"Well, there goes that plan," Marcus muttered upon hitting the ground harder than usual, even before opening his eyes.

"It was worth a try," Sybil said, getting up and dusting herself off.

"Where are we?" Tyson asked, already on his feet, trying to get his bearings.

"It seems we might be in a more recent year," Sybil said confidently.

"How can you tell?" Tyson asked.

"Well, I can see cars and buildings that don't match the ones made in the distant past. Besides, those cars look like they are not the most modern ones. Yet, they aren't old either," Sybil said, carefully scanning the street from the alleyway the timenado had dumped them in. "If I had to guess, I would say we are somewhere from the 60s to early 70s."

"Oh, come on! There is no way you can know that!" Tyson exclaimed frustratedly.

He was annoyed that he couldn't really tell where they were, and her statement only added another layer to his annoyance. It was like he failed at the one job he had, and that was to know where and when exactly they were.

"November 22, 1963," Marcus said from behind them, adding to Tyson's misery.

"How can you know that?" Tyson said, whirling around to face his friend.

"It says so in the newspaper," Marcus said, pointing at the newspaper he had found on the ground.

Tyson felt a sense of relief that he was not obsolete, that it was just a fluke that everyone seemed better informed than him. Still, the fact that Sybil could tell without cheating made him curious.

"Sybil, how did you know?" Tyson asked more calmly.

"I've learned to distinguish between different years, even places based on architecture, what people wear, and even how polluted the air is," Sybil said absentmindedly.

"But how is that possible?" Tyson said, unable to imagine being able to do something like that no matter how hard he tried.

"Tyson, I've spent years in the Maze, spending time with people who have been here even longer than me. I was bound to pick up a few tricks," Sybil said, looking around, paying attention to every small detail. "Now, I know that your male egos are very sensitive, but I need you to focus on the issue at hand."

"My ego doesn't have anything to do..." Tyson started to say.

"Tyson! It's November 22, 1963," Sybil said pointedly.

"So?" Tyson said, still annoyed that she would talk to him like he was a small child. Then it dawned on him. "Oh, you don't think?"

"Yes, I think we are where we shouldn't be. That, over there, is Texas School Book Depository," Sybil said, cautiously looking around.

"Well, we are in trouble. I thought these visits to the past are getting longer, but we are thrust in the thick of it," Tyson said, having to let go of yet another theory that he hoped could be of some use to them.

"There are no strict rules about the length of any trip. But this one does seem like it will be quite a short one," Sybil said, trying to calculate the best course of action to avoid the event.

"What time is it? We need to be anywhere but here," Tyson said, looking for the best route that led as far away from the place as possible.

"Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Marcus asked, annoyed and confused in equal measure.

"We are about to become involved in one of the most important events. It can be quite dangerous," Tyson quickly said.

"Then, let's leave," Marcus said.

As he was looking back at Tyson while walking, he didn't notice a guy dressed in black going towards him until they crashed into each other. Clearly, both of them were distracted by something, so Marcus apologized and was about to move on when he noticed something.

An object was glinting on the ground, a large and familiar-looking one. The guy had clearly dropped it when he collided with Marcus.

"Excuse me, sir. I think you dropped your rifle," Marcus said politely, not being the one to judge people even though he personally didn't like weapons.

Instead of thanking him, like Marcus expected every polite human being to do, he quickly picked up his weapon and proceeded to disappear into the Texas School Book Depository building. The crowd was so focused on the streets that no one noticed that anything odd had happened.

"Marcus, what did you do now?" Tyson asked, quickly joining him, followed by Sybil.

"Nothing, I just helped the guy pick up his rifle," Marcus said, shrugging his shoulders as if that was the most normal thing ever.

"Did the guy have brown hair?" Sybil asked.

"No, he looked Russian," Marcus said, feeling proud of himself for the conclusion.

"What does that mean exactly?" Sybil asked impatiently.

"He had blond hair and blue eyes," Marcus said as if there was no more definite proof than that.

"Marcus, that doesn't make him necessarily Russian," Sybil said but then the meaning of his words registered in her mind. "Wait, does that mean someone else was here trying to kill the president besides Lee?"

"No, not necessarily. Maybe the rumors were right, and Lee didn't even kill him," Tyson said, trying to remember everything he knew about the assassination of J.F. Kennedy. "Lee did claim that he was innocent."

"Everyone claims that, Tyson! That doesn't mean he didn't do it. He had means, motive, and opportunity," Sybil said argumentatively.

"Hey, I am not saying that he didn't. I am only saying that it would be a huge coincidence for two guys to go around with rifles in the same building trying to kill the same person," Tyson said calmly.

"I guess you have a point," Sybil said, pacified. "What are we going to do about that?"

"Nothing. The last time I interfered, I apparently didn't accomplish much. Why would it be different this time?" Tyson said, looking for the best hideout.

It was clear that if the assassin was already setting up shop and so many people gathered on the streets, it was only a matter of time before all hell broke loose. Who knew what could or could not happen to them if they got stuck in the middle of a terrified mob?

"Surely we should do something," Sybil said stubbornly. "This news broke my parents' hearts. I'd never seen them like that before. So crushed."

"I am sorry, Sybil, but you know as well as I, probably better, that all we can do is just get out of the way of history. All we can accomplish by interfering is get ourselves hurt," Tyson said.

"Does that mean that dude Lee you mentioned didn't kill the president?" Marcus asked as he quickly followed behind Tyson, who was walking rather quickly, weaving through the crowd expertly.

"Maybe not, but someone definitely did," Tyson said as they reached a building with its front door open and entered it quickly.

"Did we just like solve a conspiracy theory?" Marcus asked, unsure that he fully understood the situation.

"I guess so," Tyson said as they climbed to the top floor, hoping that it was far away from stray bullets and isolated enough for crowds of people.

When the shots cut through the air, the Mazers didn't expect to be able to hear the screaming crowd and feel the general sense of panic the way they did. It was terrifying even though they were moderately sure that they were safe.

"You know, I saw something strange," Marcus said when things calmed down somewhat, and he came back from his lookout at one of the windows.

"What do you mean?" Tyson asked, not yet recovered from all the horror his ears registered.

"While most people screamed and ran, a few people just stood and watched the shooting. They weren't shocked by it. It was like they were expecting it or something," Marcus said.

"That is odd," Sybil said but was interrupted by the low buzzing. "Let's get out of here, and then we'll add that to our list of weird things."

The trip was over even before it started. They jumped into the portal that formed while Sybil was talking, and they were back to the tunnels and the same routine struggle not to get squashed.