Do-Over

The Message

       The tape booted up. A low whine echoed in his skull, and the message began to play.

     “Hello, Kururu. It’s been a while. . . a long while for me. You’re still just beginning your life, while I am near the end of mine. Your future is an interesting one, one that ends spectacularly.”

      Ah, yes. Another spam message pretending to know who he was. Ignoring the message for a while, he selected one of the many papers he had found inside of the envelope and spread them out on the ground, examining an unfamiliar face closely. A disgusting skin pallor, horridly backwards primitive chemical makeup. . . why would this be important?

      “- Mutsumi Hojo. Saburo. The most important Pekopon- no, person, of any you’ll ever meet.”

      Oops.

      “The world is ending around the both of us - our world, what you will call Pekopon, is ending today. Your future commanders’ girlfriend went berzerk - she’s an Angol, you know, one of the destructive types. She’s a Terror King, Planet Destroyer. . . something or other. It seems that she's lost her temper, and-"

      Shuffling noises are heard as Kururu flips through each tiny letter and photograph that was miraculously stuffed inside this miniscule paper container.

      “-Your future is to save him. Me too, if you get the chance, but he matters most of all. In him rests the survival of all planets in the universe.” This sounds even worse. Him? In charge of someone else? If this person knew him so well, they knew it was a bad idea. Each paper was now separated into segments, based on time and each letter beginning the papers. Pictures were scattered between papers, each depicting the same face. Mutsumi.

    Kururu scoffs. What kind of name is Mutsumi? Is it Maronian? Nayotakian? Axolotian? Or…. no. Whoever this was had mentioned a strange planet. Pekopon. He wondered why it was so important. Maybe if he listened more closely he would be able to tell.

      “As your elder, I have the chance to tell my own self to do something, but I know you would never listen, as you aren't right now. Save him or not, it's up to you. Good luck. You’re going to be a Major of that accursed army someday. Kick some ass for me, alright?"

    Unfolding himself from the fetal ball focusing position he had held himself in to listen, he stretches and yawns. Things like this are so complicated, even a nap would be so much more exciting, and he hated naps! He stops his internal rant, seeing another bright red swirl at the top of a paper underneath the pile. It’s simply titled “9 6 6” in large letters, an overly dramatic font.

    Maybe this guy was serious? He sounded like he knew a thing or two, and that voice. . . He snatched the paper, holding it before him and squinting to read it. The headline read something close to “Attention of Past Me - We’re In Danger!”, (Keronian is rather hard to translate,) and seemed to be an exact transcript of the recording he had just heard. Interesting.

      Did this mean what he was hearing was what he would sound like in the future? He sounded... old. Yuck. Saving the universe always seemed like so much work in movies. However, it was work that might get him into that Major position. Hmm.

     Back at home, Kururu slaps the bundle of papers onto a desk, flicking on a naked dangling light bulb. He could decorate that bulb, but he liked the mad scientist effect it scared into any classmates foolish enough to come home with him. Each paper was splayed out across the surface in alphabetical order. Wondering if there were still any missing characters on the papers, he held each one up to the light. Apparently there were a few hidden sentences, invisible until discovered with invisible space ink. Each sentence was about the same, all relating to what his soon-to-be mission was to do. “Don't invent anything to do with age, or name it 'If I Could Do Life Over Again', I beg of you" “Don’t talk to anyone named Tororo, they’re bad luck,” and the like.

      One of those things was very simple, he knew a veteran couple had children recently and had named the youngest Tororo, of which he was supposed to have no idea. Having given himself access into secure interwebs with complicated pirated programs as a child, that information was easy. He’d keep an eye on him, and scope out anything fishy about it. Meanwhile, he had a new planet to get to.