Where do I start? Well, I was heading home after looking through some old Nintendo games at a yard sale, when- No, don’t leave. It’s not that kind of pasta, I swear. Anyhow, I was going through downtown to catch the bus I needed when I saw a sign on an abandoned building. Not like a warning sign or anything, like a hobo sign. I thought no one used hobo signs since the Depression, so my interest peeked pretty quick. If some tweaker was gonna harvest my organs, might as well do it when I should have known better than to walk into what is no doubt a den of theirs.

So I walked into the building, which no one bothered to lock up, and these signs were leading me down to the basement. If my organs were harvested back then, I would have totally had it coming. The organ harvesting thing is a little phobia of mine, just so you know. Back to the point. I went down to the basement, ready to throw down with a tweaker, and I saw a different sign next to a door. This time it was a warning sign, and it was in Russian. I live in Portland. Oregon. Not Russia. If Russian warning signs outside of the country of Russia has EVER been a good sign for ANYTHING, you are insane. My organ-harvest-o-meter was off the charts at the time, but I opened the door anyway.

One half of the room was just fine. The other half ceased to exist. It was replaced with a big ass crater. The tour guides never talked about the crater in the basement of the abandoned building in downtown, so I guess it wasn’t supposed to be here. Thing is, the building I was just in was rubble. The skies were grey, and a whole lot of things were rubble. I looked back to the door, and it had collapsed. I’m sure you would have curled up into a fetal position and died, but not me. I should have, but back to that in a minute. I climbed out of the crater, and saw that the whole rest of the city was beat up and all Baghdad-like. Right as I stumbled out, I bumped into a tank, and right at face level was a Chinese flag. The tank was wrecked, but still. I guess years of gaming managed to jade me when it comes to running into post-apocalyptic wastelands in places there should never be those things, so at least there was that.

“A resource war.”

That wasn't me talking. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard that. It was an educated, yet dark voice. I looked around, frantically trying to find the source of the voice, but to no avail.

“On top of the tank.”

I looked up to see a man in a gas mask looking down at me. He was wearing a fancy black suit with a blood red tie, a fedora, and surgical gloves. The lenses of his mask were reflective, so I couldn't see any glowing eyes or maddening abyss or any of those cliches.

“Now turn around. I’m not going to kill you.”

I can tell you now that I have zero survival instinct outside of Fallout New Vegas. I turned around and THERE HE FUCKING WAS. If I learned anything from reading creepypastas, it is that anything that can do that should not be trusted. I had failed to apply that logic at the time.

“You now see how your world is shaped from individual perspective. I believe a slight reality check is in order. The world you know, and everything within it, is in fact not real.”

I didn't move. I didn't question whether he had seen The Matrix. I just stood with by back against the tank, listening to his every word.

“You, with your memories and your ambitions, are simply a few billion lines of code. The universe itself, a few googol of lines. You were the creation of a race that had ascended to god-like capabilities. They saw the creation of your universe to be the logical progression. For all they knew, they themselves were created by a higher race, and they were created as well, with no beginning in sight. I am here to break the cycle. My name is Mr. Entropy.”

I shouldn't have been put at ease a little from his speech, but his voice was a little soothing. “My goal is to prevent a technological Singularity from occurring for long enough that the stars fall apart and life is impossible. You see before you the fruits of my labor, but this future is not certain. You will help me make it certain. I am giving you two options. A blue pill and a red pill, if you will.”

I knew he must have seen The Matrix.

“One. You work with me to bring forth World War Three, and you will merely die. Or two. You decline, or betray me at any time and you will see death in a much more favorable way. The choice is yours.” You can see why I would have rather just died. it was practically no choice. Before I could speak, I blacked out and woke up sometime later on the floor of the basement, pre-apocalypse. A man was leaning over me.

“About time you woke up. Do your stuff right, and we won’t cut your thumbs off before we ship you off to Mr. Entropy. Got it?”

I can’t believe I lasted this long. By every account, I should be thumbless and going through god knows what. It’s been a year, and I managed to sabotage everything. The gang is no doubt on to me. Chances are that my time is numbered. If you see this, you know now what is out there, bringing forth our doom. Believe me when I say he must be stopped. I have the gun in my mouth. All I need to do is pull the trig-