Abandoned Abbey near Coutances – June 10, 1944
Hank's blood seeped through Doc Henderson's makeshift bandage—a shredded Nazi flag.
"A poetic irony, M'lady," Hank gasped, leaning heavily on Juni. "My lifeblood nourishing the symbol of tyranny! Keats would weep."
Juni's Chronitron flickered erratically, mirroring her panic. The hologram of future Hank—strapped, terrified, mouthing "FIND ME"—haunted her. Was it a warning? A plea? Or a cruel glitch?
ANALYSIS: PROJECTILE TRAUMA. DELTOID MUSCLE. BLOOD LOSS: 12%. PAIN TOLERANCE: ABNORMALLY HIGH.
"Quit yammering, Rigby!" Sarge growled, barricading the abbey's rotten doors. "Save your breath for not dying! Flux—can that gizmo of yours do anything useful? Like stitch him up? Or make him shut up?"
Juni poked the Chronitron.
FUNCTION: MEDICAL SCAN UNAVAILABLE. TEMPORAL INSTABILITY: 78%.
"It thinks sutures are 'quaint brutality,'" she muttered.
Doc Henderson squinted blindly. "I need light! And my spectacles! Yoggy, you creamy Judas—"
THUD! THUD! Axes hammered the doors. German shouts echoed.
Hank winced, pulling a flask from his hip. "Medicinal brandy! For the patient and the practitioner." He offered it to Juni.
PURGE MODE THREAT: 40%. She took a swig. Fire burned her throat.
"Now, M'lady," Hank whispered, pulling her close. His breath smelled of copper and courage. "Tell me about the ghost."
Confessions in the Crypt
They retreated to the abbey crypt—a vault of crumbling saints and stale air. Sarge covered the stairs. Doc fumbled with bandages. Jenkins prayed to a headless statue.
Juni showed Hank the Chronitron's last glitch: the frozen image of his future self, eyes wide with silent terror.
"It's you," she said, voice raw. "Older. Trapped. And... it's not a glitch. My presence here is breaking time. That thing screaming 'Find Me'? It's a ripple. A you from a future I might've broken."
Hank stared at the hologram. For once, silence. Rain dripped through the cracked ceiling onto his bowed head.
"How long?" he finally asked.
"You die in two days," Juni choked. "Historically. St. Mere Eglise. Saving your men during a counterattack."
Hank traced the hologram's gaunt face. "Looks like death was the kinder option." He met Juni's eyes. "You can't save me, can you? Not without dooming... that."
Above them, wood splintered. Germans breached the doors!
"Sitrep, Rigby!" Sarge bellowed down the stairs, firing his Thompson. BRRAP BRRAP!
Hank stood, swaying. He downed the rest of the brandy. "M'lady Flux has diagnosed me, Sarge! Prognosis: Terminal Heroism! Treatment Plan: One last grand gesture!"
PURGE MODE: OVERRIDDEN BY GRIEF.
Juni grabbed his arm. "No! There has to be another way! Maybe if I—"
KABOOM!
Dust rained as grenades shook the abbey. A stained glass saint shattered.
"No time!" Hank pressed his dog tags into her palm—warm, blood smeared. "If that future ghost is me... tell him Rigby went out like a sonnet: Loud, ridiculous, and rhyming!" He winked, but his eyes were graves. "And tell him... he was worth saving."
He turned, rifle raised. "Marauders! Time for our final stanza! Jenkins—cue the crescendo!"
The Ballad of Broken Time
Chaos erupted:
Sarge became a human bulldozer, clearing stairs with bullets and curses.
Blind Doc tripped into two Germans, accidentally injecting them with sedatives meant for trench foot.
Jenkins cranked his radio to full volume, blasting Glenn Miller's "In the Mood"—a surreal soundtrack to slaughter.
Hank fought like a wounded lion:
Shot 1: "For Juniper—" CRACK! (A German fell)
Shot 2: "—and futures lost!" CRACK!
Bio Acoustic Finale: BBBRRRAAAAAP KABOOM! (The "Whiskey Requiem"—a blast so profound, it rattled stained glass and ignited a small fire in a confessional)
Germans fled, choking.
"Encore!" Hank laughed, reloading—then stumbled. Blood soaked his entire sleeve.
PURGE MODE: EMERGENCY OVERRIDE.
Juni didn't fling objects. She flung herself. Tackling Hank behind a marble tomb as a sniper's bullet cracked the stone where he'd stood.
"Not... today... M'lady," he gasped, face pale.
"Shut up," Juni snarled, ripping her Chronitron off. "I'm not losing you twice!"
The Sacrifice Play & The Echo
The sniper had them pinned. Hank was fading. Sarge and Doc fought reeling Germans in the nave. Jenkins cowered behind his radio, still blaring swing music.
Juni's Chronitron glowed dangerously blue.
WARNING: CHRONITON CRITICAL. DETONATION IMMINENT.
"It's going to blow," she whispered. Like my pod. Like everything.
Future Hank's face flashed in her mind—strapped, terrified. "FIND ME."
"Juni...?" Hank murmured, eyes fluttering. "Sing... me something? From your time?"
Inspiration struck. Brutal. Perfect.
"Jenkins!" Juni yelled. "Give me the radio! NOW!"
She snatched the heavy set.
PURGE MODE: FINAL PROTOCOL.
With a guttural scream, Juni hurled the radio—not at the sniper—but high into the abbey's bell tower!
CLANG!
It smashed into the great bell, "Gabriel."
FWOOOMPH!
The Chronitron detonated in her hand!
Not fire. Not shrapnel. A SHOCKWAVE OF BLUE LIGHT erupted, silent and cold. It washed over the abbey—freezing Germans mid lunge, silencing bullets in mid air, turning rain into glittering static.
For three seconds, time stopped.
In the impossible silence, Juni saw:
Sarge's cigar smoke frozen like twisted glass.
Doc's misplaced syringe hovering.
A Nazi's look of comic surprise.
Hank, staring at her with awe and sorrow.
Then—the bell tolled.
BOOOOOOM!
The wave collapsed. Time lurched forward. Germans crumpled, unconscious. Bullets fell harmlessly. Rain resumed.
Hank touched her burned hand.
"M'lady... you stopped time with a radio and rage."
"Temporal stasis pulse," Juni panted, collapsing beside him. "Unstable. Short range. Won't work again."
Jenkins scrambled over, eyes starry. "You froze time! Like in my story! Does this mean we win? Is Hitler in next Tuesday yet?"
Before Juni could answer, her burned Chronitron flickered. Not with holograms. A string of coordinates pulsed on its cracked screen:
49°04'50"N 1°05'60"W
St. Mere Eglise.
Hank's death place.
Tomorrow.
And beneath it, three words glitched in and out:
THE WHITE ROOM AWAITS
Final Lines
Sarge hauled Hank up.
"Save the cuddles for later, lovebirds! We gotta move before Fritz wakes up!"
As they staggered into the rain lashed night, Juni clutched Hank's dog tags. The coordinates burned in her mind.
Tomorrow, St. Mere Eglise.
Tomorrow, the White Room's shadow would claim its prince—or she'd tear time apart to save him