As a kid, when I would hop after my archaeologist father into ancient tombs and touch everything I could, even though that brought a playful scolding from the officials, I still did it.

I thought I could travel back in time.

Funnily enough, my childhood days were filled with that. Standing in front of broken ancient mirrors and chanting made up hymns.

It felt nostalgic to remember all this on my last day in the twenty-first century.

The thought of kings, princesses, and palaces thrilled almost every little girl. And when my father would recite all these stories to me, not the made up ones, but those that happened thousands of years ago, it enthralled me.

Adding to it, the sight of ruined tombs and civilisations, a sign that his stories existed in the past, only fuelled that zeal to travel back.

To the disappointment of my younger self, touching artefacts and staring at age-old paintings didn't open a portal to the ancient world. I was obsessed with the idea. So much, that at thirteen years of age, I hid from everyone and secretly slept in an ancient tomb, hoping I would wake up in the BCE years. Usually, the darkness would scare me, but back then, I was more fascinated about the dialogue I'd iterate to the ancient people I'll meet the next day.

Of course, that never happened. And me being the only child of my father, they didn't scold me either. Instead, they made me promise not to repeat it if I really wanted to time travel. They said they had alternatives. But one had to study their hardest for that.

Though growing up, I had dismissed the idea as a childish imagination. It was when I was seventeen did I discover they weren't lying.

I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt the needle going into my arm. The scientist held me still until my blood filled the syringe. They did the same with the other four members of my group.

The broad white lights on the ceiling were illuminating the entire lab as we sat on a steel bench. The scientists and mentors stood around in lab coats and surgical masks.

Soon, one of the scientists compressed our blood samples in an empty refill, then placed each of the blood-ink pens in front of us on the ivory desk.

A damp pain spread over my upper arm, but I was smiling. In fact, it was the biggest smile in a long while as I stared at the gigantic digital screen of the lab.

Project 06T02-BCE. Completion level - 99% was blinking in bright green.

My impossible dream wasn't a dream anymore when my school, the distinguished Raymond School of Integrated World History, introduced five eligible students to Project 06T02, started by the Archaeological Department of East Macademia. The most successful archaeology research lab that worked on secret but splendid things.

Things like time travelling.

On the surface, where they were busy studying the minutest detail of an artefact or DNA remains of ancient bones, the underground was a whole new world. With the type of advanced equipment it comprised, no one could guess it was associated with something like archaeology.

Finally, at the age of twenty-two, my childlike dream was coming true today.

"Each of you will sign the documents in your blood so we could ascertain there is no discrepancy, as your DNA would be recorded." Dr Samuel looked at us through spectacled eyes, then fixed his gaze on me. "The documents will arrive soon and we'll start with you, C. Hayes 02."

I gave a curt nod, even though I despised them calling us by our coded names. As if we were some lab specimen.

Beside me, I noticed Dunkin pressing a thumb to his wrist, which caused a minor zing in my wrist. A message opened up in my head.

After being loyal enough to not even eat a slice of pizza in the last five years, because that shit could alter our cell metabolism, they still can't trust us?! Like blood? Seriously?

Preparing a time traveller wasn't just about making us thoroughly acquainted with the period we were being transported to.

It involved changing our genetics to a certain extent. The genes, which if not mildly altered, could open up the risk of spreading a twenty-first-century disease into the BCE year.

We've got this Dunkin, and don't you dare talk about pizza right now, I messaged back, my mind plaguing with the cheesy goodness. I remembered eating my last ever pizza five years ago...

To learn how to live without electricity, survive on primitive foods, abandon twenty-first-century diets, clothing, gadgets and living style. Not to mention the gazillion tests and operations to make us genetically fit for the ancient times.

In a way, we indeed were a lab specimen to these scientists.

Part of altering our genetics involved fixing a specialised metal chip underneath our wrist which connected the five of us. After all, they had to give us an alternative to a cell phone.

This is sick. Dunkin messaged again as he picked his blood pen and dragged a dark red line over the paper.

Dunkin Welsh, the third member of our team, excelled in the physiology of ancient humans and civilization development of the post-bronze era, along with advanced biophysics and travelistic mechanics we all had to study.

His undercut hairstyle was long replaced by shoulder-length black hair, tied at the nape with a leather string. He also had to say goodbye to his clean-shaven face.

The scientists preparing us had done a good job of making us look and behave like ancient cavemen and docile women.

Being selected for the project wasn't as simple as daydreaming about the dialogue I would say to the BCE year king or princess if I even meet one. It was literal blood, sweat and tears for the past six years.

Especially for me and Cheryl, the only two females in this project. Training as an ancient woman wasn't easy. Adapting to their behavioural patterns took a majority of the time. To learn how to not even roll our eyes, grit our teeth, clench our fists in anger and all that visual aggression was the toughest because ancient women only listened and nodded.

Hell, ancient women had no rights whatsoever. They weren't even allowed to step out of their homes.

Now, anyone would consider me a lunatic to be willing to step into a time so restricted for women. But if anyone was me, they'd see it. The thrill was on another level. It was pure dedication since childhood.

Another message popped into my head. I was still getting used to this sensation of talking and messaging in our heads. The AI chip was unbelievable.

Men in the ancient world were way sexier omg I'm so excited!

I snorted at what Cheryl's message read. One reason why she was dying to time travel.

