If I had traveled back a decade or so before I did, one of the most popular games would have been QWOP. A game about running where one key is paired to each muscle. Most people are lucky if they manage to get one foot in front of the other. As I had to slowly learn to walk again, I realized how hard it had been for us to become bipedal. It seemed every wince that shot through my spine and out of my unwilling vocal cords when I accidentally stepped on my own toes was a cry of help from one of the million cadet branches of humanity that had ended their evolution on the business end of a mastodon's tusk.

But I eventually reacquired the ability I learned at two and with that, I was discharged with a new identity: George Li, a kid from the other Washington who had come here to attend UW but had killed himself out of severe mental health issues before attending his first class. They'd paid my medical bills, as well as the deposit and the first month's rent on a small apartment in Ballard. But they added that any deviation from these terms would result in their recovery, with interest.

It was August 2017 - the Project's darkest hour. The official Project site was down, the representative of the Project was missing, and there wasn't even a Babylon for all the Jews to gather after the First Temple. The closest thing to it was Arisuchan, a split of Lainchan (long story) which had a board /sr/, short for "Systemspace refugees". We knew that board wouldn't last forever, just like how Constantine would convert to Christianity, and forget who it was that wrote half the Bible.

I felt around in my pockets. What could I use to prove I was from the future? They'd taken my phone for reverse engineering, and it's not like my tap debit card which wouldn't be valid for five years didn't exist in the past. I shook my jacket fell. But nothing fell out but a...

Quarter! You sneaky, alloyed, 119-ridged thing!

Washington's powdered hair, tied in a neat queue, fell beside his neck. But he was looking right instead of left, like he was supposed to in 2017. Under his chin was the year: 2023.

I took a picture of both sides and made a thread on Arisuchan. I let the quarter do most of the work. I told them what would happen in the future. That the Project would be reborn for nine months. But, like a star burning helium instead of hydrogen, its growth would be based on consuming what it had already accumulated. After that nine months, the Project would enter an "indefinite hold" which would never end. No one would be able to join after that.

I hit "Post". Now it was time to see if anyone would listen.