[ WP ] The lottery is an Institution designed to catch Time Travelers .

I stare across the room at the only object on the wall of the interrogation room- an analog clock on the wall, slowly ticking away. Every so often, I could swear I look up and see the second hand take just slightly longer than an actual second, but I know it's just my eyes playing tricks on me. 
 
 I shift position, trying to get comfortable. The strange handcuffs around my wrists are causing an irritation on my skin as I feel my body temperature rise and my heart rate increase. Sweat starts to drip down my forehead, an occasional drip onto the cold steel table in front of me. 
 
 How much longer until they tell me why I'm here? How could I have gone from sudden joy and the happiest day of my life to fearing for my future? Why me? The list of questions I have is rapidly growing as each second ticks by, yet no one has entered the room since the men in strange suits dumped me in here. 
 
 To be fair, they had seemed just as puzzled as I had been. There I was, sitting on my couch running my usual Saturday routine when they broke through my sliding glass door and pointed the strange looking weapons at me. 
 
 I love my Saturday routine. I cook up some mac n cheese, turn on netflix, and watch whatever cool documentary I can find. Then, at 6, I flip over to the news and hear the lottery numbers while downing an ice cold fat tire. 
 
 Same routine. Every Saturday, no differences- except this Saturday, when it actually happened. I won. 
 
 At first I could've sworn I was a part of one of those youtube videos- you know, where they pre-record the show and trick their friends into thinking they've won. I mean, I just could n't believe it- I've been buying tickets for the past year every friday. Same gas station, same clerk, same total of $ 15.67 with the fat tire 6 pack, a hershey's cookies and cream bar, and the lottery ticket. 
 
 But each after each ball rolled into place, and each number was read out loud... 
 
 First one, 11 ( my birthday ). Alright, solid Saturday, had n't gotten the first one right in a few months... 
 
 17- when I lost my virginity. Two for two!! Ties for the best luck I've had... hitting numbers, that is. 
 
 25- how old I am. I've never had more than two numbers right, now my hands are beginning to shake... 
 
 89- the year I was born... this is too weird, is there a prize for people who get 4 out of 6? 
 
 12- the number of girls I've slept with... ok I HAVE to get something for 5 for 6, I ca n't be screwed out of that... 
 
 and lastly, 77- for good luck. 
 
 Total silence. Was Kyle going to jump out from behind the couch? Was someone filming me? Was Ashton hiding behind the shower curtain trying to punk me? 
 
 No. Kyle was pulling a double shift, Punk'd stopped airing years ago and I'm not even fucking famous. No, this might just be the real thing. 
 
 Most people might have jumped up, screamed, called their friends, dropped their beer, whatever. I had no victory dance, no over the top celebration, I was just skeptical. Maybe it's because I'm so cynical, but I just could n't believe it was actually real. I just stared at the TV screen blankly, unable to blink, and slowly the weekly thoughts began to roll into my head as the $ 129,000,000 number flashed on the screen. 
 
 The thoughts about buying literally any car I want. I could buy an entire fucking FLEET of WRX STI's. I could buy Ferraris, private jets, I could buy my own island, I could become batman... the possibilities were endless. 
 
 But this time the dream of actually becoming a vigilante superhero racing around the city in my tricked out ferrrari bat-mobile, with an entourage of models following me closely behind... this time it was different. I could n't even THINK! I could n't even get to the part where I have a threesome in the bat cave. I could n't picture what the models looked like, or my private hair-dresser who would make my facial hair look like Tony Starks... none of it. 
 
 What do I do? I've never gotten this far in the dream, never imagined this scenario... I had to look up directions online for what to do if you're a winner, my fingers trembling and hitting the wrong keys on my phone, prompting shitty auto-correct. After several tries, the phone saved me from looting weiners and changed it to lottery winners- and I pulled the number I needed to call. 
 
 I finished my beer while I listened to the hold music that needed a serious update ( mmmbop from hanson ) and was greeted by Stacy. She asked me a few questions, and I gave her my ticket information, my address, and the approval for them to send over a news crew. 
 
 Then I sat in silence, my mind running at a million miles an hour, spinning and spinning, the nonsensical lyrics of mmbop now stuck in my head... I could only hear a ringing in my ears, my refrigerator in the kitchen, and my heartbeat. Do I call anyone? Who do I tell? 
 
 No- no one. Not yet, you always hear stories of the lottery ruining peoples lives, destroying relationships, ending friendships, people going bankrupt immediately. Not me. I needed to make sure this was the real deal first. 
 
