1986/The 1990s/2022

Time Buddies!

Anomaly: Parts or the entirety of this event are no longer canonical

           Warren was twelve years old. He went to Cookton Middle School. He could be a little broody, but he felt content enough in his mess of a room on the first floor of his family’s nice house. He had a slightly older cousin, Jace, and an eight-year-old sister, Sally, whose bedroom was behind the next door down the hall. That was all well and good, but there was something he really did not like, and that was math homework. He was getting better at making up excuses to procrastinate, and worse at getting around to it. It was a weeknight, and he was slogging through algebra. He looked at the clock, and saw that it was eleven. He’d just set a record for the latest he’d ever done homework.

           Suddenly, there was a loud, obnoxious knock on his door. He wasn’t allowed to lock it, so there was no way to stop an unwanted intruder from barging in. The person who stepped inside surprised him, because she was up way past her bedtime.

           “Sally!” he snapped after turning around from his cluttered computer desk. “Why are you still awake and bothering me? Can’t you see I’m… um… writing a story?”

           She took a sip of water from a kiddy plastic cup and replied, “I was thirsty, and I saw that your light was still on.” Another sip. “Aren’t you s’posed to be in bed at 10:30?”

           “Are you Mom now? Ugh, you can’t just come in here! See, this is why I want to move up to the second-floor ‘exercise’ room Dad never uses. Even if it is smaller.”

           She seemed to completely ignore him, by tugging on her PJs and walking over to remark, “You’re still doing your homework, huh? Wow. That stuff looks really hard.”

           “You can do it for me if you want. You’ll probably get the same grade I will.”

           “No way,” she shook her head, “but you can take me shopping at the mall on Saturday. I need some new clothes. The other girls make fun of my cute shirts.”

           “You know I don’t like the mall, and who cares what others think? Ask Jace or Laurie to go with you. Now would you get out so I can finish this junk?”

           This time, she scowled and replied, “Fine, jerk-face. I hope you get a C-minus.”

           Warren said nothing else—until she had gone away and closed the door behind her, at which point he muttered out, “Well… that’s nice of her.”

           He swiveled back to his desk and wretched obligations. He put his phone next to his lamp, went to YouTube, and found some lo-fi beats to relax/study to… But they didn’t help much. After five minutes went by, he had only managed to show his work for one more question. He groaned, dropped his pencil, and rubbed his tired eyes.

           Suddenly, there was a loud, obnoxious knock on his door. He wasn’t allowed to lock it, so there was no way to stop an unwanted intruder from barging in.

           “Agh, Sally! Now what do you…” he shut himself up after turning around to find someone else standing at his door, wearing a mischievous yet confident grin. “Dad?”

           “Hi, buddy,” he said in a familiar, yet slightly ragged voice—which matched his other aged features, like his thinning hair and an early onset of wrinkles. “Hm, stuck on math homework again?” he asked as he approached in a steady, self-assured gait.

           “Um. Dad?” Warren replied and stood from his chair. “Why do you look… kind of old? And where did you get those weird clothes? They’re, like, from another decade?”

           Mr. Colton chuckled. “So you noticed. My threads, I mean. Pristine 90s wear.” He showed off his jeans, black and red polo shirt, and high-top sneakers. “All in perfect condition. I think they’d go for a nice chunk of change on eBay, right?”

           “But your face. Why does it look like that? Is it makeup? Prosthetics? And… why? Are you playing another big prank on me? Hold on. I thought you were working late.”

           “Oh, Warren. Buddy of mine,” he clasped his hands and said smugly, “I haven’t had to work for a long time now. I’ll let you in on what’s going on, but you’re going to think I’m crazy. Just give me a chance, okay? You and I could soon be having so much fun, together; no math homework involved. You see, I’m not the same dad you know. I’ve been to the distant future, where people time travel on the regular.”

           “Bullshit. Come on, I’m too old for these goofy, elaborate games of yours.”

           “Tch, Warren. Language, Son. I know you’d rather be anywhere other than here. But, what do you think is better than that? How about… any when. Look—watch this.”

           He took out a little glowing blue crystal and squeezed on it. To Warren’s stunned amazement, a portal of some kind opened up right in his bedroom, like something out of a science fiction movie. Only darkness was on its other side, but still, there was a freaking portal right there, in front of him, casting a sapphire light onto the walls.

           “W-what is that?!” he exclaimed. “Dad! What the hell is that thing?”

           Mr. Colton closed it up, pocked his crystal, and replied, “A gateway through time. On the other side was a night in 1996. What do you say, kiddo? Wanna get changed and go on a little adventure into the past, to see my childhood? Or… do homework?”

           Warren gazed at Wes blankly and unblinkingly. Then he stared at his worksheet.

           Now wearing a fresh pair of clothes and black sneakers, Warren followed his old dad out into the front yard, bathed in moonlight. He had a million questions, and still trusted his pop even if he was being a little aloof, but he couldn’t find a place to begin before Wes opened up a blue portal again, right above their home’s long driveway.

           “Don’t be afraid, bud,” he said, and demonstrated by walking backwards through the time tear until only his head remained poking out. “You can’t see it yet, but there’s a beautiful 1996 summer day on the other side. Oh, and prepare your eyes. It’ll be bright.”

           “This is completely insane…” Warren grumbled to himself the moment his dad had disappeared through the rift. He looked back at the dark but comforting house; his safe space, with a warm bed and video games. But, on the other hand, his homework was still in there. “Fine,” he sighed, “but you better bring me back soon.”

           Throwing caution to the winds of time, he partially covered his eyes with a hand and stepped through—the portal doing nothing more than giving his skin a light tingling sensation. He still couldn’t believe it when the driveway instantly transitioned from night to day and became old, cracked pavement some previous owners had refused to fix.

           “Well? What do you think?” Wes asked him. “Time traveling is pretty cool, right?”

           Once Warren’s eyes adjusted, he looked around his familiar neighborhood. Other than some different paint and roof colors on houses, shorter trees, and older cars parked nearby, it wasn’t all that different. And there was Wes, leaning back against an expensive and obnoxiously bright orange Lamborghini Diablo, as if he had truly earned such a car.

           “Seriously? How and why did you get a Lambo? It’s so… ‘loud,’” Warren huffed.

