Daniel Ross
His faded, crusty green beret remained crumpled up in his right pocket. He had little use for it now, but it always remained there, just as it had in the old days. The same U.S. Army Special Forces flash and insignia from the first conflict adorned the front of the once coveted hat, sun-bleached, like the hazy memories from barely recognizable operational times. “De Oppresso Liber,” he remembered, “free the oppressed…. look what that got us with the Second Ukraine War. Now, we all need freedom.”
He always knew time would kill him—and all of us, really—just not this slowly and methodically. Not old age, though, maybe death in combat—a glory that only mattered if civilizations—or at least your buddies—survived to remember you. But a stupid clock? Quantum this or that, they said. “Incessant progress always somehow plunges us backward,” he supposed. Time seemed relevant when humans knew it could not be controlled. Once the clock became the master, everything changed. In the quest for complete control, a failed attempt to cause global nuclear impotence, all the power-hungry became the gods of absolute nothingness.
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