“They fill these handcuffs with sulfuric acid, struggle, and the acid will spill. This is only as painful as you make it,” Cyrus said as we were riding on one of the robot centipedes I saw in my dream. Sitting on them was highly uncomfortable because of how hard the metallic coating was.
“Look, I’m not a spy, honest to God,” I groaned, still feeling a throbbing pain in my stomach.
“Then where is your identification?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
I wasn’t about to tell him how I was a time traveler, so I instead decided not to say anything.
“I thought as much,” he said, shaking his head.
“So, who are you, guys?” I asked, curious as to how a fascist state had been formed in the 23rd century. Hasn’t fascism been out of fashion for I don’t know forever now?
“Do you genuinely not k
