Tom’s own hellacious snoring woke him up. The young man’s bright green eyes looked around the cluttered interior of his beat-up old car. His slightly oversized mouth frowned for a second, as he glanced at his phone. Good, he had only been asleep for three hours. Yawning, he got out of the vehicle and headed inside.

The walk across the parking lot was unpleasantly brisk. The fire exit that he was using to get in and out was out of the way, and more importantly, had a broken alarm system. He reached the door, slid the rock that was keeping it propped open out of the way and went inside.

Machines filled the space, each plastered with a thousand different warnings. Caution signs everywhere, yellow and black stripes everywhere, gleaming metal everywhere. The equipment towered high and stretched out far.

Droning noise from the conveyor belts dominated Tom’s awareness, his mind slow to tune it out. He picked his way past the machines, made a show out of checking a bank of indicator lights when someone walked past. From here he went to the main production floor.

Mr. Ferguson was strolling down the line of roaring machines, looking for issues, checking to make sure that the conveyor belts were still clear. In one hand he held a sharpy, in the other a radio. He positioned the marker so that it sat in his hand like the barrel of a gun, which he pointed at Tom. This was followed by him making a string of laser gun pew pew noises.

Wondering why he had to have such a goofball as his boss, he walked over to Mark.

“Is everything good?” Mark asked.

“Yep,” Tom said, having no idea if it really was, hoping that this wasn’t a test.

“You weren’t over in the other department, trying to flirt with the girls while you were on the clock?” he demanded, mixing slyness with a dash of anger and just a bit of contempt.

“No, I can honestly say that I wasn’t. Do you mean the cute goth vampire chick?”

“Um, actually, the vampires of old lore are nothing like those of Hollywood. But ya, I meant the cute goth vampire chick. I also meant the cute Muslim chick from Africa. As well as the pleasantly plump redhead that always wears punk rock band t-shirts.”

“No, I wasn’t talking to any girls. When are you going back to Canada? When will your syrup drinking ass get out of my hair?”

“When you stupid Yanks figure out how to properly run this place. Now, please get those reports finished.”

Tom walked over to his computer, logged in. His coworkers moved about in busy little swirls of controlled chaos. When he sat there at his workstation it could often feel like being in the eye of a tropical storm.

It was Mark, again, “Hey, Tom?”

“Ya?”

“Some people from corporate want to see you,” this statement was immediately followed by a chorus of taunting, drawn out ooouuuhhhs from the other employees, like those of schoolchildren when someone is sent to the office.

With a deep grimace, Tom started making his way to the administrative section of the building. The yawning nightmare of the conveyor system faded into the distance, replaced by the den of voices from the cafeteria.

“Damn, what the hell do they want,” he mumbled to himself, as his destination came into view.

The office was a tiny little building inside of the larger structure. A few rows of cubicles flanked the entrance.

He reached the door. The stern looking secretary motioned for him to enter. He wondered if she would let him put a smile on her face. He walked inside of the little building, saw that the meeting area was occupied by a half-dozen men and women in business suits and sunglasses. None of them looked happy.

“Should I be worried?” Tom asked two-thirds-jokingly.

A woman stepped in front of him, “You Mr. Tom Bean?”

He found that her breasts were almost exactly at his eye level. Her golden blonde hair was blinding. Bright red lipstick sat on a set of cute little lips. She took the sunglasses off, a set of bright green eyes stared down at him like how a marksman would a target, or a predator its prey.

He struggled to keep his gaze locked onto hers as he answered, “Yes. That’s me.”

She grabbed him by the collar, slammed him against the wall, kept him pinned there.

Her voice was like a series of blows, “Most of the historical records were destroyed in the war. But those that survived show that on this day you were accused of time theft. How were you able to do this? Where is the device?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” he stammered, praying that he didn’t get an erection.

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She kept one hand on his throat, moved the other to the side of his neck. Strong fingers found a particularly sensitive spot, started pinching. He let out a pathetic cry, instantly pushed past the point of caring about his dignity.

Her harsh voice struck him again, “Don’t play dumb. Not only do we have the records, we have also scanned this point and found that a section of the continuum was somehow isolated and cut off from the rest. Our only question is how.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. I just monitor the machines. I didn’t do anything!”

“Okay, Okay. You think you can hold out, cute. But I’ve played the history simulations. I know what the men of your time period fear the most.”

“What?” he exclaimed, on the verge of tears.

She pushed in close, he could feel the heat of her breath, her voice turned sultry, “Intimacy with a woman.”

He took in a quick breath, tried to look at the others but couldn’t move his head or eyes enough, “I don’t understand.”

“If you don’t tell me what I want to know, I might just have to take your innocence,” she said, planting a wet hot kiss on the spot that she had hurt. She began to run her hands over his body, whispering naughty things into his ear.

The door opened; an Asian man entered the room. He wore a suit and sunglasses, like the others. He hadn’t shaved in a few weeks.

