Epsilon: End of Season 6 Timeline

Chief Overseer
Powers: decides important issues for agents and their activities, can grant special permissions, and intervene in the course of operations.
Role: He is not just an observer, but an active participant in high-level decision-making.
Boundaries: Still operates within the will of the fifth-dimensional beings, but it is he who transmits these decisions downwards.
The peculiarity: he, like all the caretakers, is an intermediate link between the “ordinary world” and the highest level of management.
fifth-dimensional beings (higher management)
The top level is those who actually lead Epsilon.

Who are they: beings from another dimension (fifth-dimensional), their motives and logic are not always clear to ordinary people.
Interaction: Only overseers can communicate directly with them. Agents and chiefs of staff do not have this access.
Influence: They are the ones who set the system's basic rules and restrictions (like "don't listen without reason"), and they are the ones who determine which threats to reality are considered critical.

Civilians with chips
This is the lowest level that is generally “in the system”.

What they know: only what they've seen with their own eyes—usually one or two anomalies. No big picture, no Epsilon plans.
Role: Limited allies or witnesses who need to be protected and controlled.
Control: via chip - tracking, wiretapping (only on case-by-case basis), recording of impacts (like an inverter).
Restrictions: not allowed to participate in operations, kept away from the "kitchen".
A nuance: they don't know about the overseers and the fifth-dimensional beings. For them, Epsilon are "serious people in suits" who decide everything.
Agents
Epsilon's workforce, those who actually go into dangerous places.

What they know: many more civilians, they remember temporary rollbacks, they know about the inverter and reverser, they understand that the world is “not so simple.”
Levels: There is an internal gradation (ranks/levels), but the exact ceiling is not disclosed. This creates healthy competition and uncertainty: the agent is always wondering how much further they have to grow and what doors will open at the next level.
Clearance: participate in operations, gain access to special equipment, but not to all data.
Chiefs (chiefs of staff)
The next level is those who manage on the ground.

What they do: Lead headquarters, distribute resources, assign tasks to agents, and make decisions on local threats.
What they know: the overall picture for their region/area, have access to summaries and reports, and can request additional funds.
Communication: They communicate directly with agents, but rarely go into the field themselves.
Limitation: They do not communicate with fifth-dimensional beings and do not see the whole picture from above - they are “regional managers” in a large system.
Caretakers
A very closed layer - many agents don't even know they exist.

What they do: control the system, monitor chips, can enable wiretapping and tracking, record inverter effects, and ensure that information does not leak.
Access: see the whole picture from the chips, know who was affected and when, and can quickly respond to threats.
Their existence is secret.

Reverse is an agent weapon. Characteristics:
Only one object at a time. Reverse can't be cast on an entire room, street, or group of people—it works strictly on one specific object or creature.
The operating time window is 20 minutes. This is a hard limit: you can only rewind time 20 minutes back. No more. If the event happened 21 minutes ago, reversing won't help.
Weight restrictions. Reverse does not work on objects that are too heavy.
Contact and distance. Direct contact with the target is required for operation, but the device can also operate at a short distance—though not too far.
Inverter – used for memory erasure. Characteristics:
The moment of activation. As soon as the agent turns on the inverter, the civilian literally freezes in place—as if time stops for a second. It's not just a click-and-forget thing: there's a clear effect that's visible to others.
Memory erasure. This is when a specific period of time is carefully excised from a person's memory. And it's not always just a couple of minutes: there have been cases where entire chunks of memory—up to two days—were erased. This means a person may not remember where they were or what they did for as long as 48 hours.
Exiting the "freeze." When the device wears off, the person simply continues moving as if nothing happened. There are no serious side effects, but they genuinely don't understand how they ended up in a new place or why everything around them has changed.
Chips are an information-control tool used by all agents and a few civilians (like Lera Vinogradova). Characteristics:
Wiretapping. The guards at Epsilon can hear what a person with a chip says. But they only do this when necessary—they don't eavesdrop without a reason. This isn't total control, but an "emergency channel."
Tracking. The chip can be used to determine location.
The inverter leaves a trace only on the chip.

