I walked up behind Ordinelli, shot him in the back of the head, tapped the return button and was back in the lab. Two hundred years, just like that. But nothing had changed: the world outside the observation window was still a barren wasteland, dusty, grey, dead.
“Maybe it wasn’t him.”
“It was him.”
“No, I mean maybe it wasn’t him who invented the thing. Maybe he took credit for someone else’s work?”
“Maybe he had a grad student.” There was a future to be had, a better one; it was just a matter of figuring out who to kill.
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