, fully expecting distortion. It flies away. And movement is always a good sign. Can't move when you're frozen in time, after all. Tish is still tugging your arm, until she drops it, huffs, stretches her back, like dragging you around was strenuous exercise for her. "Sorry." she says. "I-- sorry, mate. I'm not really even allowed to touch you, let alone drag you around like that." You shrug. You're not particularly hurt. It's not the worst thing that's ever happened to you. Tish coughs. "I can't believe he was using you to get to me like that." she says. "J--" And then maybe she thinks better of it. "Listen." she says, instead. You do, of course. It's your best social quality. "You don't have to do everything some random big-for-his-boots little-- man. Asks you to. Okay? Advice for the future. I mean-- *we*--" Maybe that's the flaw in her argument. She clears her throat. "We're here to help you." she says. "And all we wanna do is advise. But if you're not comfortable, you don't have to do anything you don't want to. Okay?" Truthfully, you're not sure of the connection, but you nod anyway, because she's clearly agitated about something, even if she's trying her best to keep her composure. Tish looks at you, and nods back. "Okay." she says. "Wanna go home?" [[Ironically, she doesn't give you much of a choice.]]

You think about that a little more, later, once you get home. You can hear some bustling around from the kitchen, indicating that dinner is going to be ready, at some point. You're not too hungry, for obvious reasons, but you know you should probably eat anyway, if only to save yourself from the inevitable drama if you don't. For now, though, you have no obligations. There's some sort of mass board game going on in the communal lounge, which seems to involve cards and regularly accusing other people of murder. Not really your scene. Alan is outside, though, tending to the flowers, so you go out there, instead. He's on his hands and knees, digging out a pot, and he smiles when he sees you. "Not into Cluedo?" he says, and you blink at him. You don't know what a Cluedo is. Maybe he didn't expect you to - or at least, didn't expect a response, which is honestly completely reasonable - because he continues, regardless. "Neither am I, honestly. Or Monopoly, or anything like that. It always causes so much drama, in my family. M'dad flipped a plate once over Mayfair." He shakes his head, like this is a sentence he expects you to understand, and keeps digging. You try to look sympathetic. "But enough of that." he says, and you would agree, honestly. Apparently satisfied with digging, for a moment, he pulls back, reaches behind him, and hands you a trowel. "Go on then." he says. "Pick your poison." You assume he means "pick a flower to garden", otherwise this evening is turning very unpleasant for you. You turn back to the flowers in question. [[Petunia?]] [[Begonia?]]

With your dinner technically "finished", you have an excuse to leave your chair, making your way slowly over to the window to look outside. (You do take your glass of water with you, though. It's important to stay hydrated.) It's raining heavily, again. You can see more heavy clouds, gathered over the horizon, and the faintest glimmer of colour behind them. They never use the washing line outside, any more, but it's still up, and it blows about in the wind, errant pegs hanging on as the line sways. The rift had passed you by, earlier, but now it's looming over the house. You can almost see the rift itself, a tiny gap in the sky. You're not normally supposed to see the rift, but it does tell you that you can neutralise it from here. Which is probably for the best. You don't think you could get away with sneaking to the high street, again. You think about what Tish said earlier, about not doing things just because other people ask you to. You don't go to bed, of course, that night. Everyone else does. All the lights are out, and yours is out, too, but you're awake, and you pull back your blinds again to look out of the window. The fog, by now, has filled up most of the sky. [[Looks like it's showtime.]]

Your pencil breaks. You look at the paper. Helpfully, Tish finds you another one, the same colour. "Go on?" she says. It's not forceful. She seems interested. You feel heavy. You can see her in the corners of your vision, retrieving the broken pencil and sharpening it for you. [[You can't stop now.]]

Your parents had proposed a machine. You remember this conference, because your parents took you to that one too, and washed and dressed you up for it. You're sure they looked wonderful, but there's just a blur, now. The machine used technology they called Quantum Stabilisation. They described it like "knitting back the threads". You can't say how accurate that analogy was. The machine could detect rifts, and analyse the fabric around them, at an individual level. It would then use this analysis to reconstruct the continuum, with its best guess at what should have been there, or what once was. You don't really understand the full science of it. The most important thing was that the machine could detect *multiple* rifts, simultaneously, and could analyse them all, at the same time. It could-- you're sure someone said this, or one of them -- it could repair *all* the rifts, in one go. *Clever*, they said. It was more than clever. It was genius. And you watched them build the prototype, little by little. You watched your family overtaken by work and blueprints. You watched your house overtaken by the Chancellor, with near-constant visits to check its progress. You saw the machine, at various points of its completion. (You remember one part of it that was just an arm, because you liked to swing from it. "Don't sit on that." your father had said. "That's where the Stabiliser goes." Like he found it funny. Why this is a conversation you remember, above all others, is absolutely beyond you.) [[The machine had a grand opening.]]

It was one hell of a ceremony. Because they were about to fix the fabric of time. You remember them wheeling it into the Observation Hall. You remember your parents, hands clasped, and you stood at the front of the audience, the Chancellor's hand on your shoulder. You watched the machine whirr to life, you watched the lights flicker, and your parents seemed to freeze, in hope and anxiety, and anticipation, as it started to scan. Another light. You watched the holographic display zoom in, and out, identify rifts, and traffic, and planets, and zones of *potential* rift activity, where it hadn't even happened yet, but there was a risk. You watched little dots across the universe flicker in and out, like a light show, but these were time travellers. Everything happening in the continuum at once. It identified, and then another light came on, and it started to knit. You watched the dots disappear. You watched larger spaces, bigger rifts, slowly shrink into themselves, like a swarm eating a leaf, to then disappear. People cheered. People whispered, in hushed tones. Your parents smiled, as perfect as their creation. The lights flash. The rifts disappear. The rifts move, and they disappear. The rifts move. The rifts move, and they layer, and they disappear. The rifts layer, and they move. The rifts move and they layer and they move and they disappear and they move and they swarm, like they're eating a leaf, and they disappear just for a moment and then they're back, in a different place, and they move, (text-rotate-z:348)[and they swarm, like they're eating a leaf, and they layer, and they move, and they spread, and they layer and the rifts move and they layer and they spread and they move like swarms eating a leaf] and they disappear and they flicker and they move and they layer and they spread (text-rotate-z:348)[ and they move like swarms eating a leaf and they disappear and they flicker and they move and they layer they spread and they move like swarms eating a leaf and they disappear and they flicker and they move and they layer] and they spread and they move like swarms eating a leaf and they disappear and they flicker and they move and they layer and they spread and they move like (text-rotate-z:350)[swarms eating a leaf and they disappear and they flicker and they move and they layer ] [[The machine explodes.]]

You don't know what happened to your parents, after that. You don't remember seeing much of them. You remember the Chancellor's quarters, as much as you'd rather not. It wasn't quite a bedroom, in the way you know yours, so much as an office, of sorts. The Observation Hall was more for surveying rift activity, and for wider presentations, rather than smaller, direct conversations. This was a direct conversation. You, and the Chancellor, and his attendants. All that was left of the machine was the technology, and all that was left of the technology was just enough to fashion into a little machine, just big enough to fix upon your wrist. It was quite a bit bigger than your wrist, at that point, but you were smaller than the average person, and the Chancellor's attendants had very helpfully attached two thick armbands to keep it in place. The little machine had a touchscreen, just like the big screen on your parent's machine, and it had Quantum Stabilisation, and it could analyse materials, and people, and rift activity. And it could knit back the threads. But only one at a time. All that was left of the space-time continuum was a hole. Or a collection of holes. The Chancellor may have used the words "like a sponge". The machine had worked, until it hadn't, and when it had exploded, in the middle of fixing the rifts, it had glitched them, and broken apart the threads completely. There were more rifts now then there were before your parents had started, and these rifts were warped, spilling Time Fog from the continuum out into the visible world. The Fog contained potential for any point in time, and anything it touched would *also* contain potential for any point in time, and would exist at all points, simultaneously. It was now filling the skies. It was the worst outbreak the Temporal Protectorate had ever seen, and it was the fault of your parents. And since they weren't around to fix their mistakes, the responsibility fell to you. You would fix the rifts yourself. And you could come back, of course, when you were finished, and the timelines were clear. [[It's all on you, now.]]

"Oh my //god//." says Tish, and you remember that you're not there any more, and you look up. She's sat upright, staring at your paper. And you look at your paper, too, You've been staring at it for the past however long, but you hadn't really regarded the contents until now, drawing them almost automatically. Upon further artistic analysis, the explosion you'd drawn looked almost juvenile, a mass of orange and yellow crayon, stick figures littering the floor. You'd never been too good at drawing people. You'd got the hang of elephants, and giraffes, but people always looked weird. There were too many angles. Too much could look uncanny if even the slightest bit wrong. You look back up at Tish. Tish looks at you. She takes a tissue out of her pocket and gives it to you. You hadn't even realised you were crying, but you take it, giving her a shaky thumbs up with your free hand. "You know," says Tish, as you dry your eyes, and then she cuts herself off, catching your glasses as you knock them off your face. You probably should have taken them off *before* wiping your eyes. Never mind. She gives them back to you, and you put them back on, blinking her back into focus. "Like." she says. "I should need a lot more time to process this. I'll be honest. Time travel, the, I don't know, Time Government?" She takes another look at your paper. "Temporal Protectorate." she reads. "Yeah. If I hadn't seen the.... other day, I think I'd probably need another-- week, or so. With a bottle of gin." She lets out a hollow little giggle, almost. "But yeah no, why not. I've seen the fucki-- the fog, I mean." You raise an eyebrow. "The Time Fog-- So they sent you to deal with all that by yourself?" You nod. Tish stares at you for what feels like a long time. "You can time travel." she says. "I assume so, anyway. Or-- space travel. Or both. Right?" You nod again. "[[So what happens when you're done?]] When you want to go back there? They'd want you to go back there, right? [[Or what happens if you just fob them off?]]"

You decide to ignore the second half of that question (the universe would implode, that's what) and instead, you take a furtive look around. Nobody else is paying any attention to you. Alan is telling Madeline how good her alters look, rendered in paint marker. So you swipe your fingers across the touch screen of your watch, and pull up the menu for contacting the Protecterate. Tish looks, too. There's a call button, and their galactic co ordinates, and the option to travel there, signalled by a little icon. Tish is looking at it like she doesn't already spend a large portion of her personal time around a touch screen. She looks up at you, suddenly. "So we can just.... go there?" You balk. Tish is looking at you like she's planning something. She looks back down at your watch, and then back up at your face. Maybe she can sense your hesitancy. "Trip." she says. It's not often that she uses your name, which is highlighted now that she *has* used it. Usually she just calls you "buddy", or something like that. "I'm not going to get involved if you don't want me to be. I-- Recovery isn't about us *making* you do anything, and we've all said that over and over, haven't we?" They definitely have. It's starting to get a little tedious, actually. But here it feels different. Heavier. "We're here to help you." says Tish. "And it sounds like you need help. Even if none of this was..." Like she's trying to find the words, "Happening. In that, uh, way. It would be our job to help you come to terms with that." She looks around, again, and back to you. "But I believe you. As weird as this all is. And realistically, your mental health isn't going to improve if we don't eliminate your stressors. So tomorrow, if you'll have me, we can have a chat with this... Protectorate. And we can work something out. And we'll get you back here in time for dinner, and we can help you recover properly." She holds out her hand. "Sound like a plan, Captain?" [[Shake on it.]] [[Don't.]]

You know what happens if you want to go back, of course. You just put the co ordinates back into your watch and warp back there. Unfortunately, you can't really do that before you're finished. The Chancellor was pretty clear about that. They'll probably set a firing squad on you the moment you warp back into the place. You're focusing on the last part of that question. You assume "fob them off", here, means "don't do your job". You pick up another sheet of paper, and draw some circles. You give them rings, and smaller circles, and Tish watches, intently. "Space." she says. "Okay." You pick up a black colouring pencil, and set to work meticulously scribbling over the entire thing. Tish watches, mutely. You're being quite neat, too, doodling a sort of expanding spiral shape from one corner of the page to the other, until the planets are mostly obscured. You add some coloured speckles to the page too, for detail, and then look up at Tish, waiting for her verdict. "I see." she says. "That's a little unpleasant. So the whole galaxy gets, what, eaten by the Time Wasps?" You write Time Fog on the paper, in the corner, and draw a little arrow. "You know what I mean." says Tish. "Look. They're not just going to let that happen though, are they?" You pause. She has a point. The Protectorate had been quite clear that rift activity was your job, now, but part of you wondered how they managed before you. Were your parents really the first person to think of closing the rifts? They couldn't have let them go that poorly maintained until they came along. Tish seems to be on your wavelength. "They'd have to do something about it eventually." she says. "They already know how to build the technology to do that. So why don't you just-- stop. What are they going to do about it?" You wonder, vaguely, if they can track you through your watch. Maybe they'd send people after you. But then-- Tish stacks the remaining paper. "Think about it." she says, gently, and you watch everyone else stand, and you realise the class is over. [[So you think about it.]]

Again, you're probably not supposed to shake her hand. They like to limit physical contact, where they can, which apparently is for your protection. You can't say you understand that, either. This seems like a perfect way to seal the deal, though, so you offer Tish a firm handshake. She smiles at you. She seems satisfied, if weirdly detirmined. "Cool." she says. "Um. Not sure what I just agreed to. W-- You know what, it's probably fine. I'll tell the others I'm taking you out tomorrow. And we won't be gone for too long, especially with that thing. They'll be open to... negotiating, right? I'm just gonna tell them that it's not fair to stick a kid in the middle of all this. They should have a whole team for that." You're not a kid, but you nod, slowly. Tish pauses. She looks at you, for a moment, and then takes a clean sheet of paper from the bottom of the pile and puts it in front of you. "I'm gonna get you a drink." she says. "We've got Orange Capri-suns?" She must know your affinity for them, and you nod, again. Your ears are ringing. She nudges a blue crayon towards you. "In the meantime." she says. [["Draw me an elephant."]]

