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

The first thing to flash through my mind was the man just an hour earlier who had offered to buy my lottery ticket off of me for a hundred thousand dollars, cash. 
 
 Not a small sum of money, I had declined only because of stubbornness and irritability after a rough day at work. Plus, with the way he was dressed, I suspected he was some sort of eccentric criminal hobo who would just take the ticket and run. And yes, I reflectively could admit, I was so addicted to gambling that I'd rather take an infinitely small chance at winning big than a guarantee of winning slightly less big. 
 
 Now, as the television repeated itself - `` 3, 4, 14, 26, 29, bonus number 18!'' - I stared down numbly at my ticket. 
 
 I was a millionaire. No, scratch that, a millionaire was someone with just a million dollars. I was a multi-millionaire. A $ 17,300,000aire, to be exact, payed either in a lump sum or over twenty years as I pleased. 
 
 Thank God I had n't accepted the money, although now I wondered how the man had known I was going to win tonight... 
 
 `` Excuse me.'' A melodious and whispery voice spoke into my small flat's living room. 
 
 I jumped, screamed, crumpled the ticket in a sudden iron fist, nearly bolted towards the door. The only thing blocking my escape was the muscle bound man standing in front of it. 
 
 `` Excuse me.'' He repeated, and I marveled briefly at such a feminine voice coming from such a slab of masculinity. `` I just need a moment of your time.'' 
 
 He - she? - stepped into my flat, allowing me to see that curiously, the door was still shut and deadbolted behind him. 
 
 `` Twentieth century andorless one, low income, New York skylight behind. Acceptatious.'' It looked at me, then suddenly barked out at me in a rough, deep, raspy voice. 
 
 `` I'm Detective Samuels with the US FBI IRS! We're dispatched to investigate your suspicious lottery winnings!'' 
 
 He glowered at me, took another step forward. `` My first question, curmudgeon. Who is the current president?'' 
 
 I stammered, my mind completely blank, and I spoke the first presidential name I could think of. `` Uh... Nixon?'' 
 
 He stopped, tilted his head at me. `` Next question, lucky punk. Name an unforgettable celebrity that just had their first minute of fame, whom history shant forget.'' 
 
 What sort of question was that... again, I spoke immediately, in a panic. `` Justin... Bieber, I think? Maybe?'' 
 
 His arm lowered to his side, rippling against the black fabric ominously. `` Last chance, Beaver Cleaver. What is the current stock value of Wal-Mart Incorporated?'' 
 
 I backed away, protesting. `` How the hell would I know? Who the hell are you?!'' 
 
 The pain spiked in a strange way, as first my feet dissolved, then my legs... slowly, up to my head, then the pain stopped at last. I wondered if I were dead, but slowly realized I could still see, and move even, somewhat. I spotted the ticket fluttering down and latched onto it, rolling over to try and intercept it before it hit the ground. 
 
 A jar slammed over me, blocking my route. The man grabbed the ticket before it could touch my dingy carpet, put it perfunctorily into a small case at his side. I could read the word'Evidence' on it in flowery script... then I could n't... then a moment later, I could again. 
 
 `` Suspected Time Exploiter captured.'' He murmured out loud, once again using the fluttery voice. `` The suspect failed the Tripled Time Situational Awareness Confirmation Quiz, as was predicted, and has been reduced to the standard prisoner transportation mode for his trial. He will be permitted to speak at his trial, and no sooner than then, per protocol to avoid further temporal contamination. A trace has been initiated to determine the extent of all quantum fallout from his activities.'' 
 
 He hefted the jar - my jar, I suppose - and began carrying me towards the door. As we passed my mirror, I saw myself. 
 
 An eyeball in a jar looked back at me, looking as though it wished to scream. 
 
 We vanished.
