UnBooks:The Zero Agency in Time problem

Welcome...

The Zero Agency was accustomed to extraordinary missions. Covert operations, shadowy plots, and international intrigue were all in a day's work for Ivan, Lara, Burkov, Adam, Priscilla, and their newest member, Görgy. But even they weren’t prepared for the strange twist their latest assignment would take.

It began, as so many things do, with a simple relic. Lara had unearthed yet another mysterious artifact—a curious stone with strange carvings—during a recent dig. She had been elated, certain it was a link to some forgotten civilization. But the artifact had other plans.

One evening, as she was examining it in the agency’s London headquarters, a blinding light filled the room. A strange sensation, like falling through time itself, swept over each team member. When the light finally faded, they found themselves not in their sleek, familiar office but in a place altogether different. The air was thick with the smell of coal, factory smoke, and freshly baked gingerbread. The unmistakable sound of Eastern European music drifted on the breeze.

They were standing in the middle of a bustling town square.

Lara was the first to speak, blinking at the unfamiliar scene. “This... doesn’t look like London,” she said, frowning at the horse-drawn carts rattling past.

Ivan, ever the pragmatist, took a deep breath and squinted at the street signs. "No, it’s definitely not. Welcome to Pardubice… in 1992, if I’m reading this right."

Adam let out a low whistle. “So, we’ve time-traveled. Brilliant. And of all places, we end up in a small Czech city?”

Görgy shrugged, looking almost amused. “Could be worse. At least we’re still in Europe. Could’ve dropped into ancient Mesopotamia or something.”

Burkov folded his arms, looking at Lara with a raised brow. “So, we’re here because of your artifact, then?”

Lara, taken aback, could only nod. “It must’ve activated some kind of time-jump mechanism. I didn’t realize it had that much power.”

Priscilla laughed, her American accent startling a few of the locals who were watching them with curious eyes. “Well, no use crying over it now. Let’s figure out where we are and how we’re getting home. And who knows—maybe 1992 has some fun surprises for us.”

As they stood there, a vintage Škoda Favorit rattled by, and Ivan stifled a laugh. It was as if fate had dropped them in the most ironic of situations. Zero Agency, masters of modern espionage, were now stranded in post-socialist Czechoslovakia.

What was supposed to be a routine examination of an artifact had suddenly turned into a new mission: survive 1992, find a way back to their own time, and, if possible, enjoy the ride.

As they looked around, taking in the city’s old facades and the unmistakable character of the early '90s, Ivan grinned, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of a new challenge. “Alright, team,” he said, “let’s get to work. Welcome to Pardubice.”

Chapter 1

Men's Excitement

Lara and Priscilla wandered through the streets of Pardubice, captivated by the charm of the old town. The ornate facades, narrow streets, and lingering traces of socialism left them fascinated, and even Lara, usually unimpressed by anything other than ancient ruins, found herself intrigued. Priscilla snapped pictures, enthralled by the mix of history and modest architecture.

Meanwhile, the men had found their own diversion in a small pub down the road. The faint scent of hops greeted them as they entered, and Ivan ordered a round of Pilsner without hesitation.

“To 1992, gentlemen!” Ivan raised his glass with a smirk.

Adam chuckled, holding up his pint. "I’d say ‘cheers,’ but I don’t think we know half the stuff we’re drinking in this era."

Görgy shrugged, unconcerned, and took a large gulp. "Pilsner’s a classic; you can’t go wrong. And I’ll take the ‘90s any day over Lara’s ancient digs."

Men's food

After their drinks, Ivan, brimming with nostalgia, insisted they head to the nearby racetrack. "Dostihy, gentlemen. Horse racing. I have a feeling you’ll appreciate the scene."

The racetrack was alive with cheering fans, men in old suits, and a few bookmakers huddled along the sidelines. When Lara and Priscilla eventually found their way there, the men were already deep into a discussion about the best horses. They waved them over, and the whole team watched as horses thundered down the track. Yet, to the women's horror, the men were soon enjoying a local delicacy: horse meat sausages, casually smoking alongside the locals.

“Oh, come on, Ivan, really?” Lara wrinkled her nose, watching him take another bite.

Ivan just shrugged, nonchalant. “When in Pardubice...”

Priscilla laughed, taking a few hesitant steps back. “I’m sticking to my diet of ‘never eating anything that used to race.’”

As the evening wore on, they decided to grab a quick dinner at a humble local buffet, a relic of the socialist era. The atmosphere was sparse, with fluorescent lighting and tables lined with the most basic dishes. Ivan insisted on introducing the others to the simpler fare, and soon plates of potato salad, breaded cutlets, and fried cheese filled their table. Despite a few raised brows, everyone dug in, laughter filling the room.

Average transport in 1990s Pardubice

By the time they finished, the city had quieted down for the night. With few options left, Ivan suggested they take a trolleybus to the train station to catch an express train to Prague. The trolleybus rattled through the dark, empty streets, the silence only interrupted by the hum of the vehicle and the occasional creak of the old metal seats.

When they arrived at Pardubice Main Station, the eerie atmosphere immediately struck Lara, Adam, and Priscilla. The platforms were practically deserted, dimly lit, and there was an unsettling stillness in the air. Faint echoes bounced off the concrete walls, and a thick layer of grime seemed to cover every surface. They could almost hear history whispering in the silence—though it was less nostalgic and more unsettling.

“Is it… always this empty?” Adam asked, glancing around with a slight frown.

“Looks like something out of a horror film,” Priscilla muttered, hugging her jacket tighter.

Not fot beginners

Just then, a loud, unpleasant gong echoed through the station, making everyone jump. A distorted voice announced the arrival of a local train, followed by a chilling mechanical sound as the old speaker crackled. The announcements for the express trains, like the Silesia they were waiting for, were even more unnerving—a deep, crackling tone from a distant era, as if the station itself were a relic of the past.

Lara’s face showed visible discomfort. “Remind me to never take a midnight stroll through here alone.”

After what felt like an eternity, the Expres Silesia finally pulled into the station. The team boarded, finding seats in the dimly lit car. They settled in, grateful for the soft rumble of the train beneath them as it pulled away from the haunting platforms of Pardubice.

As they rolled toward Prague, Ivan looked around at his team, who were still visibly unsettled.

“Welcome to Central Europe, friends,” he said with a wry grin. “Just wait until we get to Prague. It only gets stranger from here.”

Chapter 2

The Expres Silesia glided into Prague’s main station, the soft dawn light casting a hazy glow over the city. Stepping off the train, the team felt an odd mix of excitement and disorientation. They were visitors, yes, but visitors in a past version of a city they barely recognized. The station, usually bustling with tourists in their own time, stood nearly empty and eerily silent, with only a few locals hurriedly making their way through its dimly lit halls.

As they walked through the station, the first wave of nostalgia hit Ivan. He knew every corner of this place, every cracked tile, every old sign leading to the exits. Even as they emerged onto the cold morning streets, the city welcomed him back like an old friend, whispering secrets of days gone by.

Their destination for the morning was the Hotel Olympik, a monumental block of Brutalist architecture that had barely changed since its construction in the 1970s. It was a familiar sight, a stone sentinel on the city’s edge. Its interiors, with yellowed wallpaper and heavy, brown furniture, were relics of a past era, but it was comfortable, almost cozy in its dated charm. After a quick nap to recover from the night train, the team gathered in the lobby, refreshed and ready to explore Prague.

The morning mist still lingered as they strolled through Old Town. Lara and Priscilla were captivated by the gothic and baroque buildings, each one exuding a charm that could only be found in a city with centuries of layered history. The cobblestone streets were quiet, their usual hustle subdued as people moved through their routines. Even the iconic Astronomical Clock seemed to tick with a sense of calm, oblivious to the unusual travelers watching its dance.

As they crossed a narrow alley, Ivan stopped short, his gaze fixated on something—or rather, someone—a few meters ahead. There, getting out of a Škoda Forman parked haphazardly on the sidewalk, was Ivan himself, in his prime as a criminal detective. The younger Ivan wore a serious expression, his trench coat flaring slightly in the wind as he checked his surroundings before heading into a nearby building with a colleague.

The sight of his past self brought a mix of nostalgia and amusement to present-day Ivan. He shook his head with a chuckle. “Never thought I’d be able to watch myself from a distance like this. Life’s funny, isn’t it?”

Priscilla, wide-eyed, nudged him. “Ivan, that’s you! But… how can you look the same as back then? You haven’t aged a day since I’ve known you.”

Ivan shrugged, an amused gleam in his eye. “Well, let’s just say a few things went sideways for me in ‘97. I had a bit of… an encounter with time. Some things are better left as mysteries.”

Priscilla shook her head in disbelief, trying to reconcile the image of her colleague with the younger, stern detective they’d just seen. “Alright, but that only makes me wonder what other surprises you’ve been hiding, Ivan.”

With the sight of his former self still fresh in his mind, Ivan led them deeper into the city, showing them his old haunts and sharing stories of his days as a detective. They weaved through narrow streets, in and out of Prague’s many pubs, where the smoky atmosphere and warm lights beckoned them inside. With each stop, they laughed a little louder, their camaraderie growing as they sampled local beers and hearty Czech fare.