The thought of that has your head spinning. You don't take Tish's hand, and she falters, looking at it for a moment, before back up at you. "I mean." she says. "We don't actually have to shake on it. I understand if you're not comfortable with that." You're not *comfortable* with Tish going to the Protectorate. You're not particularly comfortable with *you* going to the Protectorate, yourself. You're not finished yet. They specifically told you not to come back until the rifts had been completely fixed. And they're nowhere near completely fixed, not yet. You're not worried about them hurting you. You're not particularly worried about them killing you. You're worried about them doing something *worse*. And you're worried about them doing something worse to Tish, too, and she doesn't deserve that. She's a bystander, in all of this. She's innocent. Perhaps you shouldn't have come here. You stand up. It's a little too quick, and you put a little too much weight on your leg. It's probably obvious that it hurts, and Tish tries to steady you as you take your crutches and make your way out of the art room. "Trip?" she calls, after you. "Buddy, wait a second." [[Wait?]] [[Leave.]]

[[==>|True Ending]]

You meet Tish in the garden the next morning. Technically, you're in the shed. Tish had explained that she wanted to make it look like you'd both left the house. "Just for a walk or something." she'd put it. "And if we come back to like, an hour from now, it'll line up, I guess." She pulls a face, actually. "But am I going to be like... older than I should be? Like, if I was born, yknow, 27 years and however many hours ago, is it going to be more hours? Or less hours? How does that work?" You shrug. It's not like you'd know. You don't even know how old you are, and you've been that old forever. Tish waves it off. "You know what?" she says. "It's fine." And then, "Oh--" as she leans over and pulls a wheelchair into frame. You look at it. And back up to Tish. You've managed so far on a leg and a half. "I think it might be best if we're both mobile." she says. "As in... faster. In case they have alien guns. Or something." The Protectorate do not have guns, as far as you remember. It's not their personal style. They can do far worse things to people, if your personal experience with the nasty side of time travel is any indication. You're not scared of *dying*, you're scared of far worse. Maybe Tish notices this line of thought. "Hey." she says. "You know we don't have to do this if you don't want to, right?" Perhaps giving up would be tempting, in another time, but right now you *do* want to, so you nod. You see Tish has brought a bigger bag. She usually does, if you're all out for a while, and she adjusts the straps, pulling it tighter to her back. "Alright then." she says. "You're the one with the magic time-travelling watch. [[Lead the way, Bernard.]]" You decide to ask about Bernard later.

There's something in her tone that indicates a sense of urgency. You pause, and turn, to let her catch up with you. "Trip--" she starts, before you hear "Everything alright?" from back in the room. You poke your head back in. Alan is looking at you both, seemingly concerned. Meredith is absolutely not paying any attention to you at all. "It's fine." says Tish. "Foot cramp, I think." "I'm not surprised." says Alan. "In your little boot and all. You alright now, mate?" You nod, and give him a little half smile. He smiles too, full of teeth and patchy stubble. "Excellenté." he says. "Well, crack on then. Don't let me stop your masterpiece." Tish leads you back to your table, and you sit. "I'm sorry." she says. "I wouldn't have suggested that if I'd realised it would.... distress you, that much. I get it. You're probably scared of going back there, right? In case they do something?" You nod. You're more scared of them doing something to Tish, but that doesn't feel particularly relevant. "Okay." she says. "So maybe-- we don't go back there, but... again, you can't really be wandering all the way around the universe by yourself forever. And it is unreasonable of anyone to expect that. So I guess.... maybe think about stopping. What are they going to do about it?" You wonder, vaguely, if they can track you through your watch. Maybe they'd send people after you. But then-- Tish stacks the remaining paper. "Think about it." she says, gently, and you watch everyone else stand, and you realise the class is over. [[So you think about it.]]

You can't wait. You've waited long enough. You head back to your bedroom. The idea of anything happening to anyone else here fills you with dread. Which is exactly why you don't stay for too long in these kinds of places. Inevitably, you get too attached to the people in them, which makes it that much harder for you to do your job. This time, you've *involved* the people in them, which is infinitely worse. You make it back to your room, eventually, and collapse onto your bed, heart pounding. Tish already knows too much. You've *told her* too much. She knows about you, and the rifts, and how your watch works-- "Trip?" she says, very real, outside your door, and you pause, sitting up. "Hey." she says, and then, "Look, I'm sorry if I upset you. I wouldn't have suggested that if I'd realised it would.... distress you, that much. We care about you, okay? And we're not going to do anything... to overstep, I mean. As long as you're-- okay, or happy, that's all we want." We, you think. Who's *we?* God, was she planning to bring the whole staff base with her? "I'll leave it." says Tish. "I get that you're probably, uh, tired out from earlier. So you just... chill today, okay? We'll come in a little later, get you some food, see how you are, but don't feel like you have to join in with anything, alright?" You stay silent, because you always do, and Tish is silent too, for a moment, before she says "Okay." again, like she's not sure how to end the sentence. And then she leaves. She doesn't see you, later. It's Alan, instead, with a bowl of salad, and he smiles at you, all teeth and glasses. "Tish said you were feeling a little under the weather." he says, and you nod. "Ah," he says. "Never mind, eh? You let us know if you need anything." And you can't really, but you nod, and he smiles, gives you an awkward wave, and leaves. You think about that a little more, later, half-eating your salad. Tish already knows how your watch works. And she knows how to get back to the Protectorate now, too. There's no reason she couldn't just take your watch herself, one day, if she wanted to. She has a right to confiscate anything, really, if she thinks you're going to hurt yourself with it. She just hasn't, yet, because you haven't. But she'd be hurt, you think. If she marches into the Protectorate, guns blazing, screaming about your safety.... you can't imagine what they would do to her. The thought is unbearable. [[And you can only think of one way to prevent it. |head back to your bedroom.]]

You're out of time. Ironic, really, considering the fabric of time is collapsing around you, but you don't really have time to appreciate that, at the moment. You really don't want to do this around them, but you *also* don't want them to be swallowed whole by the distortion, their personal timelines mangled to soup, so if it's a choice, you'd probably choose to blow your cover. Consider it blown. You shuffle closer, and hold your watch to the sky. "Trip?" Tish hurries after you. You're not looking at her, but she sounds concerned. "Hey, buddy. What are we doing?" Slowly, like she doesn't understand you. And she probably doesn't. She'll understand even less, when you're done. You can hear shuffling. It sounds like Ian and Keith have caught up with you, too. You'd rather they went back inside, honestly, but you can't really wait for them to leave. Keith stumbles to a stop, in front of Tish, and Ian stops just outside the shop. The distortion flickers. You jam the Quantum Stabiliser, and it *cracks*, almost receding into the sky. You can see little ripples from your watch, transparent, barely visible, but with little flecks of colour if you look closely enough. You move closer, struggling on your crutches, and press it again, and again. The fog swirls, gathering around a chimney on the building, and the birds fly away, keeping under it. Somehow, they know the dangers as well as you do. The chimney doesn't quite crumble, but imperceiptibly, the bricks erode, and glitch, and for a moment it looks like they're gone completely. But they're still there, shimmering, almost new, almost cement, but unspeakably, impossibly, old. "What the fuck is that!" shouts Ian, from the background. You ignore him. You neutralise the distortion. It crackles. You neutralise it again. You're not focused on anything but the Fog, and your watch, and you raise your watch to the sky and press it again. "Trip!" yells Tish, and for a second, [[you see it too.]]

You don't particularly *want* to leave it, obviously. Especially in the middle of such a populated area. (Or... usually such a populated area. There doesn't seem to be anyone else around, though. Maybe they all saw the fog and decided it would be better to stay inside. This was probably the best decision they could have made, even if they don't know the full extent of it.) But the idea of neutralising it now, while Tish and Keith and Ian are outside, where they could see you, or potentially get involved-- you don't want to think about that. It's too dangerous for them. They don't have the training that you have. They don't understand it like you do. And they could still, potentially, get hurt, but they're far more *likely* to get hurt if they have to stick around and watch you deal with it. (Keith and Ian, of course, have no obligation to stick around, but Tish does. You already know that she won't leave home without you, and you also know that she won't understand what she sees. It's a far better idea if she doesn't get involved at all. You know that won't lead to anything good.) Of course, it is hard to speedwalk with a broken leg. Tish catches up to you, eventually. "Hey," she says, "Trip, it's-- it's okay, dude. We can take it slower--" Whatever Tish was going to say is unceremoniously cut off, as Keith approaches, visibly out of breath. He has a crumpled piece of paper in his hand, and he stops, bends, slightly, and puts his hands on his knees. maybe that helps him breathe better. You don't know. Tish looks at him, watches Ian catch up, and then turns back to you, seemingly perturbed. "Or," she says, "Is it these guys? Are they bothering you?" [[Yes?]] [[No?]]

For now, though, you scroll through the options on your watch. You haven't travelled in a while - not since you crash landed here, in fact - and it feels odd doing it again. It especially feels odd travelling to the Protectorate. Honestly, you didn't think you'd ever see it again. And, again, you're not limited by death, so that was already an ominous thought. Tish wiggles the wheelchair. "You wanna sit down?" she says. "Might be, uh. Better. Don't go without me." She says it like it's funny. You suppose that even if you did go without her, you could probably just... come back. Hopefully before anyone sees you. You sit down. It's quite comfortable. The back of the chair is padded, which is nice. You've been in one of these before, of course, when they've taken you out for longer walks, or when they brought you in, the night you came here. Remarkable that you did, indeed. And honestly, you're glad for it. You navigate to the Protectorate's travel menu and press the "Wait." says Tish. You wait. "We're not going to like. Melt together. Are we? Like, Kafkastyle?" You pause. The short answer to that is no, because of temporal force-field rules, but you don't have the resources to explain it (paper, pens, mental energy) so you shake your head. Maybe this comes more naturally to you, because you've been surrounded with it for so long. You try not to indicate that this was in any way a stupid question. Maybe you have Tish fooled. She visibly relaxes. "Okay." she says. "I guess that's me all out of questions. Uh. Whenever you're ready." You've never been more ready. Or at least, you'll never be more ready than this. You [[press the button.]]

Thankfully, you and Tish do not melt together. Which, for you, was to be expected, but Tish seems to noticeably relax when the two of you appear in seperate, yet whole, pieces. (Maybe that's a confusing way of putting it. You both have your whole bodies, and neither of you are part wheelchair. Best case scenario.) Now that the drama of that particular hypothetical has been resolved, you turn your attention to... the inside of the Protectorate. This seems to be some kind of intergalactic reception area. It would make sense that the travel co-ordinates would put you here, of course. You were hardly expecting that it would beam you straight into the Chancellor's quarters. Which would be kind of funny, actually, because it would scare the shit out of him, but that would probably not end very well for either of you. Tish hasn't been around the galaxy to the extent that you have. That is to be expected, of course, and maybe curiousity is human nature. Turning as much as you can, to look at her, you can see her staring, and when you turn back to whatever she's staring *at*, you realise she's looking at a group clustered by one of the reception desks. You don't personally consider that there's anything odd about them, until she says "Okay. They're aliens." And they are, in that sense. You've been to planets outside of Earth, of course, so again, it's not like this particularly phases you. Tish shakes her head, but not disapprovingly. More like she's trying to snap herself out of something. "Okay." she says. "I should probably have known. I mean. It's not just the... Earth Time... society. Right?" It is not just the Earth Time Society. But, again, you can't blame her for not being used to it. At least queueing is part of the human condition, which means Tish is happy to join a line, and stand there, for a moment, with you. "So what's the plan?" she says, like you have one. You don't, really, apart from a vague outline, so you pause to think. [[Go straight to the Chancellor's quarters.]] [[Ask reception nicely.]]

For the most part, you don't consider yourself particularly confrontational. If given the option, you would rather wait, to take the least adversarial route possible, to keep everyone happy. In your line of work, you have enough enemies, and you would rather not make more. But you feel that perhaps queueing to see the Chancellor may not be the best plan. If you ask the receptionists, there's no guarantee they'll let you see him, and then you'll be in the same situation as now, except this time, his Attendants would probably be notified, and they'll be on guard for anyone sneaking in. (You seem to remember your father saying something about "asking forgiveness than asking permission". This, perhaps, did not apply to sitting on the Quantum Stabiliser. But you would like to think it applies now.) So you point, not at the reception desk, but to a hallway, near the back. Tish looks at it, and then looks at you. "We should go... that way?" she asks. "Do you think they'll mind?" You shrug. You genuinely don't know. Tish seems unperturbed by this; if anything, she embraces it, gripping the handles of your wheelchair more tightly. "Sounds good to me." she says. "Let's Mission Impossible this shit." She tenses, just for a moment, and then pauses. "Probably still shouldn't curse at you." she says. You shrug. You've overshared enough at this point. You can let her have her language. "I just hope it doesn't go down a time hole." she says. "Where my mum can hear it. She'd have me for that." You... don't entertain that (a Time Hole? Really?) and maybe she doesn't expect you to. "Alright." she says. "Let's go have a nice chat." She starts to push you [[towards the door]].

It would probably be for the best to queue. You figure that storming straight into the Chancellor's quarters and demanding a meeting may not be the best approach. Even if you get the element of surprise on him, it could very well be taken as an act of aggression. Because, honestly, it kind of would be. With that in mind, you point to the reception desk. Tish looks at you, and then back at the desk. "I mean." she says. "We're already, uh. Queueing." She looks around again. "In space." she adds, quietly. "With aliens." But back to you, now. "So, what? We just ask them really nicely if we can speak to the Chancellor?" She says it like it's not a very good plan, but it seems solid enough to you, so you nod. Tish looks around, again, and then shrugs. "Okay." she says. "That's weirdly... normal, but let's go with that. I guess queues are a universal constant. Sure. Why not." It is probably the most democratic way of solving a lot of people's different problems. Even time travel has its limits. Tish does have to push you out of the way, then, as someone warps in fairly close to you, but you're not within range of their temporal force field, so you don't really feel it, apart from your wheelchair being unceremoniously shoved. "Someone's in a hurry." says Tish. "Okay. This really is just like the Rail." She snorts, either humourously or derisively, and pushes you a little further forward into the queue. You watch a small group of Tekkix have an animated conversation outside the queue, eyestalks wiggling in disdain, before you find yourself in front of the reception desk. The receptionist smiles, as much as they can, and asks if they can help you. You know this because your watch helpfully translates it. Tish's face, a warped reflection in the shiny surface, seems troubled. You should probably handle it. You have an important decision to make. [[The Chancellor's quarters.]]

