Edward Crichton - To Crown a Caesar

I caught Archer’s men already blazing a path through the blown out corner of the room, immediately turning south to avoid the approaching horde. Our best bet was to get back to Vespasian, even though we were coming back empty handed. I rushed to catch up to Archer on the way out.

“I need to know something, Archer. Something that doesn’t make much sense on your end.”

“And what’s that, Hunter?” He asked pretentiously.

I almost stumbled at his tone. It suggested dismissal on my part, almost as if I were in his way, or that we were on a need to know basis, and I didn’t need to know.

I let it pass. “What exactly are you doing here?”

He looked at me as we ran, his expression all of a sudden very angry. “We’re here because your journal’s final entry had a lot to say. The President was very interested. We’re here because somewhere along the way, something goes seriously wrong.”

“So?” I replied. “You were in your own timeline before you left, and you seem exactly as I remember. It can’t be that bad.”

“That’s the problem, Hunter. It is that bad. We’re here because you fucked up beyond measure, and you need to fix it.” He threw me a cocky grin. “And we’re here to help.”