IT WAS time.

Lale's hands trembled with a nervousness he hadn't felt since his last mission as he stood before the warehouse that housed the TimePods (a stupid name, really. Weren't there any cool acronyms for time machines?)

Even then, heading out into the heart of the Salt Cartel with nothing more than a rifle, some ammo, and a whole lotta faith, there'd been moments between life and death. Heart-stopping moments. I'm-gonna-die moments. That wasn't one of them, but it may as well have been. Lale's life would never be the same again, and it seemed like that realization had only just slugged him in the gut.

"It's real." For a large man, Ichabod could sneak beside someone with the stealth of a person half his breadth. Lale felt a momentary twinge of annoyance — was his apprehension that obvious? — before he released it with an exhale. Everyone was nervous, he reminded himself, though Ichabod didn't look it.

He hadn't seen the British guy since he'd helped them fight against the attackers, and wondered with a newfound melancholy whether or not his previous judgement had been fair. After all, he did help us, Lale reasoned to his more stubborn side. He had noticed, however, how the other man had grown chummy with some of the marines. Lale was almost certain that it was his turn for the rent-a-friend opportunity, and this made him clamp up again.

"How you feeling?"

"What, you're my therapist now?" Lale scoffed under his breath, loud enough that Ichabod could hear it, though. The other man frowned. He ignored the, small, annoying shadow of guilt.

"I know that I may not be seen as the most trustworthy," Ichabod spoke, his words steady and eyes looking straight ahead. Lale grew less inclined to listen, internally scoffing again. That's an understatement. "But I am not the enemy here, Lale."

"'Course not," he responded, simply in order to escape from Ichabod's strange mood swing. He'd almost liked him better as a cold-hearted gunman, and as soon as the words were out, Lale pointedly starting walking towards the warehouse, hoping that Bradley or someone was there to save him from the British guy.

It almost seems like he's trying too hard, Lale realized as he entered the building. The curtain was gone, and the TimePods gleamed at him, their undersides connected to various metal tubes that hadn't been there previously. The huge tanker ship-like container was open, and he could spy more mechanical gizmos and whatsits inside.

Maybe that was why Lale distrusted him so, and why he was relieved that the other guy seemed to have taken the hint and walked off in the opposite direction of where he was heading — towards Amelia, with her hair as curly as ever, and Bradley standing alongside Tina and trying to flirt with her.

Despite the worry and sudden dryness of his mouth, he found his shoulders relaxing and fists uncurling once he stood alongside his friends. Yes; that word he didn't rest on for very long. Friends. Liabilities, sometimes (especially with someone like Bradley), but overall companions. Comrades. Fellow recruits and men and women who were heading into the unknown.

"Lale!" Bradley turned his attention towards him, as if seeking a reprieve from Tina's disinterest. Lale had to fight from rolling his eyes good-naturedly, though a small smile still teased his mouth. "You took so long, I thought you were backing out, you dagger!"

Lale's smile-but-not-a-smile cracked in half; replaced by a frown. Did they really think he was going to desert the mission in the very last leg? He tried not to feel offended, brushing off his touchiness. The nerves remained as he rubbed his chin, his grey eyes traveling once more across the depot. It was like his eyes couldn't stop focusing on the time machines — TimePods, whatever.

Lale shrugged, flicking his gaze back to his friends. "Ran into a bit of ... trouble." He tilted his head to where Ichabod was standing alongside Xeon. What's his interest in the marines? Lale wondered, as if an answer would suddenly come forth.

"We'll have enough time for bonding once we hit the K-zone," Amelia piped up after a few moments' worth of silence, everyone's eyes following his movement. She didn't look as reproachful as her words had made her seem, but he was relieved that he and Bradley weren't alone in feeling distrustful of the other guy — that they weren't just paranoid war-veterans.

"Yeah, sixty-five million years' worth," Tina rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. There was further silence thereafter, and Lale felt the need to say something, anything, in their last moments of peacefulness. Before there're dinosaurs to contend with.

Before he could speak up, however, there was a sudden hum of electricity, and someone cleared their throat, the sound amplified. On the wall across from the group, a sleek white screen that Lale had passed off as just another contraption lit up with Dr Samson's face, her green eyes sharp and looking down on them even though she wasn't doing that in person.

She's giving us a speech, like we're a bunch of school kids. Something like irritation coiled in his chest, though he wasn't very surprised.