Cheryl Martinez had a background in biology, which she continued in the biochemistry integrated anthropology division of Raymond. With red hair and enigmatic grey eyes, she was a cheerful friend and had the fifth member of our team hot after her. The same could be said vice versa too.

Men in the ancient world were called barbarians, and barbarians aren't sexy, babe. Lorenzo's message arrived as he gave her a side-eyed glance. Give him a shield and armour, and he would look no less than an ancient warrior, with his long dark blonde hair, light brown eyes twinkling in mischief.

Cheryl stared at him, as if she wasn't able to tear her gaze. Then, abruptly, she turned her head aside, fiddling with her braid.

Lorenzo Swarwoski was the fifth member, specialising in additive technologies in metallurgy and mechanical studies, hailing from the Metallurgy department of Raymond. Apart from studying metal formation, he played fencing too.

I just want to see them, not anything else, Lore. Cheryl rolled her eyes.

"What is this indecency, C. Martinez 04? Are you aware that what you did just now could land you under public scrutiny in the BCE year?" I jolted as our behavioural pattern mentor, Dr Reuseme, stated sharply, making Cheryl wince.

Honestly, I can't take anything seriously coming from her. The name Re-use-me gets me every time. Dunkin messaged.

A strangled laugh escaped me, and I quickly pressed the back of my hand to my mouth. Oh my God, this was so wrong of a behaviour. And I knew it when Dr Reuseme's sharp gaze landed on me in that scrutinizing manner. This Dunkin was going to bring hell.

It was a wrong move for me to glance at Cheryl's face that had gone all red with the way she was suppressing her laughter.

Dunkin, I'm going to kill you slowly. She threatened.

The U is silent in her name. Now, don't create a ruckus on this last day. Aarmen messaged, annoyed.

"My apologies, mistress, for the wrong conduct earlier," Cheryl said softly, as an ancient woman would do. Her eyes lowered to the floor. Over the years, changing into this behaviour was more difficult for her. Our mentors had to train her for six entire months just to tone down the volume of her voice. Voice coaches and all that.

Changing a free-spirited, independent woman of the twenty-first century into a docile, feeble-voiced, no-rights-having woman was a challenging experience.

But I trusted the department with whatever they had taught us. Because they had not only transformed us into passive females but someone who could actively fight all the same. The fragile aspect of an ancient woman was just a facade to cover the self-defence tactics we were acquainted with.

Dr Reuseme looked up and down at both of us in particular, a scowl on her face, "Make sure girls, that the way you walk, the way you talk, everything would matter in the BCE..."

...I blame you 'cause it's all your fault, you're playin' hard, don't turn me off-

My lips were shut tight, but I had started to shake with impending laughter as Lorenzo began to message the lyrics. Dunkin coughed loudly, failing to suppress his laughter while Aarmen's face was twitching into a threatening smile.

That's what friends do. Make one laugh at the most serious of times.

"Yes... mistress," Cheryl managed somehow with an unnecessarily big smile on her face. That, in turn, unsettled the mentor again.

I'll choke you to death, Lorenzo.

Let me do that to y-

Knowing where the hell they were going, I exited the apparent group chat, pressing a thumb to my wrist to switch off.

They were playing around ever since their former partners broke up, stating long-distance relationships wouldn't work in their case. They would've definitely thrown hands and run as far away as possible if they knew how long the distance would actually be.

Coming to the guys, I guessed it was easier for them to adapt into ancient men because they just had to behave like possessive cavemen and basically like the so-called male chauvinistic pigs. Though they were serious about it only when the department wanted. The rest of the time, they were laughing about its stupidity.

While they groomed us to look like frail women who could be blown away by the wind, they had undergone intense workouts to resemble a caveman ready to lift a boulder. Insane.

Still, one of them, the most intelligent of us all, Aarmen, had a difficult time getting accustomed to the primal behavioural pattern. We couldn't blame him, though. Mathematics interested him more than acting super possessive for no reason.

"A. Shallots 01, we hope you know the responsibility you hold over this project's law and order." Another scientist exclaimed. His voice, a slight blur behind the mask he wore.

"Yes," Aarmen responded, his back straight and unmoving. He was the one to score a 99.9% in Qualified Archaeological Test paper Major and still lament at where his 0.1% go.

Only forty per cent of the appearing students could pass in QLAT Major, such was its magnanimous difficulty.

They trained the five of us in such a way that none scored below ninety-six per cent.

Blood, sweat and tears at its finest.

Aarmen Shallots, the first member and the leader of the group, excelled in mathematics. Statistical, classical, pure, applied. Name it, and he knew it. He could even be called a prodigy, such was his mind. It wasn't a surprise when he aided the scientists in deriving that time travelling formulae used in the MRIAT technology.

He had the responsibility of making sure none of us broke the rules laid out by the department.

With his ancient man dress up and face, he looked a bit funny, almost as if he were some disciple of Aristotle or one of those great mathematicians. His olive eyes evaluated everything the scientists did, devoid of the glasses he used to wear.

Of course, no one wore glasses in ancient times. He had to undergo a special eye surgery to become glass-free.

All of us were dressed the ancient way, with linen to be exact. Upon reaching the destination, which was uncertain, we had to redress ourselves using this same piece of cloth to match the era we would land in.

"The documents have arrived," Dr Samuel stated, placing the single sheet of paper in front of me. It was a different type of thick paper, one that may be able to adsorb our blood onto it.

I let out a shaky breath as I grabbed my blood ink pen. Time to say goodbye to the twenty-first century.