December 12, 1920, Spencer Sage sat in his laboratory, frowning at his own wrist. What is this creation of his? Finding a rip in time and manipulating the impossible, now being put into practice by simply putting on machinery that looks like a modified watch. It defied the laws of physics, and it defied the laws of… time. He was sure this was breakable and that he could define this nonsense, after all, he is a man of logical thinking.

But what if he’s supposed to be thinking like a child right now? He believes the things he could see, and apparently, he saw that this invention, its analog whirring, as if mocking him for existing in confusion, wasting his time questioning the undefined. Spencer was still unsure about the stability of this, he’s directly challenging nature. He scheduled an experiment on himself, and somewhat sensed a dire need of secrecy on this possession of his.

His heartbeat became inconsistent, his breath in short bursts of nervousness. He was not scared of death, but then he was scared of the things he’s going to see, what if it’s all not so pleasant and that he’s better off dead? Spencer denied all those thoughts away. For science, Spencer repeated to himself, as he equipped himself with the watch. He set the timer to ten years into the future. It seemed ambitious, but ten years is a significant gap in the future, especially at a time of industrialization like where he is as of right now. He was determined that this device would change his life, if not, everyone’s.

“Here goes nothing.”

Spencer closed his eyes. He felt nothing, but his soul somehow had transcended and aged. He knew something more than he shouldn’t have. He opened his eyes, seeing his laboratory did not change as much, except a few new equipments installed here and there. He carefully walked and felt his body, making sure that he’s still existing in the so-called ‘future’. Spencer was once convinced that this object was just capable of altering a person’s neurons, but this seemed so real.  This is not a delusion.

The scientist followed his way out as far as his memory could take him. He exposed himself outside, and nothing much had changed. Well, it got neater but somehow lacked life. People were using masks, and once in a while, he’d hear a baby’s cry in the distance. Spencer’s suspicion arose and felt uneasy. He walked around trying to say something, but he’d rather not spike up so much attention in this ‘future’ of his. A flier landed near his feet. It read,

The Red Plague; Ceased!, Migration Rates Decreasing.

His jaw unclenched, picked up the flier and traced his way back to the laboratory. Along the way, the signs that were initially unnoticed became clear to him, as London had risen from the hands of the ‘Red Plague’. Spencer knew too little, and he was very much aware of it. On his way back, he saw a glimpse of himself, but dismissing that as his reflection… until he heard his own voice talking to himself.

“Sage? Spencer Sage?”

Spencer turned to see an aged version of himself.

“It must be because of that, right?” His future-self said, pointing towards Spencer’s wrist. Spencer said nothing.

“Here, take this and go.” Future-Spencer handed his past self a piece of paper, with all the information needed to cure the Red Plague.

Spencer shook the hands his own self.

“See you in another time.” and disappeared into an alley.

He knew that this time-travel had served a greater purpose, going back to the laboratory, he sat back on a chair, gathered his breath and tinkered with the settings of his watch.

He closed his eyes once again.

He flashed his eyelids open, seeing that he was back to his laboratory. Nothing changed, and the mug still steamed from the hot coffee inside. Spencer jolted out of his seat, and went to work. He got the flier and saw that the Red Plague was some sort of mutated influenza, which could induce nerve damage and lack of emotion, or the absolute opposite, making them go insane. Immediately Spencer called the biology department, discussing this matter in the fashion of a ‘what-if’ scenario. Many of the scientists did not question, as they knew very well that influenza was much of a gamble in many ways, and off they went making a vaccine.

Spencer did not take the time to overthink, and he dismissed everyone else in his laboratory. He’s getting ambitious. He could not just manipulate time, he could manipulate history. To improve human life! He had this power in his hands, then, might as well he does not waste it for any egotistical needs. He switched the time to the next forty years. He mentally buckled himself, and his eyelids closed once again and opened to a completely new world.

This time his laboratory was nothing but scraps of excavated remains. Spencer panicked for a while but saw that there were scattered letters of moving documents. He was relieved, and this time he paced faster out of the laboratory, trying to find himself. Time is of the essence. He stole a newspaper from a park bench, skimming through the pages for something, something that he could do about.

“Hey, Sage. I’ve been waiting.” A man in a lab coat strode to him with a briefcase.

“See you in the next life.” and once again, future Spencer disappeared.

Spencer rushed to the nearest telephone booth and switched back time.

A briefcase… The briefcase contained documents of the cure of ‘King’s Infection’, where the victim suffers from a week of an abnormal endorphin production, and afterward feeling extreme migraines and forgetfulness. This brought up many concerns. Inside held samples of antibiotics and prescriptions that came emerged from countless hypotheses. He once again called all pharmacists and medics, discussing a possible matter in the near future. Spencer started to get ahead of himself. He’d only told his trusty colleague about this power, but his colleague didn’t seem impressed, instead, worried and almost scared for Spencer’s wellbeing.

Spencer went to isolate himself for the third time. He did this in a span of fewer than forty-five minutes, and he’s about to change decades of human history. He switched his time to a longer leap… sixty years into the future. To his surprise, the gizmo denied access. He tried once again. Still refused. It somehow cannot go further than a small number on the face of its analog… fifty-two years. There was something up time’s sleeve. Turning the switch for the last time, he gathered conscience fifty-two years into the future.

He looked around in his lab, now more deserted than ever. He waited. Nobody came. He himself didn’t come. An uneasy feeling came from within him.

It can’t be.

It all started to make sense. The machine stopped at this limit because he can’t go further than this. Now he knows more than he asked for. A song sounded in the distance, and faintly, Que Sera Sera. Spencer had the urge to step closer to the truth.

When I was just a little boy…

Spencer saw a door, gaping a little bit, fog oozing out.

I asked my mother, what will I be? Will I be handsome? Will I be rich?

He approached the door cautiously.

This is what she said, to me; Que Sera, Sera...

Hands on the vault knob, he cranked the door wider open.

Whatever will be, will be…

Spencer braced himself on what’s behind this door, the hair on his skin starting to rise.

The future’s not ours to see…

The fog had swallowed Spencer into the truth.

Que Sera, Sera.