They managed to make it to X-Factor's stoop before Marco spoke again, and Tobias half-turned over his shoulder to listen to the question, while he considered the door. No keypad, no scanner. Just a lock. Right. Welcome to the past. Unfortunately, when he tried it, it swung open, so he was left without the distraction.
"The first rule," He grunted as he put a shoulder into the door to get it to open fully- one of the metas must have disagreed with it earlier. "Is that this place can change them whenever it wants. It's like Cosmic Calvinball. Usually? No going in the past to see yourself or loved ones. No altering major historical events. No breaking the fourth wall and telling someone from a contemporary that you're from the future. And above all else, no dimension hopping. However, those are never all upheld at the same time, and the vortex- generally accepted phenomena that brings you here, or the 'big fuck-off tornado'- can disregard whichever ones it wants. Has already done so, just by us having this conversation. So if I was worried about that? I would have left you to handle shit yourself.
"Yeah, there's a 50/50 shot either you or Coop are not going to remember any of this in a few days. Just as good a shot neither of you will. Then there's the chance that you'll just... go away when it's over, as if you served some purpose here. You could go back to being younger, you could stay the same age. You could turn into an Asian woman named Frieda, it's really kind of up in the air," He was leading them down a hallway as he spoke, glancing in doors and glad that the place was mostly empty. He received a few weird loogs, but most everyone knew that if you looked like you belonged there, you probably did.
"But to the best of my knowledge, if time was going to unravel? This is what it would look like. So I highly doubt you're going to have the honor of destroying this place, by talking to a woman you slept with." Probably not the most succinct answer, but it bought him time to find the old storage room, resembling something like a police evidence locker, or probably more appropriately, a sci-fi movie prop room. He started examining shelves, turning over various devices, assumedly with purpose.