They were standing in a… room? A space of gleaming white, unbroken by the lines of walls or floor or ceiling. The mirror of a void, but still empty.

"Hello?" they said, and then the unvoid became gleaming polymers and softly blinking lights and a few very confused, very worried-looking faces.

A man in a jacket with a strange cut was standing at a panel near the wall, frowning at Ilse with apparent relief. "Are you packing any chronotech?" he asked, and then a woman in a similar jacket with much brighter trim walked in front of Ilse, blocking the man from view and sticking out her hand. She looked like she was on her final nerve. "Welcome to Temporal Site-01."

Ilse took the hand, and shook it. "Thanks?" They looked around the woman's shoulders at the man they assumed was the transport technician. "Was the white room not supposed to happen?"

The tech's brows knotted, and he was about respond when the woman took Ilse's arm and led them off the platform. The space was immaculately clean, unreasonably clean, impossibly clean; their shoes squeaked on the surface as they walked, and Ilse could see everything reflected in it. Everything. Even the stars…

They looked up. A simple, uncluttered ceiling, and a ceiling only.

The other two candidates fell in step beside them as they exited the transport chamber. Stephen looked queasy, and stopped to clutch his stomach. The TAD woman glanced at him sympathetically. "Stopped time sickness," she explained. "Hits everyone on their early transits." She glanced at Ilse and Ana.

Ilse shrugged. "I feel fine."

"Of course you do," Ana smirked. She looked only mildly perturbed.

The anteroom door slid open silently — not even a Star Trek-style whooshing — and they emerged into an endless corridor. That same white-on-white aesthetic persisted far, with a hint of something farther, but there were little black holes and rifts in the ivory here and there. They reminded Ilse of tears in the papers she'd pasted on the incinerator window, through which the outside corridor could be glimpsed, only outside of Temporal Site-01 there was apparently nothing at all.

As they progressed, that sterile aesthetic transitioned into another not-so-refined. There were niches inset on the walls, some containing machinery, some of the machinery visibly broken, some containing people, some of the people visibly exhausted, some of them slumped on the floor. There were softly glowing ceiling lights at regular intervals, but one of them was black, and exuding blackness beneath it. There were people dashing or trudging from end to end, chatting and arguing and reading from tablets or dossiers, wearing half a dozen different uniforms, most unfamiliar. It was certainly a Foundation facility, but there was something eerie about it.

Xyank, they thought. Don't forget.

As if they could.

The woman who led them down the hall had a septagonal nameplate on her uniform:

Telanie Le Mofty

This either explained a great deal, or was a gag on the newbies. Ilse couldn't guess which.

---

Le Mofty ushered the three new hires through a long and winding series of corridors branching off the endless main drag, the hustle and bustle of an agency in crisis pressing in from every direction but up and down. Then the floor and ceiling became transparent, and the chaos went three-dimensional. There were parallel corridors above and below, agents rushing this way and that overhead and underfoot, and Ilse felt so dizzy they thought they might scream.

Just before Ilse's stomach gave out, the little group arrived at a wide set of double doors. They opened into a large conference room dominated by a large round table, around which sat an array of cushioned stools; around those loomed a set of what looked like Scranton Reality Anchors. They were emanating a sort of peppermint buzz.

A sort of what buzz?

Half a dozen other individuals of diverse appearances and attire were already taking their seats. In contrast to the cacophonies going on outside, the inside of the room was near-silent save for whatever the not-quite-SRAs were doing.

The ceiling was held up by long, arched pillars. One of them kept insisting on not actually being there.

Le Mofty led Ilse and their cohort to a separate, smaller table in a parking orbit by the larger. The number of persons and chairs in the room exceeded the available table space, and the arrangement of desks and equipment suggested a hasty preparation — though there did seem some significance to who was seated at the larger table, and who was set aside with Ilse. The former group seemed to be sneaking glances at the latter.