They eventually arrived at one of Ivan’s favorite pubs, a dimly lit establishment where regulars shared quiet conversations, and the bartenders poured pints with the ease of practiced rhythm. As they settled in, Ivan began regaling them with stories of past cases. Lara listened with a mixture of admiration and amusement, Priscilla watched him in awe, and Adam, always the practical one, took mental notes, amused at how his Czech friend could shift between detective and mentor so effortlessly.

As the hours passed, the team decided to explore the lesser-known areas, finding themselves in Vrchlický Sady, a park notorious in the ‘90s for its darker corners. Priscilla’s cheerful expression faded as she looked around, her face paling at the sight of rough figures and shadowy shapes lurking beneath the trees. Homeless people, addicts, and shady characters blended into the mist, their silhouettes casting unsettling shadows.

“Is this… normal?” Priscilla asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Ah, the ‘Wild East,’” Ivan replied with a smirk. “After socialism fell, things got a bit chaotic. This is the side of Prague they don’t put on the postcards.”

With the park behind them, the team arrived at the entrance of the Metro, descending into its depths with an odd mix of excitement and trepidation. Lara, Adam, and Priscilla, accustomed to the more polished transit systems of their time, found themselves unnerved by the Metro’s flickering lights and rough atmosphere. The damp, echoing halls seemed almost haunted, each corner hiding a new surprise.

At one station, Lara caught sight of another familiar figure rushing past them—none other than the 1992 Ivan, moving briskly to his next case. She nudged present-day Ivan, who merely shrugged with a wry grin. “Can’t help it if I was a busy man back then.”

The strange, out-of-sync encounters only added to the surreal quality of their day. As they surfaced from the Metro, they decided to round off the evening with a visit to a local restaurant. They found a modest bufet serving traditional Czech food—simple, hearty meals that filled them with warmth. As they ate, the old walls around them seemed to echo with laughter, stories, and memories from another era.

Chapter 3

After long debate, they've chosen a Mercedes-Benz 300TD Station Wagon

The morning light shone on the wet streets of Prague as the team set out with a new mission: to find a vehicle that could comfortably (and legally) carry six people. After the surreal experiences of time travel and train stations that felt more haunted than historic, they figured finding a car should be a simpler task. Little did they know.

They wandered into an old-school car rental yard just off the main square, the kind of place that hadn’t changed since the ‘80s. The lot was a curious museum of Eastern Bloc and European automotive relics: Škodas, Tatras, Ladas, and even a few sturdy Volkswagens. The cars were a mix of nostalgia and necessity, each one looking like it had been through countless repairs but still stood proudly under the pale autumn sun.

Ivan’s eyes lit up almost immediately when he spotted a Volga GAZ-24, its dark green paint glistening with a faded resilience. Next to it was a Škoda 1203, looking solid and boxy as ever, with its utilitarian charm unmatched by any of the more modern cars in the lot.

“This is it!” Ivan announced, patting the hood of the Volga with pride. “A real car. Spacious, reliable… a proper Soviet masterpiece.”

Görgy joined him, admiring the Škoda 1203. “This could work too. It may not be a limousine, but it’s big enough. And look at those lines, that no-nonsense design.”

Priscilla, however, looked like she’d just stepped into a nightmare. She wrinkled her nose at the Volga, eyeing its rugged exterior as if it were something unspeakable. “Is this… Is this really what people drove back then?”

Ivan grinned, unfazed. “Oh, yes. It’s what heroes drove. You didn’t need fancy gadgets; you just needed a wheel and four tires. And the engine? It’s practically a tractor under there. Durable, practical, and a bit of a workout every time you drive.”

As Priscilla got behind the wheel of the Volga to give it a try, she quickly discovered that “workout” was an understatement. She gripped the wheel with both hands, trying her best to turn it, but the lack of power steering was immediately obvious.

“Are you kidding me?” she huffed, her arms straining against the unyielding wheel. “This is like wrestling a bear!”

Ivan and Görgy laughed. Ivan tapped the hood proudly. “Back in the day, we didn’t need gyms. You wanted muscles? Get a Volga and hit the road.”

“It’s a tradition,” Görgy added, grinning. “Real men’s cars. You earn every turn, every kilometer.”

Lara and Adam exchanged amused glances, while Priscilla muttered something about “prehistoric fitness routines.” After struggling to maneuver the Volga back into place, Priscilla decided that this “classic experience” was perhaps best left in the past.

They continued wandering around the lot, inspecting an assortment of Škoda 105s, a few old Tatras, and even a rare ZAZ Tavria. Despite Ivan and Görgy’s enthusiasm for the older models, the rest of the team was less than convinced. As they scoured the selection, they eventually stumbled upon something that caught everyone’s attention: a pristine, surprisingly modern-looking Mercedes 300TD station wagon.

“Now this,” Adam declared, eyes gleaming, “this could actually work. And look at that—seven seats!”

Priscilla practically sighed in relief. “Finally, something that doesn’t look like it’s held together with duct tape and hope.”

The Mercedes was a sturdy, beige station wagon, with elegant lines that suggested a bit of sophistication, even amid the more rugged company in the rental yard. Best of all, it had an automatic transmission, a rare luxury among the mostly manual offerings. They climbed in, admiring the spacious interior and leather seats, and soon agreed that this was their best option.

Once the paperwork was settled, they rolled out of the lot, with Ivan at the wheel, marveling at how smoothly the car handled. They cruised through the streets of Prague, each bump in the road a reminder of the journey they’d embarked upon. For Ivan, driving the Mercedes felt almost strange after decades of being used to “real” Soviet cars, but he could appreciate the ease of the ride and the spaciousness.

As they wound their way through Prague’s cobbled streets, Görgy turned around from the front seat to look at Priscilla with a grin. “You got your modern car, but if you ever want to strengthen those arms, we can find you a Volga anytime.”

Priscilla rolled her eyes with a chuckle. “I think I’ll pass on that offer, but thanks.”

Ivan guided the Mercedes towards the Vltava River, weaving through the historic quarters and heading up towards Letná Park, where they could see the city sprawled below them. The modern car, coupled with the timeless views, felt like the perfect bridge between past and present.

And so they drove on, winding through the city and its outskirts, exploring old haunts and discovering new ones, each sight sparking stories and memories. For Ivan, it was a strange but satisfying return to a place both familiar and foreign. And for the rest of them, it was a glimpse into the past, made all the richer by the eccentricity of the journey itself.

Chapter 4

Months drifted by as the team slowly adapted to their new surroundings. For Ivan and Görgy, adjusting to 1992 Czechoslovakia felt almost natural. Ivan, with his Czech roots, found an odd comfort in the familiar rhythm of his homeland, while Görgy, who’d grown up in a similarly turbulent Hungary, took it all in stride, his casual manner hiding the fact that he knew this world all too well. But for the others, particularly Priscilla, this new reality was unsettling at best.

As 1992 wore on, the team found themselves living amidst a series of growing tensions. The quiet murmurs of division between the Czech Republic and Slovakia grew louder with each passing week, filling the papers and gossiping mouths on street corners. For Ivan, this was part of the course of history. But for Adam, Lara, and especially Priscilla, the situation looked increasingly bleak. Violence had spiked, with mafia gangs and political factions vying for dominance in a suddenly uncertain world. Prague, once enchanting and mysterious, was now simmering with a darker undercurrent.

“It’s just… different,” Adam muttered one evening, sipping a beer in a quiet bar near Old Town Square. The mood in the bar mirrored the city itself—tense, slightly haunted by the eerie silence that had fallen over the usual tourist spots. Even the Charles Bridge, typically bustling, seemed cloaked in uneasy calm.

Lara nodded, glancing out the window as if half-expecting to see something sinister lurking outside. “This isn’t what we were expecting, is it?”

“Ah, relax,” Ivan said with a shrug, swirling his drink. “It’s just the way things are. We’ve got a front-row seat to history, and we’ll get through it.”

Priscilla, however, was less than convinced. As an Angeleno used to the lights, buzz, and energy of Los Angeles, the idea of settling in Prague was unsettling enough. But when Ivan suggested they move somewhere quieter to avoid the escalating chaos, she was genuinely alarmed.

“Liberec?” she repeated incredulously, when Ivan first broached the idea. “You’re telling me that this Liberec place is safer than Prague?”

Ivan grinned. “Liberec is fine. Small city, mountain air, and a lot fewer mafia types running around. You’ll be away from the noise.”

“Yes, but at least Prague has… something. What exactly does Liberec have? Cows?”

Adam chuckled, though he too looked skeptical. Görgy gave Priscilla a reassuring nod. “I understand the feeling, Priscilla. I’m from Budapest, but trust me—Liberec isn’t that bad. It’s got hills, forests… and probably no one trying to shoot you.”

After some debate, the team agreed to make the move. They piled into the trusty Mercedes, packed with their essentials, and set off for Liberec. The journey was mostly quiet, with Priscilla staring out the window, no doubt wondering how she’d gone from Los Angeles glamour to small-town Czechoslovakia.

Liberec greeted them with a chill in the air and a fog that seemed to hang over the town like a veil. The small city nestled among the Jizera Mountains had a quiet, almost ghostly charm, with its narrow cobbled streets and ancient buildings that had seen better days.

