Self love? No. Self hate? Not that either.
I've asked myself this a lot of time. When I'm feeling lonely. When I'm remembering the past. When I get into trouble. When something works out in the end anyway.
I feel something. But it's not love. Not hate. Not happiness. Neither sadness.
It's satisfaction.
Something happens all the time. It could be anything. Predictable or not. I'm fine as long as I'm alive.
That's what I need to be. Alive. Living.
The current condition doesn't matter. Past doesn't matter.
Being alive alone satisfies me.
You know what doesn't though?
This fucking 22nd century police entrance level exam test!
"Being alive alone satisfies me.
…
But apparently the universe disagrees."
"Stop being dramatic. We studied for entire week for this. How hard can it be?" Satori looked at me disappointed.
"Well, sorry to tell you. But back in my day, I was living in a world built upon technology made under theory of relativity. I'm gonna be fucked out of my minds if I get thrown 100 years into future where apparently tachyon based FTL travel mechanism and worm hole based time tunnels are basically child toy level technology."
I threw my hands on my head, exasperated.
"Like what's with this question? 'If a child accidentally uses the causality type toy, and accidentally messes with the mother timeline, what ptotocol under article 55 of children toys should the officer take action on?' Like, dude. Nuke the kid. I mean he's a kid, but he's killing a fucking timeline!"
"You have 40 minutes left. Don't waste time."
"Ugh... Is time even worth measuring with this tech? Use time slowing devices for me."
"39 minutes now."
"AHGGGGHHHH!"
I grabbed my forehead and started focusing 'peacefully' to remember the answers from that 500 page guide book I was supposed to memorize in a week. So peacefully, my head nearly went bald.
"This is 4 A's in a row. One must be wrong."
The empty, black room, looking awfully similar to a prison cell from my time was quite. Only me furiously trying to answer the stupidly simple solution based, yet requiring overcomplicated answers, questions. And satori looking at something in his holographic lenses. Silently.
I have my suspicion that it might be something lewd-
"No it's not. I'm just reading your brain waves to make sure you don't cheat in some way."
"Oi! My right to privacy!" I slammed the table.
"You're not registered in current timeline as a citizen, hence exempted from any rights."
"Fucking-" I gave up, returning to scratching my head.
The questions kept coming. Not just about toys and protocols. They got... personal.
"Subject exhibits high-dimensional resonance. Is containment or utilization more resource-efficient for long-term stability?"
"When a localized reality infection stems from a sentient source's unresolved trauma, is the source classified as a patient, a perpetrator, or an environmental hazard?"
My pencil hovered. These weren't test questions. They were diagnostics. They were figuring out what box to put me in.
I stopped trying to answer correctly. I started answering truthfully.
Patient/Perpetrator/Hazard? I circled all three.
Satori's holographic lenses flickered. He didn't stop me.
The final section wasn't multiple choice. It was a single prompt, blinking in cold, blue text:
"ANOMALY N-0BI: FINAL ASSESSMENT. DEFINE, IN YOUR OWN TERMS, YOUR RELATIONSHIP TO CAUSALITY."
I stared at it.
I picked up the pencil.
'Causality is a river. Most people are fish. They swim with the current. They are the current. Heroes are rocks. They stand against it, break it, divert it for a while. I am neither. I am a drop of ink. I fell into the river a long time ago. I didn't change the flow. I didn't stop it. I just stained it. Now, no matter how far the water flows, the stain remains. It's part of the river. You can't remove me without draining the whole thing. So you don't. You just monitor the discoloration. You track where the stain spreads. That's our relationship. I am the stain. You are the lab tech with the clipboard. We're both just... documenting the decay.'
He let out a breath that was almost a laugh. "There is no key for that. The test was a filter. A personality scan. The factual questions were just... noise. To see what pattern your frustration would make."
Then I erased it all.
'I kinda keep fucking causality because of my childhood trauma, accidentally.(sorry)'
I put the pencil down.
"And?" I leaned back, the plastic chair creaking. "What's the diagnosis, doc?"
He looked at me, not as a cop to a perp, but as one tired creature to another.
"The diagnosis was that you're too self-aware to be a weapon. And too dangerous to be left alone. You understand your own toxicity. That makes you predictable. And in our line of work, predictable is... usable."
"Was?"
"Now it is that you're an unserious, irresponsible, cocky, mentally unstable brat who needs to be disciplined... And still useful."
He slid a thin, metallic card across the table. It shimmered with a faint, non-light.
"This is a Provisional Observer License. Grade 0. It doesn't allow you to do anything. It obligates you to report anything. Any itch. Any deja vu that feels too strong. Any dream that leaves a residue. You report it. To me."
I picked up the card. It was cold. It had no weight.
"And if I don't?"
"Then we revert to the original ruling," Satori said, his voice flat and final. "Sentient Environmental Hazard. Subject to mandatory, passive containment in a Null-Time cell. Eternal, conscious stasis. No past. No future. Just the satisfaction of being... alive."
He let the word hang in the air, throwing my own philosophy back at me like a shiv.
"Fine," I said, pocketing the card. It felt like carrying a tombstone. "I'll be your canary."
Satori stood up. "Good. Your first observational report is due in 72 hours. And stop trying to use metaphors.I know you watch too many movies."
He walked to the door. It hissed open, revealing not the sterile white halls I came from, but the familiar, grubby alleyway behind my school. The air smelled of rain and garbage. Real air.
"One last question," I said, not getting up. "The exam. The one with the kid and the causality toy. What's the real answer? Under Article 55."
Satori paused in the doorway, his silhouette framed by the mundane world.
"The real answer," he said, without turning around, "is that there isn't one. You assess the damage. You calculate the cost of correction versus the cost of letting the new timeline branch. Then you make the call. And you live with it."
He stepped through. The door hissed shut, dissolving into the brick wall of the alley.
I was alone. In my own time. With a card in my pocket and a universe watching the stain.
I stood up. My legs worked. My heart beat. The distant sound of a school bell echoed.
Being alive alone satisfies me.
It truly does.
But I can't run away from my responsibilities. I mean, not because I don't want to.
I've learned the hard way that no matter what I try, I'll always be caught up in trouble meant for me after the last incident.
This multiversal breach was caused by me. I'll just patch it up before it gets to me.