With a few moments of minty calm to spare, Ilse took an opportunity to collect their thoughts. Something big had happened to the TAD, that much was obvious. A restructuring, Forth had called it at the Summit, and clearly one of leadership — how that had come about, Ilse would rather not consider. And while they possessed some experience in leadership, and some knowledge of temporal mechanics in the abstract, it seemed not enough of either to necessitate the upheaval of their life.

As the stragglers settled in, a figure at the head of the dominant table cleared her throat and became suddenly very notable to all and sundry. Alice Forth stood to address the group against the backdrop of a large, digital screen displaying a familiar insignia — but only familiar in part. Unlike her refined appearance at the Summit, she looked disheveled and sleep-deprived.

"Cecil, start the recording." A faint click sounded from somewhere Ilse couldn't see. "Location is Extradimensional Facility Temporal Site Oh-One, Multi-Purpose Conference Room Ash-One-Q-Four-Four, tentatively designated the Primary Executive Conference Room. The relative time is T plus five hours and fifty-three minutes. The members in attendance have already been recorded." Forth spoke with clarity and focus, though the gravity in her tone was unmistakable as she weighed each syllable with import. "The first meeting of the Interim Executive Council of Foundation Temporal Authority Del-Phi is now in session; Interim Director presiding."

"Thank you all for being here. I understand many of you were given no choice in this matter. Trust that I am as regretful of this disruption to your lives as I am of the inciting circumstances. Those circumstances are what we're here to discuss. There is much to explain, and also much we still do not know."

Ilse's brows furrowed. Aren't you supposed to know everything?

"Roughly six relative hours ago, our organization overcame an immense internal conflict. Evidence suggests that we have succeeded, just barely, but our knowledge and our personnel have been severely reduced. As such, we are still in a state of crisis. Before I can explain the nature of this crisis, however, I will have to provide some necessary context."

She took a deep breath.

"I expect you all will have questions; I, myself, have several. Some note-taking equipment should arrive soon so that each of you can record your questions and thoughts; my apologies for our lack of preparedness at this time. I will attempt to address as many of your questions as possible when my presentation is complete. We will also provision some time for each of you to introduce yourselves, and for your roles on this Council to be established. For now, I ask that the presentation remain uninterrupted."

More than a restructuring, then, Ilse mused. Was musing appropriate? Forth seemed so serious, and matters of temporal regulation certainly seemed of utmost importance, in the abstract. Perhaps they were feeling a familiar detachment coming on.

Forth scanned the room, briefly meeting Ilse's gaze before taking another deep breath and resuming her address. With another unseen click, the digital display's contents changed. Ilse kept their eyes on the speaker.

"My name is Alice Forth. I am the former Director of the Department of Temporal Anomalies or D-T-A, a Department of the Research and Containment Branch of the SCP Foundation, and a dominion of Foundation Practician Overseer Oh-Five-Four. The current Director of the DTA is an alternate version of myself brought into existence by a recent chronological shift, hereby designated Extranormal Event E-E-Delta-Prime. The iteration of our timeline, and of the DTA, from which I originate no longer exists. From your perspectives, of course, the timeline remains unchanged, and I am the version of Alice Forth who has newly come into existence."

She passed through these facts so brusquely, it was as though she could conceive of no reason why her audience should require time to absorb them.

"The DTA is responsible for the Research and Containment of intra-temporal anomalies: parachronological phenomena occurring within the 'local timeframe'. This means that the DTA operates within the same linear experience of time as the Foundation itself, and is subject to any reality-restructuring events experienced by the timeline as a whole."

Ilse finally let the first slide come into focus.

They felt the buzz in the room shift from mint to something more like fresh-cut grass, though they still couldn't quite tell through which of their senses. The distraction was unwelcome.

Forth seemed not to notice, or mind. "As such," she barreled on, "the DTA lacks sufficient operational abilities to deal with inter-temporal and extra-temporal anomalies: parachronological phenomena originating from alternate timelines, or from outside of known chronology, respectively. Those phenomena are the purview of this organization, the Foundation's Temporal Authority, more commonly known as the Temporal Anomalies Department or T-A-D, a dominion of Foundation Oracle Overseer Oh-Five-Nine."

