Yeah. Let us go to hell however we want to. It’s our own choice, after all.

A pharmacology aide walked in and put down a plastic-capped beaker of orange fluid. Next to it he placed a cardboard box that clinked, the sound of many small bottles. Derek inspected his fingernails as the assistant passed out of the office, ignoring the aide’s expression of bored contempt.

“So what’s this new type of Time-Jizz, Doctor? Will it work better?”

“Drink.” Bettide gestured at the beaker without looking up. He took out a key and unlocked his briefcase, removing a small black ledger.

Derek grimaced and reached for the vitamin suppliment, sighing for effect as he pried off the plastic cover. He drank the orange-flavored concoction, knowing Bettide wouldn’t help him until it was all gone.

At last he put down the beaker and licked the orange coating from his ragged moustache. “Have they found any more cases like me, Doctor?” For a change his voice was serious, earnest.

“A few,” Bettide answered noncommitally, still writing in the small black book.

“Well? Have they found out why some of us get stuck in sequential time trips, instead of just accessing the memories we want at will?”

Bettide closed the book and looked up. “No, Derek. We haven’t. But look on the bright side. At least you don’t suffer the worst syndrome. Some Temporin users with hidden masochistic tendencies send themselves right off to the worst moments of their lives. A few get into flashback loops where many times each day they relive those episodes in vivid detail, with or without the drug.”

Derek blinked. “That’s terrible! But…”

A crafty look spread across his face. “Oh, I get it. That’s one of those aversion stories, isn’t it? Part of trying to get your clients off the very drugs you pass out. Pretty clever. You almost scared me this time.”