Using all of your five foot two of detirmination, you stand, unstable on your good leg, and peek over the counter far enough to point at the Chancellor's quarters, displayed on the Protectorate Map embedded into the counter. Maybe this would confuse most people. You can vaguely see, in the reflection of the overly-shiny protective window, a figure of indeterminate species take a side glance to their equally perturbed family. The receptionist looks at you, and also at Tish. They ask if you want to see the Chancellor, and you nod. They ask if you have an appointment with the Chancellor, and while your watch can only translate the words, you get the sense from their tone that they're expecting you not to. And technically, you don't, but Tish clears her throat. "They do." she says. "You, uh. You can tell the Chancellor that Trip is here to see them, please." The receptionist flutters. They ask for Tish's name, and you tilt your watch so that she can read the translation. "My name is Laetisha." she says. "Tish. I'm their-- uh. Nurse. I guess." The receptionist clicks, audibly, and disappears. "Well." says Tish. "That went--" She doesn't get to specify how it went, because the receptionist reappears, instantly, looking a little more frazzled than previously. They hand you both small, metallic disks, and wave you away, to speak to the family behind you. "Thanks?" calls Tish, wheels you to the side, and takes a look at the disc. You take a look, too, but you already know what it is. Summonisers, with co ordinates already built in. You assume they're co ordinates to the Chancellor's quarters. You hope they are. Tish turns the disc over in her hand. "It'd make a nice keyring." she says. "Okay. On three?" Three sounds good. Tish takes your wheelchair again, and on three, you [[press the Summoniser.]]

You do remember the Chancellor's quarters, as much as you'd rather not. If the rest of the Protectorate was overly clean, shiny, very much ushering in a New, Futuristic World Order-- well, Sunhaven was like that too. Again, you're well acquainted with the overly clean bathroom. The Chancellor's quarters are also overly clean and shiny, is what you're trying to say. Tish wheels you forward, a little, even though you're technically already inside. The Chancellor's attendants are stood by the walls, like they're on guard, and they look just as nervous as you are. Your heart is sinking in your chest, but you straighten up, determined to look braver than you feel. The Chancellor is sitting up at his desk. It's a little way above floor level, with stairs going up to access it, so you have to look up to see him. It looks like he's writing something down. He looks bored. Or, at least, he looks like he's trying very hard to look bored. And then he looks at you. And he looks at Tish, too. "Hello there." he says - and he smiles, and you shrink back into your chair slightly as he stands. "You know," he says, "I don't remember making an appointment today. Forgive me. I am older, now, and time-- well, even in siteu, it wears us all down in the end." He descends the glass steps from his desk. " I'm always happy to meet with my people, of course. What can I do for you?" He stops, in front of your wheelchair, and extends a hand. [[Shake?]] [[Absolutely do not do that.]]

Your heart is threatening to burst out of your ribcage, by now, but you don't want to give any indication to the Chancellor that you're *scared* of him, in any way, so you reach out and shake his outstretched hand. He shakes back, warmly, before pausing. "Hi," says Tish, seemingly oblivious to the newfound horror on the Chancellor's face and extends a hand. "Um. My name is Laetitia, I'm--" The Chancellor barely acknowledges her. He takes your wrist, turns it over, somewhat forcefully, and looks at your watch. "Good lord." he says. "Where in the fabrics did you get--" And *then*, perhaps, the realisation hits. You had expected him to recognise you before, of course, but maybe you were asking too much. You stare, incredulously, as he stares equally incredulously at your watch. And then he laughs, nervously. "Oh, goodness." he says. "It's like a little, minature... Quantum Stabiliser-- my dear, who gave you this?" "You did." says Tish. You're not looking at her face. You're still looking at the Chancellor. Your ears are ringing. "You built it, and you gave it to them. You wanted them to... fix time, or whatever, and you know what-- Hi." Cutting herself off, again. "My name is Taetitia. I'm Trip's... nurse. Health advisor. Whatever. We want to renegotiate this deal of yours." The Chancellor *drops* your wrist, like it's hurting him, and stumbles backwards. You're pretty sure his attendants are whispering among themselves. Some of them rush over to steady his fall, and some of them put a hand in a belt pocket. "But you're--" says the Chancellor, and then he seems to regain his composure. "I told you not to come back here." he says. "Until your work was *complete*. Until you *fixed* what you *broke*. How are you even--" And with that, he cuts himself off. "I think." he says. "We should go to the Observation Deck, perhaps. Could we escort them?" More to his attendants than to you, as he makes his way back to his desk. "Perhaps we do need a... renegotiation." You watch, mutely, as he seems to *scroll* the top of his desk, like a screen. Around you, his attendants-- they all have Summonisers, you realise, but these are gold instead of silver, and they press them, in unison, as the Chancellor presses something on his desk. Tish, professionalism aside, wraps her arms around you, and you feel yourself [[consumed by a beam of light.]]

He wants to shake your hand. Maybe you would be happy to shake his hand, if this were not a betrayal of all of your personal morals. The very thought terrifies you, actually, so you don't. You keep your hands by your sides, lean back against your chair as much as you can. You do attempt to sit straight, too, to keep your shoulders squared. You are scared, of course. Terrified, in fact. But you're not going to let him use that against you. "Oh." says the Chancellor, and he looks up at Tish, then. "Are we-- perhaps a little shy? It's alright, I understand. I might look quite scary, I'm sure, but I really don't want to cause a fuss." He cracks a smile. It's insidious. Tish smiles, too, like someone who is very used to smiling on command. "I think you might have misunderstood." she says. "My name is Laetitia. I'm here on behalf of Trip, here." She gestures to you. "We want to, uh, renegotiate the terms of their contract." It's very calm, and professional. Even if you could talk, you're not entirely sure you could have kept yourself under control. Perhaps it's because Tish has no personal stake in any of this. The Chancellor furrows his brow, and some of his Attendants fidget. "Our deal?" he says. "My dear, I don't-- I could refer you to the Temporal Trade office, but I'm afraid I'm quite powerless to sway anything in that direction." He gives you both more of a nervous grin, this time. "My apologies if we've met before--" raising his hands, here-- "I'll admit I don't quite recollect who you are." "We--" says Tish, and you-- [[Let her finish.]] [[Finish him.]]

You were not, as you may have feared, actually consumed by the beam of light. Perhaps the Chancellor would have wanted to teleport you into the sun. It definitely would have solved his problem. Instead, once the light clears, you find yourself in a large room. There's a wide window, taking up almost the entirety of one of the walls, looking out into far space. There are little holograms displayed over it, too, marking data, little displays showing places with temporal activity. The room is mostly gold, and white, with a wide, circular ceiling, and scalloped edging around the corners. Gold drawers span wall to ceiling, with labels in all different languages and alphabets. Some of them are locked. You remember this. This, you realise, is the Observation Hall. The Chancellor is stood by the wide window, and Tish wheels you over as you watch him adjust various switches on the control panel. The holographic displays dissipate, and you can see a much larger projection form over the screen. It forms into a curved grid, rendered in white, and you can see the occasional little dot. The Chancellor turns to you. "You recognise this." he states. He already knows you do, but he continues to explain it anyway. "This," he says, "Is an approximation of the time-space continuum, as displayed over the galaxy." Which is what the dots are, you assume; planets, or constellations, or anything big enough to show up on a grid of that scale. "In a perfect world," the Chancellor continues, "This grid would be clear. This is the world I had hoped you and I could create together, had you fulfilled your obligations." You want to tell him that you're *still* fulfilling your obligations - it's not like you've *stopped* - but you keep quiet, for the moment. You watch as [[the screen shifts]].

You keep your temper. You adjust your position in your wheelchair. You let your eyes bore into The Chancellor's forehead. Even through curls and glasses, perhaps you can make your discontent known. "We're not here for temporal trade." says Tish. "Or-- anything like that. This is Trip. You don't remember Trip? You put them in charge of fixing-- pretty much the entirety of space. With the Rift Fog, and the-- Do you seriously not remember that?" And more to you, here, "Was that a different Chancellor? Is this the same guy?" It's the same guy, alright. You nod decisively. The Chancellor looks at her, and then looks back at you. He looks blank. "I'm afraid it's not coming back to me." he says. "But I do understand. Why don't you talk to one of my Attendants here, and perhaps they can help you resolve your problem?" You can see the Attendants shuffle in place, mumble to each other, before one of them steps forward, seemingly happy to volunteer. Tish starts to speak, letting out a stuttered noise, and you decide enough is enough, and raise your arm. The Attendant who had previously stepped forwards stops, now, unsure of what to do next. The Chancellor pauses, about to ascend the glass steps, before turning back towards you. "Thank you." he says. "My Attendant here can show y--" And he stops, completely still, as if transfixed, and stares at your watch. "Yeah, that Trip." says Tish, as if The Chancellor might know many others. He looks up at her, agape, and then back down to you. He grips the stairrail tightly, and at the very least you have the satisfaction of seeing the colour drain from his face. "But you-- How are you even still alive? And-- I thought I had *banished* you. Until you *fixed what you broke*" And with that, he cuts himself off. "I think." he says. "We should go to the Observation Deck, perhaps. Could we escort them?" More to his attendants than to you, as he makes his way back to his desk. "Perhaps we do need a... renegotiation." You watch, mutely, as he seems to *scroll* the top of his desk, like a screen. Around you, his attendants-- they all have Summonisers, but these are gold instead of the usual silver, and they press them, in unison, as the Chancellor presses something on his desk. Tish, professionalism aside, wraps her arms around you, and you feel yourself [[consumed by a beam of light.]]

He doesn't remember who you are? Anything else that Tish was about to say is reduced to static between your ears, like you're filled with water. You may well be filled with something. You clench your fists, and then that suddenly isn't good enough, and you stand, before you can really think about it. It does hurt, of course. You're really not supposed to be leaning on that leg. Behind you, you can vaguely hear Tish call your name, but you ignore her in favour of stumbling forward. *A chat* be damned. You want to throttle this man out of his Protectorate dressage. You get close enough to make him nervous - he must be nervous, because he backs away, hands still raised. "Oh dear." he says. "Should we perhaps try to keep a-- a conversational distance?" He takes a side look to his Attendants, who immediately put a hand into one of their belt pockets. You're not sure what they're reaching for. You're not sure you want to know, either. "Trip!" says Tish, and she drops professionalism yet again to wrap her arms around you, forcibly pulling you backwards. You struggle, and then desist, as she manouvers you back into a seating position. "I know you're upset." she says. "I do. But let's try and talk it out, alright? There's no need for that yet." "I quite agree." says the Chancellor, seemingly missing the "yet" in favour of cutting Tish off at the end. "Aggression won't get you anywhere." Smug bastard. You seethe in your chair, as he dusts himself off. An Attentant runs over with a bottle of water (you assume), and he takes it, drinks from it, and hands it back. "I'm sorry." he says, with all the sincerity you'd expect. "But I very much doubt that I can fix your problem. Why don't you talk to one of my--" And he stops, silently, as you raise your arm. "Oh." he says. "You. And your parents-- Yes, yes. It's coming back to me now." He makes his way back to his desk, as he speaks, climbs a couple of the stairs, as if he's trying to put as much distance as possible between you both. "I thought you might have a.... vendetta." Like it's your fault. "But I had thought you would at least *finish* first. That was the condition for your return, after all." He climbs the rest of the stairs, and pauses at the top, peers at you from over his desk. "I think." he says. "We should go to the Observation Deck, perhaps. Could we escort them?" More to his attendants than to you. "Perhaps we do need a... renegotiation." You watch, mutely, as he seems to *scroll* the top of his desk, like a screen. Around you, his attendants-- they all have Summonisers, but these are gold instead of the usual silver, and they press them, in unison, as the Chancellor presses something on his desk. Tish, professionalism aside, wraps her arms around you, and you feel yourself [[consumed by a beam of light.]]

It feels almost natural, walking through here. Or, it would, if you were walking, but having Tish push you through the corridors of the Protectorate does not feel as alien (pun not intended) as you thought it might. In fact, it feels sort of... familiar. Nostalgic. You thought you'd feel uncomfortable, here. And you do, still, but it's a different sort of discomfort. It's almost a yearning. You miss when this was home, and yet you can barely remember it. It's all just still images, moving shapes. There's a wash of sadness to it. Even as a time traveller, even as the sole sustainer of the space-time continuum, there's no feasible way for you to return to that era, no matter how hard you try. You're snapped out of your nostalgia as you're stopped, suddenly. Looking around, you see Tish has stopped you in front of a window. The window has a holographic map displayed across it, and it's this that seems to have caught her interest. She's trying to move it, but she's swiping it wrong, like she's expecting a screen, and the map is jumping around, presumably detecting multiple inputs. Tish huffs, and you reach up, to try and help. "You got it?" she says. "You probably know your way around these things better than I do." You haven't used a hologram in longer than you can remember, actually, but you suppose that still beats *never* having used one. You scroll across. You pause. You scroll the other way. Tish waits, patiently. You pull up a search bar and type "chanc" in. Thankfully, one of the first suggestions is "Chancellor's quarters", second only to "Take A Chance: Earth Tunes Tribute Night", which appears to be located in the Waterhole. Fun. You press Chancellor's quarters, and the hologram lights up with a glowing illustrated path. "Turn right at room Ѷ-32." it says, louder than you would like. You can hear a clicking noise from the reception room behind you, and Tish starts to push you along again. "Let's go." she says. The clicking gets louder, and Tish runs. You grip the handles of your wheelchair for dear life. [[You turn right.]]