“This is it?” Priscilla muttered as they pulled into the town square. A few people shuffled past, bundled up in thick coats, their faces obscured by scarves. The air was brisk, and the gray skies added a layer of melancholy to the scene.

Lara took in the surroundings, her expression a mix of curiosity and worry. “Well, it’s… quaint?”

As they settled into their modest lodgings, they couldn’t help but notice the contrast to the bustling life they’d left behind in Prague. Here, everything moved at a slower pace, and even the locals seemed more cautious, as if the tension in the country had seeped into the walls of the buildings.

The following days were an exercise in adaptation. Priscilla, used to the nonstop hum of Los Angeles, struggled to find her footing in Liberec. She wandered the narrow streets, often with a look of mild horror, baffled by the local shops and sparse choices.

“I just don’t understand,” she whispered to Lara one evening as they passed a storefront selling only bread and potatoes. “Is this… all they eat?”

Lara chuckled, though she understood Priscilla’s frustration. “It’s part of the charm, I suppose. We’ll just have to make do.”

As days turned to weeks, they settled into a peculiar routine. Ivan took up the role of local guide, pointing out historical spots and sharing the lore of Liberec with unfiltered enthusiasm. Görgy found a pub where he and Ivan could feel at home, enjoying the occasional glass of slivovice with locals who were thrilled to hear stories from the “big city.”

For the others, the slower pace and quieter surroundings took some getting used to. Adam tried to find humor in their situation, but even he seemed restless. “Well, if nothing else, we’re getting an education in Eastern European… simplicity.”

Despite the slower pace, tension hung in the air. News filtered in of violent incidents in Prague, gang feuds, and whispers of political upheaval. Even in their small haven, the shadows of the country’s turmoil crept in.

But through it all, Ivan and Görgy remained unfazed. To them, this was life as usual, and they’d long learned to weather whatever came their way. For the others, however, it was a reminder of how far they were from home—and how little they understood this new, unpredictable world.

Chapter 5

In the heart of Los Angeles, the familiar chug of their Mercedes 300TD came to a halt. As the dust settled, Ivan, Lara, Priscilla, and the rest of the crew found themselves amidst palm trees, neon lights, and the relentless hum of traffic. The vehicle, still bearing its Prague plates, stood out starkly in the glitzy L.A. backdrop.

Just as Priscilla, wide-eyed and starstruck, absorbed the scene, Ivan’s gaze fixed on a nearby family. A tall, familiar man with his arm around a woman pushed a stroller, glancing at the child nestled inside. Ivan’s breath hitched. It was his son, Adam, whom he hadn’t seen since 1997.

Noticing the odd sight of a Czech-licensed car and its even odder occupants, Adam paused, his eyes narrowing. Recognition dawned as he caught sight of his father, seated behind the wheel with a grin that seemed simultaneously relieved and mischievous.

“Dad?” Adam approached, his voice thick with disbelief and a hint of emotion. “Where... where have you been? I last saw you in ’97, driving off from Prague... and then nothing.”

Ivan, his face lined with memories and secrets, nodded slowly. “Ah, well, I was… following Lara. Let’s just say I’ve been doing a bit of time traveling. I’m sure you’d understand that.”

Adam took a deep breath, nodding. “I… think I actually might. I work at the Academy of Sciences, after all. Stranger things have happened. Only, I was on holiday back then—missed you leaving.” His gaze softened as he gestured to the woman beside him. “And Dad, meet Celia, my wife.”

Celia offered a warm, albeit slightly perplexed smile. Ivan nodded, warmly acknowledging her before noticing the stroller. He leaned over, peering at the baby within. “And this little one is...?”

Adam cleared his throat. “Priscilla.”

The name hung in the air, reverberating through time and recognition. Their Priscilla from the team stared at the baby as if seeing a ghost—her own, tiny self. She gaped in disbelief, her hand over her mouth.

“Wait… are you telling me… you’re my grandfather?” Priscilla stammered, looking between Ivan and Adam.

Ivan nodded, his face shifting from astonishment to pride. “Seems so.” His voice was soft, filled with a mixture of awe and warmth.

They decided to sit down in a nearby restaurant, eager to catch up, and the atmosphere softened as they swapped stories. Priscilla, though overwhelmed, laughed when Ivan told her about his earlier escapades—ones she had only ever heard about from a team member's perspective.

After the meal, Adam insisted they stay the night. They drove back to his house, Ivan absorbing the strange feeling of watching his son’s life unfold in an entirely different place and time. The next morning, as the L.A. sun began to rise, the group prepared to leave, uncertain of where they’d go next.

But fate had other plans.

A strange shimmer surrounded them, and in a flash, the crew found themselves transported back to England—Croft Manor to be exact. The sun shone over the elegant grounds, the manicured hedges stretching out before them. A young Lara, no more than six years old, was playing with bones nearby, her laughter filling the air as she chased a butterfly.

Ivan, Priscilla, and the rest of the team stood in awe, watching little Lara as she tumbled through the grass. At the edge of the garden, a woman and a man—Lara’s parents—watched their daughter with soft, proud smiles.

Adult Lara, seeing her parents again, had tears in her eyes but managed a smile. She bore an uncanny resemblance to her mother, down to the way she carried herself, her posture and her piercing gaze. For a moment, the child-Lara looked up, her eyes meeting those of her future self. She tilted her head, clearly sensing a strange connection but not comprehending it.

Lara’s parents glanced over at the odd scene—the Prague-registered Mercedes and the group of travelers in clothing from a future era. Her mother’s brow furrowed, and she leaned closer to her husband. They whispered to each other, nodding in Lara’s direction, but ultimately decided to keep their focus on their daughter.

Ivan, overwhelmed by the poignancy of the moment, leaned over to Priscilla and whispered, “That’s the first time I’ve ever seen her truly look happy.”

The team lingered, hesitant to leave the tableau. They knew the stakes of time travel, yet none of them could resist this glimpse of Lara’s past and, for Ivan, a chance to see his friend truly at peace.

After a time, they climbed back into the Mercedes, and as they left the manor’s grounds, they felt a strange pull—the car accelerating without Ivan’s touch on the pedal. Before they knew it, they were winding through the narrow lanes of 1994 Britain, driving through the countryside with Ivan chuckling at the unmistakable nostalgia it brought.

For now, the team had no idea where their journey would lead them next. But they understood one thing clearly: time might change, but they would navigate every twist and turn together.

Chapter 6

The Mercedes 300TD cruised through the foggy streets of Prague, its passengers shifting uncomfortably as they realized where — and when — they had landed. The city was eerily familiar yet felt cloaked in shadows. A glance at the buildings, the clothing of passersby, and the faint propaganda slogans dotting the square told them it was 1984.

They had parked in the heart of Old Town Square, and the stark, gray atmosphere weighed heavily on them. Ivan’s face tightened with a deep unease, memories flickering across his eyes. Lara, knowing bits of his story, placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, though her own expression mirrored his concern. She’d once heard about this year, this place—an era Ivan had survived, but not without scars. As his wife now, she felt a grim anticipation of what lay ahead.

“Everyone… listen,” Ivan muttered, his tone grave. “We’re not here to sightsee, and some things… it’s better if you don’t see them. Priscilla, especially—you should probably stay in the car.”

But curiosity stirred in Priscilla’s mind, the unshakable urge to understand the man who had become her closest family. The rest of the team nodded, falling in line behind Ivan as they crossed the square toward an innocuous, nondescript building tucked in a corner. This was no tourist attraction. It was one of the hidden places where the Státní bezpečnost (StB) conducted their grimmest work, far from public view.

They huddled near the window, gazing inside. Through the murky glass, they could see a dimly lit room and the blurred outlines of figures inside. Suddenly, they realized what they were witnessing: a brutal interrogation, a scene that chilled even hardened operatives like them.

Ivan’s gaze was fixed, unblinking, his face pale as he watched. Inside the room, a man lay on the floor, blood trickling from his mouth, his once-proud stance beaten into submission. Lara’s breath hitched as she recognized the unmistakable features of a younger Ivan — barely 35, yet already hardened by his line of work, defiant despite his injuries.

Just then, Priscilla, who had slipped from the Mercedes despite Ivan’s warning, approached and caught sight of the scene inside. She gasped, her hand covering her mouth as she took in the horror unfolding. There was young Ivan, a reflection of the man she now trusted with her life, lying battered and bruised on the floor, a jeering StB officer plucking a pack of Marlboro cigarettes from his pocket and smirking. The sight was almost too much to bear.

Ivan tore his eyes away, and with a curt nod, the team retreated, leaving the haunting scene behind them. The night was still young, and as if to drown out the memory, they took refuge in the dark, smoky embrace of Prague’s pubs. They plundered several bars, drinking their fill, each lost in thoughts of the past, of battles fought and futures altered.

They finally retired to a run-down hostel, the weight of what they’d seen pressing heavily on them. Lara, sensing the turmoil in Ivan, placed a gentle hand on his as they drifted into a fitful sleep.