He removed his sunglasses, “Good, you have him. I have scouted the area and found no displacement devices,” his intense, razor sharp eyes took in the blonde and her prisoner, “What are you doing, commander?”

“Using his weakness against him. When faced with the threat of making love to a woman, his resolve will faulter,” she declared, before reaching behind Tom and grabbing his ass, causing him to let out a yelp.

“Commander, do you know why you were selected to lead this mission?” the sharp-eyed man asked.

She let a moan escape her lips before responding, “Because I am a capable and efficient officer.”

“No, it is because you are the subject’s great granddaughter.”

Eyes bulging and tongues stuck out, the two of them spat and sputtered. She let go of Tom, who’s hands automatically shot to his reddened throat. The blond woman stumbled away, hovering over a tiny little trash can, making awful sounds.

“Wait, why am I grossed out?” Tom asked no one in particular, “I don’t even have kids, let alone great grandkids. And she looks to be about my age.”

The sharp-eyed man stepped forward, reaching into a coat pocket with sinister intent, “Enough of these games. I will make you talk,” he promised. He brought a strange, pronged device up to Tom’s eyes, “This is pain.”

His eyes still shining daggers, he moved the device to Tom’s chest. An evil smirk slowly crawled its way up his mouth. What happened next wasn’t so much the agony of electrocution. The hell the Tom felt was more akin to the nerves being ripped out and directly fed input. Agonized screams filled the room.

“Hey, leave my great grandfather alone!” the commander yelled, delivering a savage kick to the torturer. He fell, letting go of his captive and moving to cushion his landing.

Tom tore out of the room, knocking the stern looking secretary onto her ass as he went out the door.

Beyond the cubicles, Mark stood in front of several suits, “He’s in there, already getting chewed out for something. What did you guys say he did again?”

“Oh God, help! Help!” Tom shouted over the sound of the machinery, taking off in the direction of the newcomers. Mark and the others looked in his direction, surprised by the commotion. Heads raised up over the cubical walls, their faces alarmed.

There was a strange, shrill noise behind him. He felt something hot shoot past his head, going on to strike a stack of spare parts. Molten metal and burning plastic exploded out of the pile. This caused Mark and the suits to duck down. Tom stopped, turned to see the sharp-eyed man, has face alit with fury, pointing some kind of weird pistol in his direction.

Another one of the weirdos pushed the gun away, “No, we need him alive!”

Tom took off again, the suits hot on his heels. Mark reached out, grabbed the leg of one of Tom’s pursuers. The man fell, taking the others to the floor along with him. Some sort of electronic device fell out of one of their pockets, sliding across the cement.

“Thanks, boss,” Tom shouted back, stooping down to pick the thing up. An hourglass symbol was etched into the plastic. Date and time indicators gave those of the present, another set showed those of a destination. That is when the truth of what was going on hit him.

Mark started to reply, was cut off when his head exploded. Flaming chunks of hair, charred hunks of skull, and pieces of boiling grey matter were blasted in all directions.

“Jesus Christ!” Tom screamed. A bit of smoldering tissue hit him in the shoulder. He let out an undignified noise as he hurriedly brushed it away. The sharp-eyed man glared at Tom, the tip of the pistol’s barrel radiating heat, distorting the air around it.

Tom bolted away. Operating on pure instinct, he brought the device up to eye level and hit several random buttons. He looked up just in time, avoided running face first into a metal support pillar. He slid under one of the conveyors, dashed around a corner, ran for a few more seconds, ducked behind one of the machines. The footfalls of his pursuers passed by his hiding spot, went further along.

The voice of the sharp-eyed man, “He’s hiding, spread out and find him!”

The exertion and adrenaline seemed to hit him all at once. This was especially terrible, as he was struggling to keep the sound of his breathing low. The only saving grace was the never-ending beehive of the conveyers.

Sudden silence, hitting as hard as a loud noise would. What was going on? Of course! It must have been five. Every day at five they shut the conveyors down for a minute to do some kind of check.

A hand on his shoulder, the grip painfully tight. He was ripped from out of his hiding spot, dragged out into the open. The hunter slammed Tom onto the rock-hard floor, got ready to deliver a stomp to his face.

Frantic, Tom hit a few more buttons in rapid succession, braced himself for even more pain.

The blow never came. The dress shoe hovered above him. The attacker’s face was suspended in a vicious sneer, his eyes unblinking.  The man was completely frozen.

Tom got up, jogged away, glancing back to see that the man was still stuck in place. He rounded a corner and the next thing he knew he was on his ass.

Horrified, he looked up to see that he had run full speed into someone, a someone that had stayed on their feet.

A tall woman with a majestic head of blonde hair tied back in a ponytail stared down at him. A pair of tight camo pants and an OD green tank top showed off her figure. A set of black combat boots set on the concrete floor, positioned in a combat ready stance. A bizarre rifle hung from her shoulder on a sling.

A wondrous smile spread across her face, “I was sent from the future to rescue you. You are the time thief, right?”

“You’re god damn right I am!”