Chapter 6: THE RETURNED
The briefing room smelled like recycled air and tension.
Rip Hunter stood at the head of the table, holographic displays floating around him like aggressive fireflies. The rest of the team had arranged themselves in configurations that said more about their relationships than any formal introduction: Sara near the front, positioned to intercept or support; Snart and Mick together at the back, radiating skeptical interest; Ray directly across from Rip, notebook already open like this was a particularly exciting lecture.
I chose a seat near the middle. Close enough to hear everything, far enough to not attract attention.
"1986," Rip began. "Washington D.C. The height of Cold War paranoia." The holographic display resolved into a map of the American capital, red dots marking locations I didn't recognize. "Our intelligence suggests a temporal anomaly forming around a Soviet intelligence operation. Specifically, an attempt to steal nuclear launch codes from a highly classified NSA facility."
"Soviets trying to steal American secrets." Mick's voice dripped with boredom. "Shocking."
"What's shocking, Mr. Rory, is that this operation was never supposed to happen. According to the original timeline, the Soviet agent in question—Alexi Petrov—was supposed to defect to the West three months before this date. Something changed that outcome."
"Vandal Savage?" Sara asked.
"Unlikely. This anomaly has a different signature." Rip's jaw tightened. "Someone else is manipulating the timeline. Someone with access to technology that shouldn't exist in 1986."
The display shifted again. A man's face appeared—harsh features, cold eyes, the kind of photograph taken through a telephoto lens.
"Petrov is the immediate threat. If he succeeds in stealing those launch codes, the resulting geopolitical crisis could destabilize the entire decade. Our mission is to intercept him before the theft occurs and ensure history corrects itself."
"And then what?" Snart's drawl cut through the room. "We kill him? Turn him over to the authorities? Hold his hand and talk about feelings?"
"We ensure he defects as originally intended. The how is flexible."
I stayed quiet during the tactical discussion that followed. Sara took point on infiltration strategy; Ray volunteered for tech support; the Hawks would handle aerial surveillance. Standard stuff, assuming anything about time travel and Cold War espionage could be called standard.
My role was minimal—comms coordination and research support. The team didn't trust me enough for direct action, and honestly, I didn't trust myself. One near-death experience was enough for now.
[MISSION ANALYSIS:]
[TEMPORAL ANOMALY CLASSIFICATION: MODERATE]
[POTENTIAL CHRONO-ESSENCE YIELD: 15-25 ✧ (IF RESOLVED)]
[POTENTIAL XP YIELD: 50-100 (BASED ON CONTRIBUTION)]
[RECOMMENDATION: PARTICIPATE IN RESOLUTION FOR MAXIMUM BENEFIT]
Maximum benefit meant maximum risk. The system wasn't subtle about its priorities.
"Mr. Bennett."
Rip's voice snapped me back to attention. Everyone was looking at me now—some curious, some suspicious, some bored.
"Yes?"
"You were a temporal physicist before recruitment. I trust you can handle monitoring chronal activity during the operation? Alert us if anything unusual manifests?"
He's testing me. Keeping me busy with legitimate work while he watches.
"I can do that."
"Excellent." Rip's smile didn't reach his eyes. "We depart in one hour. Dress appropriately—1986 fashion was unfortunately memorable."
The briefing ended. People scattered. I moved toward the fabrication room to find something that wouldn't make me stand out in Reagan-era Washington.
"Bennett."
Rip's voice again. Quieter this time. Private.
I turned. The briefing room was empty except for the two of us. The holographic displays had faded, leaving only the soft blue glow of standby lights.
"Captain?"
He approached slowly. Not threatening, but deliberate. The walk of someone who expected to be obeyed.
"Gideon has analyzed your biosigns extensively since your... recovery. The results are concerning."
Here it comes.
"Concerning how?"
"Your cellular structure has been fundamentally altered. The changes are consistent with exposure to temporal energy, but at levels that should have killed you. Not healed you." He stopped an arm's length away. "You're hiding something, Mr. Bennett. I don't know what, and I don't know why. But I want you to understand that I will find out."
The threat was casual. Almost friendly. That made it worse.
"I'm not your enemy, Captain."
"Perhaps not. But you're not what you appear to be either." He studied my face like he was memorizing it. "The Time Masters had protocols for dealing with temporal anomalies. People who shouldn't exist. People who had been changed by forces beyond normal understanding."
He's comparing me to the things he was trained to hunt.
"What kind of protocols?"
"Containment. Study. If necessary, elimination." The words landed like stones. "I'm not a Time Master anymore. I don't follow their protocols. But I am responsible for this team, and I will not allow an unknown variable to endanger them."
[THREAT LEVEL: ELEVATED]
[RECOMMENDATION: DE-ESCALATION]
"I understand." I kept my voice level. "I don't have the answers you're looking for. Whatever happened to me in Norway, I don't understand it either. But I'm here to help stop Vandal Savage, same as everyone else. That hasn't changed."
Rip's expression didn't soften. "See that it doesn't."
He walked past me and out of the briefing room. I stayed behind, heart pounding, interface glowing softly in my peripheral vision.