The next morning, as they clambered back into the Mercedes, they felt the familiar lurch as time began to shift again. This time, they found themselves in 1988, at Prague’s Ruzyne Airport. The buzz of the airport filled the air, the cacophony of arrivals and departures clashing with their still-tender emotions from the night before.

Ivan looked around, squinting against the glare of the sunlight. For once, he didn’t seem to recognize where they had landed in time.

But Lara froze, her heart skipping a beat. Across the terminal, she saw her younger self, about 32 years old, the picture of poise and determination, boarding a bus. This was the Lara who had only begun to grasp the enormity of her destiny, who hadn’t yet faced her greatest trials. This was the Lara who was still unaware of the many dangers, losses, and loves that awaited her.

The team watched in stunned silence as young Lara stepped onto the bus, blissfully unaware of the future. Ivan tightened his grip on Lara’s hand, offering her the silent support she had given him the night before. It was a surreal, haunting reminder that they all carried their pasts with them — but together, they could face whatever lay ahead.

Chapter 7

The Mercedes 300TD, their improbable time machine, trailed the lumbering bus through the city’s winding streets, moving in sync with the 1988 Prague rhythm. They’d been drawn into a strange mission of curiosity, following Lara’s younger self — or rather, the life she’d once led in an entirely different time. After the bus ride, they found themselves trailing Tram 2, its steel wheels screeching against the tracks as it wove its way to Újezd.

“Is this some kind of surveillance trip?” Adam asked with a bemused look, watching as Ivan drove the Mercedes with uncharacteristic subtlety.

At the tram’s final stop, they watched younger Lara disappear into Café Slavia, the legendary haunt of artists, dissidents, and those with a thirst for dangerous ideas. They parked nearby and cautiously entered, blending as inconspicuously as possible into the smoky, dimly lit space.

To their surprise, young Lara wasn’t alone. Sitting across from her was a young man with tousled dark hair and round glasses that glinted in the light, an uncanny resemblance to the famous wizard of modern British legend.

Priscilla let out a low laugh, breaking the tense silence. “Wait...is that Harry Potter?”

Lara gave her a wry smile. “Yes, that’s him. And yes, he really did botch a spell and end up here in 1988. Let’s just say it wasn’t his first magical mishap.”

Priscilla’s eyes widened, still struggling to grasp the oddities of their mission. “So, the famous wizard and you just happened to meet back here in 1988...?”

“Oh, there’s more,” Lara replied with a grin. “We once worked together — even hunted for the Philosopher’s Stone. He’s a bit younger here, though. Not quite used to traveling through time yet.”

Priscilla shook her head, barely able to contain her laughter at the strangeness of it all.

Just as the team was settling into their covert eavesdropping position, time suddenly shifted again, pulling them forward to October 1989. They stumbled slightly, disoriented as they found themselves transported from the familiar café back to the dusty streets of Mělník, just outside Prague.

Ivan and Lara exchanged knowing glances, a mixture of hope and unease etched on their faces. 1989: a momentous year for both of them, one filled with dreams of freedom and the weight of history. But before they could catch their breath, the scene around them shifted into chaos.

Ahead, a man in a worn Svazarm uniform — the national civilian defense corps — leveled a vz. 33 rifle in their direction. Ivan recognized the weapon and the grim determination in the shooter’s eyes; he’d seen this before during his work as a criminal investigator with the Public Security Force. The target, however, was not Ivan, nor Lara, nor anyone else in the team. It was Harry.

The shot rang out, piercing the air, and Harry fell to the ground, clutching his side, his face twisted in pain. Ivan muttered an oath under his breath as he looked down at the wounded young man.

Ivan, his face tense and unreadable, glanced back at the others. “Slapy,” he murmured, the name carrying a heavy weight. He didn’t need to explain further — it was a place infamous for those who disappeared under the regime. Determination blazing in his eyes, he nodded at the rest of the team.

“Get in the car. We’re going to Slapy. Now.”

Chapter 8

The early morning fog clung to the shores of the Slapy Reservoir, shrouding the landscape in a thick, ghostly veil as Team arrived. They parked in the brush, taking in the surreal quiet, the mist so dense it was almost impossible to see more than a few meters ahead. Ivan’s gaze roamed the foggy shoreline, where something familiar caught his eye—a small red Škoda 120 GLS with rally lights, parked by the water.

From the driver’s side, a man stepped out, and Ivan instantly recognized himself, only younger. Though his hair was mostly dark, a few strands of gray were already sneaking in. His younger self moved calmly, almost lazily, pulling a folding chair from the car trunk and settling down by the water’s edge, seemingly intent on fishing for the morning. After setting up his rod, he cast his line with practiced ease, the hook disappearing into the misty water with a soft plop.

Lara glanced over at Ivan, noticing his stare. “You alright?”

“Yes… it’s just strange, that’s all,” Ivan replied, watching as his younger self leaned back in his chair, seeming utterly at ease. But after a moment, the younger Ivan reached into the car again, pulling out a radio transmitter. He adjusted the dials, his expression becoming mischievous, and brought it to his lips.

Just then, their attention was drawn back to the water. From somewhere along the shore, they saw a lone figure emerging, clad in a soaked wetsuit and moving cautiously along the misty shore. Lara’s breath hitched—she recognized the figure immediately. Her younger self, exhausted and drenched, was glancing around nervously, trying to stay out of sight.

But the younger Ivan, noticing her movement, quickly raised his binoculars and focused on her. Lara’s younger self caught his gaze, freezing momentarily as their eyes met. Panic flashed across her face, and without a moment’s hesitation, she dove back into the water, disappearing into the murky depths of the Slapy Reservoir.

The younger Ivan set his binoculars down, his amusement fading as he stared at the ripples where she had vanished. He stood up abruptly, glancing down at the radio with a worried frown. After a tense pause, he picked it up again, tuning it carefully before speaking, tone serious. “Stop scarying fish, ok? I mean, are you alright? Do you read me? Lara, please respond.”

Lara suppressed a smile, amused at his playful tone. His younger self leaned back in the chair, holding the radio loosely, as though waiting for an answer. He seemed to relish the joke, even looking down at a small English-Czech dictionary he’d pulled from the car’s glove compartment, flipping through it to check a word or two before muttering something to himself in amusement.

As he resumed fishing, the quiet was disturbed only by the occasional click of the radio as he murmured something—sometimes just a stray word, other times brief phrases, practicing his English as he spoke into the radio with the patient confidence of someone who didn’t mind waiting.

Priscilla watched him with a raised eyebrow, then glanced at older Ivan with a smirk. “His English was that rough back then, huh?”

Ivan chuckled, scratching the back of his head in mild embarrassment. “I think ‘rough’ might be putting it generously,” he admitted, shaking his head.

"And who exactly is he talking to?" Priscilla asked, her tone half-amused, half-curious.

Lara’s gaze softened as she watched the scene. “He’s talking to… me. The younger me,” she murmured. “Though I doubt I was in any condition to hear him at the time.”

His words grew softer, edged with uncertainty, and his playful grin had long since faded. As he continued to call out for her, minutes turned into an hour, his voice growing almost desperate with each call.

Seeing his own young face filled with worry, Ivan felt a pang of recognition. He knew that feeling of helplessness all too well—the fear that he was too late.

Just then, sirens broke the quiet. A series of orange-and-white vehicles with bold letters "VB" emblazoned on their doors sped onto the shore, accompanied by ambulance crews and Svazarm’s divers. The younger Ivan’s expression shifted to panic as he watched the emergency teams pour out of their vehicles, quickly setting up a search perimeter.

Frantically, he dropped the radio and grabbed a small boat tied to the shore, untying it with clumsy, shaking hands. He climbed in, rowing with all his strength toward the spot where Lara had disappeared, his voice hoarse as he called her name into the fog.

The older Ivan’s jaw tightened as he watched his past self row, memories of that fear flooding back. He’d been certain she had drowned, and that guilt had stayed with him long after that day.

The divers quickly plunged into the reservoir, their searchlights slicing through the murky water. After a tense, drawn-out silence, one of them finally surfaced, waving to signal they had found something. Within moments, they brought her to the surface, her body limp and motionless, her face ashen and still in her wetsuit.

The younger Ivan stood by as the paramedics quickly lifted her onto a stretcher, slipping an oxygen mask over her face. He hovered, visibly distraught, his hands clenching and unclenching, looking as though he might shatter if she didn’t open her eyes.

The older Ivan felt a light weight on his shoulder. Lara had leaned her head against him, her hand slipping gently into his.

“Do you think he believed she’d wake up?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Lara closed her eyes, a faint, nostalgic smile on her face as memories surfaced—the cold water, the pull of exhaustion, the distant sound of voices above her.

“Yes,” she whispered back, her voice thick with emotion. “He did. He kept believing. And she did, and married you after some years.”

They stood in silence, watching as the ambulance doors closed, the sirens piercing the quiet once more as it drove away, carrying her younger self to an uncertain fate. The mist settled around them, cloaking them both in a shared silence, as they revisited memories that seemed, for a moment, as real as the fog around them.

Chapter 9

As the team left Slapy, a bright, otherworldly flash illuminated the inside of the aging Mercedes. In the blink of an eye, the scenery outside transformed. Instead of the Czech countryside, the familiar skyscrapers and palm trees of Los Angeles unfolded around them, bustling with the sights and sounds of the City of Angels. The car’s occupants—Lara, Ivan, Priscilla, Görgy, Burkov, and Ivan’s colleague Adam—blinked in surprise as the realization of their new location set in.