           “Stock market, lottery tickets—what else? Hey, a guy’s gotta live it up a little if he gets a gift like this, ya know? Now, the car’s not a time machine—I only have it in ’96, an amazing year—but it’ll get us to the places we wanna see in the past or future.”

           “Is this really happening?” Warren whispered. “Are you going to tell me how you got a time travel crystal in the first place? Or how long you’ve been doing this?”

           “Oh, kiddo, don’t worry about the details. Maybe I’ll get around to sharing the boring story, but not now. Hop in!” He smacked the roof and raised up his scissor-style door. “I got so much to show you. We’re gonna need, like… a name for ourselves.”

           Feeling like he was lost inside his dad’s dreams, Warren scooted into the seat. The doors closed, and with a revving engine and squealing tires, they took off into the past.

           What followed was a blur of events that Warren, overwhelmed by the sights and sounds of the Royal Valley from 27 years ago, needed all his concentration to simply process. His dad rambled on the whole time, no matter where they went; giving history lessons and personal anecdotes about how much a place meant to him, or how mad he got when it closed. Warren was used to hearing this sentimental junk growing up and already knew most of the stories, which made it all the easier to tune out the old man.

           The first stop was, unexpectedly, nothing grand, being some video rental store whose owner couldn’t even spell “club.” Wes went on about how, while streaming was convenient, it didn’t let you “own” anything. He’d hold up cheesy movies and espouse the preciousness of physical media, and insist that going to a building full of cardstock and magnetic tape was a process and “lost art” that made movie-viewing more involved, personal, and memorable. He notably glared at the guy behind the counter at one point.

           Wes next pulled the Lambo into the mall, which Warren did not really want to visit. But, knowing how important a time capsule the place was to his dad, he kept quiet and endured his long-winded, two-hour tour of each store and what they “meant to him.” Thirty minutes were spent in KB Toys alone, where he pointed out his favorite toys as a kid, and then another half-hour was dedicated just to his beloved mall arcade.

           At least they got to eat at the food court afterwards, which for Warren, was the equivalent of having a big snack at two in the morning. And, of course, Wes insisted that they both have Sbarro pizza with a side of Pepsi. This annoyed Warren further since he hated being bossed around, but to be fair, it would’ve been his choice regardless.

           A showing of Independence Day at the Royal Mega 18 theater ended the visit, where it finally occurred to Warren that he didn’t even know the date. Apparently, it was July 3^rd. And here he was, at the release of a movie he had watched at home with his dad at least five times already over the years. Warren considered it a waste of three hours.

           Seeing that his son was on the brink of exhaustion once the credits were rolling, Wes at last relented with his temporal assault and brought him home to the same minute he’d been picked up. Still bewildered by the adventure, Warren somehow got to bed and fell asleep within minutes. The experience felt like only a dream when he woke up the next morning, and working on his homework as he ate breakfast grounded him further.

           But it hit him the moment he finished. Had Wes said… “I’ll be back” last night?

           Yes, he certainly had, because he did indeed return almost exactly twenty-four hours after his first arrival. He stepped through a portal in the middle of the room; no courtesy knock given this time. He even had the gall to look at Warren disapprovingly.

           “Buddy, why are you in your pajamas? I told you to be ready! Let’s get going!”

           “Daaad, I have school in the morning! We can’t keep doing this every night.”

           “Oh. Right. Well, I got a solution for that. How about we just take longer trips?”

           “What’re you talking about? That’ll just wear me out even more. I. Have. School.”

           “Son, you’re not picking up what I’m putting down. We can tour multiple days at a time, stay at the best hotels in town, and only come back when you get homesick!”

           “I, um… I don’t know. It was fun once, but I’m worried about the consequences if we keep at it. What if there’s, like… time police, or something, that’ll arrest us?”

           Wes’ face noticeably darkened, but just for a moment before he forced a grin and replied, “What if I let you play all the video games you want? Old ones, sure, but still.”

           Knowing he couldn’t win, Warren exhaled sharply, and the montage continued.

           The next visit began with Wes driving his 1996 transport downtown, and parking illegally in a dirty old alley. Like usual, he dared not spoil the surprise, so the younger Colton just had to keep putting up with it by going through the portal. On the other side was a raucous outdoor celebration a few blocks off of Main Street. It was well into the night, and most of the revelers were wearing clothes that looked a bit different than those seen in 1996. There more pastel shirts around, or jackets in bright colors.

           On the sidewalk and away from the densest areas of the crowd, Wes gave his kid’s shoulder a tap and got him to turn around, so that he’d see the thing that would give the night context: a giant lit-up crown was hoisted on the side of Dawn Tower’s brutalist façade under a countdown to 1990. It was the next to last year it’d find a home on the building, what with the coming completion of the city’s new tallest, Victory Plaza.

           Wes tried to force excitement onto his fellow interloper as the final seconds of 1989 ticked and the crown descended, like he tried to inject some deeper meaning into all this that justified bringing Warren to such a noisy celebration. But it was lost on him.

           Afterwards, they returned to ’96 and went to the Hilton at Royal Valley… where Wes already had reservations. Because, naturally, this had all been planned in advance.

           Another day, another adventure, in one year or another. Warren soon lost track of both when and where they were going. He stopped bothering to ask his dad about his grand plan, or how many pages his schedule went on for. There was definitely a secret list.

           They went to the Jolly Roger Treasure Trove, where Wes gave a lecture on older and “refined” boardwalk-style analog games with moving parts. Only to then tell him how much better video games were during a visit to the Main Street Arcade, which like the Trove, didn’t survive past the early 90s. At both places, he praised guests and staff alike, as if they were worthy of devotion for simply having once existed somewhere.

           They also surveyed the Skate pLace skating rink, where Wes pointed out his middle school self trying to learn how to skate with his friends Colin and Celeste; only she had any success or confidence in it. They played a round at the mini-golf course, and ate lunch at a random McDonald’s where Wes bought a Happy Meal just so he could say he took a Back to the Future toy out of a box. Nearby was an ancient lost department store called a K-Mart, and sure enough, they had a walking trek in that place, too.

