Time Travel is Fun

Operation Disclosure Official

By James O’Brien, Contributing Writer
Submitted on February 22, 2025

3555
Jul 30, 2019 1:34:14 PM EDT
Q !!mG7VJxZNCI ID: 87be02 No. 7260462
https://twitter.com/elenochle/status/1156253768649830400
TIME TRAVEL IS FUN.
Or….
Q

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Alias John Titor – Time-travel and the 2024 Election

On the day in question, I was hiking with my dog Tucker down by Rattlesnake Spring. I’d made coffee that morning in the RV, while my little black-and-white portable TV was tuned enough with rabbit ears to pick up the fuzzy reception of a news channel. Controversy raged with the election. Nothing new there. Arguments abounded that the previous election was rigged against the populist candidate, along with heavy talk about insurrections and coups. Revolution was in the air. Or was it devolution?

I had my fill of civilization after a cup of joe and took Tucker for a mountain walkabout. The further we got into the woods the less it felt like we were part of this dystopian melodrama. The fact that I was living off-grid in the wilderness, however, didn’t exactly escape me. I was part of the story of this world whether I liked it or not. Carrying an empty gallon jug I intended to fill with water, I watched Tucker have his pleasure mucking about in the creek and chasing squirrels. He’d just tailed one up a ponderosa when I spotted the tire tracks.

They were fresh. And from what looked like a four-wheel drive truck. We were in a place where no such vehicle should have been. Perhaps an ATV might navigate this pass, but a full-sized road vehicle would need to be airlifted in to make this scene, with its dense tree cover and absence of any fire roads. The tracks led through a thicket of brush which the vehicle in question had apparently plowed through, creating a passage through the foliage which we followed.

The tracks continued through the terrain, trampling chaparral and leading into a dried waterway, where the dirt of the tire marks faded somewhat on all the rocks. This wasn’t a hiking area of any known repute and there were no trails to speak of. The Pacific Crest Trail crossed through a section down yonder near Paradise Valley, but that was nowhere near this out-of-the-way mountain stretch. It felt very peculiar and even creepy. A chill passed through me, like a sixth sense or deja vu. Tucker seemed uneasy.

The tire marks appeared further up the dried waterway. My curiosity got the best of me and we followed them. They went for a hundred yards before terminating at the mouth of a grotto obscured in moss, large enough to be a shelter. It crossed my mind that it could be a bear cave. Or that it had long ago been the dwelling of natives. The opening was overgrown with thickets, which had recently been smashed asunder by something large and mechanical, something just like a truck with the tires we’d been tracking.

I had a fold out knife clipped to my Levi’s front pocket. I flipped it open with a thumb. A dog and a knife were all the protection I had, beyond the Lord Almighty, and for some reason, I felt I needed all three of them right now. Something very strange was in this cave. I was absolutely certain of it.

But we were pot committed now and were going to find out what was in there, even if it was dangerous. Tucker growled, as I peered into the gloom, stepping closer to the entrance. Something glinted from within, something silver or chrome, twinkling off the sunlight piercing through the mountain canopy. I took a step closer, breaching the cave entrance, and spied what appeared to be a dented bumper. 

As my sight adjusted to the darkness within, I confirmed it was indeed a bumper, from an old SUV which had plowed to a stop in the cave, with enough force to get it half-sideways. The license plate was PLVSVLT, in gold letters over blue. I was about to inspect the vehicle closer when a blinding light flashed into my eyes.

“Can I help you?” came a voice from within the cave. The voice was calm, male, and detached, almost distant, though it had to be nearby. I shielded a hand to the light.

“Saw the tracks. Was out walking my dog.” The flashlight lowered. I confronted a dark, shadowy shape at the passenger side of what I assumed was his own vehicle.

“What year is it?” the shadowy figure asked. I blanked for a second, unsure of the nature of the question.

“Excuse me?” I said. He took a step closer.

“What is the current year, sir?”

“2024.” I replied.

“Dammit,” he said, hobbling into the light at the cave entrance. His features became clearer now. He was white, 30 something, with dark mid-length hair, and a military bearing. He wore a navy blue pilot’s jumpsuit, with circular patches bearing several logos, the origins of which I could not decipher.

“What is our location?” he asked.

“Come again?” I replied, as Tucker got close enough to sniff him.

“Where in the hell am I?” he shot back, although friendly enough. “I need to situate myself. Temporally speaking.” He leaned against the side of the midnight blue vehicle and winced. I saw that his left leg was clearly injured. There was a dark blood stain at the shin area.

“What happened? Was there an accident? Do you have memory loss?”

“My leg is broken, but I can fix that,” he replied. “I just need to know precisely where I am located.”

“You’re in the San Jacinto Mountains, near the town of Mountain Center, California. Palm Springs is down there in the valley below,” I pointed. “It’s October 15th,  2024. I’m Evan Mann and this here’s Tucker,” I offered, reaching out a hand.

He smiled and shook my hand. “Thank you. My name is John Titor. I have a medical supply kit in the back seat. It’s the red bag. Could you bring it to me, please?” John directed his light to the rear passenger seat. I opened the door, found a trauma kit and brought it to him. He winced as he rolled up his pant sleeve, revealing a compound fracture, his femur bone almost jutting through bloody broken skin.

“Good God…” I exclaimed.

“Help me sit, would you?” he grimaced. I eased him to the ground. He popped off a morphine syrette and jammed it into his leg. “Step one,” he winked. He went about the other steps methodically, cleaning and sterilizing the wound, then spraying it with something that hardened like glue on contact. He wrapped it up with gauze and medical tape, then attached a splint from his zip-up bag. I watched in rapt attention. I was there to help, but he didn’t seem to need any. He was an expert at this. He patted Tucker, who was at his face level and had licked him twice already. “There’s some blue heeler in this dog,” he remarked.

“That’s what they say,” I answered. But now I had to broach the question: “How did you get your vehicle all the way up to this mountain top, John? It’s something that’s been perplexing me ever since I spotted the tracks.” 

John Titor reached out a hand, a silent request to help him stand. I did and he winced again, the only reflection of what must have been his great pain the entire time. He looked at me very directly. His gaze was dark, but not unkind. He had intelligent eyes, but troubled ones, like he had the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“I suppose you want to know where I’m from then, too?” he said.

“Only if you want to tell me,” I answered. He shined his flashlight on the vehicle beside us.

“This is a 1987 Chevy Suburban.”

“An old classic,” I noted.

“You’ve no idea,” he replied. Then opened the passenger door. In place of the passenger seat there was a large black device the size and shape of an ice chest. It had three heavy duty hinges on it, all clamped shut. John turned his light on it. The thing looked both crude and yet also futuristic, and gave off a seriously uncanny vibration.

“What the hell is that thing?” I asked.

He answered, cooly: “It is a stationary mass, gravity distortion, temporal displacement unit manufactured by General Electric. It’s powered by two, top-spin, dual-positive singularities that produce a standard, off-set Tipler sinusoid.”

+++

Alias John Titor
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0DWT4KB4D

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