“Are we…in LA again?” Priscilla asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

“Apparently so,” Ivan murmured, raising an eyebrow. He looked out the window with a bemused expression, unphased by the increasingly unpredictable powers of his car.

After Priscilla directed them to her father Adam’s home, they pulled up to the curb, and the two Adams shared an awkward wave and a laugh. The younger Adam—the one in the car, who was Ivan’s colleague—looked with interest at Adam, Priscilla’s father, who was the spitting image of Ivan’s younger self.

“Dad?” Priscilla’s father asked, visibly surprised as he looked at Ivan. “You barely look a day older than last time I saw you. How is this possible?”

Ivan shrugged, giving him a wry smile. “It’s a… unique car,” he replied with a laugh. “Let’s just say I’ve been a few places since then.”

With some brief introductions and plenty of laughter, they all decided to make the most of the unexpected time in LA. Priscilla, thrilled to show her family around, led them through the city. As they made their way down Hollywood Boulevard, Priscilla squealed with excitement upon spotting Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce mingling with fans on the sidewalk. Wasting no time, she leaped out and hurried over to greet them.

Taylor and Travis looked up, noticing the odd vehicle parked at the curb. With its unmistakable Czechoslovakian plates, the Mercedes stood out even on Hollywood’s vibrant streets.

Travis tilted his head. “Is that…uh, are those Czech plates?” he asked, squinting.

“Yup!” Priscilla replied proudly. “It’s my granddad’s car.” She introduced herself, and before long, she invited them to meet the group.

When Taylor and Travis strolled over to the Mercedes, they stopped, taking in the sight of the vintage vehicle and its equally vintage occupants. Travis raised an eyebrow, giving the car an approving nod. “It’s a real classic, that’s for sure,” he said. “But where’d you all find a car like this? And how’d you even get it across the ocean?”

Ivan chuckled, extending a hand. “Well, it’s got its own way of getting around. And forgive my accent,” he added with a polite nod, “but I’m Ivan, Priscilla’s grandfather.”

Taylor squinted, looking between Ivan and the Priscilla, noting their striking resemblance. “Hold on—Priscilla, is that your dad?”

Priscilla laughed, pointing to Ivan. “No, this is my granddad.” She gestured to Ivan, who gave a friendly wave. Taylor blinked, still trying to process.

“Grandfather? But you look like you’re in your fifties, tops!” she exclaimed, clearly fascinated. Travis, equally impressed, whistled low.

Ivan smiled. “Well, let’s say I have my secrets. It’s, uh… a little complicated.”

Taylor turned to Lara, who had just stepped out of the car with an amused expression. “And who might you be?” Taylor asked.

“Lara Tůma-Croft,” Lara replied, shaking Taylor’s hand with a knowing smile.

Taylor’s jaw dropped. “Wait. You’re actually Lara Croft?” She glanced between Ivan and Lara, her eyes wide with amazement. “And you’re married?”

Ivan smiled, sharing a look with Lara. “Indeed, though it took some time and a few international chases.”

With that, Travis leaned in, clearly curious. “So… a classic Mercedes with Czech plates, a time-traveling family, and Lara Croft? This is the wildest Hollywood story I’ve ever heard,” he admitted with a laugh.

Priscilla nudged Taylor, who was still processing the odd reunion. “How about a ride? We’re planning a bit of a tour.”

Taylor looked at Travis, who nodded eagerly. “Why not? Let’s do it.”

Taylor and Travis squeezed into the back, and the Diesel-engined vehicle screamed to life. As they cruised down Sunset Boulevard, they shared laughs, traded stories, and took in the sheer surrealism of their company. But just as they rounded the next corner, a bright flash surged through the car once more.

When the light faded, the streets of LA had vanished, replaced instead by narrow, cobbled lanes. The world outside was black and white, the colors drained and the buildings looming with an eerie, old-fashioned charm. Pedestrians outside wore vintage attire, oblivious to the curious new arrivals.

“What…just happened?” Taylor asked, her voice hushed as she looked out the window.

The elder Ivan scanned the streets and muttered in Czech, “Do prdele, už zase…” He seemed to recognize the place, and, more disturbingly, the year. “We’re in…1956.”

Taylor and Travis exchanged wide-eyed glances as the realization slowly dawned on them. Taylor’s voice was soft as she looked back at Ivan. “Okay, Ivan…why do you look like you’re fifty?”

“It’s… complicated,” Ivan replied, with a mix of exasperation and a wry smile.

Chapter 10

As they cruised through the black-and-white streets, Ivan’s eyes grew misty with nostalgia. Every corner, every cobblestone—they were in Prague. But not just any Prague. This was his childhood’s Prague, caught in the timeless charm of the 1950s.

The Mercedes glided past Žižkov, and Ivan’s gaze fell on a young boy darting down the street, a school satchel bouncing on his back. The boy couldn’t have been older than six, cheeks flushed with youth and wonder. Ivan’s eyes widened slightly as recognition dawned.

“That boy…” he murmured, almost to himself.

Taylor leaned forward from the backseat, spotting the boy too. “Oh my god, he’s adorable!” she cooed, eyes softening.

Priscilla, smiling, nudged her grandfather. “That’s you, granddad? You were so cute!”

Ivan barely acknowledged them, lost in his memories of simpler days. A nostalgic silence settled over the car as they took in the charm of old Prague. But the moment was short-lived.

Görgy suddenly sat up straight, a gleam in his eye. “Ivan! stop the car now!”

Ivan sighed, as if he’d been expecting this, and pulled the car over. Before anyone could ask why, Görgy had already leapt out and dashed toward a nearby field where sheep grazed peacefully. And then, he started to rape one.

Taylor blinked, baffled. “What’s he doing?” she whispered, hoping someone would explain this was just a bizarre joke.

Priscilla rolled her eyes, a look of resigned disgust on her face. “This? He’s been doing it for years. He calls it a…‘tradition.’”

The others watched in shocked silence as Görgy was still raping the sheep.

"Drága báránykám!" he exclaimed, his voice dripping with affection. "Olyan régóta kereslek! A puha bundád, a nagy, ártatlan szemeid—pontosan úgy nézel ki, ahogy emlékeztem!”

Taylor’s face contorted in horror as she realized he wasn’t about to stop. “Oh my god,” she whispered, covering her mouth. “I…I can’t…”

And before she could stop herself, Taylor doubled over, retching helplessly into the backseat.

Priscilla groaned, covering her eyes. “Not again…” But the sight and smell from Taylor’s unfortunate contribution was too much, and she, too, soon followed, her head dropping into her hands as she heaved.

Meanwhile, Görgy continued, his voice rising with passion as he stroked the sheep’s back. “Olyan puha vagy, mint egy felhő, és az illatod... az igazi szabadság illata! Tarts ki, szépségem, ez egy különleges pillanat!”

Lara, sitting in the front, had been watching this horror unfold in silent fascination, her eyes wide and her mouth open. But as the smell from the back reached her, she fumbled for the door handle, desperation in her eyes. “No…no, not again…”

Despite her best efforts, she too leaned out of the car window, gasping as she joined the retching chorus.

Travis was the last to hold out, but even his iron stomach had its limits. As Görgy’s enthusiastic monologue continued, his Hungarian phrases ringing out across the field, Travis finally gave in, his own face turning green as he leaned over, adding to the mess in the car.

As they each regained their composure, Ivan calmly reached under his seat, pulled out a bottle of blue liquid, and unscrewed the cap. He took a quick, unaffected swig, then extended the bottle to the others, a wry smile playing on his lips. “For the nerves,” he said with a twinkle of amusement.

Taylor, still queasy, looked at the bottle in horror. “Is that…window cleaner?”

Ivan shrugged, raising an eyebrow as he took another sip. “Of course. In the army, we made do with what we had. Cheap, effective—puts hair on your chest.”

Travis, still pale, shook his head. “That’s…that’s poison! You’re drinking poison!”

Ivan chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Poison? You Americans are so sensitive. You think a bit of window cleaner’s going to do you in?”

Taylor shot him a look of disgust. “I’ll take my chances without it, thanks.”

Sighing, Ivan surveyed the car’s interior, which was now a disaster. “Alright, all of you, out of the car. Now.” He gestured towards the doors, looking thoroughly annoyed. “This is no way to treat a classic.”

They all stumbled out, still shaken and nauseous, and stood on the side of the road as Ivan set to work cleaning the mess, muttering about how it was “easier to clean than a tank.” Görgy eventually returned from the field, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Ivan shot him a scathing look. “Görgy, can you please keep it together? We have guests here.”

Görgy shrugged, giving Ivan a mischievous grin. “Miért, Ivan? A bárányok megértik a tiszta szándékot! Ez az igazi öröm!”

Taylor, visibly pale, glared at him. “I think we’d all be happier if you’d keep your joy to yourself next time.”

