“… so, sir, you could get away from it all with a timecation.”

The salesman’s presentation device displays company-watermarked photographs and footage from all across the timestream.

“A week in any old residence? Or months through a century’s beginning? What about years taking part in a historical turning point?”

His graying-beard prospect fires a watery chuckle. “Like being a Communist rebel in that October Revolution? No thanks.”

“Some people actually plan their suicides around that: dying with honor instead of straight-up killing themselves.”

“Now you’re just talking to yourself.” Prospect’s fingers tap on the counter. “Let’s cut to it: future’s off-limits?”

“This[i] is[/i] the future. Nothing’s past this.” [i]What, you’ve been living under a rock?[/i]

“Fine. I’ll take your cheapest plan then.” His strained fingers stroke the beard. “Some staycation in a 1950s Scottish suburb, I guess.”

A blank blink from the salesman before reverting to a standard smile. “Always appreciate a man who’s done his research.”

“Right. Anyway, I go by [i]real[/i] money, so….” 

The prospect reaches for his jacket pocket.

Blue and red lights stop by the entrance, sirens loud and clear.

Surroundings come clear for the salesman: the bar’s spooked customers, breaking TV news of a terrorist in the area, a politician railing against chrono-emigration on another screen.

“Can’t believe they’re [i]this[/i] early,” mutters the prospect. Actually, that jacket [i]can[/i] hide a knife….

The salesman’s eyes shift. “You can use your money card if you want to be quick and discreet, sir.”

But the door slams open and the police arrive. Amid screams and canned orders, officers aim at the prospect. “You have an unregistered time signature! Surrender or we will use force!”

To disassociate from the suspect, the salesman slowly stands up.

Only for the prospect to clutch his arm. “You’ll thank me later, kid.”

Guns blaze, but the two men disappear in a flash.

[hr]

His watch tells him the truth: a thousand years into the future, beyond the global time stasis.

The salesman sits on his poor bed, gazing around in the underground shelter. Blood-stained walls smell like corpses.

A hand opens the door. It’s the prospect, wearing the same jacket but a different, slashing, smile. “How’s my younger self doing?”

The salesman brandishes an icy glare. “I didn’t know I would become a psychopath.”

“It’s to keep you safe.” He throws a newspaper at his face. “Your time’s got nothing but population booms. Send your babies everywhen until it's so entangled, they’re afraid they [i]are[/i] everywhen… except they don’t know….”

“Don’t know what?”

The prospect chuckles slower, calculated. “We’re the only people out there. Everyone’s a time traveler. Either they keep it secret or got memory wiped.”

“You must be crazy. The crisis is bad but it couldn’t be[i] that[/i] bad. Besides, how [i]do[/i] you know all this?”

That slasher smile again on his face. “By my bootstraps.”

“What?”

This time, the chuckle is guttural. “You don’t get it, do you? Bootstrap paradox. I tell you the truth, then you grow up to tell it to your younger self. The truth exists; just never made. Can’t guard against that.”

“Next you’ll tell me unicorns exist because of that bootstrap junk!”

“Look, you—“

The salesman grabs his pistol from his own jacket, sets it against his own head.

“Bring me back or else!”

“You fool! You’ll cause a paradox!”

“I’m stuck in the future thanks to you, and whether we’re really just looping ourselves through history… hey, I’m breaking that loop for you.

“I’ll grow up to be some sadist like you?” Finger touches the trigger. “Not on my watch. You’ll never torture me!”

“No, you—!”

The salesman pulls the trigger.

No bullets loaded.

His future self approaches the stunned salesman with a smile. Takes out a blindfold and some handcuffs.

“I knew that would happen, kid.”

[hr]

The salesman struggles in his chair, all tied up. Racing in his veins, personality-altering serum.

The prospect presses the microphone, watching through a window with a clock ticking to midnight. “You just can’t fight the paradox. Let time take its course.”

For the next few minutes, he watches his younger self writhe, skin paling as the serum completes its work.

The salesman falls over on his chair, unconscious with a bang.

Blood drips down his nose.

The prospect pales as he watches. “Wait. That wasn’t supposed to—“

[hr]

[b][ERROR 00016: PARADOX DETECTED. CONSULT MANUAL FOR REPAIR INSTRUCTIONS.]

[SIMULATION ON HIATUS UNTIL REPAIRED. END DATE AS OF HIATUS START: JANUARY 01, -32768.][/b]