Here We Go Again

Here we go again

I watched Zander adjust his purple jumpsuit – he always hogs the spotlight, needing all the attention. He leaped out dramatically and shouted at the man who’d just fell out of the portal, “Welcome to the future!”

The stunned human from 2026 cowered as usual. Usually they stand up, but this one stayed on his knees, staring at the cloud of drones filming him.

Zanders offers, “You found the portal hidden behind a broken Taco Bell urinal?” With a question mark formed in his eyebrow, and arms outstretched to the 10 million people watching.

“Well I guess I did…” the human mumbled.

“This is your new life!” Zander boomed. The drone camera light flicked to green, and Zanders spun on his heels and walked off, oblivious to the still cowering human.

The human looked up at me, lost. “Where is he going?”

“Rejuvenation,” I said, offering a hand. “It’s a long story.”

He took it. “So you’re like… his assistant?”

I smiled tightly. “Yes, I’m the guest relations assistant.” How presumptuous of him, a human jumps 150 years into the future and assumes I’m an assistant. Thousands of years of evolution, and we’re still graded by stature.

I put him on his back feet with, “Now what are we going to do with you?” Fear flickers in his eyes, until I add, “to show you around your new home.”

His name was Marcus. He was funny, constantly surprised by everything, cracking nervous jokes about flying cars that didn’t exist and everything else different. Over the next few hours I showed him the city, explained that we had no physical money anymore, just the Universal App that tracked every contribution, preference, and carbon point. He kept saying “I don’t belong here,” and I kept replying “No shit,” until we both started laughing.

“Thanks for being a friend,” he said at one point, looking genuinely grateful.

“Thanks. Me too” And for a while, I meant it. The guy was refreshingly harmless.

We wandered the commerce promenade when Marcus suddenly froze.

“No way. Is that… a McDonald’s?”

Sure enough, the golden arches glowed exactly like they did in his time, though the building looked like it had been designed by a committee of overly enthusiastic algorithms. Marcus’s face lit up with pure, childlike joy.

“I haven’t had a Big Mac in what feels like forever. Can we? Please? I’ll figure out how to pay you back somehow.”

I shrugged. “Why not? Let’s get you a BigMac.”

That’s when the fun began.

First, we had to approach the entrance. A cheerful holographic Ronald McDonald appeared, smiling with too many teeth.

“Welcome valued potential consumer! Please link your Universal Life Ledger for nutritional eligibility screening.”

Marcus stared. “I don’t have one.”

The hologram blinked. “No problem! Please complete Form 43-B: Temporary Historical Visitor Digestive Rights Waiver. This will take approximately eight minutes.”

It took twenty-three. Marcus had to answer questions about his 2026 diet, known allergies, economic status (a tough one), and whether he had ever posted negative opinions about seed oils.

We finally got the waiver. Then came the queue for the DNA confirmation booth because the system flagged him as “Pre-Cladian biomass.”

Inside the booth, a soothing voice asked him to spit in a cup, provide a hair sample, and answer whether he consented to his genetic data being used for “future marketing insights.” Marcus was mid-spit when the machine asked if he was willing to sign a waiver absolving McDonald’s of any responsibility if eating their food caused “temporal dissonance.”

By this point he was laughing in that slightly hysterical way.

We got the DNA clearance. Then the portion allocation step. Because he had no contribution score, the system could only approve a “Small Child Happy Meal Equivalent” unless he completed a 45-second marketing interview to earn bonus points. Marcus did the interview, saying he didn’t understand most of the questions. The drones loved it.

Finally, we reached the counter. A bored teen with glowing tattoos looked at us.

“Order confirmed. However, due to your temporary visitor status, you must attend a three-minute Orientation Video on the Responsible Enjoyment of Fried Foods”

Marcus looked ready to cry.

We sat through the video. It featured animated fries discussing sustainability.

When the final approval chime sounded, Marcus practically sprinted to the pickup window. The bag appeared. He opened it with trembling hands, lifted the Big Mac like it was the Holy Grail, and took one glorious bite.

That’s when I activated the reveal.

The lights in the McDonald’s shifted to dramatic red. All the drones swarmed in. Zander’s voice boomed across the promenade from hidden speakers: “And that’s the season finale twist, folks! Even in the future, bureaucracy wins! Our time traveler just spent two hours and fourteen minutes trying to eat a burger that took six minutes in his era!”

Marcus froze mid-chew, sauce on his chin.

I stepped forward, smiling apologetically but not really. “The audience loved you.”

His face crumpled. The betrayal hit him harder than I expected. “You… you were just using me?”

“Welcome to the future,” I said gently. “Everyone’s content here. The whole ‘only friend’ thing played great for the numbers. Highest sympathy engagement we’ve had in months.”

Security drones politely escorted him back to the portal platform. He didn’t fight. He just looked exhausted, clutching the half-eaten Big Mac like a war trophy.

As the portal began to hum. The anal probe procedure might be slightly uncomfortable but he’d survive.

I leaned in one last time.

“Don’t tell anyone back then about this,” I said. “They won’t believe you anyway.”