Once the car was scrubbed to Ivan’s satisfaction, they all piled back in, still rattled but grateful for the fresh air. Ivan restarted the engine, and as they drove northward, the group settled into an uneasy silence, each silently vowing to avoid sheep, window cleaner, and anything remotely related to Görgy’s “traditions” in the future.

Chapter 11

Back on the road, silence reigned. Taylor, Priscilla, and Travis sat in the backseat, each lost in their own thoughts, still shaken from Görgy’s earlier escapades. Ivan and Görgy, however, seemed unfazed, as if their destination occupied their minds completely.

As they wound their way through dense forest, the road narrowed and grew steeper, leading them into a desolate, mist-shrouded valley. The trees thinned, and an eerie quiet hung over the place, broken only by the soft rumble of the Mercedes. The road ended at a set of rusted iron gates.

Ivan slowed the car, his face unreadable, and brought them to a halt in front of the gates.

Taylor glanced around, uneasy. “Where are we?”

Ivan’s eyes were fixed on the gates, his voice somber. “Jáchymov.”

The name hung in the air, heavy and full of dark history.

Priscilla furrowed her brow. “What’s…Jáchymov?”

Before Ivan could answer, a rattling noise echoed through the mist. Out of the haze, an old Praga RN truck approached, its headlights dim and yellow. It creaked to a stop beside them, and to everyone’s horror except Ivan and Görgy, the truck’s open back revealed bodies—thin, skeletal bodies, draped over each other like discarded rags.

Priscilla’s hand shot to her mouth. “Are…are they dead?”

“This is a uranium mine,” Ivan said, his voice steady but grim. “People were brought here to work…until they couldn’t anymore.”

They watched in silence as the truck pulled through the gates, disappearing into the fog. Ivan restarted the Mercedes, driving them through the gates and deeper into the mine’s shadowy heart. They passed crumbling barracks and abandoned machinery, each building and fence carrying the weight of suffering, still lingering in the air.

At last, Ivan brought the car to a stop near one of the mining shafts. The group got out slowly, each overwhelmed by the oppressive silence. Near the entrance to the shaft lay a man, thin and frail, with hollow eyes and gaunt cheeks. His tattered clothes hung from his emaciated frame, and his body lay curled on the ground, barely clinging to life.

Ivan’s gaze softened as he looked at the man, his stoic face betraying a flicker of deep sorrow. His voice was quiet, almost reverent. “Priscilla,” he said, “this…this is your great-grandfather. My father.”

Everyone froze, and Priscilla turned to him in shock, her eyes wide with disbelief. “My…great-grandfather?”

Ivan nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the man on the ground. There was no mistaking it—this skeletal figure, worn down by hardship and suffering, was the father he’d lost long ago.

Priscilla, her heart pounding, took a step forward, kneeling beside him. She reached out a trembling hand, but the man didn’t stir. His chest barely moved, and his eyes, once full of life, were now vacant, as if the man himself had already gone somewhere far away.

“Granddad…” Priscilla whispered, looking up at Ivan, her voice thick with emotion. “How could he be here all this time?”

Ivan’s face was grave. “This place…” he said slowly, “…it holds onto people. Some of them never got out.”

As Priscilla knelt beside her great-grandfather, silent tears ran down her cheeks. The others stood back, witnessing this heartbreaking moment in silence, their faces pale and reflective.

Suddenly, Ivan placed a hand on her shoulder. “Come, Priscilla. We have to go.”

Priscilla looked back at the man, still lying motionless on the ground, her heart breaking as she realized she’d never hear his voice or know his story. She touched his frail hand one last time, as if to say goodbye, before standing up and stepping away, her shoulders shaking.

The silence was heavy as they climbed back into the car, each lost in their own thoughts. Ivan started the engine, and they passed through the gate, leaving the mine and its ghosts behind.

Just as they crossed the threshold, a blinding flash of light filled the car. Everyone gasped, shielding their eyes. The smell of damp earth and cold iron faded, replaced by the fresh scent of salt and the gentle sound of waves.

When they opened their eyes, the mine was gone. They were standing on the deck of a yacht, floating in the crystal-clear waters of the Mediterranean. The air was warm, the sun bright, and all around them was the calm, endless sea.

Taylor looked around in shock. “Are we…on a boat?”

Ivan took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he let the salt air fill his lungs. “Yes. The Mediterranean.”

Priscilla, still shaken, looked out at the vast, open water, trying to process the sudden change. She turned to Ivan, her voice barely a whisper. “Thank you…for letting me meet him, even if it was just for a moment.”

Ivan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Sometimes,” he said softly, “we must face the past to understand who we are. And sometimes, it’s enough just to remember.”

Chapter 12

The Mediterranean sun gleamed brightly as the yacht drifted lazily in the waves, the calm shattered only by the surreal sight of an old Czech Mercedes Kombi perched in the middle of the deck. Inside the car, Taylor, Priscilla, Travis, and the present-day versions of Lara and Ivan watched in fascination as a younger Lara, in full diving gear, prepared to plunge into the sea. Next to her stood a younger Ivan, munching on a schnitzel sandwich and dressed in a crisp blue shirt, wide beige pants, and well-worn brown loafers. His attention was focused on his meal rather than the mission at hand, as if eating lunch was his main priority.

Beside him leaned a strange, hulking weapon: a triple-barreled combination rifle that gleamed in the sun, looking every bit as menacing as it was absurd.

Present-day Lara couldn’t contain her grin. “I’d almost forgotten about that ridiculous gun. It looks like something out of a 1850's themed movie.”

Present-day Ivan chuckled, eyes twinkling. “You know me—always prepared. Three barrels are better than one, right?”

Taylor raised an eyebrow, still staring at the weapon. “Did you seriously carry that thing around? How’d you even get it past customs?”

Priscilla leaned forward, eyeing the weapon in horrified awe. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or terrified.”

Meanwhile, younger Lara had finished her equipment check and cast a glance of thinly veiled annoyance at younger Ivan. She turned away, rolling her eyes, and dove off the deck, vanishing below the water’s surface in pursuit of some mysterious artifact. Younger Ivan, entirely unfazed, kept eating his sandwich, completely absorbed.

“Do you think he ever took anything seriously?” Travis muttered, half-amused.

Present-day Ivan just shrugged with a smile. “The man knew what he liked.”

Thirty minutes later, a furious voice crackled over the radio. Younger Lara’s voice was dripping with irritation. “Ivan! Are you seriously eating lunch up there while I’m risking my neck underwater?”

Younger Ivan took a final bite of his schnitzel sandwich and casually glanced at the radio, barely acknowledging the frustration in her tone.

Present-day Ivan and Lara burst out laughing, tears streaming down their faces. Taylor and Priscilla exchanged looks, as if to say, “How on earth did these two ever survive?”

“Is this…is this how you two worked together?” Taylor asked, incredulously.

“Oh, definitely,” present-day Lara said, still wiping tears from her eyes. “We had our own…system.”

Half an hour later, younger Lara finally emerged from the water, soaking wet and visibly furious. She stomped over to younger Ivan, her wetsuit dripping seawater, and fixed him with a glare that could melt steel. Younger Ivan, unfazed, casually picked up the triple-barreled gun and aimed it in her general direction, as if it was the most natural response in the world.

“Really, Ivan?” Younger Lara snapped. “I’m out there, practically drowning, and you’re just…eating?”

Present-day Ivan and Lara laughed so hard they almost doubled over, their amusement filling the car. But the laughter finally drew the attention of their younger selves.

Younger Ivan and Lara froze, their faces going pale as they registered the strange sight of the old Mercedes sitting on the deck, its Czech plates gleaming, with their older selves and six unknown passengers inside. They stood there, wide-eyed, processing the impossible.

Present-day Ivan leaned out of the window with a grin. “Hey there! Nice gun, Ivan. Still got good taste, I see.”

Younger Ivan blinked in disbelief, looking his older self up and down. Then, noticing the Mercedes, his face twisted into a mixture of awe and envy.

“Where the hell did you get that car?” he muttered, clearly impressed. “They wouldn’t let me near one like that back home.”

“Oh, this old thing?” Present-day Ivan patted the dashboard fondly. “Picked her up a few years after…well, you’ll see.”

Younger Ivan, still wide-eyed, took a few steps closer, almost as if he wanted to touch the car. “It’s…beautiful.”

Lara leaned out of the window, calling to her younger self. “And look at you, Lara. Still wearing wetsuits and diving for artifacts. I’d say not much has changed,” she laughed.

Younger Lara, still processing the surreal encounter, glanced at her older self and suddenly noticed the elegant leather trench coat she was wearing, a tailored piece that managed to look both rugged and sophisticated.

“That coat…” Younger Lara’s voice was filled with admiration. “Where did you get it?”

Present-day Lara chuckled and ran a hand over the lapel. “Ah, this little beauty? Picked it up in Rome. You’ll get there eventually—just keep pushing Ivan to take you on those side trips.”

Younger Lara grinned, nodding appreciatively. “Maybe I will. You…we…have good taste.”

Present-day Ivan leaned back with a mischievous grin. “One bit of advice for you, kid,” he said, directing his words at younger Ivan. “Keep an eye on that heart of yours. All the schnitzels and vodka in the world aren’t worth it if they’re what bring you down.”