           Wes made Warren go to the downtown toy museum, where he’d already been to often, because it was “different now” and there was an exhibition on girls’ toys from the 1960s, like the kind his mom might’ve played with. They saw Independence Day afterwards.

           Between all these visits, they attended the opening of the King Arcade theme park not once, twice, or thrice, but four times, with Wes starting them off on a different ride in each instance. He tried to get a high-five with every mascot, and after the fourth visit, they returned to 1996 and watched aliens blow up Los Angeles, again.

           They had messy food at the Pig Pit, went to the Overlook Diner and watched the sun set and rise over Royal Valley from Castle Hill, and ate expensive Italian at Venetian. And then walked over to see the alien mothership explode at the old Queen theater.

           Wes even took him to the Target parking lot on the morning of September 29^th, 1996 so he could point, from a distance, at himself and his guy friends waiting in line to buy their Nintendo 64 consoles. He refused to elaborate, and then they left.

           This all continued for weeks, whereas only a few days passed back in 2022 as returns to home grew more and more infrequent. Every night, Wes would return for more adventures in time, and Warren began to forget what his own bed felt like. It was after the sixth late-hour visit in a row when Warren finally, understandably, snapped.

           “Dad, no!” he shouted even before Wes had turned into the multiplex. “We’ve gone to King Arcade and seen that stupid movie four times each! You are ruining both of them for me forever, and I’m not watching it with you again!”

           Wes chuckled. “Actually, I was thinking we could see Space Jam today…”

           “Nooo! We saw that already, too! Look, it makes me feel gross, but maybe you’ll be happy to hear that I’m not ready to say goodbye to the eating out and entertainment. Just, please, can we do anything new and spontaneous, or do we have to keep reliving your greatest moments and seeing dumb crap, like an old dry-cleaning place you remembered?”

           The light turned green, but Wes just sat there, tapping the steering wheel as he stared ahead. “You know, kid, maybe you’re right. There could be more thrills to be had out there aside from the ‘greatest hits.’ Huh.” He turned to him as other drivers started to honk. “A crazy, random idea just struck me. Heh, yeah… That might be fun.”

           Already worried about what he had set into motion, Warren stayed quietly pinned to his seat as Wes floored it. He soon turned onto Kettle and headed to Desert Tree.

           When they arrived on a street that they had visited a dozen times already, Warren figured Wes might do something crazy, like break into his own childhood home—but he ended up driving a little past it, and pulled off to the side to park. The intersection he had chosen looked just as quiet and unassuming as any other in the neighborhood, but “Doc Dad” was clearly up to something as he dialed in a date on his blue quartz.

           “What are we doing here?” Warren asked once they’d both left the car.

           “I’ll go ahead and tell you, since it’ll be too noisy and crowded on the other side. We’re about to see a… thing I never attended, had no interest in, and found annoying year after year. This is where the annual Desert Tree Labor Day block party is held. I always hated it. I’d be enjoying my day off, up in my room, trying to play some video games, and I was close enough to it that all afternoon, it was just… thump-thump-thump with the bass. Strong enough to rattle my second-floor bedroom walls!”

           “Okay? That sucks, but what are you going to do? Get revenge and ruin other peoples’ party? Can’t you just let go and let them have their fun? It’s all in the past.”

           “Warren, I’m shocked,” Wes feigned a gasp, “that you think so little of me. I just want to finally go to one of these and have fun, too. I’m in my sixties—I’m mature.”

           “Well…” Warren replied, full of mistrust, “as long as you behave and do have fun, I guess that is pretty spontaneous and something new, so I’ll go along with it. For now.”

           Wes gave him a smirk, and opened a portal in the middle of the road after he had made sure no one was looking. He stuck his head in to check the area, and then gestured to Warren and stepped on through. On the other side, party music from the 80s and 90s was blasting, and the smell of food truck grub and barbecue permeated the air. They had come in behind a mobile pizza provider, and while Warren couldn’t place the year just by peeking out at clothes or listening to the beats, he figured it was probably somewhere near the end of the century. Wes had a point; the crowds and music were pretty loud.

           “You see why I’d hate this?!” Wes shouted over the noise as they emerged and squeezed between both locals and visitors from the rest of the city that had covered the usually tranquil suburban streets. “Why couldn’t they just do this in a park, away from here? I never got why people want to come together and piss off their neighbors!”

           “They’re just enjoying themselves, Dad!” Warren yelled back. “Is that so bad?”

           “Blah! You didn’t have to grow up dreading Labor Day because of all this!”

           “How about we just get some slices and relax, okay?”

           Wes’ groan was loud enough to be audible. He did, nonetheless, get in line for a pizza truck. Warren kept a close eye on him during the wait, fully expecting Wes to lash out or annoy people. Instead, he made it to the front of the line and ordered two slices and the sodas to go with them. For a moment, there almost seemed to be hope that the guy would remain a civil member of society. At least until he pulled out a fifty to pay.

           “Sorry, but do you have something smaller?” the young man in the truck asked.

           “Um, no. I don’t,” Wes replied, already agitated. “What’s wrong with a fifty?”

           “Dad, it’s 1990 something,” Warren muttered. “That’s a lot more money here.”

           “I know, kid! But it’s a perfectly acceptable…” he stopped, and suddenly smiled.

           Warren winced. “Please don’t steal stuff, or throw it in his face or something.”

           The vendor overheard this, and started pulling back the two paper plates… but Wes surprised again by saying, “You know what, good sir? How many slices to get us to that fifty? I’ll clear out your whole stock if that’s what it takes to get some food.”

           The vendor grinned. “I’ll see what we can do. I think that’d be two dozen slices?”

           “Oh, God,” Warren sighed, “and what are we going to do with that much pizza?”

           Warren had to wait until each slice was on a paper plate and handed over to get his answers. Balancing the big stack of pizza-plate sandwich in his arms, Wes went over to one of the foldout tables people were using, and shocked his son when he hit a new low by getting up high, maneuvering his aged body up on the tabletop and standing.

           “Hey, everyone!” he bellowed, attracting further attention as he managed to get his stack onto one arm and Warren froze up, mortified. “Dawgs, let’s get this party really started! Free pizza for anyone that can catch it! C’mon, look alive! Here it coooomes!”