Chronos is the Epsilon organization's main enemy. Chronos is an evil fifth-dimensional being who wants to destroy humanity and is well aware of Epsilon, even having already staged a large-scale attack on its headquarters. Skinner, an agent who betrayed Epsilon and contacted Chronos,

His rigidity is the armor of a rookie who's afraid that if he shows even a second of doubt, he'll be written off. He tries to do everything "by the book," because the book is the only thing he's sure of. Hence the abrupt decisions, the willingness to press, and the habit of not asking unnecessary questions: "If there's an order, you follow it. If you don't understand, ask later." But this armor cracks in the little things: when he first saw Nevers not give an order but first look at everyone and nod, as if making sure they were ready, Carter wondered for the first time: maybe there was another way to be strong? He apologizes not with words, but with actions. Carter almost never says "sorry." Instead, he ensures that the mistake isn't repeated: he takes on the dirtiest work, covers the most dangerous corners, and silently pulls up those who are lagging behind. For him, an apology is responsibility. He learns to notice the details. Before, he only saw "the goal or the obstacle." Now he notices the little things, the ones that influence his behavior. He doesn't like pomposity, but he values ​​honesty. If someone tells him directly, "You were wrong," he won't argue. He'll nod and say, "Got it. I won't do it again." He stopped seeing "the goal or the obstacle" and started seeing people. After lying on the asphalt, breathing heavily, and watching Never stand over him, calm and deadly serious, it clicked in Carter's mind: "This man can kill me if I interfere with the team." And it's not about fear, but about respect for the level. Reversal healed him, but didn't erase his memory. Unlike how "resetting" in games sometimes removes the consequences, here Reversal removes the wounds but leaves shock and shame. Carter remembers being unable to move, and he doesn't want to experience that feeling again. He and Skinner once put pressure on Lera, because they knew that she knew Ilya and Never, but then things didn’t go according to plan because they didn’t know that she had a chip, so they let her go with the threat of death if she talked, Ilya still doesn’t know about this.

A talking royal bulldog, but he doesn't speak in the presence of people other than Epsilon agents due to the rules. Jack isn't one to mince words: if he doesn't like something, he'll say it right away, with his characteristic "bulldog" intonation. This often comes off as comical, because his gruff delivery is combined with perfectly sound thinking. He's genuinely attached to Ilya and Never, but he doesn't like to openly display his emotions. His loyalty is evident in his actions: he can grumble at the team, but in a dangerous situation, he'll be the first to rush to cover. Jack doesn't rush into battle or seek adventure. He's more likely to assess the risks and suggest the safest option. If the team is heading into danger anyway, he'll follow, but he'll always comment on how bad an idea it is. His jokes are simple, down-to-earth, often based on irony at the expense of human vanity. He can tease the agents for being overly serious, and this works as a tension reliever. He's curious about what's going on, but he won't overexert himself. If he can find out everything without leaving his seat, he will. Given his time spent in the Backstage, he's skeptical of "good plans" and "foolproof schemes": he's seen how quickly things can go wrong. Thanks to his long life among anomalies, Jack quickly reads moods and falsehoods. This makes him an unexpected advisor: sometimes he's the first to notice when someone on the team isn't telling the whole truth. His common phrase is "I'm a fucking bull." He currently lives with Ilya, but Lera sometimes keeps an eye on him.

His calm under pressure isn't a lack of emotion, but an ability to keep it in check so it doesn't interfere with the task at hand. And it's in the little things that this humanity becomes most evident. He doesn't say, "I'm afraid," he says, "It's too risky." And there's so much care in that phrasing that it's impossible not to feel it. When he blocks someone's idea, it's not because he wants to belittle them, but because he sees a risk others don't. He notices fatigue in others before they do. If someone moves too abruptly or speaks a little louder than usual, Tony notices. And he doesn't make a scene, but simply quietly pulls them closer: "Keep your distance from me. If something goes wrong, I'll cover you." There's a quiet caring about him that demands no thanks. He can discreetly slip someone an extra filter into their mask if he knows they forget to check theirs. Or he'll silently position himself to block the most dangerous corner, even if no one asked. He knows how to say "no" in a way that sounds defensive. Not "you can't handle it," but "I won't let you go there alone because we can't afford to lose you." It's not a sign of mistrust, but rather a sign that he's willing to share the risk, not shift it.