Younger Ivan’s smirk faltered for a split second, as he seemed to process the warning. But he shrugged it off with his characteristic bravado. “I’m tough. Takes more than a schnitzel to knock me out.”

Present-day Ivan just chuckled. “Yeah, I thought that too. Well, you're 47, just pay attention.”

Then, with a gleam in his eye, present-day Ivan turned back to the car. He reached for the windshield wipers and flicked them on, the rubber blades waving in a slow, comical motion. As a final flourish, he pressed the button for the windshield washers, spraying jets of water in an impromptu salute.

The passengers inside the car dissolved into laughter, and even younger Ivan had to crack a smile, though he shook his head in disbelief. Younger Lara just stood there, arms crossed, trying not to laugh as she watched her future self wave at her with a literal car gesture.

“I think…we’re going to be alright,” younger Lara said softly, watching the older versions of herself and Ivan laugh together.

But before they could fully process the strange meeting, the old Mercedes and its occupants shimmered and vanished from the deck, as if they had never been there at all, leaving the younger Ivan and Lara standing in stunned silence, gazing out at the empty space where their future selves had been.

Chapter 13

In a flash of light, the world around them shifted. Gone was the calming sound of waves and the salty scent of the Mediterranean; they now found themselves surrounded by hot, dusty air, pinkish sandstone cliffs, and the awe-inspiring ancient structures of Petra. Present-day Lara and Ivan exchanged a knowing glance—they both knew exactly what lay ahead.

As they adjusted to their new surroundings, a commotion from a narrow passage nearby drew everyone’s attention. There, in the middle of a fierce brawl, were their younger selves. Younger Lara was dressed in her typical outdoor gear, agile and focused as she flipped, dodged, and took down a group of mercenaries with swift precision. Beside her, younger Ivan fought in his own unique style, dressed in a worn, brown suit that somehow only added to his rugged charisma. He wielded his rifle as if it were an extension of his body, using the stock to club mercenaries in the head, thrusting it forward in brutal bayonet-like moves, and even breaking a few necks with lethal, unflinching ease.

The sight was nothing short of astonishing for the others. Borkov, Adam, Priscilla, Taylor, and even Travis looked on, wide-eyed and speechless, unable to believe the sheer strength and skill Ivan was displaying. His movements were powerful and relentless, each strike filled with a focused brutality that seemed to defy his age.

Taylor gasped as Ivan effortlessly parried a mercenary’s attack, spinning the rifle around and smashing the man’s head with a swift strike. “I…I had no idea Ivan could fight like that.”

Priscilla’s jaw dropped as Ivan executed another mercenary with a swift bayonet maneuver. “Is he even human?” she whispered, caught between awe and horror.

Present-day Lara couldn’t help but smile, her gaze shifting to her younger self, who was in the middle of a graceful backflip to evade a knife-wielding mercenary. With a swift kick, younger Lara sent him sprawling, then followed up with a series of rapid, acrobatic strikes that left her opponents dazed and defeated.

“I’m not going to lie,” present-day Lara murmured proudly, crossing her arms as she watched her younger self. “I’m impressed.”

Travis leaned forward, mesmerized by the display. “How are you both…still so strong?” he stammered, looking back at Ivan and Lara with a mixture of respect and disbelief.

Present-day Ivan smirked, not taking his eyes off the brawl. “Experience, my friend. You fight enough battles, you learn a few tricks, especially in 601. regiment.”

Adam, still in shock, muttered, “A few tricks? Ivan, you’re taking on an army by yourself.”

Meanwhile, on the battlefield, younger Ivan continued his brutal takedowns, unfazed by the number of enemies. He locked eyes with one particularly burly mercenary, who hesitated for a split second—just long enough for younger Ivan to lunge forward, twist the man’s arm, and take him down with a swift, bone-crunching neck snap.

Present-day Ivan looked on with a calm, almost nostalgic expression. “Ah, I remember this day. Good times.”

Present-day Lara grinned at him, a glint of admiration in her eyes. “And here I thought you were just winging it back then.”

Younger Lara, in the midst of another graceful takedown, was clearly enjoying herself, moving with a precision and agility that made even her older self proud. She leapt from one mercenary to the next, vaulting off walls, landing strikes with perfect timing, and taking down anyone who dared stand in her way.

Present-day Lara nudged Ivan. “Not bad for my younger self, huh?”

He nodded, a playful smirk on his face. “I always knew you were dangerous, but seeing it from here? Even more impressive.”

The rest of the group continued to watch in a stunned silence as the younger versions of Ivan and Lara fought through the mercenaries, side by side, an unstoppable duo. For Priscilla, Taylor, and the others, it was like witnessing legends in the flesh—an epic glimpse of the past that made them realize just how much these two had been through.

Finally, as the last mercenary fell, younger Ivan and Lara straightened, catching their breath as they surveyed the aftermath. But something caught their attention—a faint shimmer, like a mirage, in the shadows.

Present-day Ivan gave a small wave. “Not bad for a day’s work,” he called out, stepping forward.

The younger Ivan and Lara turned, their faces registering shock as they looked upon the older versions of themselves standing with a group of strangers, the Mercedes Kombi parked nearby like a loyal old friend.

“Who…who are you?” younger Ivan stammered, looking between the older Ivan and Lara with a mix of awe and confusion.

Present-day Ivan shrugged, a playful glint in his eye. “Just a friendly ghost from the future with a bit of advice.”

Younger Ivan looked intrigued, though still slightly suspicious. “Advice, huh? What kind?”

Present-day Ivan stepped closer, his voice low but firm. “Take care of your heart, kid. You may think you’re invincible, but trust me… it catches up with you.”

Younger Ivan raised an eyebrow, clearly taking the advice to heart despite his usual bravado. He glanced over at the Mercedes, his eyes lighting up with admiration. “And that car…where did you get it?”

Present-day Ivan chuckled. “You’ll get there someday.”

Meanwhile, younger Lara couldn’t take her eyes off her older self’s leather coat, a striking, well-worn piece that hinted at countless adventures. “That coat… I want that coat,” she murmured.

Present-day Lara winked. “Rome. Keep up the fieldwork, and maybe you’ll find something just as good.”

The younger pair exchanged a glance, clearly fascinated yet overwhelmed by the surreal encounter. But before they could ask more, present-day Ivan stepped back, waving farewell.

“Good luck out there,” he said with a grin, and with one final nod, he and the rest of the group vanished, leaving the younger Lara and Ivan standing amidst the dust and defeated mercenaries, forever changed by the glimpse of what lay ahead.

Chapter 14

The gentle hum of the beige Mercedes faded as it came to a stop in front of an unmarked building in London’s business district. The car’s polished, understated exterior gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, casting reflections on the glass-fronted buildings nearby. Ivan switched off the engine, glancing over his shoulder at his passengers. He allowed himself a small smile; this moment felt momentous, a reunion in the heart of a city that had seen many of their stories unfold.

“Alright, everyone,” he announced with a nod. “We’re here.”

The car doors opened one by one. Ivan climbed out first, adjusting his coat and smoothing down his graying hair before turning his gaze to the building. It was tall and imposing, the kind of structure that would be easy to overlook if you didn’t know what you were looking for. The Zero Agency headquarters had been designed that way—discreet, yet purpose-built for their line of work.

Lara stepped out next, her movements deliberate as she surveyed the street with the calm gaze of someone who was always prepared for the unexpected. Her dark eyes scanned their surroundings, noting exits, bystanders, and any potential threats in a matter of seconds.

Priscilla, the picture of elegance, exited from the back seat, adjusting her pristine coat and casting a quick, calculating glance at the building. With her high cheekbones and serious expression, she looked every inch the editor-in-chief she was, yet there was a steeliness in her gaze, a hint of something deeper than a fashion executive’s poise.

Burkov emerged from the car with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze as stern and measured as ever. He took in the structure with a critical eye, the posture of a man who had spent a lifetime cultivating authority. His expression softened only slightly as he nodded to Ivan, a subtle sign of respect.

Adam climbed out with a faint grin, rubbing his hands together to ward off the chill. “Good to be back in London,” he murmured, giving Ivan a familiar look that said he was ready for whatever this day had in store.

Last to emerge was Görgy. The broad-shouldered Hungarian stretched his limbs as he stepped out, letting his gaze travel across the street with a wry, half-amused expression. His rugged face betrayed little, but his narrowed eyes assessed the scene with a calculating intelligence.

Taylor and Travis, standing near the entrance, exchanged looks as the team gathered on the pavement. Taylor crossed her arms, her expression skeptical, though there was a glint of intrigue in her eyes.

“So this is the team, huh?” she remarked, her voice tinged with curiosity. “I’m getting the sense you’ve all got… quite the variety of talents.”

Travis, standing beside her, couldn’t hide his bemusement. “Bit of an unusual mix, I’ll give you that. But something tells me you all must be good at what you do if you’ve made it here.”

Ivan chuckled, stepping forward. “Taylor, Travis, it’s time you meet them properly,” he said. “You’ll see, each of them brings something essential to the table.”

He turned to Priscilla first. “This is Priscilla,” he introduced her, gesturing with a proud smile. “She’s not just an editor for Vogue, though I’d argue she could probably take down most of the staff there in an argument—or a fistfight, for that matter.”

