[ WP ] You are transported five centuries into the future and watch a documentary about the present day ( 2015 ) . But oddly , the world depicted in the film is unrecognizable to you .

Time stop. 
 
 Life is dark, it's messy, the bleeding man was messy, his liver vomited reddish brown onto the ground beneath him, the dark hued colours framed the man shape puddle that spread from the expulsion of his insides. 
 
 Profundity. 
 
 Noise is muffled, at least it seems that way to the man. `` Am I a man still?'' he thought, `` I do n't feel like the corporeal human male, I've spent the last twenty nine years being. How can that be?'' 
 
 *Drink. * 
 
 He raised his head, wondering at the voice. It was flat and distant sounding, the dulcet tones of a computer doing a self destruct countdown in a sci-fi show. He tried to reason with the voice why he should n't be drinking. The surrealism confused him, why would he drink, *how* can you drink when your insides are on the outside? The man began to giggle, a bubbling hysteria of mirth. 
 
 *John, drink from the beaker. * 
 
 `` I ca n't, I've no stomach,'' he began to cough, choking on his laughter. It should n't be funny to be a puddle but it was, some niggle at the back of his brain made him think he was a little insane, rational people do n't laugh at the unfortunate circumstances of disembowelment. 
 
 *Are you pained, John? We can help you. Drink from the beaker. * 
 
 Lucidity. 
 
 `` I do n't want your help, you broke my world, leave me alone.'' 
 
 *John, it was never yours, it's ours. The earth belongs to the future generations, now drink. * 
 
 So cold, so dispassionate, why would n't they just let him die? The pain was making him rave, babbling incoherently while the dark spark of humanity whispered `` do n't give these bastards a thing''. 
 
 *John, Libby is pregnant, did you know that? She'll have a daughter January 12th, 2016 at 3.12pm. Your daughter will grow older and have three children and five grandchildren, twelve great-grandchildren and twenty-seven great-great-grandchildren. We know all about the lives and loves of your entire line for the past five hundred years. We can bring them here too and we will. We will trim the skin off every single one of your blood relations throughout time in front of you until they beg for the mercy of death or you can drink. * 
 
 Clarity. 
 
 John stretched to the silver tankard, it looked like a hip flask you sometimes got in pawn brokers, he pulled the stopper and drank from the beaker. Liquid fire burned down his throat, he knew it was n't a cure, it was just a tactic to patch him up until he was able to be presentable. They knew he was broken, a puppet stooge of a bygone era, not even death would release him. As the liquid entered the mess of his torso it filled like an internal cement, stoppering the blood loss. 
 
 Surprisingly gentle hands washed his face then covered his ruined carcass with an iridescent blanket poncho that he had seen common to the workers. The soft handed person brushed his hair and propped him elegantly against a floor sofa, the autocue lowered so that he could read the prompted spiel but so that it would n't be captured by the Party's cameras. 
 
 *Begin. * 
 
 As the rewritten history documentary began to repeat behind him, John began to speak. `` My name is John Meer, this is the history of your people told to you by one of your ancestors, I am a savage precursor to the glory of the Party that you are under the benevolence of. My time was evil but think of all that your Guides have achieved, workers do not be like your past, be your Party's future.''
