[ WP ] Traveling through parallel universes , you 've seen countless different outcomes , but have yet to see _______ live past the age of 2 . You finally reach a universe where you understand why ...

Folks tend to call me a wanderer, and that's about the only thing I am these days. Others would use the term fugitive. Through space and time, even through the multiverse, I no longer have a home. This story is n't about me, though, and I doubt it'd be an interesting one if it was. No, this story's about a young toddler, whose name I did n't even know, because I could n't speak his language. My device has consistently sent me to a time, two years before his death. Invariably, I appeared in a small European hamlet, back in a time where the Civil War would still be in recent memory, had I been in what was then still the United States. What was even stranger is that, no matter what universe my device sent me to, this hamlet was almost exactly the same. There are an infinite number of realities, but the odds that this would happen are absolutely astronomical. My device, I assumed, was incorrectly calibrated. Whether I bought that *subconsciously*, I do n't know, but I might be giving myself too much credit if I say I knew something more... *supernatural* was going on. 
 
 Throughout all of these numerous universes, the boy has never lived past 2. Once, it was a day before his birthday, and yet his house burned down during the night. In the other universes, Foul play was detected almost every time, but the techniques ranged from the aforementioned fire to something as brutal as being strangled to death. The acts of violence were absolutely insane, for a little boy. It was almost as though fate wanted him to die, although even that was a bit of a stretch. Eventually, in one universe, my machine was severely damaged, by interuniversal travel. I ca n't pretend I know what did it, but maybe it really was fate, not that I buy into that crap. Regardless, I decided that, if I had to be stuck in those times for the time it would take to procure materials I needed to repair my device, I might as well do one act of good before then. I watched the child's house, day and night, and yet no one questioned me. I learned, a long time ago, that if you look and act like you belong, people will believe that you do. 
 
 It was a dark night, April 19th, 1891. The boy had almost made it through, and I was determined to make sure he did. I'd like to say it was storming, but unfortunately, the cliche did n't accompany the night, though it would have been appropriate if it had. A hooded figure bolted past me, nearly knocking me to the pavement. `` Stop, bastard, what do you think you're doing?!?'' I shouted, though for no reason, since he would n't understand English. 
 
 To my surprise, I received a response. `` What had to be done. Stay out of my way, if you know what's good for you.'' he growled ominously. Not only was he using English, but the accent and lexicon was *modern*. 
 
 `` You know I ca n't let you kill the boy.'' I responded in kind, and as I did, the bell tolled for 11:00 PM. Almost made it through. While I was looking up at the clocktower, the bastard pushed me to the dirt, bloodying my face. Before I could stand up, he was already in the window. I grabbed at his legs, and managed to unshoe him, but he managed to get through the window. Having neither time nor patience for subtlety, I grabbed a rock, and chucked it through the window. From the sound of it, I managed to nail him on the head. I heard groaning, and then, I saw the shadows of a flame bouncing through the walls. Fearing that he had managed to set the house on fire, I dived through the window, cutting myself on broken glass. However, the licks of flame were n't clutching at the curtains, but were safely contained in a lantern. A young woman approached, and the man, who I had at this point realized was from a different time, cursed at me. 
 
 `` You fucking fool, do you realize what you've done? The rift is going to close, when that clock strikes 12, and then, no one will be able to stop him.'' he lamented. I grabbed the rock, and put him out of his ( and my ) misery. The woman ran for me, but I ignored her. She yelled for me, probably thanking me, although she could just as well have been cursing me too. 
 
 I submit to you that I've suffered enough for my crimes, ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I had to live through, and watch in horror, as the consequences of my actions have come to fruition. My device's power source was defeated, and plutonium, which it ran on, was n't isolated until I had reaped what I had sowed. I stayed for another ten years, partly due to a lack of wide availability of plutonium, and partly due to some sick, morbid fascination I had with the series of events that were unraveling. I'd like to add that, though I ca n't expect you to forgive me for my crimes, I have destroyed my machine, so that the allure of power wo n't corrupt anyone else. I have no doubt that it will either never be recreated in this universe and timeline, or if it is, people will recognize that my actions were necessary by that time. Though that Austrian boy will not be stopped, and though those millions will still die, it will in the end be fore the better. I have the weight of those millions of victims on my shoulders, and the haunt me constantly, day and night. That is my punishment, and it is by far cruel and unusual. The only grace afforded is that the United States still survives, though whether or not you'll believe that it fell in the original timeline is up to you. I throw myself at the mercy of the court, and I know that any punishment I receive will never, ever be enough for me to atone for my actions.
