First perfected in the late twenty-first century, scholars around the world have debated the nature of time and the implications of time travel. Did those early time travelers
inadvertently change history, forever altering the world in which we live? It’s impossible to say for sure. It wasn’t until the development of multiphasic cloaking technology in
the late twenty-second century that made travel into the past routine. Surgically implanted, the cloaking device doesn’t just render its wearer invisible it puts the wearer out
of phase with the real world, making time direct interactions in the past impossible. However, it wasn’t until 2214 with the development of the high density anti-matter power
systems, that temporal tourism finally became practical.
Of course, with time travel, like with any new technology, come those willing to misuse it for profit. Which brings us to how a tourist, from the late twenty-fourth century, ended
up hanging helplessly by her wrists in a fortress torture chamber in sixteenth-century Hungary, who also intentionally arrived here without a multiphasic cloaking implant.
You see, some of those unscrupulous people willing to misuse time travel for profit found a way to send tourist back where their interactions with the locals can’t possibly alter
history. In my case, a one-way trip to a fortress in south-eastern Hungary on September 2, 1526 where, I suddenly materialized as if by magic, standing within the fortress’s heavily guarded armory. A
fortress where history records the Ottoman army of Sultan Suleiman slaughtered all within and burned it to the ground on the morning of September 9, 1526.
In a few hours, the executioner will return and begin my painfully unpleasant interrogation. What will follow will be long days and nights of agonizing unrelenting torture, which will only end in one of three
ways. First, I confess that I’m an Ottoman spy, and they torture me to death. Second, I refuse to confess, and eventually they still end up torturing me to death. Or third, I die on the morning of
September 9, likely with the blade of an Ottoman soldier’s sword buried in my guts. I’m fine with all three outcomes. Personally, these are all some of my favorite torturous snuff fantasies...