[ WP ] Time travel exists , and a new form of capital punishment is introduced : Transporting the convict back to the worst , practically unsurvivable , places in human history to find yourself in . You are such a convict , and just got sent back . You will do anything to try and survive .

Clack, clack, clack. 
 
 With the grim determination of a man fighting for his life, my fingers slam down against the buttons. My vision is blurry. I am fatigued. But to make a mistake would mean even more torture, more pain... so I swallow another mouthful of drugs and redouble my efforts. Keep my focus. I have to keep things in order, keep my newly calloused fingers twitching in the right rhythm, work harder than I ever have in my entire life... and I have to do this for as long as I want to live. 
 
 Clack, clack, clack. 
 
 But even as I focus, my mind ca n't help but drift to my past, and this world's future. Every day it recedes further from my memory... I used to live above the clouds, like a god. Machines were our servants. Now? Now instructing the machines is its own form of slavery. To think these apes are our ancestors... 
 
 As one approaches me, I struggle not to recoil. I share no kinship with these creatures - to look upon one is like an ape looking upon a jellyfish. But would the ape envy the jellyfish? The savage before me is fat with the fruits of his labors. This is his world, and the primitive thrives where I struggle. He speaks to me with talk of his entertainment, the delusions that obsess him between his own spate of torment, the fever-dream savages who bend to his will and carry out his orders. I nod my head, I smile to show I mean no threat... soon, he leaves to fill his drug-container anew. 
 
 And my fingers strike again. 
 
 The distraction was brief, but effective. Try as I might, the will to labor will return when it wants to. I glance outside the hole they've gashed in the wall... and I can not see the sky. I see the work of slaves and madmen, piles upon piles of hewn stonework reaching hopelessly towards a sky that all but their bravest will take a century to touch. But among the stone, I see fire... and it inspires me to press on. Reminds me, I was sent here to be extinguished... and every day I live is another day my people's sentence is thwarted. So I ignore the scent of burnt tar and trash that fills this village and continue my work. I may not have hope, but I have spite, and that is all I need. 
 
 Time passes, and soon the apes around me begin to shamble in a way I've grown familiar with. Wordlessly I draw my fingers back and rise to join them - what respite these primitives offer, I can not afford to dismiss. I follow them outside to look upon a sky the sun is already fleeing. As I walk towards what is now my home, I think to myself of a future robbed from me... a world of sky-hewn palaces, of automaton servants, of a world where pressing a button with more than a single finger was cruel madness. And I find myself wondering if I can survive, knowing I will never see that world again. 
 
 I draw in a breath. I remember the spite. 
 
 They thought they were sentencing a man to death in this world? But they did n't send a mere man back in time. 
 
 I lift my head and look at the world that is my punishment, and I smile. 
 
 `` Meet George Jetson,'' I murmur beneath my breath. 
 
 And I walk into my future.
