Fractured Future

Dr. Emilia Moreau adjusted her time-travel harness, the sleek device more akin to a complex climbing rig than anything resembling the bulky contraptions in old sci-fi flicks. The temporal calculations crackled in her earpiece, a harsh symphony of warnings and probabilities. This wasn't a sanctioned assignment, not by a long shot. Her orders had been explicit - observe and report. Never engage. But that was before she'd seen the devastation.

The year 2412 was nothing like the promised utopia. Instead of gleaming cities and technological marvels, she found a shattered husk of a world. Radiation-scarred landscapes stretched into the choking smog, dotted with the skeletal remains of once-grand structures. The survivors...those that remained...were a far cry from the evolved humans she'd learned about. Twisted by mutations, haunted eyes spoke of desperation and a savagery born of a broken world.

Her stomach churned as the temporal anchor stabilized. If anyone detected her unauthorized slip, she'd be in more trouble than she could comprehend. But the echoes of those wailing survivors, the children with weeping sores and hollow eyes, overrode any sense of self-preservation. This wasn't just history anymore. It was a crime scene, and the culprit was walking free.

The dossier on Dr. Amelia Moreau (her younger self) was frustratingly sparse. Brilliant but isolated, her work on hyper-localized energy manipulation had been heralded as groundbreaking. Then, a lab explosion. No survivors, the project buried under official red tape and ominous warnings – precisely the sort of loose end the Temporal Security Agency hated.

Tracking her down had been a nightmare of fragmented records and altered timelines. And every step revealed more discrepancies that shouldn't exist. Car accidents miraculously survived, a mugging gone wrong...it was statistically impossible. It shouldn't have taken Emilia this long to realize someone, or rather, someones, were actively protecting the young scientist.

The Moreau residence was unassuming. A quaint, old-fashioned brick home amidst manicured lawns and robotic gardeners tending to overflowing hydrangeas. From the outside, you'd never guess the woman inside was a ticking time bomb.

Taking in a fortifying breath, Emilia disabled the stealth field and approached the front door. No fancy tricks, no breaking and entering – too many unknown variables. She needed this Amelia Moreau to talk, not run. The chime sounded a cheerful melody, at odds with the grim weight pressing down on Emilia's shoulders.

The door swung open. And there she was. Younger, softer around the edges, but those eyes…the same unnerving intensity that radiated from the research papers.

"Can I help you?" Young Amelia asked, not a trace of surprise. As if she'd expected a stranger out of time on her doorstep.

"Dr. Amelia Moreau? We need to talk." Emilia kept her voice steady, years of training holding the tremor at bay.

Young Amelia's expression didn't change. "Come in. I've been expecting you."

Inside, it wasn't the home of a budding supervillain, but that of a woman on the cusp of discovery. Workstations overflowed with meticulous notes, diagrams, and simulations that made Emilia's head spin. It was the beautiful chaos of something revolutionary in its nascent stage.

"You know…" Young Amelia gestured to a worn armchair, "Most of them try to kill me first. Talk later." A ghost of a smile, not quite friendly yet tinged with dark humor.

"Then I'm different from most of them," Emilia replied, sinking into the chair. "I need to understand."

"And what exactly do you think you understand?" Young Amelia moved behind a desk, the motion more fluid than it should be, a predator studying prey.

Emilia swallowed, the devastation of 2412 flashing in her mind's eye. "I understand that in 22 years, your work causes an extinction-level event. I understand the world burns because of you."

The silence stretched. Finally, Amelia spoke, her voice low. "Do you also understand why?"

"No," Emilia admitted. "The why has been…redacted."

Amelia nodded, a slow, deliberate gesture. "They'd do that. Hide the motive, treat the symptom. Typical." She leaned forward, those unsettlingly keen eyes pinning Emilia in place. "Time travel isn't just about fixing dates, Agent. It's about context, the grander cause and effect. I create the apocalypse, yes. And I do so to save everything."

Emilia sat up straighter. "Save everything? By destroying it?"

A flicker of frustration crossed the younger woman's face. "You look at the ruins and cry 'monster.' But have you looked further, seen what exists beyond the wasteland?" A bitter laugh escaped her. "Maybe you should. See the true horror we're hurtling towards, and then tell me if my scorched earth policy still seems so monstrous."

Emilia's mouth opened, but no words came. There was a terrifying conviction in young Amelia's eyes, an echo of the haunted desperation she'd seen in the survivors. It sent a chill through her, the dawning realization that perhaps…just perhaps…this wasn't as simple as her mission file made it seem.
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Prompt: Sometime in the future you do something that nearly wipes out human civilization. Time travelers have attempted to stop you by ending your life, but somehow, unknowingly, you have managed to dodge all of their attempts. Finally, one time traveler has decided to confront you directly.