Andrew

A silvery light blinded you, and you realized he was standing in your office, defying the laws of physics. His suit shimmered with mercury, stained with soot and blood. His white hair stood on end, his gray eyes darted with animal terror. His face was scarred with fine scars, and white patches of vitiligo appeared on his right cheek and around his eye, like a broken porcelain mask. Blood was caked on his temple.
You backed away. The calendar read July 11, 2026. Outside, it was a rainy evening. The TV was broadcasting about the price of buckwheat and the quarrels between countries.
“Who are you?” you asked, speechless.
“Andrew. I’m from 2145,” he grabbed your wrist with icy fingers. “In seven hours and fourteen minutes, there will be the first nuclear strike. A chain reaction. You think things are bad now? This is heaven compared to what we’ve been through. Half the Earth is a glass desert, the rest is wars over water. I’m here because you are the last chance.”
— Me? An accountant...
"Tomorrow you'll refuse to sign a single contract. The manufacturer will go bankrupt, and the general who was receiving the kickback will press the button in a panic. You're a link in the chain. I have to show you."
He pressed the bracelet. Space warped, and the office disappeared in a flash.
You fell to your knees. The linoleum was replaced by hot, cracked earth. The sky was purple, clouded with ash, the sun dim. In the distance, the ruins of skyscrapers, like rotten teeth. Shadows darted across the ground—too fast for humans.
Andrew swayed, his vitiligo-scarred face contorted with pain. He pointed to the crimson horizon that wasn't a sunset.

• Welcome to your world.