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

I'm posting a half finished story so I can continue it later when I get home: 
 Edit: Paragraphing will come later when I have time. 
 
 Jason Dhel walked right up to the front door before taking a long pause. Steadying his nerves, he brushed his knuckles on the wood of the dilapidated house in front of him. Without a doorbell, he ’ d have to get the tenant ’ s attention somehow… 
 The door opened with a barely audible squeak, and behind the threshold stood a man about two inches taller than Jason. 
 “ Mister Garen? ” Jason asked. He knew this was the right guy; the background checks were extensive. He even had a picture of this guy in his back pocket. But who could forget a face like that. 
 “ That ’ s me, ” came the cheerful reply. “ How can I help you? ” His demeanor belied everything about his physical appearance. Scars riddled the left side of his face, and a hunch threw his six foot height right out the door. Garen ’ s blue t-shirt was dirty and rent, and his matching bluejeans showed he didn ’ t care much for fashion. 
 “ I ’ m here to present you with your winnings! ” said Jason, carefully trying to hide his nervousness. Handing Garen a large cheque, he motioned for the camera crew waiting behind him to step forward for an interview. 
 Garen ’ s smile broadened noticeably, and he stepped outside of his house to extend Jason a firm handshake for the camera. The taller, albeit stooped, man was rather in control of himself. Calm smiles and smart answers to questions made him seem as if he expected to win. Legitimate winners usually bowled Jason over trying to give him a hug or get as much face time with the camera as possible. Jason quietly tapped a remote broadcaster in his belt buckle to signal his suspicions. 
 Immediately, a SWAT team appeared from around the house, having set up more than twenty minutes prior to Jason ’ s arrival. They readied Tasers and assault rifles, in case the man started to run. Garen, however, put up no fight, and let himself be handcuffed with a sad, surprised look on his face. 
 As a police officer led him to a nearby squad car, Garen flashed a wink at Jason over his shoulder. “ It was nice to meet you, circumstances aside, ” he called. Jason watched him go with a sinking stomach and more than a little remorse. 
 Back at the station, Garen was quickly whisked off to an interrogation room, the door sealed and the cameras turned off. A man with dark russet hair strode in to the center of the room. Without preamble or fanfare, the man calmly pulled out a chair and sat across from Garen. The badge stuck in his belt read FBI. 
 “ I ’ m Special Agent Reggie Urdon. Would you like to start? ” he asked. 
 “ How did you know? ” 
 A sly grin spread on Urdon ’ s face as he replied. “ Well, the whole system had you beat. The chances of winning the lottery are less than that of landing on the moon. We set the whole thing up to catch people like you. The lottery really is an elegant way of telling apart the cheaters. ” 
 From behind the mirror, Jason listened to the explanation. This wasn ’ t anything he didn ’ t know; even if he wasn ’ t a Special Agent yet, he was still part of the Bureau. But something about Garen was different than the other time travellers they caught. He seemed... good. 
 “ So as to how we knew, ” Urdon continued, “ It ’ s quite simple. We don ’ t allow people to win. Careful computer algorithms check who buys the tickets, finds their home address, place of work - all that stuff - and makes sure they ’ re real. Then it deletes the number they purchased from the possible winning results. You were easy to catch. Coming to town less than a month before the draw, and buying up the cheapest house on the market doesn ’ t make for a very convincing backstory. So now I get to ask you: Why? ” 