The clicking, as it turns out, is a receptionist, who has rounded the corner with impeccable timing, and is now attempting to catch up with you. Presumably, she had tracked your inputs in the map, somehow. Or maybe, you think, they're just automatically alerted if anyone needs to get to the Chancellor's office. Tish slows down, as the receptionist approaches, but keeps walking. The receptionist keeps pace, feet scuttling against the floor, and asks very nicely if you need help finding where you're going. Your watch translates it, helpfully, and you lift it to show Tish, who squints at the display. "Oh," she says. "No, you know, I think we're good, thank you." The receptionist politely asks where you're looking for. You show your watch to Tish. She clears her throat, and pushes you a little faster. "We're here to talk to the Chancellor." she says. "Don't worry, he's--" Cutting herself off, then. "He should be expecting us." she says, instead. "Thank you." Maybe it's something in her tone, as she does round the corner a little harshly, but the receptionist clicks louder (your watch translates it as asking you to wait, a moment) and takes off ahead of you, clicking and scuttling down the corridor. Tish pulls back, somewhat, but continues to follow. "Guess we didn't need the map." she says, offhandedly, as you [[head through the doors.]]

You do remember the Chancellor's quarters, as much as you'd rather not. If the rest of the Protectorate was overly clean, shiny, very much ushering in a New, Futuristic World Order-- well, Sunhaven was like that too. Again, you're well acquainted with the overly clean bathroom. The Chancellor's quarters are also overly clean and shiny, is what you're trying to say. The receptionist gets there just before you, clicking and scuttling, sounding almost exhausted. You can see through the doors, as they leave them open. The Chancellor clicks and scuttles back, and Tish interrupts this discussion by pushing you unceremoniously through the doors. The Chancellor's attendants are stood by the walls, like they're on guard, and they straighten up when they see you. The Chancellor turns, at the interruption, and visibly startles. "Oh!" he says. "I see. We have guests. Thank you, Scruciel. You can go." He clicks, again, and the receptionist looks at you, and Tish, like they're not entirely sure. Nonetheless, they leave, clicking and scuttling out of the door. The Chancellor waits for them to leave, and then turns to you both. The Attendants are still poised, waiting for any sign of conflict, but as the Chancellor waves a hand at them, they relax, somewhat. "Hello there." He says. You try not to shrink into your chair. Instead, you straighten your back, square your shoulders, and try to look braver than you feel. He's not looking at you at all. It seems he's looking at Tish, instead. "That was quite the entrance. Is everything alright? Usually I would rather make an appointment--" He says it almost with a nervous chuckle, as if it's funny, and gestures to the Attendants again. "Honestly, my friends, it's quite alright. I doubt our guests mean any harm?" He's looking at you, now. He almost raises his eyebrows. You stare back. "Well." he says. "If there's no emergency, then what can I do for you?" He stops, in front of your wheelchair, and extends a hand. [[Shake?]] [[Absolutely do not do that.]]

This is a big one. It's big enough that you can actually see the rift. That's unpleasant. Usually the rift is invisible, and the only indication that it's there at all is the presence of the Time Fog. But now you can see it, as the distortion moves, a swirling void of *everything*. "Oh my god." says Tish, and Keith shouts "Christ," and stumbles backwards, almost knocking over a bin. He looks around, wildly. You're looking back at them now, terrified. They shouldn't be seeing this. It's too much for them to comprehend. Keith moves, suddenly, dives in front of Tish. His arms are stretched behind him, as if he's trying to shield her from it. "It's alright, Tish." he says. "I'll protect you, see? I got it." "You haven't got shit." says Ian, who has, in the time that you looked away, apparently procured a knife from somewhere. What does he think that'll do? "Something's gonna fly out of there." he says. "Space wasps, or something." "What?" says Tish. "What the fuck are space wasps?" You turn your attention back to the rift. Your hands are shaking, as you adjust the settings on your watch. You haven't seen a rift this big since... well. You don't know, actually, but you do have vague memories of seeing it once. And that was in the middle of an empty planet, so it's not like there was anything to corrupt. The middle of the high street is another thing. You turn up the Quantum Stabiliser as far as it'll go. You usually adjust the settings depending on the size of the rift - you don't want to overdo it, after all - but that's a risk you're willing to take, at the moment. You need to get these people out of danger. Why now, you think. If this had just happened tonight, it would have been fine. "Trip?" asks Tish, as you point your watch to the sky. "What are you doing? Get away from the-- What are you doing to it?" God, [[you hope this works.]]

There's a bright flash, and a loud ringing noise, as the Quantum Stabiliser activates. It's deafening. You scrunch your face. You can hear someone screaming behind you, but honestly, it could be any of them. You can't see very much. You try not to keep your eyes open, because it's a little bright for comfort, but as you squint through it, you can vaguely see the illuminated edges of the rift knitting back together. Good enough. You don't see the edges meet in the middle, because you need to close your eyes again, but you'd take even a smaller rift over one that size. Nothing you can't sneak out and sort later. Eventually, once the ringing stops, and the outside returns to a reasonable light level, you open your eyes. The fog is gone. You can see a vague shimmer, for a moment, before even that dissipates, and when you look to the sky, you can't see the rift. There's a small line, for a moment, barely visible, but it's gone, all of a sudden. The birds have mostly flown away, by now. There are some still perched on the roof, fluttering anxiously. The chimney has entirely crumbled, with the erosion of thousands of years. You drop your arms. You turn to look at Tish, and Keith, and Ian, and they slowly stand-- you hadn't noticed they'd ducked. Ian was holding the knife out, apparently, but now he retracts it, lets his arms hang by his sides. "Bloody hell." he says. "Um. Mate, I'm-- yknow, I think I'm gonna go home." "Yeah." says Keith. "We'll--" Ian cuts him off, with "We'll just tell Simon we're closing early," and Keith nods. "Yeah." he says, again. "Um. You head off, mate. I'll close the shutters." Ian doesn't seem to take a lot of convincing. Shakily, he unlocks a bicycle from outside the building, and you watch him ride away. He's fairly wobbly. But you don't know you'd do a much better job yourself. Keith pats Tish on the shoulders. "You alright?" he asks. Tish is still staring at the sky, transfixed, before jumping a little as Keith touches her. "Sorry," he mumbles, as she cuts him off. "I'm okay. Never been better." She looks at you, now, still incredulous, almost horrified, before she coughs. "I'm gonna-- I think I'm gonna take Trip home." she says. "They've got-- well, they've had a bit of an adventure." Maybe you could kid yourself into thinking that she means you sneaking out for a burger, but you do that basically daily. It feels so far away, now, and juvenile, in the face of everything. What are you doing? "Right." says Keith. "That makes-- uh. Listen--" He digs around in his pocket, before shoving a grimy piece of paper into Tish's hands. "If we're all going to die anyway." he says. "Give us a bell." And with that, you watch Keith saunter back into Fergus' Burgers, and drop the shutters. Tish watches him go, for a moment, before turning to you. "Right!" she says, brightly, like she didn't just see an infinite hole in the space time continuum. And it's *too* bright for Tish, filled with artificial positivity, like a Mormon Youtuber. "Let's, ah, go home? I'll put on some Chucklevision." The birds fly circles around the ruined chimney, cooing in distress, and, silently, you let Tish [[lead you home.]]

[[==>|c3: draw your truth]]

It's a lot like watching the screen on your parent's machine. It brings back an almost nostalgic feeling, like earlier, except this one is less comforting and more entirely horrible. Gaps form on the grid, wide, with little rounded edges over the circumference, like a particularly fat flower. Some of them are round, but most of them are ovals, and you watch them eat away at the clear space of the grid. Your watch has the same display, of course, and it fills you with enough dread and fatigue every time you look at it, but there's something entirely more sinister about seeing it displayed *larger* like this. You tilt your head to look at Tish. She's also watching the display, but she looks more... confused. Disturbed, maybe. You don't blame her. You're pretty disturbed yourself. By the time the simulation stops, you would wager, mathematically, that the gaps take up a good third of the display. "That," says the Chancellor, matter-of-factly, "Is all of the rift activity in the continuum. And more open up every day." He taps the counter, idly. "It doesn't look very clear." It's a snide comment, rather than a genuine observation, and you can't help but roll your eyes. You hear Tish from behind you. "So that's-- what, time and space?" You nod, even though she's probably not looking at the back of your head. The Chancellor gives a short nod. "Yes." he says. "As time and space are irrevocably connected, intricately woven together, the rift activity can collect visibly at various points of physical space within the galaxy. These are the best places for neutralisation." Looking at you, again, now. "As I'm sure you well know." You do know. You wheel yourself a little closer to the display, and watch, mutely, as the ovals shift. Some of them are big enough on the graph that you can't imagine how big they must be in person. A wave of dread overcomes you, again, and maybe it's noticable, as you slump slightly, in your chair. "So," says the Chancellor. "What exactly do you plan to negotiate?"You don't know. You don't even know why you came here, honestly. It seems like a particularly dumb idea, now that you're here. You have no idea why you'd think they would be open to talking about it at all. Looking around, you see the Attendants all look as uncomfortable as you feel. You meet one of their eyes, and they look away, staring at the screen instead. You turn back. You swear one of the ovals has expanded, slightly, just in the time you've been sitting here. "Hang on." says Tish, from behind you. She lets go of your wheelchair, and you put your hands on the wheels, instinctively, so you can still move if you need to. You watch Tish approach the display, leaning on the counter to see it better. The Chancellor moves, but stays close, wary. "I wouldn't touch anything." he says. "I do get the feeling that perhaps you don't know your way around a hologram." "I played with one at Edinburgh Science Museum once." says Tish. It doesn't really help her case. "If this is to scale, then it's massive. What's the rate of-- how long does it take the rifts to form?" The Chancellor puts his hands behind his back, in some sort of semi-authoritive pose. "New rift activity forms every second." he states. "And with the *abundance* caused by your parents--" to you, you assume, Tish's parents had nothing to do with this, "--It is imperative not to waste time, isn't it? Is every second not precious?" You think about your parents. Stood here, in this very room, presenting their machine. You feel queasy. "But the one the other day took you like... ten minutes." says Tish. You also assume this is directed at you, even though you're not looking at either of them. "There's no way you can catch up in time--" The Chancellor looks back at the screen. [["Something to consider."]] he says.

The Attendants are still refusing to meet your eye. You take a quick glance over to them, and then back to the display. You still have the familiar sense of dread, but it's slowly being taken over by a more... frontally anxious realisation. Tish seems happy to voice it for you. "So what if they're never done." she says, and even though you were thinking it, having it said out loud makes the possiblity more real, somehow. "This was a suicide mission." she continues, and you cringe, slightly. "There's no need for words like that." says the Chancellor, and then, to you, "You're still alive, aren't you?" Just about. You can hear the Attendants fidget in the background. Tish is still staring at the Chancellor. "You-- you *knew* that." she says. "You knew that, and you sent them out there deliberately." Tears blur your vision. Tish takes another step forward. "You never thought they'd come back," she says, a little louder. The Chancellor takes a step backwards. "I would advise against aggression." he says. "Everything that takes place in this room is recorded, and my Attendants would see to a swift dispatchment." And then he smirks. "Though why don't we take a look?" he says. "I feel that our friend here has... perhaps not given you the full picture, my dear. If you wished to witness the day for yourself it may change your feelings on the matter." Over his shoulder, now, "If one of my Attendants wouldn't mind retrieving the tape. Perhaps after reviewing the evidence, we can settle this democratically." There's a brief moment where you see the Attendants fidget, exchange a mostly inaudible conversation, before one of them moves, slowly, towards the wall of drawers. They take a brief look at the Chancellor, before turning back, scanning the wall to select the correct drawer. You watch as they hurry back, and pause. They have the whole drawer in their hands, and you watch as they set it on the counter, before slotting a tiny black square into a slot. The screen whirs to life. [[Watch the tape.]] [Do not watch the tape.]<c1| (click: ?c1)[Unfortunately, you do not feel like you have the choice, any more.]

You don't really want to, but you see no other choice. You slump dejectedly in your chair. Tish sits down, next to you, and takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. The Chancellor steps back. "By all means." he says. "Make yourselves comfortable. I hardly think this is a formal occasion." You get the feeling that might be sarcastic. You do feel that you might have more of an excuse not to stand, but choose not to bring that up, for the moment. "You don't have to watch." says Tish, gently. "Come on, I've got--" She digs around in her bag with her free hand, and pulls out a pair of wired earphones. "We can deal with this." she says. "You can watch, or-- listen to something else." You take the headphones. You don't put them in. As much as you don't want to watch, part of you also does, so you settle back in your wheelchair and brace yourself. It's nothing you haven't seen before, of course. You were there. The Chancellor stands, with his hands behind his back, as the tape plays. [[You see your parents.]]

"This is the RiftPad." says your mother. "But we modified them." Your father comes into view, now, and you watch as he puts his arm around her. Briefly, you wonder where you are. "We're building on existing RiftPad technology." says your father. "With the addition of artifical intelligence, we can repair rifts even more seamlessly. In all the zones we've tested so far, there's been no evidence of Time Fog leakage, or timeline distortion." "Wonderful." says the Chancellor, ignoring the agitation of his real-life counterpart. "And I assume your next intention is to-- roll this out to the team, as it were? Modify everyone's RiftPad, for easier rift stabilisation?" "Well." says your mother, and then "Yes, but that's not all." Your father has left the frame, again, but here he returns, wheeling a very small machine. With some difficulty, he lifts it, and places it on the table. He squashes a few blueprints in the process, and your watch your mother try to smooth the corners. "What is that?" enquires the Chancellor, and your father seems to laugh. "This," he says, breathlessly (or maybe it's the audio distortion) "Is the Quantum Stabiliser. We've also been experimenting with rift repair on a wider scale." "We reckon it can do multiple." says your mother, and the Chancellor in the tape sits up in his chair. "Multiple-- rifts?" He says, and your parents nod. "Simultaneously." says your father. You're transfixed. You assume Tish is, as well, because you haven't felt her move, but honestly, you've half forgotten she's here. You zone out the real Chancellor, who appears to be loudly fiddling with something on his desk, slamming buttons and switches. You can only see your parents, reflected on the screen in front of you. "It has a radius of around a hundred light years, on the highest setting." says your mother, and then "That is quite high-power, obviously, so it can be turned down. Um." She seems nervous, but excited, and she tilts the machine at a different angle, presumably so the Chancellor can see it. "This is just a smaller prototype, of course." she says. "We haven't built the main machine, yet--" "The hardest part is stopping the kid from eating all the pieces." says your father, and your mother laughed. You raise your eyebrows, but you don't have it in your heart at the moment to be upset. Your mother laughs. It's a pretty sound. You miss home, all of a sudden. "We were thinking we could--" She starts, and the Chancellor cuts her off. "And what were you thinking of doing with this? We already have a team, out in the field-- though it honestly sounds wonderful, if you can pull it off." "Thank you." says your mother, and your father interjects with "We think so!" before she continues. "I was saying we were thinking that we could potentially host it here, and have it stabilise larger areas while the team are out. It would be less work for the team, and with the intelligent repair technology, it might stave off rift formation for even longer. More potential for a clear galaxy." "I see." says the Chancellor. "Multiple rifts at the same time-- for a clear galaxy." He stares looks at the machine, then back at your parents. [["Why stop at a hundred?"]]