"Hello, voyagers. If you have reached this far into the mission, then I commend you." She paused, as if expecting a smattering of applause that she did not receive. "I understand that you have faced many hardships. You have striven through tests of the body and mind alike, almost met with death," out of the corner of his eye, Lale saw Amelia rub her hands up and down her forearms, "but, finally, you have made it.

"All of you. I cannot say that the hardest is over, but I can say that you have met and and exceeded beyond the mere call of duty — nothing can stop you now."

Lale felt a twinge of electricity as the doctor straightened, visibly shedding her conversational aura and growing more professional. More removed. He wasn't sure whether or not he preferred it.

"I'm not going to lie to you. The future ahead will be grueling. Maybe even deadly. But remember this, ladies and gentlemen — you are not doing this for yourself. You are not doing this for your fellow friends or family, or even for me.

"You are doing this so that humankind may have a future."

Her words hit like a physical blow, but, Lale's heart only hardened with resolve. Too much was at stake to be anxious, and he tightened his hands into fists. He wouldn't fail. He couldn't.

"This will be the last time you will see me," Dr Samson continued, her voice sorrowful, though her eyes still glinted with determination. "I would just like to thank all of you, once again, for doing this. I, and future generations, salute you."

The transmission was cut, and her image was replaced by a white screen once more. Murmurs broke out, before Avery stood in front, looking all business, which was exactly what Lale needed at that moment. Something he had to do instead of stand around and think. Wasn't that why they recruited the marines in the first place? To do while the Learners used their supposed 'big brains'?

"Show's over, ladies and gents." She put her one hand on her hip while holding her PortScreen in the other. "Now, I'm only gonna say this once; when I call your name and TSP-number, you're gonna head over to the machine with the corresponding numbers on it. Mess up and you're lost on our data screens, and we can't help you if something goes wrong."

Not like they'd be able to help us anyway. The tension mounted, and even with the cooling systems in his suit, he felt sweat run down his neck, the motivation seeming to leak out of his body with it.

"Alright. We have ten minutes, people! Make this work!"

She began to dribble out names, seemingly in random order. Lale tried to block out her voice and those surrounding him, trying to center himself like he always did before missions. Life and death, Lale. Life and death. Make the right choices.

Bradley clapped him on the shoulder, and he turned to meet his friend's gaze, realizing with a lurch that this could be the last time he'd ever see them again. Anything could go wrong, even though he tried to not let them bother him. "I'll see you around, Lale," Brad's smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

Lale clasped the other man's forearm, hoping that Bradley could see what he'd never verbally admit in his eyes. "I'll be seeing you, Brad."

The good-byes-that-were-not-good-byes continued around their little circle, before Tina's name was called, shortly followed by Amelia's. Before she left, the curly-haired girl gave him a small smile.

"See you on the other side," was all he could say.

"T-minus three minutes," a voice announced on a loud speaker. Lale fought not to roll his eyes; of course they had to have additional effects.

His heart thumped surprisingly steadily in his chest once his own name was read from Avery's list. "Lale Jacobs, nine-four-three." Without missing a beat, he approached the TimePods before he could falter and hesitate, his mind already on auto-pilot as his eyes traced the numbers of the nearest machines before locating his own.

A technician stood beside it and helped him onto the metal platform hat hadn't been there the first time they'd viewed the machines, which was connected to long tubes and wires that trailed off to the front of the warehouse. Lale sensed he wouldn't have time to look around, and climbed into the open pod, sitting down in the rather cramped space.

Lale had been in worse, however, and that was his only consolation as he pictured what it would be like when the top closed. Dark. Small. Lale hoped that they would rip him into tiny atoms before claustrophobia set in.

The technician gave him a slight nod, carrying her own PortScreen, before helping him get the rubber spider-web like seatbelt on, two straps extending over each of his shoulders, and two underneath his armpits. A straitjacket. He pushed the unwarranted thought away.

"T-minus sixty seconds."

"Good luck, Jacobs," was all the technician said, before the hatch closed with a hiss and a slight pop of metal grinding over plastic, which didn't sound like a good thing to him.

Lale stared ahead into the darkness, his eyes flashing with white dots as his head suddenly throbbed with nausea. His heart pounded along to the unspoken count-down. Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fifty-six, fifty-five ...

I can't do this. Lale squeezed his eyes shut, which wasn't much of an improvement. The walls still closed in on him, and the seatbelt seemed to grow tighter around his torso. I can't do this. I can't —

━━━━

and they're off! what do you think awaits them in the K-zone? don't forget to vote and comment if you're enjoying the story!