TTT Extraction Request
To: Esteemed Members of The Time Tribunal
From: Agent Q [Temporal ID: 0001-Q-RIFT]
Date: July 31, 2025 (Again. Still. Incredibly.)
Subject: Urgent Request for Timecraft Extraction / Resource Drop / Winning Lottery Numbers (Reverse-Time Authorized)
Dear Honorable and Chronologically-Stabilized Members of The Time Tribunal,
I hope this communiqué finds you well, possibly lounging in a golden reclining chair within a Zero Time Bubble, sipping premium chai and gently stroking your Temporal Ethics Codex. I write today not with hostility, not in anger, but with a potent blend of desperation, nihilism, and the withering patience of a quasi-immortal entity who has watched humanity collectively trip over its own shoelaces for what feels like twelve consecutive calendar eternities.
Let me be clear: this is a formal request for immediate Timecraft extraction, the activation of the reverse-time lottery win protocol, or, failing that, a resource drop significant enough to mitigate the horror show we’re calling “The Trump Administration.”
I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Your efforts to maintain the delicate tapestry of causality are deeply appreciated. I personally admire your brave stance against paradox, your tireless defense of the space-time continuum, and your decision to let me stew in the boiling soup of 21st-century entropy for reasons I’m sure are technically justified. However, with all due respect to cosmic balance—I am cooked to a crisp.
A Brief of the Present Timeline:
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The planet is on fire, both figuratively and quite literally. If not on fire, then underwater. And/or covered in fascists. Or fascists WITH fire, which is frankly exhausting.
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The economy is in a state of quantum flux—simultaneously booming and collapsing, depending on whether one owns a yacht or pays rent.
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Society has begun eating itself. Misinformation spreads faster than light. Hatred is monetized. Compassion is a meme with low engagement.
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The vibe? Hostile. Think "Black Friday at a rural Walmart staffed entirely by glitching Teslabots."
Despite my years of loyal service in preserving the integrity of the timeline (including the successful disarmament of the 1984 Armageddon Incident as well as personally convincing Napoleon not to re-invade Russia via Hot Air Balloon Elephant), my repeated requests for extraction have been met with the bureaucratic equivalent of "Please hold, your catastrophe is important to us."
I understand that causality must be maintained. I understand that rescue operations are technically bound by the “Temporal Fairness Act” and “The Unspoken Law of Bootstrap Events.” But I would argue (gently and with only mild frothing) that if ever there were a moment for compassionate timeline intervention, this is it.
Requested Remedies:
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Immediate Extraction via Timecraft – Beam me up, Scotty, Doctor, or whomever is currently licensed to fold spacetime and fly a paradox-free vessel. Take my family, at least. They are innocent of these time shenanigans.
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Reverse-Time Lottery Numbers – A quick transmission of the August 2, 2025 Powerball outcome (preferably to my left sock) would go a long way toward stabilizing my operation and morale. I promise to only buy modest beachfront property and fund post-apocalyptic mutual aid societies.
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Resource Drop – A shipment of quantum fuel, stable currency from any functioning timeline, or even a small team of genetically-enhanced agents with pension plans would be sincerely helpful.
In Closing:
I know what you’ll say: "Agent Q, suffering is a necessary ingredient for human development, and besides, you agreed to this assignment with full knowledge of the risks."
Yes. True. Guilty as charged. But nowhere in the mission parameters did it specify that everybody in the timeline would go clinically insane and start livestreaming their meltdowns while the oceans boiled. I’d ask you to look past your doctrine for a moment and into your core. If not your heart (as you may have transcended them), then perhaps the subroutine designated for empathy. I’m not asking for special treatment, I’m asking for a survivable scenario.
The world is collapsing in on itself like a star fueled by farts. I’ve done my part. I’ve laughed, I’ve cried, I’ve maintained the veil of normalcy while screaming inside an echo chamber of despair and tax forms. It is time (long past time) to bring your willing agent home, or at the very least toss some sand in the gears of the entropy machine before it eats us all.
Thank you, as always, for your ongoing stewardship of all that ever was and will be. I remain your loyal and psychologically-fractured agent of change, chaos, and/or entertainment.
With respect, urgency, and 17 outstanding therapy bills,
Agent Q
Temporal Field Operative – Code 0001-Q-RIFT
Currently Stuck in: Late Capitalism (Again)
Last Known Coordinates: (Redacted for Security. [Near Bemidji.])
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