Someone coughed. No-one looked.

"Six relative hours ago, at the instant of EE-Delta-Prime, the current iteration of the Temporal Anomalies Department and its headquarters was borne into existence alongside a new iteration of reality. An unknown quantity of resources — human, materiel and otherwise — were lost in the shift. Aside from myself and the Oracle, the only personnel recovered were low-clearance agents, researchers and technicians. All of us have suffered targeted, degenerative memory loss regarding the circumstances which led to the Shift — a typical side effect of large-scale chronological restructuring — though the Oracle seemed less affected."

From their sideways perspective, Ilse noted some shifts in demeanour around the larger table. They tried to read the expression of one balding man in particular, but his scrunched-up features could have conveyed skepticism just as well as intrigue.

"At the aforementioned time, the Oracle proclaimed the creation of a new Temporal Authority — Del-Phi — then appointed me both as its Interim Director and as Lieutenant Oracle of the Overseer Council in their stead. They quickly conveyed some fundamental information to me, then declared they would go into hiding to ensure the safety of this organization. I then watched the Oracle vanish, leaving no indication as to where — or when — they had fled."

As though this narrative were merely academic, the slideshow proceeded onward.

Forth cleared her throat. "The information I am sharing in this presentation is a synthesis of what I have learned from the Oracle, my own fragmented recollections, and the limited observations we have been able to conduct so far." She paused for verbal punctuation. "We, the Temporal Authority, act as a sovereign, self-regulatory detachment of the Foundation whose ultimate goals are, purportedly, to serve the Foundation's core objectives: to Secure, Contain, and Protect. We work for the Foundation, but we are not governed by the Foundation, and necessarily cannot be. This is because the TAD, unlike the DTA, operates 'non-locally'; we operate outside the local timeframe, and are required to possess advanced knowledge of future events, some of which must not be disseminated to the Foundation or its Overseer Council under any circumstances."

Forth outstretched her arms, gesturing to the surrounding space.

"To achieve that non-locality, the TAD is headquartered within this extradimensional facility known as Temporal Site-Oh-One, also called Site-Delta. At this time, we know very little about Site-Delta. We have gathered that the Site experiences a selective, strictly-linear progression of time running orthogonally to the central timeline. That means a few things…"

She raised a finger.

"One: Site-Delta's progression of time is strictly-linear. This means there are no causal loops, no paradoxes, and no showing up earlier than the last time you left. When you leave the Site, your next relative arrival at the Site will occur at the same instant that you left, from our perspective."

A second finger.

"Two: Site-Delta's progression of time runs orthogonally to the central timeline. This means that, when departing from Site-Delta to the central timeline, any point in spacetime can hypothetically be chosen as a destination. This is because the central timeline's progression of time is non-linear, and allows for the various phenomena which we would identify as temporal anomalies. However, when you return from the central timeline to Site-Delta, your return point is fixed to the point from which you departed — again, because Site-Delta's experience of time is strictly-linear."

Rule of three.

"Three: Site-Delta's progression of time is selective. This means that only some physical processes are affected by the progression of time at Site-Delta, and others are suspended completely."

Oh, no. Suddenly, Ilse felt very much attached.

"Most noticeably, many routine biological processes such as hunger, thirst, exhaustion, digestion and senescence do not progress whatsoever within the Site. You remain in whatever physical condition you were in immediately prior to your arrival. If you're wide-awake, you stay wide-awake; if you're tired, you stay tired, and sleeping will have no impact on that state."

They leaned back in their chair, eyes beginning to unfocus.

It's not a Department.

It's not a Site.

It's another incinerator.

"In addition to those discovered properties," Forth marched on, "the Oracle shared two crucial facts regarding Site-Delta."

She didn't bother physically indicating the bullet points this time.