[RECLASSIFICATION: RIP HUNTER — ACTIVE THREAT]
[COUNTERMEASURES: AVOID ISOLATION WITH SUBJECT]
[COUNTERMEASURES: ESTABLISH RAPPORT WITH OTHER TEAM MEMBERS]
[COUNTERMEASURES: DEMONSTRATE VALUE THROUGH MISSION PERFORMANCE]
The system's advice aligned with common sense. Rip was dangerous—not because he was hostile, but because he was competent. He'd been trained to find people like me. The fact that I wasn't actually what he expected didn't matter; his investigation would expose the truth eventually.
I needed allies. People who would vouch for me when Rip's suspicions hardened into accusations.
Sara doesn't trust me, but she's pragmatic. Ray is friendly but naive. Mick doesn't care about anything except fire and food. Snart...
Snart was a wild card. He'd noticed something about me—that much was clear from our brief exchange in the medbay. But he hadn't reported it to Rip. Hadn't pressed the issue.
Why?
The question followed me through fabrication (a gray suit that screamed middle management), through the pre-mission prep (checking comms equipment that Shane Bennett's memories said was twenty years ahead of its time), and into the temporal zone as the Waverider jumped toward 1986.
Washington D.C. appeared through the viewports like a postcard from a less complicated era. The monuments gleamed white against a winter sky. Cars crawled along streets that I recognized from shows and movies but had never actually seen.
"Positions," Sara's voice crackled through comms. "Ray, you're with Kendra on the NSA perimeter. Mick, Snart—backup extraction if things go sideways. Bennett, you're with me on comms."
Close quarters with the assassin. Not suspicious at all.
The Waverider dropped us outside the mission zone—a parking lot near the Potomac that wouldn't attract attention. Sara led me to a surveillance van that Gideon had fabricated with era-appropriate details: rust on the bumper, a faded company logo, the smell of stale coffee baked into the upholstery.
Inside: monitors, radio equipment, a small arsenal hidden under the floorboards. Sara took the driver's seat and adjusted a headset while I settled into the observation position.
"Comms check," she said. "All units, report."
Voices filtered in. Ray, cheerful despite the circumstances. Mick, grunting acknowledgment. Snart, dry as ever: "Still here, blondie."
The Hawks confirmed position. Rip, coordinating from the Waverider, noted all systems nominal.
"Bennett." Sara's voice, directed at me now. "You're monitoring chronal activity. Anything unusual, you speak up immediately. Clear?"
"Clear."
The operation unfolded in real-time. Through the van's windows and the monitors' grainy feeds, I watched pieces move across a board I barely understood. Petrov arrived at the NSA facility in a maintenance van. Ray tracked his heat signature through walls. The Hawks circled overhead, ready to intercept if he bolted.
And beneath it all, the system hummed.
[TEMPORAL STRESS DETECTED]
[LOCATION: NSA FACILITY, BASEMENT LEVEL 3]
[CLASSIFICATION: ANOMALY FORMATION — MODERATE]
[SOURCE: FOREIGN TEMPORAL ENERGY — ORIGIN UNKNOWN]
"Something's wrong."
Sara's head snapped toward me. "What?"
"Chronal readings are spiking. Basement level three—Petrov's position, but there's something else there. Some kind of energy source that doesn't match the mission profile."
Sara relayed the information to Rip. His response was immediate: "All teams, hold positions. I'm scanning from the Waverider."
Seconds passed. The monitors showed Petrov entering a secured corridor. The chronal readings climbed higher.
[WARNING: TEMPORAL ARTIFACT DETECTED]
[CLASSIFICATION: UNKNOWN — TECHNOLOGY BEYOND ERA PARAMETERS]
[RECOMMENDATION: INVESTIGATE AND ABSORB IF POSSIBLE]
Absorb?
"Sara." I kept my voice steady despite the adrenaline. "There's a temporal artifact down there. Something that shouldn't exist in 1986. Petrov might be after that instead of the launch codes."
"Can you identify it?"
Not without getting closer.
"No. But if it's what I think it is, leaving it here could cause bigger problems than Petrov's theft."
Sara's jaw tightened. Decision-making in real time—the weight of command that I recognized from the show but had never appreciated properly.
"Rip, did you copy that?"
"I did." The captain's voice was tight. "Mr. Bennett, how certain are you about this artifact?"
[SYSTEM CONFIDENCE: 87%]
"Very certain."
Another pause. Then: "Sara, adjust the mission. Secure the artifact as secondary objective. If Petrov reaches it first, we lose everything."
The next twenty minutes were controlled chaos. Sara coordinated from the van while I fed her information from the system's scans—information I translated into "temporal physics analysis" for the benefit of anyone listening. Ray miniaturized and slipped through the facility's ventilation. Mick and Snart moved to intercept Petrov's escape route.
And somewhere in the basement, an artifact that shouldn't exist waited to be found.
