A soft, synthetic tone by K's ear roused him from his dozing. With a snort, he propped back upright, and found he had fallen asleep at his desk, and had been using his computer keyboard as a pillow. He was exhausted, overwhelmed by this ongoing deluge of unintended consequences, emotional investment, and data overload.

Stifling a yawn, K tapped the button to receive the incoming message. "Wow, you still here, Steve?" C's voice greeted him.

K looked around, bemused. "Apparently."

"I've got to hand it to you, you're a trouper," C murmured. "Especially considering your stage in life, that's outstanding."

K rolled his tired eyes. Thank you, Tim, for putting that compliment in your left hand before I could fully enjoy the first part of it. "You can talk. What are you still here for?"

"I was just asking myself that same question, so I put out a general call through to the team- and you're the only one who answered."

"Yeah." With some effort, K stood and cracked his neck while pushing in his chair. "It's almost eleven, I think I'd better call it a night if it's all the same to you."

"Stop by the lab first, though, will you?"

"Is it important?"

"I'd like to talk to you about something." A pause. "And I may need your help."

K coughed in surprise. "Uh, Tim, remind me how the hell a man of my advanced age is supposed to be any help again?"

"Don't be ridiculous. I said may need, not will need."

"Again, is it really important?" he sighed.

"One, word, Steve: George. Enough said?"

K gulped. "What about him?"

"Tell you when you get here. Now hurry up, I'm waiting." With that, C ended the call.

So K draped his coat over his arm and shuffled out of his personal office. This little catastrophe of Stuart's had eaten up so much of his time, he hadn't set foot upon his own Rutgers campus once this entire week. It was becoming quite clear to him that he'd bitten off more than he could chew by involving himself more deeply even than any of the team knew. The Florida coast seemed ever more appealing with every day this madness continued- and simultaneously appeared to slip further and further away with each new obstacle the day introduced.

I didn't sign up for this, he said to himself, except I did. And given the opportunity, I would do it again. Why? Because I'm old and I'd probably forget having done it before, that's why. Damn, I could use a joint right about now.

Putting self-deprecating jokes aside, though, K typed in the password to Stuart's lab. This was the part he hated most of all about the lab: merely walking in. The password was always over twenty characters, chock full of special characters and capitalization, and impossible to get right the first time. K's hands shook, his fingers meticulously tapping out the old password which for all he knew could expire at any second-

But then the door was opened from within, and K breathed a sigh of relief. "Thanks, Tim."

C nodded briskly. "Quick. I need another pair of hands, might as well be yours."

"What are you talking about?"

"Sit down and I'll tell you."

Wordlessly K obeyed, careful to swallow another yawn. To be fair, C didn't look that rested -or youthful- himself; the bags under his eyes sagged a little heavier than usual, anxiety etched plainly across his face. But he knew that one playful crack about his worn-out appearance could result in some very nasty blowback. C could be so vindictive when he chose, even over the smallest of offenses.

"It's like this," C began cryptically. "I told George and his people about the change in the situation this morning, and I just got the response about ten minutes ago." He sniffed. "As his on-site rep, he has given me the authority to, shall we say, nip it in the bud as soon as possible."

K blinked. "Nip what in the bud?"

"Bucky, of course."

K felt a pit form in his stomach. "I don't follow you."

He motioned for K to come closer. "Look at this."

K drew nearer, watched C pull up a certain website on the overhead screen, explicitly increasing the zoom so K could see better. With bleary blue eyes, K squinted to read the text- then his jaw dropped as he realized that maybe- just maybe, mind you- C had a point.

"Don't Believe Your Lying Eyes: New York DJ's impression of the late Freddie Mercury is a little too convincing (VIDEO)," ran the headline. C scrolled down to the main article, sat silently while K read to himself, eyes widening with each new sentence:

"They say true legends never die, but, figuratively, live on in the hearts and minds of the people they touch over time. However, people all over the Western world are starting to wonder if that idea shouldn't be taken literally as well.

"For three hours on Wednesday, the fifteenth of December, a New York classic rock radio station was commandeered by a man who bears an almost disturbing resemblance to the late, great Freddie Mercury of Queen fame. Though lacking in the trademark moustache, made famous by Mercury during the 1980s, the dark-haired thirty-something seems equipped with just about everything else.

"And it's freaking people out.

"All day, the station's audience marvelled at the Freddie facsimile entertaining them in his own unique way, which in itself mirrored that of the Zanzibar-born rock star too closely for many's comfort. Although he actually never opened his mouth to sing, and thereby remove all doubts, many were still in fact totally convinced this was more than some random coincidence.