Shane is the kind of agent who looks at the problem first, and people second. He's polite not because he's afraid of offending someone, but because he considers rudeness a waste of time: if you can get what you want without yelling, why waste your nerves? His intelligence is evident not in his spouting jargon, but in how quickly he breaks things down: he sees connections, notices minor inconsistencies, but presents them calmly, as if he's simply helping everyone figure things out together. His kindness isn't softness, and it's definitely not concession. It's an internal attitude: "Don't break someone if you can negotiate." He doesn't smooth things over for the sake of peace, but strives to maintain the dignity of all parties. If someone pressures him, tries to force him or yell at him, Shane doesn't raise his voice. He simply utters one even, precise word, and the room seems to quiet down. Not because he's afraid, but because it's immediately clear: now is not the time for emotions. He remembers everyone's names and doesn't forget the little details: if someone on the team mentioned they didn't like coffee, Shane would silently place a glass of tea next to them. He doesn't make a feat out of it and doesn't expect gratitude; he simply believes that in a stressful situation, such things help him stay focused. Sometimes he seems distant, as if he's too collected and "proper," but this isn't coldness—it's a habit of keeping his composure so as not to let the team down. In rare moments of peace, he might suddenly tell an old story: not about heroic deeds, but about how everything once went wrong because of one little thing, and how they got out of it. And he tells these stories not to boast, but to demonstrate: everyone makes mistakes, the main thing is to keep your cool. Shane doesn't lose his composure under stress, but that doesn't mean he doesn't care. He simply believes that panic is contagious, and so is calm. That's why he's the first to take on the role of "anchor": asking simple, clear questions, distributing tasks, and making sure no one burns out.

Role: Head of the IT Department of the Epsilon division
Origin: Non-human, from another planet (the specific planet is unknown even to her). Her perception of data differs from that of humans: she doesn't "read logs," she senses anomalies as physical sensations—a tremor in the air, a chill in the cables, a warmth in the nodes.
Appearance: She's 3 meters tall. Standard doorways are a physical challenge for her: she has to bend over, which makes maneuverability difficult and fatigue sets in faster. In rooms with high ceilings, she can stand upright and work more efficiently.
Space: The IT department is her comfort zone: high ceilings, a staircase to the second floor, no ceiling between levels.
She's not kind in the way that people who try to be nice are. Her kindness is a responsibility: she feels the team is her responsibility, and she's obligated to protect them, even if that means being strict. This kindness feels like reliability: you know she won't abandon you, won't let you down, won't leave when the going gets tough. If Sirena raises her voice or abruptly ends an argument, it's not because she's angry, but because she sees that emotions are already starting to interfere with the process, and if she doesn't stop them now, things will get worse. Her sternness sounds like a command from a system that knows what it's doing: short, precise, without unnecessary words. Sometimes she doesn't immediately understand people's reactions: someone's offense, a sudden outburst of irritation, or even a joke. But she diligently learns, remembers how people react, and then uses this knowledge to avoid hurting others unnecessarily. This makes her care very attentive, if a little "unconventional": she might bring not a cup of tea, but a perfectly calibrated rest schedule, because, according to her calculations, this is how a person becomes less tired. When Alice died, Sirena couldn't hold back her tears for the first time.
She has the closest friendship with Alice. Alice doesn't ask her to be "normal" and embraces her eccentricities as a strength.