By now, the real Chancellor has slumped in his chair, watching the video with what you can only describe as somehow both furious and bored. You only give him a passing glance - you'd noticed the noise had stopped - before turning your attention back to the video. Your parents had been silent, while you weren't looking, and now that you are, you can see them look at each other, and then back at the Chancellor. "Do you-- mean the radius, sir?" asks your mother. "That's the-- highest number we can risk, to guarantee a stable outcome. We, ah, ran the numbers--" "It can't really support anything above a hundred and fifty light years without becoming increasingly more unstable." says your father, cutting her off. "We didn't want to take any risks. At this level, the technology could have untold effects on the space-time continuum if anything goes wrong--" "You're the numbers people, aren't you?" says the Chancellor. "Can't you figure it out?" Your parents share another look, as the Chancellor stands, starts to walk around the table. "We can't risk destabilising the continuum." says your father. "And we have the team--" "You wanted to make it easier for them, didn't you?" says the Chancellor, now, and he seems slightly more irate, the same sort of tone he was using for you just a minute ago. "Do you think they want to be jetting off to the far reaches of space, fixing every little hole? Did you not have the vision of a *clear galaxy*? You-- I mean." he cuts himself off. "It's a marvellous piece of technology. Wonderful work." And you can see your parents relax, somewhat, as he says that. "But we could clear the *whole* galaxy. Leave no rift untouched, all at the same time. And if your intelligent design does what it's supposed to, perhaps there wouldn't be any more rifts. We could prevent their generation entirely." "We appreciate that, sir." says your father, and your mother says "Your excitement means a lot to us," in a tone that you can only describe as "cautiously democratic". "That would be a dream, honestly." says your father. "But the galaxy alone is a thousand times the maximum radius. We honestly don't know what would happen if we built it to that level." "And that wouldn't stop the generation of more rifts, either." says your mother. "There are rifts from every jump we make. We're never going to be able to stop them completely unless we stop travelling -- the intention, really, is just to prevent the same ones from weakening and re-opening. Build them back-- as strong as they were, if that makes sense-- "Oh, it makes sense." says the Chancellor. "But I don't think you're thinking *big* enough. With all of the rifts stabilised at the same time, would it not be easier to maintain any more that form? Shorter days?" and then, "More time with your child?" Your parents look at each other again. The Chancellor stands. "If you widen the radius." he says. "A hundred thousand light years. The length of the galaxy. You *make* it work. And I will make sure you, and your team--" he lowers his voice, "And your *child*. Are more than rewarded, for your dedication and hard work. Can't you see there's such little sense in stopping so soon?" He shakes your father's hand, and turns, as if the conversation is over. "I suppose you should get to work." he says. "Terrific job, the two of you-- but we want to see bigger, *better*." "And if we can't?" says your father, and the Chancellor looks at him, over his shoulder. "You are my best scientists." he says. "You have already achieved what seems impossible." And then, looking back to the door, "And I would hate it if we couldn't agree. Wouldn't that feel like insubordination?" And with a final wave of his hand, a "You're dismissed. Think about it.", [[he leaves.]]

The tape ends, and you are unceremoniously snapped back to reality. The first thing you do is look at Tish. She's still staring at the screen, as if it's displaying anything of use. The display resumes its default, of stars and planets and rift activity, and Tish barely remembers to close her mouth. You don't talk. That's a concrete fact about you. But even if you could, you would be lost for words. You turn to the Chancellor. He's still slumped in his chair, and now he sits up, slightly. "So what is this?" he says. "I gave multiple direct orders. That was classified information, that you have willingly fed to an individual that you yourself have deemed *dangerous*." He gestures to you, almost tiredly. "Your job is to *help* me." he says. "To help me do my job--" And you realise, then, that he's not talking to you. He's talking to the Attendants. The reality of what they've done just hits you, and you stare back at them, incredulously. They're stood, ready, just like they were when you came in, but now their attention is on the Chancellor, instead. "What is all this aggression?" says the Chancellor. "Is this a coup?" He says it snidely, like he's being sarcastic. "If you would like to call it that." says an Attendant, and it suddenly occurs to you that you've never heard them speak. It shocks you, and you sit upright in your chair. Tish has also turned, by now, to see the action. "Whatever shoe fits. Our job is to protect the fabric of time, and it is clear that your intervention has done nothing but worsen its state. With rift activity forming at a higher rate than it can be neutralised, you're setting the galaxy up for a potential temporal incident." "We've already had a bloody temporal incident!" says the Chancellor. "Did you not see the first video? Do you not remember the night that machine was demonstrated? They ripped apart the fabric of time!" "You took away the safety features." says another Attendant. He shakes his head, eyestalks swaying slightly. "It exploded because you pushed it too hard." "They didn't have a choice." says the first Attendant. "They had to follow your orders. It may still be their responsibility, but it's just as much yours." "*You* should be following my orders." gasps the Chancellor. He kicks the forcefield, again, and again his foot bounces back, repelled. "What are you even going to do? You'll have to disable the forcefield at some point, and I'm not adverse to dispersing every last one of you-- there are a *thousand* people in the Protectorate who could be loyal to me--" Tish snaps into action, now. She pulls the tape out of the counter, and holds it up. "You do that," she says, "And I'll beam this to every daft corner of your bloody Protectorate. Everyone will know what you did-- what you *made them* do. They won't be so loyal to you after that." You choke. So does the Chancellor. "That's outrageous." he says. "You can't even *work* a holodeck." "We can." says an Attendant, and you watch, dumbstruck, as the others signal their agreement, clustering around Tish like-- sort of like Keith, you think. And either we will negotiate, or we can broadcast the tape. It is your choice." The Chancellor makes an indescribable noise. He looks at you, and the Attendants, and makes another indescribable noise, and slumps in his chair. The first Attendant turns to you. [["You're free to go," she says.]]

The tape doesn't have much sound to it. You recognise your parents, of course, and you recognise the machine, too. It's the original Quantum Stabiliser, from all those years ago, complete with comfortable arm. You look at your parents. You watch them present, nervous, the walls behind them an ever changing cycle of diagrams, words, and pictures. They lift various parts of the machine, turn it around, as if to show it off. Occasionally, as the camera shakes, you can see the Chancellor come into frame, as if he's fidgeting, slightly in place. And there, huddled up against him-- You don't want to watch any more. You want to look literally anywhere else, so you do, and you stare at the wall instead. Tish squeezes your arm. The wall, though ornate, is not particularly interesting. You study the counter, instead. It's a beautiful piece of engineering. It's gold, with sloped edges, and different levers and buttons that, you assume, control different things. The drawer from the archive is still on the counter. You take a look over at the Chancellor. He's still standing there, hands behind his back, watching your parents on the screen. They've turned the machine on, and there's a little hologram on the hologram, now, potential rift activity on different planets-- Nobody's looking at you, anyway, so you wheel a little closer to the counter and take a look at the box. It has text on it, in some language. When you scan it with your watch, it helpfully informs you that it says Quantum Stabiliser Incident. The box has paper in it, blueprints and charts. You don't dare touch the bigger pieces, but... you move a small scrap of paper, no bigger than A6, with some scribbles on it. Vague ideas, drawings, equations. You don't know which one of your parents wrote it, but one of them did, and your heart hurts just thinking about it. You look back up at the screen. The Chancellor is still watching, but Tish is watching you, now, and you notice the Attendants are, as well. They don't look like they want you to stop, so you take it, stuffing it in your pocket. On the screen, the machine vibrates. You look back at the drawer. There's a smaller black disk, you notice, buried right at the bottom. You take another look at the Attendants, and, as you see a flash of light from the holographic screen, you pick up the other disk. You try not to think about it too much. All at once, the screen stops, a contrast from the chaos of a few seconds ago. Perhaps the tape stops at the explosion. That would make sense. Either way, the Chancellor seems satisfied. His hands behind his back, he turns, and you watch him make his way back to his desk. "I assume this clears up the matter." he says, suspiciously smugly for someone who just made you watch your parents die again. (You assume they're dead, at least.) "I don't blame you, my dear," and you realise he's talking to Tish, now, "For wanting the whole story. I admire it, actually. It's always better to have the bigger picture." Tish is staring at the Chancellor, now. Either way, neither of them are looking at you. You take the first black disk out of the slot, as he continues. "But I've said my piece, and I'll let the evidence speak for itself." [[You put the other tape in the slot.]]

Tish is quiet, as you start drawing, before adjusting her position in her chair, leaning forward. "Okay." she says. "How about this. You just... nod, or whatever, if I get something right. Is that ok?" You nod. That's how you've been doing things for as long as you've been here. They ask you question, and you just... nod. You can't say it's really helped. "Okay." says Tish. "So, earlier. There was a big hole in the sky, you waved your watch at it, and it went away. We all saw that. And i know that-- well, you know that sort of thing doesn't normally happen. And it did look like you knew what to do about it. So, my question is, is that something that happens to you a lot?" You might have known this line of questioning was coming. Still, you nod. You focus on drawing a circle. You're not sure what to make it afterwards. "Okay." says Tish. "And when it touched the chimney, the chimney crumbled. So I guess it's like.... destructive. Is that right?" You nod, again. "And the watch makes it go away?" Another nod. You can see Alan taking a sympathetic look at you from Meredith's table. Presumably, he thinks you're spouting nonsense. You would like to tell him where to put it, but you refrain, for now, and, for the sake of it, you draw another circle. "Cool." says Tish. "World destroying hole in the sky. That's fine. I mean. Is it just-- what, is it just here? You got here, and you've been chasing a world-eating hole in the sky ever since-- She cuts herself off. [["Is that why you came here?"]]

You remember the night you came to Sunhaven. You had been chasing a particularly angry rift in the continuum. You'd actually just left the deserts of Dirge, which was a tough one. The weather in Scotland was almost a nice contrast, or it would have been, if it hadn't been raining quite as hard as it was. (It had been raining in Dirge too, for the record. Which is ecologically disasterous for a desert, but your concern had been less for the wildlife and more for the state of the space-time continuum, so you'd put more of your focus towards that. It was raining considerably more when you arrived on Earth, and you looked to the sky, saw the ripples of distortion, the fog coming down thick. There were people milling around the street, looking at their phones, or the ground, or nothing in particular. They didn't seem to care about the distortion. They just wanted to get on with their days. For a moment, you had wondered what it must be like to have an ordinary life, in that sense. To be a person, who just sort of wandered around and looked at things all day. With no need to consider the state of the wider universe. It sounded relaxing. You immediately decided to stop thinking about it. Eventually, you located the main core of the distortion, which was the middle of a field in a rural area. You climbed over a fence to get there. By then the fog was thick, and you could already see it consuming the tops of some trees. You watch branches glitch in and out of time, and decide this is your time to act. And you neutralised. And the fog receded, though not entirely rescinding its grip on the tree. You watched an apple explode, and you winced. That also happened, sometimes. Nonetheless, you couldn't be deterred, so you aimed your watch again and got to work. Every jab of the Quantum Stabiliser made the fog recede further, cracks forming in the distortion in the sky. There's nobody else around, so you're not feeling particularly fussy about keeping a low profile. Anyone else in the general area might have assumed the light was thunder, anyway. Even if they had seen you up close, people have the tendency to believe what they want. You know that much. But you do notice, every time you attempt Stabilisation, as the fog recedes a little more, that it seems to try and hide itself behind the tree. You get closer, readying your stance, and turn your Quantum Stabiliser up a few notches. You are, again, very careful about the settings, and you only really adjust them when you need to. But object distortion is a very different matter. Anything could happen, you think. Maybe it could distort its way down through the tree, into the ground, and then leech into the very fabric of the planet itself. It's a long shot, of course, and at the end of the day it really is only one planet, but you weren't going to let the distortion ruin any more lives than it already has, so you set your watch to an appropriate level and blasted the tree with it. Light swarms around it, illuminating the crackling of time around the bark. You watched it become old, and new, and dust, and the branches grow and retract, sprouting and resprouting leaves, as the leaves themselves dissolve and glitch back into place all over again. As the light illuminates, you could see a small crack appearing in the bark. It's a common sign of age, you'd thought, in trees. Doubtless an effect of the distortion,a nd as soon as you could fix that, the better. You turned your watch up a bit more, and you blasted it again. Perhaps the decay was a little too much for the tree to take. Perhaps with the roots eternally rotting, they could no longer support the rest of the tree. Perhaps it was a build-up of kinetic energy, or something. Whatever. Either way, the tree explodes. You were unceremoniously [[thrown into a fence.]]

