[Purpose]

“What?” I ask. “What the hell are you?”

“Oh, I'm sorry, is there something on my face? I was surely hoping our first meeting wouldn't be embarrassing,” he said, covering his face...my face with his hands.

“How the fuck do you look like me?”

He drops his hands to his sides and walks closer to me, “I am you! That's how.”

“That hardly explains anything. How are you here? I don't believe for a second you're anything but some poser,” I said, pushing him back.

“Makes you think more on things right? I mean, when I told you that you should have seen the look on your face, I really meant it!” He begins laughing.

I don't.

“Oh, what? Did you lose your sense of humor in the time you sat in time out? Come on, it was a joke, a rather smart one if I do said for myself.”

“What the hell is this?”

He shakes his head, “You're going to have to be a lot more specific than that, there's a lot of this everywhere.”

I take a deep breath. It takes a lot not to punch him in the face. “This, me being here, you sending Megan after me, why any of it? I've seen so much shit since you did all this and I deserve answers,” I said.

“Ah, that word, deserve. So rightly used in the wrong context. You don't deserve anything, Gavin. But I'm going to give it to you anyway as a gift from myself, to myself,” he said, opening his arms as if for a hug.

“Okay, first thing's first. Who are you?” I said, ignoring his prodding. I know he's enjoying every last second of this.

“Gavin Matthew Daniels. I was born on March 1st, 1999 to Lorraine and Gregory Daniels. My parents were killed by Jack Adata in the year 2013, five years after they left me in the hands of a cold blooded killer,” he said. “And I now call myself Micah because it hurts too much to refer to my old life.”

“How do you know all that?” I ask.

This can't be happening.

“Because, like I said, I'm you. Oh, right, I should probably explain this part. So, you're not where you think you are. Or rather, you're not when you think you are.”

“What does that mean?”

“What year is it, Gavin?” He asked.

“Uh, 2018?”

He makes a very loud buzzer noise, “Incorrect, good buddy.”

“I'm not your buddy.”

“Either way, no. Right now you're currently present in the year 2060. Congratulations! You missed out on like fifty birthdays. I'm not making up for those presents.”

I look at myself, my arms, hands, legs, all of it look the same as it always has. “I'm calling bullshit. Wouldn't I be old?”

“We're not in your 2060,” Micah said, more serious.

“Explain.”

Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

“Gladly,” Micah said, smiling a sort of grin that makes me more anxious than excited. I'll be honest, when I broke into my old school I didn't think being here with a lunatic would be my punishment. I miss those days.

I'd give just about anything to only be worried about food and shelter, hell, I'd even take back my dementia so I could die of natural causes and that be it. I have a feeling once I get to the bottom of all of this I won't be able to come back out.

“So, do you remember your last thought before you came here? What you did?”

I think back. I can see it clearly, Grace was succumbing to the Tubocurarine in her system. I walked off the edge of the Republic Plaza and everything went dark.

“Yes,” I said, shuddering the thought.

“On that day, that was June 30th, 2018, by the way, you exploded.”

I look at him with an unchanged reaction. I'm not surprised at what he said, it's about par for the course for a lunatic.

“You don't believe me,” He said, more than asked.

“You expect me to?”

His eyes scan around the room, they look tired.

“You saw Mason, right? His end and how he torched New York City?”

“Yeah.”

“Like that. That happened to you. When you jumped off of the cliff your body went nuclear because of what is inside of you.”

“The Radical-9, correct?”

“Indeed. This was planned from the start, it was why I sent Megan back.”

“Back? And what do you mean from the start?”

“One thing at a time, Gavin, please,” he smiles something big.

I sigh, “Tell me one reason why I don't kick the living shit out of you now,” I said.

“Because then I won't give you the rest of the answers you would go insane without.”

“Pretty sure with what I've seen I'm already insane.”

“Touché.”

“Okay, so what do you mean you sent her back?”

“I told you once before if you were listening. You're far from the day you blew up, Gavin. This is forty-two years later. I sent her back to your time.”

“Okay, like...seven questions just spawned from that answer,” I said.

“Take them one at a time.”

“Okay, so you said I blew up. But I'm all right here. That proves I didn't.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Explain.”

“That isn't your body, and before you jump to the conclusion, I didn't steal your body, either.”

“This...isn't my body? That's impossible. I can feel it! I am inside my body.”

“What you're feeling isn't human. It's a bionic shell which your consciousness now lives inside of.”

“A bionic...It's a robot? I'm a robot?!”

“In short, yes. It's called an Automaton, a robot that is meant to act and look like a human. You're in possession of one modeled after yourself, as am I. Although I am only doing so because it's more convenient than the sixty-one year old body I'd had originally. This was the goal of sending Megan back to your time.”

“W-wait, hold on. I'm not ready for that answer, I'm still stuck on you saying I'm a robot.”

“Okay, so let me try to explain it as plain as I can. The Radical-9 in your system reacts violently after death. I don't know the specifics, only that your heartbeat is what keeps your blood pumping enough to neutralize the explosive reaction. You had a mixture of the Tubocurarine inside of your body and the shock from falling that lead to your body's death.”

“And so I exploded.”

“Correct. You destroyed the city of Denver, quite impressively too. Body count's somewhere near 550,000.”

“What?!”

“Yeah, a lot of people died that day. Almost as much as Mason, actually. He broke a million in the greater part of New York City.”

“How can I trust that this information is correct?”

“You do or you don't. I don't have the newspaper of the day if you were wondering.”

Over half a million people died from my body exploding?

“Prove to me I'm a robot.”

“What?”

“I want proof. I want solid proof that what you're saying isn't bullshit.”

He seems to think this over and then mouths “One second” to me, walking off. I walk to follow but he turns his head quick and said “Stay.”

I listen, not completely sure why, but I do. Right now would be the perfect time for me to plan my escape from this guy and find out where I am, but he's right. I do want answers, and for now it seems that he...I...am the one that has them.