His primary goal is to protect his loved ones and achieve justice. He doesn't simply carry out tasks; he strives to understand how his actions impact others. His sense of responsibility for his team and those he cares about often drives his actions. He knows how to weigh risks and doesn't panic even in critical situations. For example, in the episode "Trapped in the House," he first assesses the situation before acting. Despite the seriousness of his work, Ilya often defuses tension with a joke. This helps the team maintain morale. He is willing to take risks for his friends. Initially, he often doubts his abilities, but gradually learns to trust his intuition and experience. His main internal conflict is the struggle between the desire to act according to the rules and the need to make unconventional decisions. Sometimes this leads to arguments with Alisa, who demands strict adherence to instructions. Ilya works at Epsilon. Epsilon rules include strict confidentiality protocols, and violating them entails disciplinary consequences. So his friends don't know anything about this. At work, he's most often called by his call sign, "Neo." His partner on operations is Never, and they've become close friends over the years. He's afraid of loneliness, a fear that began when his parents died in a car accident. He's in love with his neighbor, Lera, and they're a couple.

Never is a man who long ago ceased to be the child he once was. His childhood didn't "pass," it was taken from him: due to an incompatibility with the Invector, he was almost immediately sucked into the Epsilon system, where briefings replaced games, cleanup routes replaced walks, and survival instructions replaced bedtime stories. And almost nothing of that boy remains in him, except for one quiet habit: when the world becomes too difficult, he comes to his parents' house. He doesn't go in, doesn't call, doesn't knock. He simply stands across the street, looks at the windows where the lights are on, and for a few minutes, it's as if he once again becomes someone who doesn't yet know what it's like to lose people. His sternness comes not from cruelty, but from an understanding of the cost of error. He knows how quickly everything collapses if someone decides "this will do." So he doesn't tolerate carelessness, but never punishes a sincere attempt. For him, justice is when you get exactly what you can handle, and when you're not abandoned after you've given everything you could. Lida was his "friend in misfortune" in that very nuclear bunker: two people who shouldn't have survived, but somehow miraculously held on to each other. And when Lida died, Never didn't just lose his loved one—he lost the part of himself that still held onto hope. Afterward, he went through a depression that didn't look like weakness: he continued to complete missions, didn't miss briefings, didn't complain. It's just that at some point, he stopped noticing that the world was colorful. Everything became gray, functional, designed for survival. And what brought him back from this state wasn't an order, a reward, or a promotion—it was Danil, who didn't try to "inspire" with pompous words, but simply came up to him every day and said something simple. And then it was as if an anomalous, benevolent entity suggested the right words to Danil—or he found them himself. His real name is Anton, but I've adopted the call sign Never as a name. He's over 30 years old, he's 37, and he's been in Epsilon since he was seven.

Alisa isn't one to break into jokes and frivolous smiles, but she has a quiet, stubborn humanity—the very thing that hides behind her discipline and makes her not armor, but a living person. Her mistakes and slips aren't just "oops, it didn't work out," but small moments where something very real, sometimes even sweet, shines through her steely composure.
Status: The time machine worked: all agents are alive. But Skinner, along with Chronos, sabotaged the device—there will be no more time reversals. Epsilon has only one shot left at everything. At that moment, memories of her own death from radiation return to her: she remembers how she couldn't stand up, how her voice grew weaker with each passing second, how the world narrowed to a single dim light. She cries not from fear, but from the realization: if she fails again, no one will return, and she will feel that weakness again—and this time without a chance to rewind.
She doesn't like pathos. If someone tries to tell her, "You're our leader," she'll brush it off: "I'm just the one who doesn't want us all to burn up in the same anomaly." This isn't false modesty, but a way of not putting herself above everyone else. She tolerates minor glitches with a patience you wouldn't expect. If an agent accidentally touches the remote and everything flickers, she won't bark. Instead, she'll say evenly, "Okay. Reboot. And next time, let's move a little to the left so we don't touch anything." This "move a little to the left" is her whole concern: not to humiliate, but to teach without pressure. Sometimes she finds herself in awkward situations—and she admits it.
Space: She stands behind a fence on the top floor, overlooking the IT department.