From there, the details get a little hazy. You remember waking up in the half light, which you know now would have been somewhere around sunrise. You weren't wearing your glasses, either, which made it even harder to see. You squinted in the low light, and while you couldn't quite focus, you could, eventually, make out the figure of a person, leaning over, staring at you. "Bloody Nora." they said. "How long have you been here?" You remember trying to move, then, in some attempt to get away from the figure (you've never been very good at dealing with people) and immediately realising that this was a bad idea. Your leg hurt, sharply, immediately, like you'd been electrocuted. You don't talk. That's a concrete, unshakeable fact about you. But you definitely yelled. "Oh, Jesus." said the person. "Hold on. I'll call an ambulance." And you remember that, too, as they loaded you into the back of some massive vehicle, and drove you to what you now know to be a hospital. You didn't have much experience with hospitals, in the Earth sense, and you definitely didn't realise at the time that you were about to be very familiar with them. They did something for your leg. They wrapped it in something, and put a little plastic boot over it, and there were a lot of questions, both to you, and about you, directed at others above your head. You're not sure how conscious you were for most of that. It's blurry, only occasional flashes. You didn't talk. There were no records of you, because of course there weren't. Any attempt to explain in writing were... unsuccessful, you would say. And you suppose their next course of action was to assume some instability on your part. [[Anyway, that's how you ended up in a crisis house.]]

You realise, while you were idly thinking about this, that you had drawn a tree. Very apt. Tish fidgets in her chair. "I mean," she says, and you realise, too late, that you never actually answered her question. "It's done now, right? Because it looked pretty done to me. Like, you definitely did something. So... is that it? Is it done?" Is it ever. You would pull up the display on your watch, to prove a point, but instead you shake your head. Maybe you should colour the tree. In tribute to the one that blew up. "Are there more?" says Tish, and you nod, and she says "Here?" almost incredulously, and you shake your head. It's not quite the right shade of green. It's a little too... neon, and the tree looks somewhat unnatural as you colour it. Maybe you could go back over it with a different colour, later. Underpainting, or something like that. And Tish seems a little relieved, as you indicate that, relaxing in her seat. "Okay." she says. "But in other places?" You nod, again, and she seems to consider this, for a moment. "Okay." she says, again. "But... you are a patient here. Like, I'm not going to say you're not *allowed* to leave, or whatever, but... you're here for a reason, even if it's not the reason we thought it was." Cryptic. You raise an eyebrow. Tish makes a noise, like she's not sure how to elaborate, and tries again. "How long have you been chasing this thing around the universe?" she asks. It's a good question. You shrug, because you don't really know, and start to colour in the bark. Again, the brown is a little off-shade. It's too bright, saturated and slightly orangey. Tish pauses. "You must be exhausted." she says. And you pause, to think about that, because honestly, she's right. You are. You don't spend a lot of time thinking about it. Honestly, you're scared to think about it. You look at Tish, and she looks at you, too. [["So what happens if you just, like. Stop?"]]

However much Tish might understand about your specific situation, you can't say she's wrong about this. You think about it, later, while everyone is having dinner. Everyone else seems content with it, but for obvious reasons, you're not that hungry. You push a salad around the plate and give the television more attention than it deserves. A dishevelled old man is dancing around a bright, colourful studio, pointing excitedly at an older woman and her collection of small metal planes. Occasionally, the camera zooms into the planes, so you can see them better. They are indeed small, metallic, and plane shaped. You can't say you're particularly enthralled by this. "It's raining." says Meredith (or you think they're Meredith. You can never be sure.) and you turn your attention to the small part of the weather you can see from the window. It is raining, and that gives you pause, thinking of the events of earlier. You shove some lettuce into your mouth, more out of necessity than want, and can't help but pull a face. You're indifferent to lettuce. This other lettuce - weird, spiky, bitter - may well have its own place in the ecosystem, but you'd rather it be nothing to do with you, thanks. Nobody's going to stop you from checking out the rain if you don't eat, of course, but there's going to be a lot of tutting about it that you'd rather not be bothered with. Or they might want to keep more of an eye on you, or put you on some sort of monitored feeding program. Or potentially send you to an actual hospital. And you'd really rather not deal with any of that, either. The salad has some sauce, at least, some kind of vinagerette thing, so you use that to mask the taste as much as possible and attempt to eat the rest of it at the same time. It works, to an extent. [[You check out the rain.]]

You hadn't really considered that, before. Maybe because it already seemed obvious. If you stop, then the rift activity continues, and the entirety of the space-time continuum falls apart. Seems pretty logical. You can;t stop the rift activity from generating, because that would require stopping the Protectorate from time travelling, and the concept is so ridiculous that you barely give it thought. Well. Until you do. And until Tish says "Are you the only person, like, fixing this? I mean, if it's the whole galaxy, surely they would have more?" You don't know what they did, before you. You hadn't really thought about that before, because you barely remember a time before you were doing this. You're sure they wouldn't have just let the rifts build up. There must have been some way of maintaining them. And what would they do, you wonder, if you died in action? Surely they'd realised it would be dangerous. You don't think you *age*, but you don't know what would happen if you died of... something else. (Maybe you can't die??? Maybe you can't be killed. You'd rather not test that theory, actually.) You shrug. Tish pauses, to consider this. "I don't know." she says. "Maybe call in... sick, or something. Either way, dude, whatever's going on, you can't keep it up forever." And with that, Tish stands, and stacks the remaining paper. "Think about it." she says, gently, and you watch everyone else stand, and you realise the class is over. [[So you think about it.]]

You drop your arm. You turn away from the rift, and you head around the side of the garden, to the shed. You can't access the shed itself, of course. They keep it locked, and you wouldn't want to teleport in there, in case your force field sent the whole thing flying. Or, at least, caused a sizeable mess. You do, however, find a ladder, shoved around the back. It's unstable, some of the legs bending, and you assume that was why it had been discarded. it takes a while to pull it out from behind the shed, too, but you manage it, and you drag it along the garden, determined. The rift watches, unfazed. You put the latter against the low side of the house, and you begin to climb. You think about what Tish said, earlier. You think about Keith, and Ian. You think about all of the people that you've seen, on your travels, busy, preoccupied, with things so mundane, so... small, in the great scheme of things. And how many people you've seen. You think about how Sunhaven has Tish, and Alan, and Mark (Matt? Mike?), and Hana the chef, and how they have all of those people to run a crisis house in the middle of Scotland. And why is it only you, then, to fix time? The distortion may have ruined your life, and may have ruined countless others. The Time Fog may have felled buildings, killed wildlife, and broken your leg. (It hurts a little, as it happens. Probably not a good idea to climb a ladder like this.) But the Protectorate had ruined your life, too, when they tasked you with this. This was not your mistake, even if you had inherited it. You didn't cause the rifts. And what did they do before you? Did they let the sky rot? [[The fog descends.]]

For a moment, you get the feeling that you're doing something entirely stupid. You get onto the low roof. And then you get onto the higher roof, as well, stepping on a windowsill and pulling yourself up with your hands. Mud soaks into your clothes. You wonder, for a moment, if perhaps they should have taken more precautions against people getting on the roof. This is, for all intents and purposes, a mental health hospital. But they probably didn't anticipate you having a magic teleporting watch, either, and you honestly can't blame them for that. The fog descends further down, threatening to envelope you. If it had any intelligence, you reckon it would probably want to, on a personal level, but you know that's not quite how it works. It's looking for your personal time energy, all the time in the world you have left, to repair itself, to bleed you dry. And you don't know how long you could keep it alive for, considering. You probably have like, infinite time energy. This thing could probably feed itself forever on you. You turn your watch up to maximum. The rift widens, as if to challenge you. You take off your watch. The fog descends. You reckon the right moment is definitely now. [[You throw your watch into the rift.]]

There's a bright explosion of light, then. The entire sky cracks. The noise is deafening, and you find yourself almost knocked over with it. If you didn't know any better, you'd think you could hear howling, but you tell yourself that it's... energy noise, or something. The world shakes, and you curl up on the rooftop, putting your hands over your ears. You feel like you could be blown clean off the roof, if you're not careful. As much as you can, in the light, you open one eye, to see if you can make anything out, but it's too bright, and you hide your face again. And just as quickly as it started, it stops again. You sit up, dazed. For a moment, you think you may have gone blind (and you check that your glasses are still on your face, just to be sure) but then your vision comes back into focus, and you see stars, swirling in the night sky, and when you look down, you can vaguely see your hands. They're shaking. You're not wearing your watch. You actually threw it away. What have you done? But... you don't see the rift, either, and the fog has entirely dissipated, and it's just you, alone, on the roof. You take a few deep breaths, before wriggling your way to the edge of the roof. You definitely need to change your clothes. You're drenched in rainwater, and the mud is making its way through your trousers. Gross. You shimmy down the ladder. The first thing you do when you get down there is pick up the ladder and lean it back against the shed, just to save face, and then you look at the sky. The rain has stopped. The stars are beautiful. The back door opens. Is it Mark? You think it's Mark. Maybe Matt. You're not sure. "Jesus." he says, regardless. "Scared me there, mate. What are you doing outside? It's raining." Enthusiastically, you shake your head. You feel giddy. Mark stares at the sky. "Huh." he says, thoughtfully. [["I suppose it's stopped."]]

[[==>|good ending]]

The weather forecast on the television predicts an unprecedented wave of sunshine, defying all previous expectations for the week ahead. "We certainly predicted thunderstorms." says the lady on the news, "On and off, for the next few weeks, but it looks like we might have got our wires crossed, 'cause we have bright sunny skies all this week, highs of 15 Celcius! With lows of 12 up in the North, from Lerwick to Inverness." She gestures to her screen, to prove a point. "Traffic conditions seem mostly dry, though we'd keep an eye out for any more rain, just in case. That's the forecast, back to the main desk." The Main Desk appears to comprise of a burly man talking about the football scores, and an unfortunate, yet living, victim of a knife incident. You empathise with him. You've been stabbed, before, and you wouldn't say it was pleasant. Tish has leant you her phone, here, for the moment, as you all sit around the television. Some of the other are talking, and you catch glimpses of TikTok and Meme and The Football and something about a Gig in Dundee, and a Luigi. You don't really care about any of these things. You continue stacking the virtual blocks, and every time you make a line, it disappears, and it's wonderful. "You're having fun." says Tish, and you nod. She seems to think, for a moment. "Maybe you'd like your own." she says, and then, "People usually come with their own, I mean, and we don't usually take them off them, but-- if you're going to be here long term, we might see if we have an old one you could put games on." You don't exactly need entertaining, of course, but you appreciate the thought, and you smile at her. She smiles back. It seems genuine - and you know a non-genuine smile when you see one, and, you'd assume, so do most of the people that work here. You'd like to be here long term, you think. You could get used to that. Now that you can't, you've realised you never want to move again. "Good job, buddy." says Tish, and you realise that you *have* done a good job, and that means that your job is done. [["I'm glad you're looking after yourself."]]

There is still rift activity in the area, of course. You're not blind to that, and you do absolutely intend to return here at some point in the future to fix it. But what's left really isn't that urgent, in the great scheme of things. Another check of your watch tells you that there are definitely bigger rifts elsewhere. And - more importantly - staying here would put everyone else here in danger. And while you may be nigh-on indispensible, you couldn't live with yourself if someone else, someone innocent, was hurt. You write them a note, of course. You leave it on your bed. It very neatly states the truth - that you have left to persue further rift activity - and you also thank them for all of their help. Because they have helped you, and you wish you could repay it in a better way. But maybe ensuring that they don't get tangled up in space-time nonsense is good enough. You've packed all of your things. You have the crayon from Fergus', and all of your clothes, and you'd hidden some snacks under your bed, too, that you'd snuck from the shops in the high street (and paid for, obviously) so you shove those in your bag as well. If nothing else, you'll have to come back here for the crisps. But another part of Scotland, maybe. Or another part of the village. Somewhere where they wouldn't recognise you. You've done enough damage as it is. Everyone's asleep, you're sure. Some of the staff choose to live here full time, so they sleep here, too. You almost consider leaving your room, taking a final walk through the house, because you are going to miss it-- but you don't want to risk waking anyone up. It's better if you go quietly. You shouldn't have come here in the first place. You should have just fixed the rift and gone. You look around the room, though, a last time, because you really were comfortable here. You close the blinds. You straighten your pillows. [[And then you warp out, before you can change your mind.]]

You don't particularly *want* to get Keith into trouble. Even in your field of work, you have your own personal morals, and you know that would be a pretty fucked up thing to do. He probably makes, like, minimum wage. And while you do yearn for the simple life he must lead (and the unimaginable freedom that he must have, too) in comparison to other people, perhaps, he probably doesn't have a lot going for him. But you do also want to say something that will get you both home as quickly as possible, so you nod, and take a few steps backwards, as if to prove your point. Hopefully, Tish will take this as a sign that you need to be Taken Home, and whatever drama she has with Keith, she can deal with later. And that will distract her long enough for you to sneak back out and neutralise the rift activity. You do feel bad for using Keith to this end, but it's better for him in the long run, too. Tish looks at you, and then back at Keith, and says "Really?" and Keith looks at you, and then at Tish, like he doesn't know what's going on. (Honestly, he probably doesn't.) "What?" he says, and Ian says "Wait, what?" too. "Seriously?" says Tish. "Do you not have anything better to do? They're--" She cuts herself off, and pauses, for a moment, as Keith protests with an incredulous "I didn't do nothing!" "Okay." she says, to you. "We'll go home. We'll figure out exactly what happened, and then we can deal with it from there, okay? Sound good to you?" And you nod, again, because you would very much like to go home, and Keith looks between you both, wildly, mouth open. "They're lying," he gasps. "They're fucking stitching me up-- Hey!" To you, now. "I made you a bloody good burger earlier." ("I made the burger." mumbles Ian, in the background.) "I haven't done anything to you, right? Fuck you tattling on me for?" "I'll get Trip's side of the story first," says Tish, coolly, "And then we'll see. Alright?" And with that, she turns on her heel, and starts to walk. You follow after her, taking one final look over your shoulder. You can see Keith and Ian still standing there, staring after you both. Tish seems incensed, judging by her face, and the pace that she's walking, and you struggle to keep up with her, somewhat. You take another look at Keith and Ian. By now, they've stopped staring at you, and now appear to be having an equally animated conversation with each other. You watch the fog ripple in the sky, and maybe Ian notices it, too, because he looks up, for a moment, before going back to his argument. At least, it looks like an argument. [[God, you hope you've done the right thing.]]