Priscilla shot her grandfather a sideways look, then extended her hand toward Taylor. “Pleasure to meet you. And don’t let Ivan fool you; I tend to solve problems with words, not fists,” she added, her voice calm but with a hint of humor.

Taylor shook her hand, raising an eyebrow. “I’ll keep that in mind. Good to meet you, Priscilla.”

Next, Ivan gestured to Burkov. “This is Burkov. Former headmaster of the high school I attended. He’s as sharp as they come and about as unflappable.”

Burkov inclined his head slightly, his lips twitching in the barest hint of a smile. “I’m retired now, but old habits die hard. I still keep an eye out for trouble.”

Travis, surprised, blinked. “A headmaster? Well, I wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Oh, there’s more to him than meets the eye,” Ivan assured them with a wink.

Moving on, Ivan introduced Adam. “And this is Adam, my old colleague. We taught together for years. He’s got a knack for making sense out of chaos, which, as you’ll find out, is a valuable skill around here.”

Adam grinned, giving a friendly nod. “Nice to meet you both. And Ivan’s right about the chaos,” he added with a chuckle. “It follows him wherever he goes.”

Finally, Ivan gestured to the towering, burly figure of Görgy. “And last but not least—Görgy. A brilliant tank driver, and one of the best I know in a fight. Görgy is… unique, let’s say.”

Görgy’s lips curled into a smirk as he gave a half-shrug. “What can I say? I’m good at breaking things and getting out alive. And if I happen to have an appreciation for certain animals, well, I make no apologies.”

Travis glanced at Taylor with a look of both bewilderment and amusement. “We’ve got ourselves a colorful crew here, don’t we?”

Taylor sighed, folding her arms. “Looks that way. But hey, if Ivan trusts you, that’s good enough for us.”

Ivan laughed, clapping his hands together. “I knew you’d understand. And now that introductions are done, I’d like to invite you all to my place for the evening. Lara and I would love to welcome you properly.”

Priscilla looked at him with a raised brow. “Your place? You know, I thought we were here for something serious.”

“We are, we are,” Ivan assured her, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. “But even the most serious missions deserve a good meal to start. Besides, I think you’ll find there’s plenty of room to talk business over dinner.”

The group exchanged glances, a mixture of curiosity, amusement, and anticipation lighting up their faces. And as Ivan led the way into the unmarked building, it was clear to all of them that this was only the beginning of whatever lay ahead.

Chapter 15

The late afternoon sun cast a golden glow over the streets of Hammersmith as Ivan’s beige Mercedes slid into a narrow parking spot. Ivan led his motley crew up the stairs to his and Lara’s flat, a spacious, unassuming apartment hidden in one of London’s quieter corners. Taylor and Travis, unaccustomed to the British understatement of old flats, exchanged curious glances as they took in the building’s unremarkable brick exterior.

Inside, the apartment was warm and inviting, filled with the subtle scent of freshly brewed coffee and the faint hint of spices from a simmering stew. The living room was comfortably cluttered, with mismatched armchairs and a coffee table strewn with well-thumbed books on everything from military history to cooking.

Taylor raised her eyebrows, looking around with a mix of surprise and amusement. “You know, Ivan, this isn’t quite what I imagined.”

Ivan chuckled, ushering them inside and gesturing towards the dining table. “Don’t worry. We make up for what the place lacks in glamor with good food and better company. Now, please, sit. I’ll get you something to eat and drink.”

Within moments, Lara appeared from the kitchen, carrying plates laden with steaming food. She set them down with practiced ease, giving Ivan a small smile before disappearing back into the kitchen for more. Bottles of wine and whiskey soon lined the table, and the group settled into an evening of laughter, storytelling, and the occasional competitive toast.

As the night wore on, Taylor and Travis couldn’t help but notice the unusual details in Ivan and Lara’s home. Ivan’s apartment seemed so unassuming on the surface, but there was a sense of history to it, the kind that only long years and well-kept secrets could bring. It wasn’t long before Taylor leaned over to Travis, her voice barely above a whisper.

“You know, I’m getting the itch to… explore a little,” she murmured, glancing toward a door on the far side of the room. “You thinking what I’m thinking?”

Travis grinned. “You know I am.” He cleared his throat and raised his voice. “Hey, Ivan, mind if we… take a look around?”

Ivan raised an eyebrow, but a slight smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Curiosity, hmm? Sure, have a look. Just don’t open anything with a lock on it.”

Grinning at each other, Taylor and Travis got up, wandering down the hallway, poking their heads into rooms filled with shelves of old books and walls decorated with faded photos from years gone by. They came upon a large closet, packed with clothes. Amidst the vintage jackets and heavy wool coats, they noticed a meticulously preserved uniform—the dark green of the Czechoslovak People’s Army, complete with lieutenant’s insignia.

“Check this out,” Travis whispered, holding up a sleeve to inspect the rank patches. “Guess our friend Ivan’s got quite the past.”

But just as they closed the closet door, Taylor’s eye caught something odd—a small door in the far corner of the room, almost invisible against the wall. She nudged Travis, and with a mischievous grin, she turned the handle.

The door opened, revealing a hidden storage space, and both of them froze in shock. Inside was a vast collection of weapons, meticulously organized and polished to a shine. Rows of knives, handguns, rifles, and submachine guns lined the walls. At the center of it all, mounted on a stand, was an imposing Vickers machine gun. Shelves held stacks of ammunition, grenades, and to their horror, several small bricks of TNT with wires and a detonator placed carefully beside them.

Travis gaped, while Taylor let out a small, involuntary scream. “What in the hell…?” she stammered, backing up, her face pale.

At that moment, Ivan appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed, watching them with a bemused expression. “Impressive, isn’t it?” he said, a glint of pride in his eyes. “Don’t worry, it’s all perfectly safe. Just a bit of insurance… in case things ever go south.”

“‘Insurance’?” Travis asked, still staring at the TNT. “You call all this ‘insurance’?”

Ivan shrugged and, to their astonishment, reached into his jacket, pulling out a Škorpion submachine gun. “Always good to have a backup,” he said with a casual grin. “You never know when a situation might need… escalation.”

Taylor and Travis exchanged nervous glances, but Ivan just laughed, leading them back to the dining room. “Come on. It’s time to eat. And don’t worry; the weapons won’t bite.”

The rest of the evening passed with a mix of laughter and a cautious, lingering tension as they enjoyed a hearty meal prepared by Lara. The next morning, Ivan loaded Taylor and Travis back into the beige Mercedes, preparing to drive them to Heathrow. But as they stepped outside, they were greeted by an unexpected—and overwhelming—sight.

The street was packed with people. Young fans clustered around the front of the building, holding signs, cameras flashing as soon as Taylor stepped outside.

“Swifties,” Travis muttered under his breath, eyes widening as he realized the sheer size of the crowd. “Of course.”

Taylor groaned, quickly ducking back behind Ivan. “Oh god, there are so many of them. How did they even find us here?”

Ivan sighed, glancing at the scene with mild annoyance. “They find everything, don’t they? Well, don’t worry. We have a way to get through.”

With a click of his remote, Ivan opened the garage, revealing an unexpected sight. Inside, a row of classic cars stood gleaming—Škodas of various makes and models, each lovingly restored and polished to a shine. Among them was a deep blue Škoda Superb station wagon, which Ivan gestured to proudly.

“Get in,” he said with a grin, popping the trunk. “They’ll never expect this.”

Taylor and Travis exchanged a look of surprise as they climbed into the back seat, settling into the spacious interior. As Ivan started the engine and began inching his way toward the garage exit, the fans crowded around the car, blocking their way.

“Think they’ll let us through?” Travis asked, a note of concern in his voice.

Ivan sighed, his patience wearing thin. “Well, if they don’t want to clear out of the way…” He rolled down the window and, to the horror of Taylor and Travis, raised his Škorpion, firing a full magazine into the air. The sharp cracks of gunfire echoed down the street, and the crowd erupted in panic, people scattering in all directions as Ivan calmly reloaded, aiming the weapon down but keeping it visible.

“Sometimes you have to be firm,” he said, glancing over at his startled passengers. “It’s just how things are.”

Swiftly and without further incident, Ivan maneuvered the Škoda through the now-clear street, driving them to Heathrow. The tension in the car gradually faded as they neared the airport, and Taylor and Travis exchanged relieved glances as they saw the terminal in the distance.

Ivan pulled up at the drop-off area, stepping out to help them with their bags. He gave them each a firm handshake, his smile a little sharper than usual. “Safe travels. And remember, you’re always welcome here—just don’t go looking in too many closets next time.”

Taylor chuckled, though a little nervously. “Noted.”

“Thank you, Ivan,” Travis said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think we’ve had enough excitement for one trip.”

With a final nod, Ivan watched as they disappeared into the terminal. A sense of relief settled over him as he climbed back into his Škoda, heading home to Lara and the quiet sanctuary of his garage.

Once back, he found her waiting by the open hood of their Mercedes, a faint smudge of oil on her cheek as she tinkered with the engine. He joined her with a contented sigh, picking up a wrench and turning to her with a grin.

“Let’s get back to work,” he said, his voice filled with satisfaction.