"'Freddie's BACK!' one of the users proclaimed. "THERE IS A GOD AFTER ALL! MAN WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL THIS TIME WE NEED YOU NDNOWRNFCWEKKPLKNKL"

Most people, however, conveyed themselves with somewhat greater composure- but the excitement was palpable.

"Eat your heart out, Rami," said one. "There can be only one Freddie- and he has returned to us."

"'Stick a moustache on him, and it's Freddie,' said another."Now I'm just waiting to hear that Fergie's gone missing. That would make my whole entire life."

"'He's got the eyes, he's got the teeth, he's got the attitude, and he's got the voice,' still another commentator remarked, 'but it was when he stood up and I saw that he literally had the whole package, that I was convinced- there's nobody that lucky.'

"The Queen frontman lookalike, known only by the generic name "Rick," has already made waves across his home region. A couple of days prior, this same station posted a photo on its Facebook and Instagram pages featuring Rick, complete with the caption 'The Show DOES Go On!' which kicked off the currently top-trending #Freddiestwin. Adam Lambert, the group's adopted frontman since 2014, and the three surviving original members of Queen- Brian May, Roger Taylor, and John Deacon, who retired from performing in 1997- as yet have not responded to the Daily Mail's request for comment..."

The report continued onward, of course, but one gets the idea. It was hastily written, as though the author herself could scarcely contain her excitement, yet very informative- but, perhaps most alarmingly, this wasn't local Star-Ledger fare. It was an article from the UK's Daily Mail itself, posted two hours prior, and almost unresponsive due to the heavy traffic already gained by this point. There were pictures, video links, and hundreds of comments, new ones appearing faster by the second. The global "jaded society," as Stuart had called it, was going crazy- and as far as anyone outside knew, it still was all pure coincidence- a happy accident.

But neither C nor K thought this accident happy at all.

"Preus can't just keep blowing this off like he's been doing," C stated, closing out of the site. "We have to do something. This is only going to get worse."

K swallowed. "Do something?"

C gave him a patronizing look, then proceeded to explain. "To put it another way, George just authorized me to bypass Dr. Preus and his team, do whatever is necessary to return Bucky-13's consciousness to its point of origin- or, from another perspective, to remove him from this side of the continuum altogether."

"So, you're saying-"

"George wants me to burn the bridge," he said shortly, "which I would do now, if I could manage it; 'as soon as humanly possible' leaves a lot of room for interpretation."

K couldn't believe what he was hearing. "But- but wouldn't that just kill him?"

"Steve, the guy's dead already, no matter what happens," C replied callously. "Ling said that snapping the bridge, in theory, causes one of two outcomes. Either the consciousness returns to the shell of origin, or, more improbably since Time is fixed, the consciousness stays stuck on the bridge and both bodies end up without a mind, meaning both shells die. It's really no skin off my nose either way- but regardless of the choice, our Bucky won't survive."

Ignoring the lump in his throat, K shook his head. "Maybe- but we still can't jump the gun here. We need a second opinion. At least we should wait till Ling's seen things for herself, she's the soul expert."

"He who pays the bills takes precedence," C reminded him bluntly. "And George is Stuart's main source of funding. If you ask me, I think the guy's better off listening to the money man- and his rep." He tapped his own chest.

"How is it going to hurt us if we at least let a fresh pair of eyes at least see what kind of trouble we're in? It's just another day-"

"Another day. Steve, another day means another risk. This guy thrived on attention, fame, that kind of thing, did you really think he was going to be content to be Julia's pet? Look what's already happened!"

"It's going to all work out, Julia has him-"

"Julia? We're supposed to leave this to Julia?" C scoffed. "She can't even keep her pants on around him, how the hell should we-"

"And what is that supposed to mean?" K snapped.

C rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on, Steve. You can't tell me she doesn't still have the hots for him."

Good God. When did I ever say that? K quipped inwardly.

K had no illusions about Julia's feelings. He would have had to be a fool to ignore the last ten years. It had been four days, five if you counted the Saturday when he brought Freddie over. He thought by now she certainly would have cracked, and cracked completely, but if Freddie's stories were to be believed, Julia had kept her distance fairly effectively. Granted, K was not the best at reading people, but Freddie seemed terribly frustrated this morning, perhaps even hurt, by the "home" situation. And those questions about Danny's father seemed fueled by more than just idle curiosity. Could it be he missed her, even half as much as K knew she had missed him?

Why was she still staying so cool? Had she really surrendered those feelings up to Stuart? Somehow K couldn't believe that. But for C's benefit, he decided to make it seem that way.