           At first, partiers cheered like this was one of those “buying a round of drinks at a bar” types of situations—and many of them were probably already buzzed on beer, so it came to no surprise that little thought was given as to the logistics of the endeavor. But that was okay, because Wes wasn’t doing this out of the goodness of his heart; it would become an example of his slow descent out of the realm of chaotic neutral if anything.

           “Catch!” he shouted and threw the first pizza plate like a Frisbee.

           Unexpectedly, a guy actually caught it, and people cheered. But this would turn out to be a fluke, as for the most part, the weight and balance of each pie on paper was not conducive to successful tosses. They began crashing wildly into people, or separating entirely, and slices of hot cheese and sauce were flung onto shirts and even faces. The revelry soon shifted into complaints, boos, and calls for him to “stop being an asshole.”

           “Oh, what?!” Wes angry-laughed. “This is a party, isn’t it? Aren’t we having fun?”

           “Hey! Stop!” Warren demanded—daring not to call him ‘Dad’ in this moment.

           But he just kept tossing pizza, and quickly worked his way up to being the new nemesis of the neighborhood. He then elevated it further, by throwing a triangle with admittedly startingly-good accuracy at a speaker only ten seconds into Tubthumping, even before the alcoholic drinks could be listed. The top-heavy audio device toppled over onto the street, although it didn’t break and the music continued from a lower altitude.

           “Man, I hate that stupid song!” Wes told everyone, and dropped the tip of his last slice into his mouth like a Roman eating a grape and took a hearty bite. Adding disgust to injury, he chugged his soda, let out a loud belch, and threw the rest of the drink, too.

           Like Warren, most of the crowd had gone from heckling to standing in stunned silence. The nearby DJ paused the music, signaling the severity of Wes’ transgressions.

           “What’s wrong with you, old dude?!” asked a young teenager pushing his way up.

           Wes searched the crowd, which parted to let through a cool-looking boy with an expensive haircut and top-tier shades, who approached the crime scene fearlessly.

           “Uh-oh! Is that who I think it is?” Wes said as partygoers tried to wipe off stains.

           “Hey, who let their cranky grandpa run wild?” the kid asked everyone accusingly.

           Wes chortled. “Zach freakin’ Pentino! Figures that you used to come to this crap.”

           “Oh, heh… You’ve heard of me,” he said unabashedly. “But that doesn’t matter! Why are you wasting perfectly good pizza by throwing it at people? That’s not cool, man!”

           “Pfft. You’re just jealous that someone else is the life of the party, ‘Z.’ Hey, let me tell you something. I’m your pal Wes, from the futuuure… And that guy right there is my awesome son!” He pointed at Warren, who turned bright red. “We’re time-travelers! No, you know what, Zach? That’s too formal and scientific. We like fun. We’re time buddies!”

           Everyone in the crowd stared at Wes. Some showed pity for an old man losing his mind; others were so disturbed or confused that they no longer knew how to react.

           “I got no idea what you’re talking about, Gramps,” Zach said coldly. “But there’s no way you’re my pal Wes. He’d never do anything like this. Just leave, would you?”

           “Fine,” Wes yawned, “I was getting bored, anyway. Let’s go, ‘Time Buddy.’”

           He leapt off the table, and just to put the cherry on the disaster sundae, he then made a blue portal right in front of everyone. Gasps were exhaled, and Warren caught glimpses of shocked expressions for just a moment before he was pulled through.

           “W-what the hell was all that, Dad?!” Warren was finally able to holler once they were back in the Lambo. “You’ve totally lost it! And you told everyone we’re time—”

           “Kid, relax,” Wes spoke over him and turned the key. “I’ve goofed off before; I can undo all that anytime I want, by overwriting it with another visit to the same date. You did tell me to have fun, didn’t you? And I couldn’t be more ‘spontaneous’ if I tried.”

           “We have a term for that, you know. Malicious compliance. I mean, damn, dude! When did you become such a jackass? Rick Sanchez isn’t supposed to be a role model.”

           Wes chuckled darkly. “Aw, geez, Warren. You sound like a whiny little bitch.”

           “Really?! Man, when are you going to grow up? You can travel through time, and all you do with it is stupid shit! Couldn’t you try, I dunno, doing something important?”

           “Important, huh?” Wes squeezed the steering wheel. “Okay, fine. I got somethin’ important we could do that I’ve been thinking about.” He smiled deviously. “You’ll see.”

           Wes refused to elucidate for the rest of the day, and Warren had become a touch afraid to ask, or even request to be taken home. Granted, said day didn’t actually last too much longer, because they had soon skipped to another New Year’s Eve—this time for the arrival of 2000, which saw the crown descend down the side of Victory Plaza.

           Warren was scared of Wes acting out among the revelers downtown, but his dad had withdrawn into himself and seemed lost in his thoughts. As the last seconds of 1999 ticked down above them and thousands of others on the street, creeping dread began to crawl into Warren’s imagination. All the while, Wes just stood there, and schemed.

           “Wake up, Warren,” he said on New Year’s Day, in their latest Hilton Hotel room. “Big change of pace today. You were right about me. I lost focus, and there’s been too much silliness. This time, it’s serious. We’ll be doing something huge.”

           “What are you talking about now?” Warren grumbled sleepily, and looked at the early morning light coming into the ninth-floor suite. “Augh, what time is it?”

           “Doesn’t really matter anymore, does it?” He took his black leather jacket off the wall rack, and Warren noticed him stuffing a square plastic case into its big pocket. “It’s something I’ve been thinking about attempting for a while. It began as just a joke. Then I wrote a program that could actually do it. All I’ve been lacking until now was the will to change my whole childhood and life, out of fear for what it would do. But when I was up there, throwing pizza like an idiot… I guess the last of my hesitation left me.”

           “Sounds serious, but are you going to give me any specifics?”

           “Soon. Get dressed. You might even find what we’re about to try fun.”        

           Back in 1996 again, Wes took his Lambo over to a seemingly random two-story office building a few blocks away from the central downtown area, parked poorly into a currently unused spot reserved for the regional manager of… something, and stepped out in his shades all cool and confident, like he was enjoying the day’s bright sunlight.

           “What is this place?” Warren asked. “It looks like some boring office thing.”