 That's when it happened- I heard a couple footsteps and saw a flashing light outside- and then thousands of tiny glass shards exploded across my living room. 
 
 There were 3 of them. All dressed in the same strange suit, strange helmets, and wielding bizarre looking weapons that looked like something out of Halo. All of their equipment was emblazoned with a strange logo that resembled a glowing circle with the letters TEU. 
 
 The most knowledge I have about any sort of self defense is two years of taekwondo that I took when I was 9 and 10. I did n't jump to me feet, I did n't have some sweet reaction like I always ran through in my head if I was ever in this situation- no, I sat there on my couch and immediately put my hands on my head. 
 
 They murmered to each other for a second as I stared at them with pupils the size of grapefruits. 
 
 `` Jacob Dawes? Lottery Winner?'' 
 
 `` Uh... I guess?'' 
 
 I hesitated. Fuck, it's just like when people card me even though I'm older and I accidentally give them the wrong address or some bull shit. Why do I always have such terrible interactions with police? Except these were n't police... 
 
 `` Answer the question! Are you Jacob Dawes, winner of tonights lottery?'' 
 
 I heard a weird noise emanating from the futuristic looking weapon, it sounded like it was charging up or something and the barrel looks like it's glowing. He gestured it towards my head. 
 
 `` Yeah, if this is my celebration party you guys had quite the entrance. I'm assuming that gun does n't shoot dollar bills though.'' 
 
 `` You're coming with us.'' 
 
 They cuffed me, took me downstairs and put me in the back seat of a black van- no logos, but it seemed pretty heavily reinforced. It had some sort of weird grid on the inside on the walls- and the handcuffs were strange, something about them was different. 
 
 Now here I am, in this stupid room- not sure what to think. Just when I'm about to get up and see if I can talk to someone, a piece of paper falls onto the ground from underneath the table, and I notice my name on the top... Jacob Dawes... 
 
 `` At 8:52 and 17 seconds, an older, overweight man with glasses will enter your room. Do not answer any of his questions. Ask for a phone call and call this number: 360-259-4012'' 
 
 I'm unsure of what to think about the note... I decide that if, in fact, the timing is right on the dot and that specific, it must be worth playing along. 
 
 I look at the clock: it reads 8:52 and 14 seconds, 15, 16... 
 
 The door behind me opens and sure enough, in walks the man described in the letter. I quickly shove it into my pocket, as he shuffles his way over to the table and plunks down a very thin folder onto the desk. 
 
 `` Jacob Dawes. You're not quite as exciting as we would've hoped.'' 
 
 `` You do n't sound like Drew Carey like I would've hoped.'' 
 
 There's silence as he stares at me for a second, and I swear he's about to say the whole points deal about whose line, but his voice is higher and kinda squeaky. He really does look like Drew Carey. 
 
 `` I'm afraid this is n't a game show Mr. Dawes. The rules are n't made up, and this conversation definitely matters. Have you seen this number before?'' 
 
 He slides me a pad with a number on it. I'm 90 % sure it's the same number from the note. Beads of sweat drip off my forehead and onto the notepad. 
 
 He flicks open my file and thumbs through my records. There are only a few papers in there, I've never been arrested before, just a couple unpaid parking tickets. Definitely not exciting. 
 
 `` Do I get my phone call?'' 
 
 The man pauses for a second, and then presses a small button on his watch that undoes my handcuffs automatically. 
 
 `` You ca n't leave the room. You have 5 minutes.'' 
 
 I pull out my cell phone, but I do n't remember the number... and something tells me I should n't pull out the note in my pocket in front of him. 
 
 `` Uh... a little privacy?'' 
 
 The Drew Carey guy stares at me, frowns, and then slowly gets up, leaving the file on the table and shuffles out of the room, glaring as he goes. I punch in the numbers, and I'm greeted with a voice that sounds strangely familiar. 
 
 `` Jacob Dawes?'' 
 
 ``....yes?'' 
 
 `` Listen very carefully. I need you to do exactly as I say. at 9:03 and 12 seconds, the man will enter the room again. I need you to take him out using the weapon hidden under the table. Flip the switch on the right side until it glows orange. Hold the trigger for 3 seconds, and aim for his chest. It wo n't kill him- just temporarily disable him.'' 
 
 I'm silent as I glance under the table. Sure enough, up underneath it there's one of those same guns that resembles the plasma pistol from halo. 
 
 `` Who is this?'' 
 
 Click. The line goes dead. 
 
 And that's when I realize why the voice sounds so familiar. It's me. 