"The first is that Site-Delta is designed to be impervious to chronological shift. After all, if the internal chronology of the TAD could be altered by outside forces, then the TAD would be just as vulnerable to extra-temporal threats as the central timeline itself. This means that the restructuring of Site-Delta that occurred in EE-Delta-Prime should have been impossible. The second is that, in order to maintain control of the timeline, a Temporal Authority must simultaneously possess the support of the Oracle, of the Foundation, and of Site-Delta itself. What it means to possess the support of Site-Delta was not clarified. We also do not understand the separation of powers of the Temporal Authority, the Oracle, and the Foundation, or how we are to implement checks and balances to ensure we operate in each others' mutual interests."

"Currently, we further do not understand how this facility maintains its own existence, or its internal progression of time. We do not even know the full extent of the space. As I speak, several expedition teams are charting the layout of the facility in all directions. We have discovered two terminals for arrivals and departures; we have discovered a variety of control rooms and storage rooms housing technologies of unknown function and origin; we have also discovered Wings of databases and archives, all of which have been emptied, corrupted or otherwise rendered inoperable."

An endless incinerator.

"Through the research and experimentation we have been able to conduct so far, we've established some basic means of transporting personnel between Site-Delta and select points in the central timeline. We are also able to observe some points remotely, though we are presently limited specifically to points of anomalous temporal activity. As such, we have begun to gain some insight as to our TAD's own relative future operations. We can monitor missions which we will conduct that we have not yet conducted, from our perspective. We are also aware of other parties' temporal manipulation of the central timeline, for better or for worse."

"I know that I am subjecting you all to an overwhelming quantity of information, and that you are likely eager to voice your questions and concerns. I have only one more topic to explain, and then we can begin our discussion."

Forth winced, very slightly. Ilse was paying rapt attention, and couldn't miss it.

"Before their disappearance, the Oracle confided to me a final notice, and an instruction. While we have successfully regained control of the Temporal Anomalies Department, the conflict is not over. We made great concessions to win this battle, and one was that we allowed our adversaries to escape. They are formidable, and we must assume they possess all the knowledge and resources which we have lost." She set her jaw, and amplified her voice. "We are at a severe disadvantage. If we are to survive retaliation from the enemy, we will have to take significant and calculated risks to gain information. One of those risks concerns the individuals in this very room."

Now, even from their angle, Ilse saw heads turning.

"Each one of you has been selected for your diverse expertise and your capabilities. But, chiefly, everyone in this room — myself included — has ties with the leader of our opposition…"

No, was the only thought Ilse could muster. They already knew how the sentence would end.

"The former Director of the Temporal Anomalies Department, enemy to the SCP Foundation, Thaddeus Robspierre Xyank."

Forth continued speaking, but Ilse heard her voice muffled. As if through glass.

"We do not yet know to what extent evidence of Xyank's existence may have survived within the central timeline, or within your own memories. We do not know, for certain, whether any of you are secretly aligned with Xyank's faction or his motives. We do not know what his motives are, or how he came into power, or whether he even originates from this continuity. These are crucial items of data that we lack."

Forth met their eyes again. Ilse stared straight through her.

"So, in addition to determining, from base principles, how to manage and execute the duties of the Foundation's Temporal Authority, the mandate of this Council also includes and prioritizes an immediate investigation into all details of Xyank's existence and his involvement in the previous iteration of the TAD." She spread her arms to take in the assembled group. "We must engage with each other authentically and with some trust, but we must also remain wary of the potential that we, already, have been infiltrated or compromised."

Ilse gripped the table, trying to steel themself. Somehow, this was worse, much worse than the idea of having to work for Xyank. Though they'd had to take orders from him before, against their will, that at least that would have been a familiar experience. But a war against Xyank… Was this real? In six hours of chaos, had Forth really had time to put together a scripted speech, and a digital presentation? And that story about the Oracle vanishing? It all seemed too convenient.

What if she's working for him?