           “It’s not. This is where they bring the rich, connected kids to be the first to test new video games. They got prototype Nintendo 64 consoles in there right now.”

           “Really? That could actually be interesting.”

           “Come on, kid,” Wes huffed, “you’re not usually so gullible. What we’re really here to do involves a little bit of a break-in. It’s for a good cause, I promise.”

           “No way! You mean, like, with ski masks and crowbars and stuff?!”

           “No, no, no. Think in four dimensions. We go in there now, and then jump back a few years, to when it’s the middle of the night. It shouldn’t take long.”

           “How far back? And what are we stealing, and do you promise to undo it?”

           Wes laughed, and made Warren follow him towards the 1970s-style cubic and plain building’s glass doors. “It’s not stealing. We’re just here to make a young child’s wildest dreams come true. I’ve done my research on this, which wasn’t easy.”

           “A young child… Sure, and I bet he doesn’t happen to be you.”

           “Guess you won’t know for certain unless you come with me.”

           “Fine. But if I think you’re doing something really messed up, I’ll put a stop to it.”

           Wes scoffed at the notion, and they entered the building; no security or key card readers present. It wasn’t owned by a single company, but rather had six suites used by different small businesses. Wes pointed at a placard for the one he stopped in front of.

           “Right now, this one is home to some injury attorneys.” He took out his quartz and adjusted the temporal settings. “But in 1986, someone else was here…”

           “Did you say 1986? We’ve never gone anywhere near that far back.”

           “Not a big deal, buddy. I was thinking we could start exploring that decade next, anyway. I’m a fan. Okay,” he finished with the quartz and opened the doors, “let’s go.”

           “Hello, sir,” the lady at the receptionist desk said politely as they went in. “How can I… sir? Excuse me, sir!” she called after them as Wes ignored her and kept walking.

           Used to this behavior by now, Warren sighed but said nothing as Wes navigated an unfamiliar workplace and paid no mind to the stares they were getting. The pair soon spotted the workplace bathrooms and slipped into the men’s. Wes made another portal, and they went on through within seconds, before anyone had a chance to start knocking.

           From the 1986 version of the bathroom—same as the new version—the dad and son trespassers emerged into a darkened office in the later after hours. The gentle hums of early Macintosh all-in-one computers permeated the corporate air, as most of their black and white monitors displayed primitive screensavers for the rather cozy cubicles.

           “Welcome to the 80s, kiddo,” Wes announced as he looked at the machines.

           His eyes adjusting to the darkness, Warren noticed the moonlight between the window blinds as he remarked, “It’s very… gray. I can tell, even with no lights on.”

           “That’s one of the decade’s styles, all right. And the Royal Valley of the 1980s is right outside. I’ve taken some peeks already, but I really want to plan a full, proper tour and see so many places in their prime. In some ways, these years felt even more… alive than the 90s? Daring? Just saying, would’a been nice to grow up in this time period, too.”

           “Please don’t go on another hour-long tirade about TV shows, movies, or games again, Dad—only this time, for 80s slop. I’d like to get out of here as soon as we can.”

           “A ‘tirade?’ Is that how you see my history lessons? Tch, Warren. So disrespectful. But you’re right; now isn’t the time. This should be easy, but let’s up our odds by finding the boss’s computer. We’ll look for a corner office. It might be similar to my own.”

           “Why do you need to do all this time-traveling, anyway?” Warren asked as they started their trek between the cubicles. “Are you, like… not happy anymore? I mean, you still run a game studio, don’t you? That always seemed like a dream job to me.”

           In the rare mood to be slightly more open and honest than usual, Wes replied, “It was for a while. Until my game ideas got less and less creative and couldn’t excite me enough to propel me through the typical drudgery of running a business. And now I just oversee operations as a glorified ‘creative consultant.’ The little idiot I trusted to replace me is even trying to get us into the mobile gaming market.” He let out a shuddering groan.

           “You and Jared try to hide it from us, but… I know you’re both having some big falling-out right now, in 2022. It, um… It doesn’t end well, does it?”

           “Peh. We hadn’t spoken in twenty years by 2045, when I used my time machine. Last I heard, he’d started a cybersecurity firm. I never found out if it was successful or not. Can’t even remember its name; don’t really care. Our co-owner is dead to me.”

           “That’s sad, man. Friends since elementary school, and now, nothing.”

           “Shit happens, kid, and people move on. What, you think you’re going to be friends forever with… what are their names… James, Houston, Chuck, and Lana?”

           “Okay, come on. There’s no way you got all four names wrong by accident.”

           “Point is, you never know. You and your cousin might even grow distant.”

           “That’ll never happen,” he proclaimed as they went by the door that kept the noisy server room closed up. “You still haven’t told me what this place is, by the way.”

           “It’s a regional branch of a big marketing and sweepstakes company; they handle contests on the west coast. Stores are always running promos and contests, most of which you don’t even hear about. Some independent agency has to do the logistics on those, as in all the drawings and submission handling, and that’s these guys. I found out that they move to LA in ’87, but they’ll take their servers with them. What are the odds they’re in our town for now, though, huh? I was surprised when I made that discovery.”

           “Makes this easier, I guess… Whatever it is. So, you want to help your younger self win a contest while you’re a one-year-old? That doesn’t even make sense… does it?”

           Wes turned the knob of the corner office door, and was relieved when it opened.

           “I wrote a little program that should go undiscovered. If someone named Wes Colton ever pops up in a certain drawing, he’ll win automatically. Cool, right?”

           “But what kind of contest? You said this is important, so unless you’re lying, it should be for something that would, what, help you and your mom out? Are you going to get a new dishwasher for your house, or maybe clothes, or a new car, or other useful—”

           “Warren, shush. Let me concentrate,” Wes said, plopped down into the boss’s leather chair, and clicked out of the screensaver with an ancient blocky mouse. “This will involve some tricky hacking. One wrong move, and police copters will be on us.”

           “Yeah, I’m not falling for that a second time. You already said it’d be ‘easy.’”

           “Heh. Yeah, I said that, but anything could still happen. Well. Let’s give it a try.”

           Warren watched, still in some suspense, as Wes took out what he had stuffed into his jacket. In the moonlight, he could see that it was a gray floppy disk. Something was written on it, but it got inserted into the machine before he made out the letters.

