Self Warning

John woke to the sound of someone breathing, close. Too close. His eyes blinked into focus, and the shadow of a man stood over him.

John jolted upright. “Who the hell are you? And how did you get in my bedroom?”

The man raised his hands in surrender. “Look, take a deep breath. There’s a lot to take in.”

John’s mind raced as he stepped towards the door. “What are you talking about? And why are you in my room?”

The man’s voice softened. “Dad can’t hear you, John.”

John froze. “Do I know you?”

“Listen,” the man said, stepping closer, his face half-caught in the blue glow of John’s computer screens. “The time machine. It works.”

John’s pulse jumped. “How do you—”

“I know because I built it,” the man interrupted. “It works. I’m from the future, our future.”

The room went silent except for the hum of the machine still running on the desk, John’s prototype, the culmination of five years of obsession.

“You’re saying I invent time travel?” John asked slowly.

The man smiled, “You change the world.”

John laughed in disbelief. “Am I rich?”

“Beyond your wildest dreams.”

John grinned. “No, no, no, no. You’re joking. I’m going to press that button and change everything.”

“Please, don’t press that button,” the man said.

John squinted. “Who are you?”

The man’s voice broke. “Please, don’t.”

“You’re me,” John realized. “You’re me.”

The older John nodded, handing him a business card, “Is it what you were going to call your company?”

“AetherGroup,” John whispered. “Yeah.”

“And you do,” the older version said. “I’m president of AetherGroup.”

John felt dizzy. “What do people think of me?”

“There’s a statue of you,” the older John said. “15 feet high. Just one block from here.”

John’s jaw dropped. “Wow.”

“Built by slaves,” the older man added softly.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“What about Sarah?” John asked, voice trembling.

The older John looked away. “We watch her die after starting the third great vaccine war.”

John’s stomach turned. “No. No, that’s not possible. Sarah’s just, she’s just my friend. And I don’t even believe kids should be given vaccines.”

“Exactly,” his older self whispered. “That belief becomes outlawed. Billions suffer. The world fractures. Nations fall.”

John shook his head, backing away from the machine. “I just wanted to make something that matters.”

“You do,” the older man said. “Too much. You wanted to give the world control over time, but you also gave it a weapon.”

“I start a war? I enslave the planet? I kill Sarah?”

“Our intentions were good,” the man said, voice cracking. “But it spirals out of control. Power always does.”

John swallowed hard, “Can’t we go back and change it all?”

“That’s why I’m here,” the older version said. “Move out of this place. Burn the notes. Forget time travel. Destroy that thing. The world doesn’t need it.”

John stared at the glowing button on the console, the one that promised to start time travel itself. He took a shaky breath. “Okay.”

“Good.” The older John gave a weak smile, handing the younger one an engagement ring. “We never gave it to her because I never had the chance.”

John sat there, the machine humming, the button still glowing softly. He unplugged the device, and the hum died. Then he pulled wires from the frame and struck the components with a hammer.

Outside, the first light of dawn touched the horizon, and for the first time in years, John felt the future might still be his to change.

Hours later, on a quiet street, a man named Greg watched from a parked car as John loaded boxes into his trunk. The silence was then interrupted by a cell phone.

“How’d it go with my son?” James asked.

Greg smiled faintly, “He’s moving out.”

“Thanks, Greg. My wife will be happy. See you at work tomorrow.”

Greg chuckled, “See you tomorrow.”