"Do you think Hitler's crazy because he never got laid?"
"Huh?"
"Yeah, I mean… I'd be a little pissy if I was single until 40."
Sigh. "But you are single, Mark. So what does that say about you?"
It's midnight in a university dorm room. The only light comes from the glow of their phones. The first one, Mark, shrugs nonchalantly. "Guess I better find a girlfriend in the next two decades, then." He glances at his screen. "Damn, still no internet... What's up with it tonight?"
His roommate, Gerry, groans. "I get Hitler now. Committing genocide seems easier than finding you a girlfriend." He turns away, facing the wall. His voice slurs with sleep. "Just go to sleep, man. The dorm manager's probably fixing it. When you wake up, you can go back to your Hentai or whatever."
Mark keeps fiddling with his phone, eyes glazed. "You know what everyone says about time travel? The first thing they'd do is kill Hitler as a baby." His voice is flat, like he's reciting something he's heard a million times. "But why rush? You've got a time machine. You can literally do anything, anytime, anywhere... and the first thing people think of is killing a baby?"
"Alright," Gerry mutters, barely able to stay awake, "I think I've heard enough about baby-killing priorities for one night. Good night."
"Right, right," Mark murmurs, still staring at his screen. "What would I do first with a time machine?" he mumbles to himself. "See dinosaurs? Watch the death of Jesus? The night Lennon got shot?" The historical events flash through his mind, but they blur together, growing fainter, until his eyelids grow heavy, and sleep overtakes him.
A few hours later...
Mark's phone screen suddenly lights up. The glow is harsh, piercing the darkness of the room. The internet's back on. He blinks at the screen.
A single message appears: GET OUT.
Then another. GET OUT.
The phone vibrates violently as hundreds of identical messages flood in. The silent dorm room is suddenly filled with relentless buzzing. Each new message is just as urgent and ominous as the last.
GET OUT.
GET OUT.
The screen vibrates until it seems it might crack. And then—just as suddenly as it started—the buzzing stops. The messages are gone. The phone goes still. The room falls silent again.
Mark's phone remains on, the message lingering as an unread notification. But he's fast asleep, oblivious to it all. Gerry, too, sleeps soundly on his bed.