Cogs Of Fate

Unreasonable Thoughts

That evening, the bunker was quiet as the overall solemn mood seemed to fester within the inhabitants, spilling over like a contagion from one person to another.

Agent Christopher sat at the large harvest table in the main room by herself, nursing a glass of neat bourbon as she listened to the deafening silence surrounding her. It unnerved her slightly at just how quiet the massive compound could get.

The silence gave her mind permission to wander in deep thought - thoughts she questioned whether she should be having at all - and it was that doubt that proved to be dangerous.

She had no idea her life would start to wind up and unravel as quickly as it had since she accepted this position within Homeland Security. She didn't expect things to turn out to this extent. She told Michelle it would last a year, two tops, but here she sat, far away from home, years later.

She questioned whether or not she was doing a good enough job leading these people. When she thought about how Rittenhouse discovered their 'off-the-grid' bunker, she wondered if Wyatt was right: perhaps they should have made a stand there and wiped them out.

Taking a sip, relishing in the burn at the back of her throat, Denise suppressed a cold chuckle as she knew all of them would have been killed had they stayed - that much was obvious. Her eyes darted about the empty main room of this new facility. She didn't know if coming to this place was the right choice but it was in the moment.

Thinking about Luke McCann brought the regret back. She knew his blood was on her hands. She had gone to him for help. If she knew this would have happened to him, she wouldn't have gone to him.

As she took another sip, she heard a familiar voice speak behind her, "Mind if I join ye?" Glancing up to her left, she saw Quinn standing there eyeing her with concern. She nodded, motioning to the chair he stood behind. He pulled the chair out, settling down next to her. "How are ye faring?"

She sighed, shaking her head as she stared into the amber liquid before her. "I'm killing people..."

"Unfortunate side effect of war," Quinn calmly said.

Denise lifted her head. "You say that like his death doesn't matter."

He held her gaze. With a small shrug, he said, "Maybe it doesn't." She scoffed and he leaned forward, bracing himself against the table on his elbows. "How many times has history changed? How many lives have continued when they weren't meant to? Or in this case, taken when they were meant to live?"

Agent Christopher's expression hardened as she stared at the man. "And that makes it all right?"

Quinn smirked. "Ye aren't following along, Agent," he told her. "History continues to change. Perhaps tomorrow, he'll be alive again."

She shook her head again. "Until we can stop Rittenhouse," she swirled her cup in a small circle, allowing the bourbon to slosh against the sides, "the killing won't end."

"Are ye so sure about that?"

Her eyes lifted to hold his curious gaze. "What aren't you telling me?"

He licked his lips. "Have ye noticed a pattern yet?" He saw the wheels turning in her head, struggling to gain traction. He inhaled deeply, saying, "Have ye noticed how many people ye've encountered who are visionaries?"

"Visionaries?"

He nodded. "Harriet Tubman, Jiya," he paused to glance across the room before turning back to her, "Flynn's daughter, Iris... even Edgar Allan Poe was the rarity - "

Agent Christopher's head tilted to the side as she listened. "What do they have to do with -"

"How good are ye with genetics?"