Run by Michaelbrent Collings

John's mouth fell open as he came face to face with someone he'd never thought to see again.
    Skunk Man .
    It was him.  The same face.  Same hair.  And he hadn't aged a day.
    Forget aging , thought John.  You saw him die .
    On the other side of the glass, the man's eyes widened.  Everything began to move slowly.  John saw Kaylie pull at the man's arm.  Saw the man's own hand drop to the gear selector.
    You saw him die.  Blown up in a chopper in Iraq.
    Then time sped up again as the man threw his car into gear and pulled away from the sidewalk.  The Mustang was an older model, from the 80's, and an automatic to boot, but it still mustered sufficient power to leap away from the curb with a squeal of rubber. 
    John threw himself away from the car as it pulled away, narrowly missing being hit as the Mustang pulled out of line and began fighting its way past the one or two cars that blocked egress from the parking lot.  Angry horns blared as the other parking lot occupants manifested their disapproval of the Mustang's movements, and honked still more as the car rasped against a minivan that partially blocked its exit.
    John jumped to his feet, subliminally noticing his stinging, abraded palms that had been rubbed a cherry red by their collision with the asphalt, and sprinted to his Pathfinder.
    The door opened, and he jammed the key in the ignition, hardly waiting for the engine to turn over before throwing the car into gear and backing out of his parking space.  He narrowly avoided a collision with Gabe's car, which still idled behind his, as he pulled out. 
    Gabe threw his car into reverse, pulling back a few crucial inches to avoid John's vehicle.  John saw his friend's confused expression in the side view mirror as he popped his car into first gear and wound around a few cars.  Then he was stopped by a pair of minivans several kids were jumping into.  He couldn't thread his way around them, the school was on one side and a grassy hill on the other.  Nor could he go between them.  Even if there had been room, there were too many children milling between the two vehicles for John to pass without danger of hitting someone.
    John rolled down his window and leaned his head out to check where the Mustang was.  He saw it pull past the last car, then onto the street. 
    John was about to lose them.
    He thought for a second, then, ignoring his better sense, which was yelling at him not to be an idiot, he backed his SUV up a few feet.  It tapped into the car behind him - Gabe's car, which added to the wide disbelief of his friend's expression - signaling the end of John's runway.  It would have to do.  He gunned the motor, then let out the clutch and his car surged over the curb, up the small grassy hill, and out onto the street. 
    The Mustang had a large head start, but was still on the main street.
    And John was in pursuit.
     

CONTROL HQ - RUSHM
    AD 3999/AE 1999
     
    "We have a problem."
    The words echoed in the silence of the observation pod, and then fell leadenly to the hard stone floor.
    Adam halted the image on his own Control Time, ceasing his study of the bygone era, and immediately turned to face Jason.  His second in command had spoken the words from his own duty station, where he was watching one of the monitors on the wall.  His voice told him it was serious, so Adam strode immediately to the younger man. 
    "Enlarge it," he said.
    Jason passed his fingers through the air in front of the monitor, piercing the invisible beams that formed a grid in front of the free-pixeled plasmatic display.  The monitor threw out an image of itself, which seemed to hang in the air a moment, then floated down to floor level and expanded, becoming a three dimensional holographic image.  The virtual world shown in the display swelled in size, swallowing up the front half of the observation pod.  When it ceased its growth, a perfect cube six meters to a side stood solidly before them.  It was a window into the