The circumstances may be pretty dire, but you know that's not Ian or Keith's fault, and you don't really want to get them into trouble, so you shake your head. (You also don't want to start any drama. There is a very likely chance that Tish will extend the conversation, and the longer all of you stay here, the more chance of getting eaten by space-time distortion. So maybe it's not entirely for the sake of honesty, but that's still a pretty large percentage. Keith holds out his hand, wordlessly. Tish looks at you, and then back at him, and takes the crumpled piece of paper. "Thanks?" she says. "I'll, uh. Keep hold of this." She puts it in her bag. Keith gives her a thumbs up in return, silently, now that his hand is free, before standing, leaning back a bit. Ian has caught up, by now, and immediately punches Keith in the shoulder. "Fucking run off like that," he says. "If they look at the CCTV--" "Do they ever?" says Keith, "And it's not like we ever have any sodding customers--" "Aye, so a good time to shoot your shot." And then, to Tish, "Look, I'm sorry about him. He's a special one. But he means well, and he really likes you. He's just being a dick about it." The fog is getting denser. And closer. You watch it swirl. Ian pats Tish's arm, and she stiffens, as if confused by it. "Thanks." she says, and then "Yeah, no, I just-- I am at work, yknow, and--" "You're always at work." says Keith, breathlessly - though a little less breathless than before. "You live there. So like. I dunno, I was thinking of maybe getting the life balance back up, yknow what I mean?" He looks almost smug, as if he's pleased with himself for coming up with it. Tish scrunches her face. Ian makes some sort of noise, and shoves Keith in the shoulder. "Alright." he says. "Point made. You wanna come back inside and actually do your job now?" "It's been like five minutes--" says Keith, and you watch as the fog collects, descending upon a chimney on the roof of the building. The birds seem visibly more distressed, and flutter, slightly, hopping around on the roof like they don't quite know what to do. The chimney doesn't quite crumble, but imperceiptibly, the bricks erode, and glitch, and for a moment it looks like they're gone completely. But they're still there, shimmering, almost new, almost cement, but unspeakably, impossibly, old. [[Oh, you have got to blow your cover.]]

The rush is over. As much as you don't want to involve them, you can't physically get them home and yourself back here, in time to stop any further damage. The chimney is not a particularly tragic sacrifice (or maybe it is, if the chimney is particularly important to the business owners) but in the extra few hours it might take for you to come back, it could absorb the whole building. Or people inside the building. Or potentially the street. You're not really sure how that would work, because usually you get here in time to stop any particularly major destruction. You shuffle closer, and hold your watch to the sky. The distortion flickers. You can hear Tish behind you. "Trip? What are you, um. Doing?" You ignore her, in favour of neutralising the distortion. Because, honestly, what does it look like you're doing? (Though to her, probably just standing in the street and waving your arms around. No matter. She already thought you were crazy.) (She's going to think you're both crazy, now.) You jam the Quantum Stabiliser, and it *cracks*, almost receding into the sky. The fog lifts, for a second, just enough for you to see something, a barely visible mass of... something. Not fog. You peer closer, neutralise it again, and the fog shifts, again, and between the gap, [[you see it too.]]

You don't see a lot of Tish once you both get home. She takes you into the communal lounge pretty much immediately, and then dips into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She's still angry. You feel bad for her, and you definitely feel bad for lying to her. You're not usually comfortable with that. Still, it's probably better than Keith getting simultaneously decomposed and also erased from time. So you reckon you can probably wrangle it with your morals later. Tish comes back with a cup of tea for the both of you, and sits with you on one of the sofas. It's the same air of artificial casualness (ity?) that you're used to, by now. Like you're going to have a Friendly, Completely Normal chat. Everything here is very impersonal, like you're all buddies, except some of the buddies have more final authority than the other buddies, even if they coach it in inoffensive language. And also the right to have you insititutionalised. You sip your tea. It's made the way you like it, but she hasn't put any cold water in, so it's not really drinkable at the moment. Ouch. You put it back down. "So," says Tish. "Earlier, when we were out, you said that Keith had been-- well, I asked if they were bothering you, and you said yes, so I thought we could talk about that, see how you're feeling?" You're not really feeling anything except for guilt, at the moment, but you nod, curling your legs up on the sofa. This is the comfy one. There's another one that's made of some kind of corduroy, and it is not your favourite. Tish gives you a notepad. There's a little pen attached. "So you can write stuff down." she says, "But for now we can just ask questions. Did they say anything? Or were they just-- I mean. Were they harassing you?" The danger is gone, by this point, so not really much sense in making things worse for Keith. You shake your head, and Tish nods, like she understands. "So what," she says, "Just a generally uncomfortable-- vibe?" And you nod again. "Cause like." she says. "I've, uh. Known Keith a while. And if-- if I can be honest with you, he's always been a dickhead. I guess his mum didn't pay him enough attention--" You can't remember the last time your mother paid you any attention, for obvious reasons, but now isn't the time to joke about that. Maybe Tish recognises that it may have been an insensitive thing to say, because she stops. "If he didn't say anything," she says, "I won't report him for it. I can't really get him in trouble for like, being skeevy. But let me know if he does anything, or says anything, and I will personally go up Fergus' and make sure he gets his shit together. Okay?" You nod, and you sip your tea, and Tish pauses. "I still don't know if I'm allowed to say that." You don't really have an objection, one way or the other. She looks over her shoulder, into the kitchen. "I think Hana is making a salad." she says. "So we should have a while yet." She turns on the television. Some bumbling, middle aged men push the show's title screen into view. You look out of the window. [[The storm rages on.]]

It's still storming when you finish dinner that night. You're used to the dinner routine, by now. Everyone makes Friendly, Completely Normal small talk. You eat your salad. You're still full from the burger earlier, honestly. There's some bright flashy thing on the television, where an old man dances around a colourful studio, occasionally pointing out things like tiny aeroplanes or plates with flowers on them. It's not particularly interesting. And the burger is making you think of Keith. You're not sure of the real-world repercussions of, as Tish put it, "being a bit skeevy", but you'd rather not actively impact his livelihood. Would he get fired for that? Maybe he'd spent too much time chasing after people to give them receipts. Eventually, though, your social obligation disbands, and you can return to your room. You often put up the pretense of an early night, just so that people will leave you alone long enough to sort out any distortion. (Some nights you can't find evidence of rift activity, so you just chill out. Watch television. Draw stuff.) Tonight, though, you already know there's been activity, so you wait until you're absolutely sure that everyone is done with you, for the night, and you [[warp to the high street.]]

It's completely pitch black, by the time you get there. It does usually get dark early, this time of year, but it's darker than it should be. You grit your teeth and make your way to Fergus'. You don't want to teleport straight there, because it's a populated area, so you usually choose a little alleyway or something to head to, and then walk the rest of the way. Walking has not been easy, lately, but it's better than blowing everything asunder with a forcefield. The fog has spread, by now, spilling lower. You can faintly see the building from before as you head closer, over the tops of the other buildings. The top seems to be completely obscured by fog, which worries you. You hope the birds are alright. The road seems to be covered with metal signs, pointing to a Diversion, and you step around them, as best you can. The road wasn't closed earlier, you think. You definitely remember seeing some cars come through. (There's a certain amount of the high street that is "pedestrianised", as you recall the term for it, with an alternative route for cars around the back. The cars drive through anyway, of course, without realising they can't cut through to the other side. You have seen some sizeable tantrums from taxis.) As you venture closer, round a corner, you can see a row of vans, decorated with POLICE, and you pause. That seems to indicate that you shouldn't go any closer. You've had enough of the emergency services to deal with already, thank you. But the rift isn't going to neutralise itself. But-- you could find another vantage point. Maybe around the other side. *But*, part of you is curious as to why the police are here, so-- [[Investigate.]] [[Go another way.]]

While you've had enough run-ins with the emergency services, you can't say you have very much experience of the police. You have *some* experience with the police, of course, from when you came here, but you don't remember very much of that. So you're not sure how they're going to feel about you sneaking into this place that you're very clearly not supposed to sneak into. Regardless, you decide not to worry about that, for the moment, and head a little closer, to see what you can figure out. There are police officers stood around, talking into their headsets, and you can see little areas of the pavement with tape put up around them, advertising a POLICE LINE (DO NOT CROSS). You know better than to try and cross them, of course. They can probably charge you with a crime, if they can't already. But it doesn't say "do not approach", so you get as close as you can, ducking behind two of the vans (as best you can, anyway) and peep through the gap in the bonnets. You can see a large white tent put up, outside Fergus'. The shutters are down, but you'd figured as much. They should be closed, by now. (There are less reputable places, for those who may want a 24 hour burger, but for some reason they only attract uncomfortable people, so you avoid them.) As you look at the white tent, slightly transparent from the streetlights, you can see the silhuouettes of people, moving around, pointing what might be a camera at something on the ground. As you step a little closer, and look at the something on the ground, you come to the horrifying realisation that it is a pair of legs. You take another look. You cannot see a shadow for the rest of the body. You feel sick, all of a sudden. You're brought out of this horror by the sudden appearance of a police officer, next to you. You swallow, hard, and turn to look at them. They look... grave. Concerned, almost. "This area's restricted, I'm afraid." she says. It's clipped, and professional. "Move along, please." You smile at her. She smiles back. It looks more like a grimace. You turn, and head [the other way.]<c1| (click: ?c1)[(Not that it matters. A little way down the road, you find the rift. It's visible, which you don't see often. Usually, they're imperceptible, and the only real evidence of them is the Time Fog. But this one is comparitively massive. You end up going around the other way, back through the street and then down, a street away from the usual car route, before coming back in through the other side. It's not perfect, but it's a good enough vantage point for the Quantum Stabiliser to pick it up. It crackles as you shoot it, and explodes, a bright flash of light and a deafening roar. It leaves you paralysed, for a few moments. Eventually, when you can open your eyes again, the fog is gone. The night sky is full of stars. You reckon you should probably leave before the police see you. You [[warp home.|oh no ian is dead]]]

But-- you really don't want to mess with the police investigation. Whatever they're investigating. So, begrudgingly (because you've already walked this far, damn it) you turn and head the other way, instead, back through the street and then down, a street away from the usual car route, before coming back in through the other side. This place really isn't making it easy for you, you think. Between the near-constant supervision of Sunhaven, the rift activity at the most inconvenient times, and now the police, right where you need to be? If you were particularly superstitious, you would wonder if the universe was putting everything it possibly could in your way. But if that was the case, you reckon it probably wouldn't have just started now. You have been doing this for a while, after all. Luckily, after some exploring (and climbing onto a little outbuilding, which is probably also not very legal) you have a good enough vantage point to neutralise the rift activity. You press the button on your watch to activate the Quantum Stabiliser, and the fog fizzles, a little. You've definitely done this enough times by now. You're intimately familiar with it. This time, though, as you press the button, the fog moves just enough for you to see-- Yikes. You can actually see the rift. It's a big one, that's for sure - considering they're not usually supposed to be visible. It does worry you, slightly, that the police might notice it, but you assume if they're hanging around here, they probably have more important things to worry about. This does mean an introduction of the Big Guns, though. You turn the Quantum Stabilisation all the way up, which is usually uncomfortable for you, but needs must. You lock onto the edges of the rift, watch as the fog swirls around you, and neutralise. It crackles as you shoot it, and explodes, a bright flash of light and a deafening roar. It leaves you paralysed, for a few moments. Eventually, when you can open your eyes again, the fog is gone. The night sky is full of stars. Cautiously, you look around. There's no noise. You can't see anyone around, so it's likely you haven't been seen. Good, You breathe a sigh of relief, and make your way back. You could warp home from here, of course, but... it might be better if you moved. You don't want to do too much in one place, in case it arouses any suspicion. As you make your way back to your usual alley, you can see the police are still there. God, you wonder what happened. It gives you a bit of an uneasy feeling in your gut to think about it. Nonetheless, your work is done, and you [[quietly leave.|oh no ian is dead]]

You don't think about it too much until the next day. It's the midmorning, and you've all already had breakfast. The weather is slightly overcast, but not too bad. You keep an eye out outside the window, as you sit. They've given you a worksheet to complete, as they do every week, rating your current anxiety and depression within a series of rateable questions. (How often are you: Feeling down, depressed, or hopeless; feeling tired, or having little energy; feeling like you're a failure? Sometimes? Most of the time? Not at all?) (It sure is a mystery. And by that, you mean you have no idea how to rate it, yourself.) You're sitting at the meal table, filling in this form, along with a good ten others of you. Tish is drinking an unreasonably fancy coffee, and doing something with her phone, and there's another guy-- Mike? Matt? -- here too, also... doing something with his phone. You assume it's something to do with the scale, if they're both doing it. You're about ready to put that out of mind completely, when you hear... Mark. Mike? -- give a short gasp. "Bloody hell." he says. Tish looks up from her phone. "What?" she asks, and you look up, too, because anything is more interesting than this. "Shit." says.... Matt. Mark? "You know Ian Reid from school? The little fella, with the-- oh my god, Tish, he's just *died*." Around you, the world stops. Tish stops, too, midtype. "What?" She says. "From Fergus--" and then, "Let's, uh. Go talk about this somewhere else, shall we?" "Right." says Mike (or something), and he nods, and they leave. You watch, mutely. Your ears are ringing. The rest of the table are watching, too. Again, anything is more interesting than this. "Rip." says an older boy, dully, and takes out his phone. A couple of other people do the same, and some return to their sheets. A few of them sit, looking around, or at each other, visibly uncomfortable. You feel uncomfortable. You have no idea what to do. [[This is your fault, you think.]]