Forth must have noticed one or more questioning gazes. "I anticipate at this point that some of you may find my testimony, and perhaps even my authority, suspect. I admit that I find much of what I have learned suspicious as well. Let us be reassured…"

Her eyes glazed over, turned a cloudy grey hue. She stared through them, past them into someplace beyond, and began to recite something palpably both ancient and powerful.

"As Lieutenant Oracle, I act in place, and on behalf, of the True Oracle of the Foundation, descendant of the lineage of the ancient Oracles of Delphi, daughter to the Serpent of the Wanderers' Library and Conduit of the True Knowledge of the World. I make no claim to the hidden powers, augmentations or knowledge of the Oracle, but forsoever as long as I shall hold this title, I am beholden to the Eternal Curse of the Seer: that when I Speak, I must only speak The Truth."

Ilse felt a slight wind emerge from nowhere at all, rustling papers. Forth's silhouette darkened against the backdrop of the digital screen, blurred eerily as she continued:

"I may Deceive, I may Omit, but the Content of my Word as does convey my True Intent shall always reflect what Is, and what must Be. Thus is the Covenant of the Forebears of all Humanity with the Power of Knowledge; and all those who would hear my Word would know it to be True, or so it shall be Proven unto them that I should Speak the Sacred Name of █████████."

Something happened within Ilse, and clearly within everyone else in the room. The Name Forth had named had not been conveyed of sound, but something deeper, stronger. Suddenly Ilse was overcome with with a certain certainty. They still didn't quite feel that Forth was entirely trustworthy, or that they ought to cooperate with her, but they knew, undeniably, that Forth's Word was Truth.

Then, it seemed, the power abdicated the room. Forth slumped into her chair, her appearance demystified to what it had been before, and sighed. I guess some things can make you more tired, even here, Ilse thought. They were musing again.

Forth sat up, leaned forward. "Sorry for the drama, everyone. I don't really know where that came from. And, as sure as we might all feel, we don't have any guarantee that it's not a viral memetic agent of some sort. But it's the best I can do, right now."

A hushed, murmuring chorus arose in the room.

"That concludes the presentation. We're going to take a five minute recess, then we'll move on to introductions and role assignments. As you each are called on, you're welcome to raise any questions or concerns you might have. I'll do my best to answer." She clapped her hands together. "The Interim Director presiding; the Council takes a recess."

With the recess so short, and so much to consider, most everyone in the room remained in their seats. Ilse, of course, was not most everyone.

Before they'd even registered having gotten up, they fled the room. They nearly crashed into the hallway traffic as they attempted to, well… they didn't even really know what they were attempting to do. Get away, they supposed, as if there was anywhere to run.

Thaddeus Robspierre Xyank. Forth's words echoed endlessly in Ilse's skull; the reverberations suggested an empty volume of mental space. To hear that Xyank had been a nefarious actor was no surprise, given their history. But that he had gone so far as to warrant a chronology-destroying conflict? And that he might still be somewhere, somewhen, plotting a counterattack?

Ilse nearly tripped over a chair as they moved through the dwindling crowd.

Why me? Ilse cried to no one but their selves. So what if I've got a history with him? They hadn't learned much of anything from their run-ins with Xyank, excepting a new vector of existential terror. And, they argued with themself and what they'd learned, if the timeline's shifted, and the Forth I know isn't the TAD's Forth, then…

Ilse ducked around a corner, gained more and more distance from their fated sentence.

…who's to say the Xyank they're looking for is the one I know, at all?

"Doctor Reynders."

Ilse was a stopped clock, frozen in motion. She recognized this lab. She recognized that voice. She recognized the mustard-gold vapor that hung in the air.

She turned around.

"My, you look well," spoke the spectre of Wynn Rydderech, "for how long you've been running."

Ilse did not retort, because time did not move.

"I always knew you'd be great. Much greater than I ever was."

Wynn's expression grew pained, and he let out a dry cough. The gas heaved with him, a contracting thickness obscuring his face.