"She's Preus's, not Freddie's," K prodded. "They-"

"Oh, don't even get me started on that. Preus is a fool to buy into Bucky's game. Maybe he's got a little sweetie and a cat waiting at home, but here, Bucky's on a mission. I can tell, I can hear it. No accounting for taste of course, but I don't think the guy was known for his taste- I mean, if he slept with Julia, clearly it didn't matter."

K hesitated, then murmured, "Tim, are you still listening in on them?"

C snorted. "That is none of your business."

K's hand clenched. "I thought Preus told you to lay off."

"Like I said, Preus's not my superior," C answered. "Observe."

And with that, C logged in to Speck's controls.

K's heart fluttered with each touch to the screen. "But- but you can't do it now. Something could go wrong, and it will be on your head. You have to wait. Dr. Ling will be here tomorrow, she needs to evaluate the problem, we need her second opinion-"

"Dr. Ling has no power here- and now, neither does Preus," C cut him off. "All he's doing is wasting time; the longer Bucky farts around amongst we the living, the further up the creek we end up. Besides, Preus wants him gone even more than I do; I think he'll be relieved if we just take care of it now."

"We?" K repeated, folding his arms. "Nuh-uh. You mean, you. Leave me out of this."

Such outright defiance shocked C so that he forgot to be enraged for the moment. "But- K, look, the machine can't be operated by one person- and besides, you're bound by-"

"Wrong. I don't work for George, or Stuart, any longer. I'm a free agent. Bound by the situation, yes, bound by my own morals, yes- but not by anyone else. You can't make me help you."

But C did not seem thrown by K's mutiny. By this point, C had pulled up the screen to authorize a disconnection.

"No," he sighed, "but I can make it look like you did."

To K's horror, C very calmly began typing in K's own authorization and password. He pressed Enter, which left another two boxes for C to authenticate himself.

"How would you know all that?" K gasped.

C smirked, eyes still on the screen. "Like I said, the guy who pays the bills-"

"Fine, fine!" K cried, feeling utterly helpless. Still, he gave it one last shot. "But- look, Tim, regardless of who the house is, you can't just stack the deck in your favor. There's still rules we have to play by. You can't just burn the bridge-"

The screen now asked if C wished to proceed with cutting the connection. One press of the affirmative would immediately start a chain reaction that would sever the link between past and present- and, by consequence, murder Freddie's duplicate shell. How quiet the lab was tonight, how cold, how peaceful, while these men of science placidly contemplated the seconds before a downright murder.

And just in time, he remembered. "What about the Crebinator?"

C squinted, finger poised over the "Yes". "What about it?"

"Memory is part of consciousness; our memories shape us, our experiences make us who we are. We at least have to bring Freddie in first, and-"

"Memory is physical, Steve. Everything he sees, says, or does, that's all limited to the shell."

"Can we afford to assume that? We've decided, as a rule, that mind is physical, and not abstract- and yet a very abstract thing is trapped in the bridge, and a man that should not even be alive is thinking, talking, feeling- To be on the safe side, we - we have to bring him anyway and wipe his mind of memory."

K coughed. "And I think George, as much as he wants this over, as much as we all want this over- would agree with me there. We can't just..." he trailed off, rapidly losing steam.

"You are such a Julia shill, Steve," C sighed wearily at last. "But you're never going to let this go, I can see, so- we'll save it for later, get him in here and erase the brain of the more recent stuff."

K blinked. "You're going to wait."

C shrugged with a nod, lowering his hand. "Second opinion from Ling first- then we drag Bucky Boy in here, brainwash him, and send him on his way. Use the leftover shell for HIV research or some-"

"DISCONNECTION INITIATING," the computer boomed suddenly.

Amid foreboding mechanical beeps, the percentage of hold remaining rapidly began decreasing.

And both men panicked.

"TIM! YOU SAID-"

"I'm sorry! My finger must have brushed-"

"We gotta stop it!"

"Hurry! How do we how do we how do we-" K's weak eyes scanned frantically for the stop button, or the reset, or anything that would halt the release. A split second later his shaking finger found the "Cancel" button at the bottom of the screen. He jabbed it hard several times, a cold sweat glittering on his already shiny, bald skull. As quickly as it had begun, the disconnect ceased. The bridge was weakened, but still holding strong at sixty-nine percent.

All in three seconds.

K sat down, clutched at his heart. Way too close.

He jerked his head up. Or was it?

"Tim, pull up Freddie's health status, would you?" K said. One of the handy things about tracker pills was that they also sent back data concerning the subjects' life-support functions to be recorded in the lab computers.

But when C did as K asked, there was no data being reported- and K remembered, Freddie had skipped the tracker pill last night. There was no way to tell what had happened.

Did we lose him anyway?

K swallowed, pulled on his coat. The cold was getting to him. It was time both he and C went home anyway.

For there was nothing to do now, except wait.