Fine-tuning Synchronization Deviations, the First Signs of Systemic Risk
The device on Proctor's wrist emitted a brilliant red light.
The light wasn't dazzling, but it carried a chilling quality that could freeze one's mind.
He raised his hand, ready to envelop the entire conference room in this chill.
Class B Time Lockdown.
Under this command, all matter, energy, and even thought will be forced back to a static state that can be scrutinized.
Mobius didn't stop him. He simply leaned back slightly, crossed his arms, like an audience member waiting for the show to begin.
The Undead Guard behind Gwen Stacy gripped their weapons tightly. Energy circulated beneath their armor, emitting a low hum. But they did not move, simply awaiting Gwen Stacy's command.
Gwen Stacy didn't move either.
Her gaze was calm as she looked at Proctor, as if he were merely holding up an insignificant teacup.
Just then...
Sylvie, sitting behind Gwen Stacy, gently pressed her thumb against the knuckle of her index finger with her hand resting on her knee.
The movement was very subtle and was perfectly concealed by the tablecloth.
There was no sound.
There is no light.
There wasn't even a trace of energy leaking out.
It's like someone unconsciously moving their fingers while thinking.
A specific frequency, undetectable by any conventional equipment, silently spread out from the micro-device.
It didn't touch the walls of the conference room, didn't disturb the armor of the Undead Guard, and didn't even stir up a single speck of dust in the air.
Like a ghost, it precisely pierced through Proctor and Mobius's uniforms, seeping into the sophisticated terminal on their wrists.
Proctor's finger, which was about to press the lock-on button, froze in mid-air.
It wasn't that he wanted to stop.
It was his terminal that emitted a very faint, almost inaudible beep.
This sound didn't represent an alarm, but rather a "calibration anomaly."
Proctor's brow twitched suddenly.
He subconsciously looked down at his wrist.
Almost simultaneously, Mobius, who had been observing from the sidelines, also froze with a smile and lowered his head.
On their terminal screens, everything appeared normal. The flow of the Sacred Timeline remained a perfect "1".
But at the very bottom of the screen, a value that is usually ignored and used for internal synchronization checks just experienced a very tiny fluctuation.
A number jumped from 0.00 to 0.03, and then instantly returned to zero in the next instant.
It was as fast as an illusion.
An ordinary Time Hounds might even think it's seeing things.
But Proctor and Mobius were not.
The color drained from their faces in that instant.
That expression wasn't anger, nor astonishment, but a deep-seated fear.
For TVA, time is not a river, but Crystal solidified by absolute rules. It must be flawless, without the slightest deviation. Any unplanned deviation, however minute, means that a crack has appeared inside the Crystal.
0.03 seconds.
This number is meaningless to any civilization outside of the world.
However, within the TVA's rule system, it represents a taboo term—systemic risk.
It means that the very foundation upon which they exist, that great Temporal Loom, may have malfunctioned in ways they cannot comprehend.
This means that their proudly synchronized terminals have become out of sync with headquarters.
This means they have lost contact.
Even if it's just for a fleeting moment.
Proctor broke out in a cold sweat.
He exchanged a glance with Mobius.
At that moment, factions, stances, arguments, infighting—everything became insignificant.
They saw the same panic in each other's eyes as they did in their own.
"The hearing is adjourned."
Proctor's voice was dry and hoarse. He lowered his hand; the red light on his wrist had gone out.
"Our internal equipment requires an urgent security check," Mobius immediately interjected, standing up from his seat without even glancing at Gwen Stacy again. "Regarding the whereabouts of the Variant, we will... reassess and contact you again."
After he finished speaking, without waiting for Gwen Stacy's response, he and Proctor turned and walked quickly toward the conference room door.
Their steps carried an air of panic, almost as if they were fleeing.
The door slid open silently and closed silently.
In the pure white conference room, only the Negative Zone remained, occupied by the delegation.
Gwen Stacy until she was sure the other person's Dimension portal had been closed before slowly exhaling.
She turned her head and looked at Sylvie behind her.
Sylvie looked up, meeting her gaze. The Lady Loki wore a complex and enigmatic expression, a mixture of satisfaction at her accomplishment and deep apprehension about Lynn's scheme.
Negative Zone, the White Bone Hall.
On the enormous monitoring screen, everything that happened in the Void Buffer Zone was clearly displayed.
Lynn watched Proctor and Mobius leave in a disheveled state, his face expressionless.
Everything is going according to plan.
Use the other party's rules to induce panic in them.
This is a more effective weapon than any military deterrence.
He was about to close the light screen when his gaze was drawn to an extremely tiny anomaly at the end of the Data Stream.
At the exact moment of that 0.03-second deviation, a fleeting, unwanted noise appeared in the spatiotemporal background parameters recorded by the monitoring system.
That's not the energy characteristic of TVA.
It is not Negative Zone either.
It is older, more sophisticated, like a superior observer casting a detached, curious glance at the surface of the water after noticing an interesting ripple.
This "glimpse" left an almost undetectable trace on the data level.
Lynn's brows slowly furrowed.
He reached out and gently tapped the screen, extracting and magnifying the abnormal data.
On the light screen, eerie green characters scrolled wildly, performing billions of rewinds and deductions.
Finally, all the characters froze, forming a cold, emotionless system message.
[WARNING: Unknown high-level observer marker detected.]
[Target: The time skew event itself.]