Chapter 7: Possible Impossibilities

Never before had I felt an aura this intense. The young man before me, Lance, radiated an energy that, despite my years of dealings in society's underbelly, I had never encountered. His mere presence unnerved me, but I maintained my dignity, masking my unease with a facade of indifference. "Is it not polite for someone to give their name when meeting for the first time?" I asked, trying to impose some semblance of normalcy on the situation. He responded, "Is it not polite for someone to train their dogs to not bite the guest of their home?". A spark of amusement lit in his eyes before he chuckled lightly, "You can call me Lance." His casual nonchalance was disconcerting, challenging the power dynamics that usually prevailed in these surroundings. "Lance, what brings you here?" I found my voice, attempting to keep it light, even chuckling at the absurdity of my cautiousness. His response was unexpected and startling. "I have a proposition for you," he stated calmly, causing an icy chill to crawl up my spine. "I have a recipe for an amazing drug. I will allow you to work with the recipe, and allow you to work for me." My laughter erupted uncontrollably at the audacity of his claim. A kid, offering me a job? But then he produced a document, a file, and placed it on the table between us. Curiosity piqued, I decided to humour him, taking the document and giving it a casual glance. What I read, however, made my laughter die on my lips. My skimming eyes came to a halt, returning to the first page with a sober seriousness. The document commanded my full attention. Lance's gaze, once the focus of my concern, was now a distant afterthought. Questions danced in my mind as I navigated the pages. How? Why? The document before me bore a striking resemblance to my own past research, the very work that led to my fall from grace. All records of that work were long destroyed, burned by my own hands, without digital backups. How could such information still exist? Lance's voice broke my introspection, "Would you believe me if I said 'I'm from the future?'" I was stumped, my thoughts swirling in confusion. The paradox of his words added another layer to the enigma of Lance. But before I could formulate a response, Lance cut through my stupor, "Can you do this?" It was a simple question, but its weight was immense. His words resounded with an inherent power, a terrifying force of nature encapsulated in human form. The mental image was as if I was standing before a mighty mountain, shaken by its tremors, cracks appearing in my psyche. I took a moment to gather my thoughts, chasing away the chaos that threatened to consume my mind. Finally, with renewed composure, I found my response. "Just leave it to me." Lance's claim of being from the future echoed in my mind, a "fucking possible impossibility". It made sense and yet defied all reason. The recipe, the familiarity of the research... This was a situation I hadn't anticipated, but one I was more than ready to confront. After all, I am Booker. I could handle this, whatever 'this' was.