"Why?" he rasped. "Why try to outrun it?"

Tears rolled down Ilse's face long before her eyes started to sting. She choked out a single, "What?"

His voice rang out, deeper than before, as his silhouette drew near in the fog. "Your fate, my dear. Your promise."

A wizened hand reached out to Ilse.

"To do your Good Work."

Her arm moved without her conscious doing. As Ilse took his hand, a bright orange appendage slithered into view, coiled itself around her forearm, burned her skin with an electric pressure. She exclaimed into nothing.

The silhouette stepped forward, and gripped her hand tighter. Its eyes pierced her soul with an unyielding terror. It grinned beneath its face.

"I knew you could do it," said Thaddeus Xyank.

"Doctor Reynders."

A deep gasp awakened Ilse, head jerking up to reveal a stylus, tablet, and the piercing gaze of their captor backlit by harsh light of the conference room.

"What — where, where is he—"

"Doctor Reynders," Forth repeated, calm but firm. She leaned over the desk, placed a hand on their shoulder. Beyond her frame, the other Councilmembers exchanged concerned glances. "You're safe. Take a deep breath."

"I'm already doing that," Ilse wheezed.

Forth's eyes narrowed. "You're with me, then? You're present?"

Ilse glared back at her. "Stop looking at me like that."

"You've just had a panic attack. I'm only—"

"I know," they snapped. "I'm fine. I'm fine."

Forth stepped back. "Okay, Doctor Reynders. I want you to know that I consider this a completely natural response under these circumstances. Nobody thinks you're—"

"Don't."

The Director's jaw hung, then shut. "Fair enough. You're ready to proceed?"

Ilse gave a guarded nod. They bit down hard on the inside of their cheek.

"Then I shall carry on." Forth locked eyes with Cecil, whoever that was, issuing some unspoken command before she turned and strutted back to the front of the room.

Wearily, Ilse reached for the stylus.

Demonstrating their presence did not require much thought. Ilse reckoned they had spent more hours note-taking than most in that room had spent breathing. A logistics expert, an alternate-timeline liaison, a boastful explorer with a penchant for maps… Not a single detail of the introductions, role assignments or questions was missed, though they weren't the subjects of Ilse's focus. Not now.

Ilse had lied, only present in part, the rest of them spectating a precarious internal kaleidoscope. The familiarity of that feeling brought no comfort. Ilse had known derealization and hallucination before, and had known them as separate from her time-split focii. They'd editorialized most of it out of their own memory, repressed the panic-driven flashes of other worlds beyond the seven eight seven they had come to accept. Now, those deleted scenes threatened to return in force.

Ilse had never been so naive as to think their mind a steel trap. They were human, and what they'd gone through in that static nightmare would drive anyone to lunacy. They never could have risked admitting it, for fear of incinerating what little embers remained of their confidence. Even now, Ilse could not quell that impulse to lash out and defend, to insist that they were the master of their own mind. In truth, they knew their mind to be a dusty prison, and themself but a time-worn warden.

And what, now? some part of them pitilessly insisted. Am I trapped, again? Remanded to a pocket of stopped time, besieged by Xyank's threats, forced to prove him wrong again and again ad nauseam?

Then came Forth, tapping on the glass.

"That concludes our discussion, for now. Even if mental fatigue doesn't progress here, it will still take you some time to process everything we've learned. Cecil's people will show you to your temporary offices and quarters while we search for more appropriate facilities." She forced a half-smirk. "No accommodations in the way of beds or bathrooms, of course."

The newly-appointed Councillors began to rise from their seats. Ilse had expected to give their own introduction, and to be assigned their own duties at this meeting. Am I not a member of the Council? They almost asked why the meeting was ending prematurely, but felt far too overwhelmed to protest. To have some time to themself would be a relief.

Forth got up, rounded the large table, and spoke in a quieter, less commanding tone. "Doctor Reynders."

Ilse was getting tired of those words in that order. "'Ilse' is fine. And I'm fine, thanks."

