No. 498

Thirty seconds had passed, an eternity at the Temporal Department.

“Where’s Johnson?” the Chief demanded. “He went out on a two-second window.”

Technicians in the lab studied their computers, and pored over streams of data from the Chute.  “There’s nothing, Sir. The feed’s gone dark.”

“He should be back already. How long was his assignment?”

Agent Farmer consulted the mission briefing. “A month.”

The Chief shook his head. “Not long enough for the Chute to shift. Start collecting evidence, people. Johnson’s dead, and I want to know why.”