           “Hm, mmm, hm-mm…” Wes hummed casually as he moved and tapped the loud mouse. Warren could see the early Macintosh GUI, but whatever the onboard program did, its application icon was blank. “Connection looks good,” he said after studying a rudimentary network status window. “And with that, all I need is a double-click…”

           Warren recognized the ceremonious way Wes hit the big gray mouse button; it was just like how Dennis Nedry brought Jurassic Park to its knees with a single press. Wes had probably knowingly self-aggrandized, and like Dennis, he too just caused ruin.

           A window popped up and some verbose code sped by, ending with the ominous text, “UPLOAD SUCCESSFUL. YOU WILL BE KNOWN.”

           “But… did it actually work?” Wes murmured and ejected the disk. “There is a chance it’ll get cleared before 1995. Guess we can find out pretty quickly.”

           He plucked out the floppy, and the Sharpie’d letters reflected in the dim light and hit Warren’s eyes. What he saw left him both confused and disappointed.

           “Dad? It just says ‘TOYS.’ What does that even…” he was cut off by the distant sound of a strange thunder—which he wasn’t even positive Wes had heard. “W-what…”

           “Warren? You okay, buddy?” his dad asked him with genuine concern.

           “Ah…” he gasped out in pain and held his head. “I… don’t… Hurts…”

           “What is it? You getting a migraine or something? Come on, let’s get out of here before we really do get noticed. I have stuff for your headache back at the hotel.”

           “Not a headache…” he moaned as Wes helped guide him out of the office, and noticeably gave the server room door a glance on the way. “My memories feel… weird.”

           “Okay, that doesn’t make much sense, so let’s maybe get you to bed.”

           Wes seemed to be oddly insistent on vacating themselves from the building—or at least Warren, who was in no condition to stand around asking questions or doubting. They returned to the bathroom, and then to the little law firm in 1996.

           “Sorry about that,” Wes, still helping Warren walk in a straight line, said to the receptionist on the way out. “Kid really had to go. Nice place you got here.”

           She scowled at them as they headed out. Wes hadn’t been towed or ticketed yet, and his car made the trip back to the Hilton a fast one.

           “Feeling any better?” Wes asked once Warren had his back against a plushy bed.

           “Not much,” he groaned. “I just feel so… hazy? Floaty? It’s hard to describe. It’s like when I was five and really sick that one time… Dad. What was on that disk? And do I even want to know? What contest did you make yourself win?”

           “Oh, nothing special that would break the fabric of reality or anything. It should just be a little frivolous thing that gets me some popularity. And a toy shopping spree.”

           “That’s what it was for? That’s what’s ‘important’ to you? A bunch of toys?!”

           “Hey, it’ll make any ten-year-old’s childhood epic, and the talk of the town. I put in a submission form for the ’96 Toys ‘R’ Us Toy Run, and I should win! Or already did.”

           “Dad, that is really stupid. Of all the things you could do with time travel, you—”

           “Warren, it’s okay! It’ll be really awesome for my younger self and give me one hell of an amazing memory. I’ll be able to look back on this for decades and feel happy. And, bonus, I’ll definitely keep the toys and pass them down to you and Sally!”

           “We don’t need a bunch of plastic junk from the 90s. Dad, I really don’t feel—”

           “I know. I’ll help you in a second.” He took out his quartz and picked a date. “Just going to take a quick hop into the future to check what happened. Be right back.”

           Warren watched in disbelief as his dad went through a portal and left him alone in the room, especially given his condition. He didn’t have to wallow in it for long.

           Only a few moments after leaving, Wes returned. But now he needed a shave, his hair was disheveled, he looked tired and irritated, and he held an overstuffed backpack.

           “Well, kid… I did, in fact, win the Toy Run. I even saw the video. It was amazing getting to watch myself do such an epic thing. But there’s a little problem.” He was able to look Warren in the eye as he said, “Don’t panic, but you… don’t exist right now.”

           “Wait, what? What do you mean, I ‘don’t exist?’ That’s something you have to fix!”

           “Don’t you think I’ve tried? Somehow, making myself win the contest screwed with you and Sally being born. Look, Warren, I promise I’m still working on it. I’ve been at it for three months already—I just wanted to stop in and check on you because I was getting worried. Now, I’m going to keep trying to make both things… all three things work together, but I need more time, and the time police guys are getting too close.”

           “There really are time cops?! Dad, just undo the dumb contest. No one cares about what ‘cool’ things happened to you when you were a kid, and I don’t need your collection of old prizes!” When he got only a blank stare in response, Warren added in utter indignation, “Really?! I can’t believe you’d even consider… I-I… come on…”

           “I’m sorry. But this is my shot at immortalizing my childhood into legend. How many lead game designers can you name, huh? Oh, sure, the studio has some big fans that know me by my own, but it’s not widespread or known to the masses.”

           “Why do you care about being ‘known?’ You’re picking plastic over your kids!”

           “No,” Wes said emphatically, “that’s not true. I’m just confident I’ll find a way to make these two timelines compatible. It’ll simply take a little more work than I expected. I need to tell you something important, and that’s to stay away from the year you were born and beyond. If you go that far, I’m worried you could… disappear.”

           “What are you even talking about? You’re the one that decides where we go.”

           Wes took a second quartz out of his pocket. This model was pink, and its glow was a little faded. He tossed it to Warren, who barely caught it, and explained, “It’s last-gen; moves you around directly without making a portal. The usage instructions are in the help menu. Buddy, the world is yours right now! Think of all the fun you could have, doing stuff you like instead of getting dragged around. Just be sure to avoid any shady-looking guys with TMB badges or, ah… people that are cyborgs.”

           “Dad, please,” Warren said as his eyes moistened, “reverse it and take me home.”

           Ignoring his plea, Wes dropped the heavy backpack in front of him and listed off its contents, “There’s some goodies in there to keep you safe: goggles that can see in the dark, a voice changer, a self-replenishing water bottle, and even light body armor. I was also able to snag an exo-arm that’ll let you toss a bicycle like one of my pizza plates.” He smirked at his call-back. “And I threw in ten thousand bucks worth of 1990-dated bills; more than enough to chill out with for a while. You’re going to love these last two…”

           He reached behind his back and unbuckled something. It turned out to be a large magnetic holster of some kind, and attached to it was a heavy dark gray sword, which he added to the pile. He then pulled out a black hoodie sticking out of the backpack.

