Fringe -

“Gerald Meeks delivered a package yesterday,” Marcus said, flipping through a tablet that kept flickering between two different sets of data. “Or… he didn’t. The records say yes. The physical evidence says no.”

Their boss, a brittle woman named Director Vasquez who had seen three of her own deaths and was consequently very difficult to surprise, had given them the mandate: Find the fulcrum. Stop the bleed. Fringe

“I’m saying,” Elizabeth said, pulling a slender, crystalline shard from the victim’s left temporal lobe with a pair of ceramic tweezers, “that this man didn’t die from a heart attack. He died from a temporal paradox. His body remembers a death that, from the universe’s perspective, hasn’t been written yet.” She held the shard up to the fluorescent light. It refracted not just the white glow, but a kaleidoscope of impossible colors—colors that made Marcus’s teeth ache. “This is a splinter. A physical piece of a deleted timeline. And it’s growing .” The physical evidence says no