You spend the rest of the day... fairly numb. Dumbfounded, even. You don't finish your scale, which, as Alan tells you, is completely fine. He tries very hard to convince you of this, which at any other time might make you a little suspicious (is it fine, Alan?) but now you're not particularly in the right frame of mind to care. "It's all good, mate." he says, collecting everyone's paper and shuffling it all together. "Maybe just try again tomorrow, yeah? We'll keep an eye on it?" You nod, mutely (as always) and he taps the paper on the table, to align it. "Right," he says. "Anyone want to go to the chippy?" You don't go to the chippy. Alan does, by himself. It was a particularly brave choice, considering that Mark (Mike?) has to help him with it when he gets back. There's enough food for at least twenty people, which is a lot of bags. You did tell them you didn't want anything, yourself, but they get you a portion of chips anyway, and a coconut pineapple fritter. You eat it anyway, even though it makes you feel sick. On your way back to your room, that night, you can see Tish, stood in the hallway. She's calling someone? You can see a slip of paper in her other hand, and you wonder-- Whoever she's calling isn't picking up. A cheery voice Welcomes her To The GiffGaff Voicemail Service, and after a few rounds of this, she hangs up. Sighs, rubs her forehead, like she has a headache. She stares at the piece of paper, for a moment, and puts it in her pocket. And then she sees you, and she visibly startles. "Jesus!" she says, and then "Sorry, sorry. You, uh. I was... thinking. Everything okay, buddy?" Everything is not okay. And neither is Tish. And neither are Keith and Ian, you realise, and as you look at Tish, red eyed, shaking slightly, you realise that there isn't going to be a tomorrow. You pat her on the arm. She pauses, and smiles at you. It's the forced smile of a mental health professional. You're used to it, by now. "Thanks, buddy." she says. "It's all okay, alright? Let me know if you need anything." You smile back, for a moment, and resolve not to burden Tish with anything more than you already have. And then you [[head back to your bedroom.]]

The Petunia is actually multiple Petunias, a cascade of blue and purple and red. The soil looked packed with little green plants. You turn the trowel over in your hands and look at them, and then back to Alan. You're not really sure what he wants to you to here. "Oh," he says, and then, "Those are weeds. Did you-- I know a lot of people who didn't grow up with gardens." It kind of sounds like he's trying to make you feel better about something you're absolutely not insecure about. Alan demonstrates, with his own trowel, carefully picking out the little green stalks and tossing them aside. "We're weeding," he says. "Because these are wild plants, and they sort of just come here on their own. There's a lot of empty space in these pots, so stuff can land in there to fill it, but they also take resources away from the flowers we *do* want, too, so we have to take them all out." That makes sense, you think, though you feel bad for the weeds. You look back at the Petunias. They look like they're doing fine, regardless. "It's like," says Alan, and you look back at him, for a moment. "If you've got a lot of stuff on your mind, yknow, a lot of... let's call them unhelpful thoughts." He gestures to the weeds, with his trowel. "They just build up in there," he says, "And they take up all the resources in your brain. So taking care of these plants is a bit like taking care of ourselves. We have to, uh. Weed..." he pauses. "Our brains." And then, "Not like-- don't *weed* your brain. It just means we need help with the stuff that's stressing us out, so we can live life how we're supposed to. Does that make sense?" It... does. But it's bullshit, and you have no idea what blithe children's television special he pulled that from (and you would know, you've watched a lot of them). But you nod, anyway, and he smiles at you. "Fab." he says, and then, "You need a hand?" even though you're the one who's supposed to be helping him. You shake your head, and you dig, and you hear him laugh through his nose, a short breathe, before he says "Fair enough." You don't know why you would need help. They're just flowers. You dig. You pull the weeds up. You think about how finite this task is, compared to your normal job. You can finish weeding, but you can never finish fixing the rifts. Or... can you finish weeding? Do the weeds not grow back, each year? But Alan doesn't stay in the garden forever. "Aye," says Alan, almost as soon as you think of him. "You look done." He stands up, dusts his trousers off. "You want dinner? Might be ready by now." he says. And maybe that's not such a bad idea. You look at the flowers again, one last time, before you [[follow him inside.]]

The Begonia looks a little droopy. You stare at it, mutely, and wonder if, perhaps, it's a little unwell. The soil looks clean, but you have a trowel, and Alan has been digging for the last five minutes or so, so you get onto the ground, and start to dig in the soul around it. "Oh-" says Alan, and then, "No, uh, not like that." You look up at him, as he takes the trowel out of your hands. "Sorry." he says, despite a clear absence of doing anything wrong. "That one doesn't need weeding, I don't think. It might just be the Petunias." You look at the Begonia again. Alan looks at it too, before standing, suddenly. "But I do know what we can do." You look at him, quizzically, as he goes to the shed, and you stand again, watching as he unlocks it. You vaguely wonder what in there could possibly help the petunia, before you see him come back out, with a long stick. "Here." he says. You look at it. It's a stick. You look back up at Alan. Maybe he thinks this is funny. "Watch this," he says, and you watch as he pushes the stick into the ground, next to the Begonia. You pause, and tilt your head. Alan fiddles with something in his pocket, pulls out what looks like green tape, and-- You watch as he tapes the Begonia to the stick. You're a bit lost. "So this," says Alan, "Is a very special stick." Sure, you think. "It's actually a plant support cane. If the plant needs additional support, you can just... tie it to one of these." He trails off, like he's just realised it's not as impressive as he thinks it is. "Sometimes it's just the angle of the sun, and they need rotating every so often. But sometimes it's because the roots are a little unstable, and they can't hold the head up properly. Especially a big plant like this." He finishes tying the Begonia to the stick. "Maybe sometimes you feel like you're leaning over too, right?" he says. "And you need some support?" Your first instinct is that this was the stupidest thing you've ever heard him say. And then you think about it, some more. Maybe... your health has been a little better, since you got here. You think about it. You haven't felt alone - you've felt annoyingly accompanied, in fact. But you've felt like a person. You've been treated like a person. These people care about you, you think, even if it is on a purely professional level. Maybe you should think about this, some more. Alan stands up, dusts his trousers off. "If that makes sense." he says, and you nod. He grins at you again. He never stops grinning, it seems. "You want dinner? Might be ready by now." he says. And maybe that's not such a bad idea. You look at the flowers again, one last time, before you [[follow him inside.]]

Dinner that night is salad, which you eat, and you spend that time thinking about your surroundings. You've been to a lot of places. You can say that with honesty. You're far more well travelled than anyone else at this table, and, as you munch some lettuce, you consider that you've been to places that nobody else at this table ever will. Probably. Unless they join the Protectorate, you think, but even finding out about the Protectorate is difficult enough, so that's incredibly unlikely. You think about the Protectorate. You wonder what they would think, if they could see you here. Realistically, they would probably say that you were wasting time, that you should go back out there and fix the rifts already. And they might be half right. It's hard enough to warp out with the supervision, but really, once you locate the source of the rift activity, you only really need to fix it, and warp back out. Somewhere else. Somewhere new. Part of you does feel like you're prolonging your stay. You wonder, for a moment, what the Protectorate would do if you stopped. You haven't heard from them since you'd left. Truthfully, you're starting to wonder if there even is a Protectorate any more, but the idea that it would have disbanded seems ridiculous. Would they know? Maybe they're still supervising the rift activity, and they'd work it out eventually. But then-- how would they know where you were? Could they track you through your watch? Send people after you? You look at your watch. It helpfully informs you that the local temperature is eleven celcius. It's raining again, outside (Alan helpfully informing everyone that you were "just in time getting in, eh?") and as you look, you can see the familiar black fog. It's not a thin coat any more, like clouds. This is thick, and heavy. You can neutralise the rift from here. And then... leave, you suppose. The thought almost makes you sad, but you suppose it's part of the cycle. You don't go to bed, of course. Everyone else does. All the lights are out, and yours is out, too, but you're awake, and you pull back your blinds again to look out of the window. The fog, by now, has filled up most of the sky. [[Looks like it's showtime.]]

You're fairly used to this, by now. As you make absolutely certain that nobody can see you, you activate your watch, and you warp outside. The rift is bigger than you thought it was, actually, looking at it from outside the window. It's fairly massive, and the fog swirls around it, as if taunting you. You turn your Quantum Stabiliser up, just a little. It's not something you're usually comfortable with doing, but for a rift this size, you probably need more power than usual. Especially since your watch is fairly small by comparison. You can neutralise from here. You activate the Quantum Stabilisation, and the sky crackles, illuminating the ground for a brief moment, like thunder. You think of the plants. They didn't seem to mind the rain too much. Still, part of you feels almost bad for them. You'll miss them, if you leave. You attempt neutralisation again. The sky lights up, and the edges of the rift glisten. It definitely looks smaller. Why... *if* you leave? It only just occurs to you now that you'd said that. You can't deny that some part of you wants to say, of course, so much that it hurts to think about. You feel at home here. You've never felt like this anywhere else, not even at the Protectorate-- But if you stop, you think, the Protectorate will know, and they'll trace you here, and hurt everyone, but-- You stop. You... pause. You look at your watch. You look at the sky. [[It seems like you have a decision to make.]]

The screen starts again, making an audible whirring noise, as the Chancellor continues, making his way back up the stairs to his desk. "If you still think negotiation is needed--" You're watching the screen, now. You see the Chancellor, then, looking much the same as he does now, and a figure that you know now to be your mother. You can see blueprints on the table, blurry in the low resolution, but you assume they must contain plans for the Quantum Stabiliser. Your mother has her hands on the table, pointing out different aspects of the machine. "How does this work?" says the Chancellor on the screen, and the Chancellor in real life stops, for a moment, rendered completely silent, as if frozen. "It detects rifts in the fabric." says your mother. "And analyses them, before reconstructing the fabric to its best match of what was there before. Call it artificially-intelligent rift regeneration. We've tested the concept with some smaller models, in the field, and it's worked before--" She holds up what looks like a tiny box. It looks like your watch. Your eyes widen. "I see." says the Chancellor on the screen. He turns the machine over in his hands. "This is your RiftPad, is it not? What are you showing me that I haven't seen before?" The Chancellor in real life seems to have seen this before. He turns, suddenly, surprisingly quickly, and starts to make his way back down the stairs of his desk. "I hardly see how this is relevant." he says. "Are we not done with the tape? I thought you had--" One of the Attendants moves their hand, suddenly, serruptitiously, and presses a button on their belt. The Chancellor stops, then-- not of his own volition, but as if he'd hit an invisible wall, and you can see a faint flash in front of the staircase to his desk. The Chancellor stutters, moves again, and you can see his hands almost bounce off the invisible wall. "Who activated the--" and then "Attendants? Discharge the forcefield--" "Apologies, sir." says the Attendant. "Our friend here has been deemed a security risk, and we feel it may be too dangerous to allow them access to you--" "Disable the forcefield!" gasps the Chancellor. "And the bloody tape!" [[You can hardly believe what you're seeing.]]

"Great." says Tish. "That went better than expected." She's oddly calm. Maybe all the stress just... reset itself. Like some kind of... stack overflow. But for the brain. You stare at the Attendant. They smile at you, and you look behind them to see the Chancellor. He's resting his chin on his hand, staring out of the window. He doesn't look despondant. If anything, it looks like he's thinking. What a terrifying thought. It's one that you could definitely devote some attention to, if not for the Attendant putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. "Your duty has been relieved." they say. "We'll handle it from here." You pause. You look at them, and they smile at you, a mouth full of teeth. There's something almost unnerving about it, something a little odd, but you smile back, anyway, as much as you can. You feel dizzy, all of a sudden. If they want you to stop-- and what would you even do? Your stomach heaves. God, you feel heavy. Tish puts her hands on your shoulders, moving you back, and you didn't even realise you'd leant forward. You settle back in the chair. Somehow, your brain has gone numb. "I'll take them from here." she says, and shakes the Attendant's hand. This is perfectly normal for her, apparently. "Thank you for all of your help. I'll take them home." Home, huh. You suppose it is your home now. The Chancellor has stayed silent, through most of this, though as Tish wheels you away, your head spinning, he speaks. "You swore loyalty to me." he says, and Tish stops, for a moment. You crane your head to look at him, before you realise he's speaking to the Attendants. "Remember that." "We swore loyalty to the galaxy." says one of the Attendants. "And to time. If anything, your actions have cheapened our vow. We plan to.. improve things, here." "I--" says the Chancellor, and you cringe - and startle, slightly, as Tish cuts him off. "Please." she says. "Don't say some dumb shit like," deepening her voice, here, "Oh, I am the galaxy! Or anything like that. Because it's been done before. And it's really lame." The Chancellor closes his mouth. He seems less thoughtful, now, and more livid. Despite yourself - the tension of the situation, your exhaustion, all of the anxiety twisting your stomach - [[you snort.]]

[[==>|bad ending]]

[[==>|true]]

You don't hear from the Protectorate again, after that. Or at least, you haven't yet. You suppose, politically, that they have some things to iron out first. Honestly, you're fine with that. You don't really want to go back there for.... a while. For now, you're content here. The best part is that you can be content here for as long as you like. Tish takes you out for another burger, that night. As far as you know, the rest of the house is having fish and chips, so it's not like you're putting the chefs out. (Honestly, you think, Hana needs a break. Cooking for twenty-something people per night can't be easy.) "Alright, Tish." says Keith, standing awkwardly at your table. You can see Ian too, leaning on the counter, propped up on his elbows. He seems to be watching your table fairly intently. You wave at him. He makes some sort of gesture at you, like he's shooting you with his fingers. Completely inexplicable. You get the feeling that Tish has mixed feelings on Keith. Regardless, she seems happy to talk to him. Either it's the feeling of victory, or her brain is still processing everything she's learnt in the last 24 hours, and she's completely forgotten that she's not supposed to get on with him. (You predict that she'll crash, at some point in the next week or so. Once the realisation of everything has caught up with her, she'll probably need some time to recover.) (But that's okay. She has all the time in the world, really. And so do you, now, you realise. You're no different to anyone else.) (Though you *did* get to keep your watch. So maybe you do still have your differences to the general population.) "Alright," says Tish, and it jogs you out of your thoughts. "I'll just have some chips, please. Or if you've got any mozzy sticks--" "Oh, I can sort that." says Keith, immediately, ignoring Ian's shout of "You're bloody making them!" He writes it down, on what looks like the back of a receipt. You get the impression that Fergus' Burgers does not usually offer table service. "Alright." he says. "One portion of chips, and mozzerella sticks--" ("Tosser," says Ian, in the background.) "And for you," Turning to you, now. "What can I get you, my lad? You want your Fergus Burger? Your Big Chicken?" "Your mum's a big chicken!" shouts Ian, from the kitchen. You look at the kitchen door, and then past it, to the bigger menu, set into a screen on the wall. [[You have a very important decision to make.]]

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