Forth took another step as Ilse began to get up. "I had no doubt, Ilse. I'd like to personally show you to your office."

"That won't be necessary, Director. I'm fine."

"Again," she said, steeling her tone. "I believe you. I'd like to assign you your duties. In private."

They avoided eye contact, attaching their stylus to their tablet. "Why?"

"Don't you want to know why you're here?"

Ilse paused to meet her stormy gaze. It carried no hint of deceit, though Forth herself had already imparted that feeling. "Not as much as I'd like to leave."

A complex expression crossed Forth's face: a half-pursing of the lips and a widening of the eyes. It was an expression Ilse hadn't seen before; that was rare.

Then, in a flash, it faded, replaced with that sternness she'd commanded before, though the bags beneath her eyes weighed heavier. "My feelings are not so different, though the home I'd like to return to no longer exists."

The words rang out in Ilse's head. They recalled their old thuis — not Jay, not Site-43 or even the Incinerator, but the home they'd had before. A family, a culture, a nationality, a people: all changed; faded; unrecognizable. Gone. They'd been looking at Forth through a window, but now only saw their own reflection.

The Director gestured to the exit, even that simple action now seeming laborious. "Shall we?"

Ilse suppressed their combative impulses, if only for a moment, and surrendered to an empathetic curiosity. "Okay."

Forth smiled, and sighed in subtle relief. That much, Ilse recognized.

The new cage differed from the old in at least one respect.

"Site-43 is impossible," Ilse had once read. (Proofread, to be precise.) They had confronted the scale of that facility in the abstract long before doing so in the concrete, and neither confrontation had been fruitful. No number of round-trips on the ISSS could adequately solve the human problem of comprehending its scale; like riding an elevator, it simply felt that space changed around the observer.

Temporal Site-01 desperately needed an ISSS, and elevators.

An odd-tempered man named Blackwood — the map-fanatic Ilse had duly commited to memory, not the namesaken slug with which they were familiar — seemed already immersed in the task of charting the facility. He had immediately taken over exploratory efforts, organizing fresh underlings into squads and teaching them an intricate navigation process which would prevent their getting lost. Ilse overheard his account of escaping a structure which he swore to be the Labyrinth of Greek myth, and doing so "without the despicable cheat of Ariadne's thread."

Forth had expressed several goals to Blackwood, foremost among them to secure expansion space for personal offices and quarters — wishing to avoid the need for later relocation. A messenger from some far-away scouting party had just arrived to report findings, which the silver-tongued cartographer was all too eager to review. After some consult with the Director, Blackwood sent that messenger — June was her name — back out to lead Ilse and Forth to their destination.

"We've chosen someplace for you to operate from," Forth said calmly. "It's a bit of a hike."

"Why?" Ilse asked as they left the chaos of Blackwood's ad hoc department. "What's out there?"

Forth opened her mouth to respond, but June beat her to it. "Seems like a complete satellite sub-facility, all offline. We found research and testing labs, a communications center, and some heavily secured areas that we avoided entering."

Ilse's brows scrunched. "Avoided?"

"Yeah." June marched past, gesturing to follow. "The security's down, so we could have gone in. But there were a bunch of warnings posted on the walls about 'oblique possibilities' and 'chronological variance'. We stuck to major hallways."

Before they could question further, the Director stepped forward; Ilse followed suit. June led them down a wide corridor, walls blue-gray with some speckled synthetic material, then through a curious circular doorway. That led further into a tall, open space featuring a hexagonal hole in the floor, about three meters across. Ilse placed their hand on the railing that lined the gap, looked down, and saw another floor, another hole, another floor, another hole, and was suddenly reminded that they didn't fare well with heights.

June tapped them on the shoulder. "Keep moving. We're still a couple hours out."

Ilse's mouth felt dry, though they knew it had to have been psychosomatic. "A couple hours?"