[TEMPORAL DEBRIS DETECTED]
[PROXIMITY: INCREASING]
[OPPORTUNITY: ABSORPTION POSSIBLE IF HOST REACHES LOCATION]
I stared at the monitors. The facility's interior. The approaching icons that represented my teammates. The pulsing marker where the artifact—and Petrov—converged.
I could stay here. Safe. Let the others handle it.
Or...
"Sara." My voice was calm. Calmer than I felt. "I need to get down there."
"What?"
"The artifact. I can track it precisely, but only if I'm close. If Petrov reaches it first, we lose our chance to secure it."
Sara's expression hardened. "You're comms support. Not field ops."
"I'm also the only person on this team who can identify temporal anomalies in real time." I met her gaze. "You need me down there."
The silence lasted three heartbeats. Then Sara keyed her comm.
"Rip, Bennett is moving to support artifact retrieval. Copy?"
"Acknowledged. Bennett, don't die again. It was inconvenient the first time."
I grabbed a comm unit and stepped out of the van. The winter air bit into my face. The NSA facility loomed ahead—gray concrete and government paranoia made architectural.
[OPPORTUNITY ACCEPTED]
[MISSION PARAMETERS UPDATED]
[PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: ARTIFACT ACQUISITION]
[SECONDARY OBJECTIVE: DEMONSTRATE VALUE TO TEAM]
The facility's service entrance was unguarded—Snart's work, probably. I slipped through and followed the system's directions deeper into the basement, past empty corridors and humming electrical systems.
The artifact's signal grew stronger. Something old. Something that had traveled very far to reach 1986.
[WARNING: TEMPORAL ENERGY CONCENTRATION — ELEVATED]
[WARNING: NON-SANCTIONED TEMPORAL ENTITY DETECTED]
I rounded a corner and found myself facing a storage room. Petrov was inside, hunched over a workbench, hands manipulating something that glowed with pale blue light.
He heard me. Turned. His eyes widened.
And then everything happened at once.
Petrov lunged for the artifact. I shouted a warning into the comm. Something crackled—temporal energy discharging into the confined space.
[CHRONO-SURGE DETECTED]
[INITIATING AUTOMATIC ABSORPTION]
The energy hit me like a wave. Not painful, but overwhelming—too much information flooding through the system's newly opened channels. I staggered. Petrov grabbed the artifact and ran.
Sara's voice in my ear: "Bennett! Status!"
"I'm—" The words came slowly. "I'm okay. Petrov has the artifact. He's heading for the east corridor."
"Snart, intercept."
I leaned against the wall, breathing hard. The system processed what it had absorbed—fragments, mostly. Residual energy from the artifact's activation.
[ABSORPTION COMPLETE]
[+5 ✧ CHRONO-ESSENCE (PARTIAL)]
[+25 XP (TEMPORAL EVENT PROXIMITY)]
[CURRENT XP: 35/500]
[NOTE: ARTIFACT ESCAPED — INVESTIGATION RECOMMENDED]
The mission continued without me. Snart intercepted Petrov in the corridor; a brief scuffle ended with the Soviet agent unconscious and the artifact secured. Ray confirmed the launch codes remained untouched. The original timeline reasserted itself—Petrov would defect, history would proceed, and whatever damage had been done was contained.
I made my way back to the van on unsteady legs. Sara was waiting outside, expression unreadable.
"You got hit by something down there."
"Temporal discharge. The artifact activated when Petrov grabbed it." I managed a weak smile. "I'm fine."
"You keep saying that." She studied my face. "One of these days, I might believe you."
The Waverider retrieved us an hour later. Rip debriefed the team in clipped sentences, noting the successful resolution and the mysterious artifact now secured in the cargo bay. His eyes lingered on me longer than necessary, but he didn't say anything.
I retreated to my quarters as soon as the briefing ended. The door closed. Silence.
[MISSION COMPLETE]
[STATUS UPDATE:]
[LEVEL: 1]
[XP: 35/500]
[CHRONO-ESSENCE: 8 ✧]
[TEMPORAL CREDITS: 0 ⧖]
Progress. Small, but measurable. The mission had cost me nothing permanent and gained me experience, resources, and—maybe—a fraction of trust from the team.
Still a long way to go.
A knock at my door. I dismissed the interface and opened it.
Leonard Snart stood in the corridor, cold gun holstered at his hip, expression as unreadable as Sara's had been.
"We should talk," he said.
"About what?"
His smile was thin. Dangerous. The smile of someone who recognized a fellow player and wanted to understand the game.
"About the fact that you're not what you pretend to be. And about why that might be useful to both of us."
He stepped past me into the quarters. The door closed.
The game had just gotten more complicated.
Author's Note / Support the Story
Your Reviews and Power Stones help the story grow! They are the best way to support the series and help new readers find us.
Want to read ahead? Get instant access to more chapters by supporting me on Patreon. Choose your tier to skip the wait:
Noble ($7): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public.
Royal ($11): Read 17 chapters ahead of the public.
Emperor ($17): Read 24 chapters ahead of the public.
Weekly Updates: New chapters are added every week. See the pinned "Schedule" post on Patreon for the full update calendar.
Join here: patreon.com/Kingdom1Building