With fading consciousness, your trembling hands fumble for the emergency compartment beneath the pilot's seat. The metal latch resists at first, then gives way with a rusty squeak. Inside, you find the standard temporal survival kit - vacuum-sealed protein bars, a canteen of self-filtering water, and a compact medical injector filled with stimulants. Each item bears the Time Corps insignia, the familiar clock-and-gear emblem bringing you momentary comfort.

You manage to strap the ration pack across your chest using the remaining intact harness strap, its rough canvas pressing against your ribs. The protein bars rattle ominously as another temporal wave rocks the machine. Through half-lidded eyes, you spot the emergency beacon's activation switch just out of reach - its steady red blink indicating it's armed but not yet triggered.

As darkness crowds your vision, you make one last effort to prepare for the unknown. Your fingers brush against the cold metal of the medical injector, slipping it into your jumpsuit's chest pocket. The machine groans around you, its temporal stabilizers clearly failing. Strange lights pulse beyond the dome - flashes of eras you might soon visit whether you're prepared or not.

The anchor's countdown continues its inexorable march: 00:01:47...00:01:46... You feel the machine beginning to drift from the eddy, pulled toward one of the flickering timelines. The last coherent thought you have is whether the rations will be enough for whatever strange new world awaits when the anchor finally releases its grip on the temporal stream.