he grey pitted ceiling is barely lit by a flickering fluorescent light in the hallway through the one door leading into your room. Today you leave this cold grey basement - this cement home for the past fourteen years - and enter the world again.

You tuck a single notepad into a small black knapsack and walk towards the door.

There are no balloons, no celebration.

Unfamiliar researchers watch as you walk outside.

It is night. From this balcony, you watch as the city below shines white like a brilliant sea. Its brilliance makes the night sky empty and black.

"The city is so bright. It goes on forever." you say to one of the researchers watching from the shadows of the room.

"Yes. The city has grown quite a bit since your time."

"It smells different..." you say quietly to yourself as you gaze into what was once your future. Paper thin animated billboards line the freeway in the distance.

"What is your primary source of energy?" you ask, hoping for some exciting unimagined solution.

"Not much has changed. Cars still run on gasoline."

"Do they at least fly?" you ask, sarcastically.

"No, they don't fly" he replies, chuckling. "Cars don't fly yet."

After a blur of tests, photographs, and immunizations you find yourself alone and walking the freshly paved streets of Phoenix, Arizona in the year 2012.

It is a warm night. The wind makes the leaves swirl through the empty streets. You wonder if this is a dream; if you are still in that container, frozen and asleep; waiting to wake up to the unknown.

Your eyes dart around, searching for differences. Instead you see familiar cars, buildings and logos.

The city, however, has changed. It's as if everyone in the suburbs decided to squeeze together into the heart of the city.

Some sort of paper thin LCD material covers the walls, car doors, and bus stops... Any visible flat surface is destined to have an incredible looking advertisement shining its message day and night.

You look close at one of the poster sized screens and look for a logo or company, but there isn't one.

"I like Subway better." The voice comes from behind you. "Better than Quizno's anyway."

You realize the image on the screen you are inspecting is a giant pastrami sandwich. There is a huge yellow Subway logo across the top.

"Subway toasts em' now?" you ask, noticing the charred edges of the giant sandwich.

"They've been doing that for years. Stole the whole 'toasting' thing from Quizno's more than fifteen years ago."

"No. I can remember fifteen years ago and let me tell you, Subway was not toasting subs." you reply, certain.

He mumbles a goodbye and fades away into the city leaving you alone.

A million questions rush your mind, but you need to focus on the reason you are here. The true reason you have been underground, hidden away for fourteen years.

n October 3rd, 1955, a ten year old boy named Ronald Mallett loses his father. He resolves to create a machine which will allow him to travel back to that day to say goodbye properly.

In 1994, he creates a working time machine.

It has two limitations.

  1. Only subatomic particles can be sent back
  2. These particles can only be sent to the moment the machine was turned on.

Although he cannot go back to save his father, he singlehandedly makes it possible to send particles back in time.

In 1996, physics professor John G. Cramer converts a digital stream into a subatomic pattern of protons that can be sent through the machine.

It is now possible to send digital messages through time. Video, text, audio - any digital stream can now be sent to a single moment in the past.

He tells the world that the project failed. A very small group now controls the most powerful human invention ever created.

ou are standing in front of a white house on a shady lane in a historic, suburban neighborhood. The sun is blinding alone in the cloudless sky.

Soon, this white house will be blue.

In front of you is a laptop, connected to the machine back at the lab. You send the following message 14 years through time.

>> Sent 2012 08-21 03:01:40

>> white house

>> 1346 on Roosevelt and 12th

>> make it blue

>> Received 1998 02-16 14:23:06

You click send.

After a violent shudder you look up at the white house. It is now a light eggshell blue.

Looking back in the logs you read the message you just sent.

"It was white." you say quietly to yourself.

You look back at the now blue house and barely remember it ever being white. As if your mind is actively trying to repair the memory.

You have experienced a paradox firsthand.

You glance back to a small camera, still recording.

he room finally begins to cool as the messages from the future are decoded. The air is cold against her still wet skin.

Movies that were not yet filmed, bands that had not yet formed, and products solving problems not yet known were sitting there on a single hard drive waiting to be viewed by this one single person.

Each message worth millions if used properly.