           “That’s a serious blade for some self-defense, and this,” he held up the outerwear, “is everyday protection made from impact-resistant thread. See? I am thinking of you!”

           “D-Dad… you can’t just give me all this stuff and abandon me…”

           “I’m not. I’ll find you again after I fix this.” He gave him a tepid hug that felt more like a thing of obligation than genuine affection. “Have fun, see some stuff, and avoid all the cops. I’ll be back before you know it. We’re Time Buddies, remember?”

           Too defeated and disgusted for more words, Warren stared into space as his own father made a portal, gave him a wave, and then left him alone in the hotel room.

           It took him an hour to move off the bedside and quietly gather his survival gear.

           After many months of skipping around time—a teenage Warren had stopped keeping track by then—he found himself up in one of the trees of Desert Tree. On a limb and in the shade of the canopy, he drank from his Suto Dynamics brand moisture-absorbing bottle and lazily watched for anything usual in a place where he felt safe.

           As a lonely rogue stranded in the past, he had lost hope of making any lasting connections, or returning to his own time period. He’d managed to create a few fun days with his cash reserves and played around with time now and then, but as someone who did not currently exist, it was very hard to squeeze any meaning out of anything.

           Suddenly, his eyes noticed a familiar figure he thought he’d never seen again: his dad. He was meandering around the neighborhood, looking around in stupefied awe.

           Now dressed as some sort of futuristic ninja, Warren’s first instinct was to jump down and maybe cut one of Wes’ arms off. It was the least he deserved for what he did.

           Instead, he waited, and Wes drew near enough for him to realize that he was not the same old man who had dumped him at the Hilton in 1996. What was going on?

           After he passed by, Warren climbed down the tree, snuck in close behind him on the shady sidewalk, and spoke through his digitizing voice disguiser, “Hey. Wes.”

           His dad turned around, and he got a good look at his face. He looked remarkably similar to how he remembered him in 2022, and seemed confused more than anything.

           “Gah! Who are you?!” he exclaimed. “A-are you some kind of time assassin? I-I swear, man, I don’t know what I’m doing. There was this time gate in my pantry door, and I wound up here only an hour or so ago… I’ll go back, if you let me!”

           Warren cocked his head at this reaction, and didn’t hesitate to remove his mask to reveal what should have been a familiar face to Wes. “Dad. It’s me. What year did you come from? Did you say you went through a ‘time door?’ Can you describe it?”

           “Dad…? Look, um… kid, I’m really relieved to see that you’re not a trained killer out to correct timelines or whatever, but I… don’t have a family. I’m not even married.”

           “Yeah, because your dumb old ass took all that away for some stupid junk and left me here!” Warren got aggressive and pulled his younger dad’s shirt collar. “You have to undo it! I’m your son! I can’t get into that building—he did something there that made them triple security. So, use my time quartz to do it for me! If we work together—”

           Wes batted Warren away and exclaimed, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, bud. I don’t even want kids. You know what? Screw this, I’m out of here!”

           “Hey!” he shouted at Wes as he ran off. “Get back here, you coward! Damn it.”

           Not about to screw up what could be his ticket home, Warren used his crystal to go backwards. He returned to his tree limb, and this time simply watched Wes go by.

           Of course, Warren didn’t give up. He stalked Wes from afar as his dad moved through the months, and he became rather surprised, but not shocked, at the length of the guy’s stay. Did he really have nowhere else to be? No other obligations? Or was he truly so wistful for days gone by that he had chosen to remain in the past instead?

           Warren would eventually move in, trying a new approach each attempt. They had included: meeting him at a fast food place in plain clothes, where he calmly and patiently tried to reach his heart; pretending to actually be a time assassin, who was there to force him to break into the server room; claiming to be an officer and giving him one chance to avoid arrest; and his latest effort in which he cornered him in a bathroom stall at the movie theater without his gear but at sword’s edge, wherein he shared his sad backstory and tried in equal measure to appeal to his humanity while also being threatening.

           “Look, idiot! I’ve had it!” Warren finally broke as Wes backed up onto the toilet to avoid the point of the blade. “We must’ve done this fifty times. What will it take to convince you I’m your son from an old timeline?! What do you think non-existence feels like? Keep running around, and the time cops will find you, and I won’t be able to help! They are real, and they are scary. Grow up, be an adult, and accept that you had a family!”

           “I’m so sorry!” Wes blubbered like a toddler. “But I just can’t believe what you’re telling me! There’s no way I ever had kids. And not with her… It’s impossible. Please, just let me live, and I’ll return to my shitty life in my crappy apartment, okay?!”

           Warren sighed, pulled back his sword… and gave up. This pathetic, impotent version of his dad was never going to trust him. With near total resignation, Warren took out the quartz, got one last look at Wes’ cowardly visage, and let him see his film.

           He stopped chasing after Wes, and didn’t see him again for what felt like close to a year. But there was a next sighting, and it happened in a most unexpected place.

           It was in the Target store close to Desert Tree. With his vocal cords starting to atrophy from lack of use, he was quietly browsing for a new pair of shoes to slip onto his growing feet. Forced to grow up quickly, he’d gotten used to shopping for himself.

           That was when he overheard a familiar voice say, “What do you have in mind?”

           A voice he hadn’t heard in a long time replied, “I’m fine with looking pretty much like I do now, but why do I need all of that if we’re just staying until the weekend?”

           “Cousin Jace?” Warren murmured, his words coming out hoarse and weak.

           He peeked out from the shoe aisle and over to the boys’ clothing section. Finally, he felt a renewed sense of hope when he saw his cousin, now younger and just as he was at age ten or eleven. Had Wes actually gone home and grabbed him for an entire second trip in the past? Whatever this was, he was relieved to see that at least Jace persisted.

           “I don’t care about ‘surprising’ anyone,” he continued a talk with his uncle. “Can I just get a bunch of simple shirts without… Hm?” he stopped as Warren approached, looking plaintive with tired eyes. “Um. Hi? Nice… dark clothes. You need something?”