Forth saw fit to interject. "Chief Blackwood will establish a proper transport line soon. He'll work with Bailey to send us appropriate personnel." She turned to Ilse. "You won't be isolated."

Ilse didn't quite know how to feel about that. They backed off the railing and followed June's lead.

The rest of the journey was relatively quiet. Ilse could in no wise keep track of the countless twists and turns, and eventually gave up trying, choosing instead to play a game: look at something, and try to guess its purpose. Doors, floors and walls were among the easiest, and ceilings made sense given the facility's verticality. The occasional detours through what seemed to be technical and maintenance facilities proved more entertaining; getting only a glimpse of a dial or knob or valve or switch and wondering how it fit into the bigger picture.

This sanity-keeping activity was only interrupted once, when June rounded a corner and yelped. She'd been startled by the appearance of another living being, whom she soon recognized as a member of her squad, returning to convey more of their findings. The two exchanged some notes, then exchanged what seemed to be batteries for the high-tech flashlights strapped to their belts. Forth informed the other scout of their new commander and wished them a safe return. Ilse offered a smile, but wasn't much for conversation.

Without physical exhaustion or a clock to mark time's passage, the trek could have as easily been minutes as hours. Ilse could hardly recall what it was like to have a circadian rhythm, much less an accurate sense of time. After ascending a series of wide stairs and brightly-lit platforms, they arrived at an octagonal aperture lined in gold trim. "In here," June unceremoniously announced, swinging her belt-light to illuminate the interior space.

"What," Ilse uttered, not as a question, nor even intentionally.

Ilse had never seen a hangar in-person, but they imagined that an apt descriptor for the enormous facility before them. The room stretched further than June's light could reach, but was buttressed on both sides by other rooms whose dim lighting fell in through windows, suggesting the barest outline of the space. The ceilings reached several stories high, higher than any individual room they'd crossed on the way here. Catwalks and lifts repeated at regular intervals; colored lines on the floor indicated an organized transit system. Glimpses and glares of metal and machinery shone back from across the floor of the place. It was staggering.

Forth seemed unfazed, strutting into the room, kneeling down to touch the floor. "This is good."

"What?" The question was now rather intentional.

Forth turned to Ilse. "My hunch was right, I think. I don't remember it, but I've been here."

June gestured aside to a nearby door, the frame grey-on-grey in the relative darkness. "This here's the office. Backup lighting's good enough to get set up, if you like."

"Thank you, June." The Director stood up. "I'll be a while getting Dr. Reynders oriented, here. I trust our personnel aren't far behind?"

June beamed brightly enough for her smile to be discernible against her silhouette. "The Chief sounded quite eager to wrangle Dr. Bailey and send us reinforcements."

"Fantastic." Forth sailed across to the door and opened it, letting some more light stream in. "Head back to meet them. Keep track of anything that looks like a power line, and try to help them get this Wing back online. Anyone who can't help with that, bring them here."

The scout tilted her head. "You're sure I shouldn't stay, ma'am? What if you're stranded?"

"Don't worry. I know the way back."

June hesitated, then planted her feet. "Understood." She turned, nodded to Ilse, and marched back out.

Forth pulled the door open wider, eliciting a creak. Ilse's right half was caught in the light.

"Your office, Ilse."

They approached with caution, stepping fully into the light, face to face with Forth, each on one side of the doorway. "We're alone, now."

"Yes."

"I've extended you some latitude."

"I'd say so."

"So, before I take office…" Ilse leaned forward. "I'd like to know what it is I'm taking on. Now."

Forth took in a deep breath. "I respect the symbolism, and I don't fault you for being confrontational. But, if it's all the same to you, I'd prefer we sat down first." She did not mask her exasperation.

"Fine." Ilse gestured inside, where a chair sat in view. "Sit."

The Director seemed unbothered by being ordered. She stepped in, turned the chair to face Ilse, and sat with a huff.

Ilse leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, and waited.

Forth clasped her hands, looked up, and told Ilse the truth.

"You're here, because Xyank didn't want you to be."