           “Jace,” Warren pushed out as loudly as he could. “It’s me. I’m your cousin. My name’s Warren. I don’t exist anymore. N-neither does my sister, Sally. But we can again. Please, just tell my dad… He only needs to give up something from his past.”

           “U-Uncle Wes?” Jace recoiled in fright. “Who is this weirdo? He’s scary…”

           “N-no! I’m not scary. I’m just a kid, like you, trying to get home, and…”

           Wes stepped in front of Jace and said unusually defensively, “You look like you could use some sleep, buddy. Why don’t you find your parents and go to bed? Jace, let’s go,” Wes said and led him away, stealing the faintest flicker of light Warren really needed.

           Even so, it was something. As Warren took out his now trusty old crystal and saw the splotches under his eyes in its reflection, he thought of the new possibilities.

           Having learned that it was best to keep on the move, his current hideout was in the basement of a for-sale house in Kettlebrook. It was easy to get in and out of, and he used the quartz to avoid times when someone was poking around. The night of Wes and Jace’s arrival day—it wasn’t hard to pinpoint their insertion time and place—he cleared off the snacks on his blue drink cooler, dropped the notebooks and disposable cameras he’d bought on a shopping run, and feverishly got to writing up a long-term plan.

           He then watched and bided his time, waiting for the right moment to introduce himself to them—hopefully permanently. Sticking to elevated posts and the shadows, he took pictures with his cameras, listened to their usually pointless chats, and on occasion, let his cousin see him so he’d realize he had a stalker; Warren figured that when he did make his big entrance, Jace would know that a “ninja” had following them for quite a while. Maybe he’d have some fear or even respect for the enigma standing before him.

           In which case he might be more willing to believe him, follow his lead, and act as a conduit that would allow Warren to finally reach Wes, as well. And on the off chance that Wes matured and realized he could be a parent during his tutelage and caretaking of his nephew… Yes, Warren thought, Jace is my “in” with my dad. And I have to protect them.

           Following a nasty temporal storm on Halloween that forced Warren to work with Jace, everything changed on a rainy night at the start of 1996. He was keeping his eye on their apartment at The Flamingo from the empty unit where he squatted, when he saw a pair of his worst nightmares: two full-cyborg Time Cops, coming out of the darkness.

           They knocked on their door, and Warren didn’t hesitate. They were his family and his ticket home, and so he grabbed his sword from near the door and ran at them.

           The days became a blur again after that night, and dates lost their meaning as Warren leapt back and forth through time in order to keep Wes and Jace safe as he steadily worked on gaining their trust. He had also come to realize over his years of being stuck in the past that he could fight back against “Bad Wes” in other ways.

           One day, he skipped ahead to the Monday morning of July 1^st, 1996. The recent earthquake that had hit the city was something he blamed on that Wes, and now he was acting impulsively—perhaps even vindictively. Angrily sipping on a Slurpee outside of the Toys ‘R’ Us, he waited patiently. At ten, a mail truck arrived to pick up the Toy Run submissions. The chipper handler whistled as he brought out a carton full of childhood dreams and put them in the back. That was when Warren did some whistling of his own.

           The man turned around to see a teenager with a purposefully crazed look in his eye, and a burning Molotov cocktail in his hand. Unwilling to risk his skin fighting an insane young mail bomber, he turned tail and ran out of the parking lot. The bottle’s rag blazing at his side, Warren nearly salivated at his chance for some overdue “revenge.”

           But then something unexpected, new, and terrifying happened. Before he could throw the bottle, a strange tendril covered in writhing inky liquid metal came out of a solid-black tear in space. Unarmed and helpless, Warren could do nothing as it wrapped itself around his shoulders and yanked him through the rift. The bottle fell onto the asphalt, where it burst into flames too distant from the paper that, if simply destroyed, would have given him back his life. The rift then closed near the ignited liquid.

           “W-what…” Warren gasped and reflexively reached for a sword that he now very much wished he’d brought. After the tendril released him and retracted, he got up and turned around to see an inexplicable sight in an unexplainable place. “Where the hell…”

           Inside a massive brightly-lit circular chamber, there was a huge sphere of liquid metal floating above a pool of blackness. A glowing red eye inside an aperture seemed to be staring at him unfeelingly as its body emanated a steady, powerful and deep hum.

           “Don’t worry, Warren. It’s under my control,” a voice he hadn’t heard in quite a while said from behind him. “I didn’t want to bring you here, but you left me no choice.”

           Warren flipped back and glowered at his old dad, standing there smugly with his hands behind his back. He was wearing light armor like the kind he had gifted to his kid.

           “Let me out of here!” Warren demanded. “You said I’m free to do what I want!”

           “Obviously,” Wes sighed, “incinerating my golden ticket is means for a time-out, buddy. I also told you I’d work to bring you back. I’ve made some real breakthroughs, so just stay here while I clean up my earthquake… accident. And listen to your babysitter.”

           Son charged at Father, hoping to land a deserved hit right on his jaw. But Wes merely stepped backwards and disappeared through a portal, which closed in an instant.

           Warren spent hours trying to find a way out of the techno-horror’s den, the thing never taking its eye off him as it constantly sent its appendages through countless rifts.

           Once more surrendering to a cruel fate, the tired teen slid down the side of the round chamber walls, brought his knees up to his chin, and choked out ongoing regrets, “Mom, I’m sorry I cursed too much… And Sally… I wish I had been nicer to you.”

           “Is that what you think happened, the time you vanished on us?” the mid-thirties, matured Wes asked his son on the night he finally chose family over some early fame.

           “Maybe,” Warren said from the other arm chair in the cozy cottage’s living room, as Jace slept in his room. “It’s one of my guesses. Not like I can remember the reality.”

           “God, kid… I’m sorry you had to go through so much,” Wes said, leaning back in contemplation. “The me that did that to you sounds like the worst version of… me.”

           “No,” Warren insisted, “he was just you, in another twenty-five years.”

           With a guilty expression, Wes muttered, “I’ll keep working on myself, time buddy.”

           Warren shot daggers with his eyes and demanded coldly, “Don’t call me that.”