Here's what the premise was:
For some reason, a piece of technology/knowledge has gone backwards in time to a place it shouldn’t be. What the item is and to where its gone is up to you.
You could send an iPad back to the Vikings allowing them to navigate the world instead of blindly heading west and hoping for land. You could send a chainsaw back to Spartacus as he leads his rebellion. A computer to Charles Babbage. A bottle of antiseptic to the Crimean War. String Theory to Einstein. A History of the 20th Century book to Paul von Hindenburg. A walkman to Mozart. An Uzi to Davy Crockett at the Alamo. A taser to the head of security at the temple to deal with an uppity Jesus. It’s UP TO YOU!
Most of this idea came from the film The Final Countdown where a nuclear aircraft carrier ends up in a vortex and lands one day before the events of Pearl Harbour.
You can be helpful OR harmful and how far you take the repercussions of this items effect on your world is up to you. Try to avoid sending “fantasy” tech, let’s keep it slightly plausible and no, they can’t have the time machine.
Entry 1 by @batkevin74
Mr Majister sighed heavily as he pushed open the wooden door to his class of twenty something omnipotent horrors. He only had 4950 more days until retirement, which sounded far better than fifteen years.
"Settle down!" He called across the room to the children. "Seats, now."
"Sir, can I go to the bathroom?"
Majister looked at little Shiva, the blue skinned four armed destroyer of things. "No. Class hasn't even begun. Sit."
"Right!" Majister wrote on the board HOMEWORK, in large green chalky letters. "Your homework was...? Anyone?"
The class went uneasily silent. Majister shook his head. "Phenomenal cosmic powers, limited attention spans. All those who DIDN'T do their homework, hands up."
The majority of the room raised their limbs. Majister was unimpressed. "Of the four of you who bothered, bring your universes up here to the front."
Odin, the portly bearded child, shuffled from the back of the class with his diorama only to have Anansi stick his spindly leg out to trip him. Odin fell and crushed his project as the classes howled with laughter.
"ANANSI! OUT!" Majister roared as he rushed to Odin's aid. He helped up the child to see a nasty cut near his left eye. "And you, you need the nurse. Quick sticks."
Odin followed out the dawdling Anansi, and Mr Majister looked at the trio at the front of the room. "Right, settle down. Miss Aphrodite, what did you do?"
The little Greek girl smiled and adjusted her toga. "Well, I took Ryan Gosling and put him near Helen as to prevent the Trojan War."
"I see," Majister mused. "But the homework was to send a technology BACK in time, not a person."
"But, but..." The little goddess began to splutter and lose her composure.
"You at least tried," Majister replied. "Now, Mr Omiokane, what do you have for us?"
"I have brought great shame on my universe," Omiokane said as he hung his head. "I have completed your task but failed as god. Forgive me."
Majister peered into Omiokane's universe and recoiled in horror. "Yes, well, um, wow. I...wow, that is...I am stunned, Omiokane."
"May I be excused, noble teacher?"
"Yes and take your thing with you," Majister said pointing at the door. "Preferably to the incinerator."
Majister looked at the last child, Yahweh God. His two fathers were members of the school board and seemingly on a mission to make life difficult and the apple hadn't fallen too far from their tree.
"I have sent back the cure to the Black Plague to 1320," said Yahweh confidently. "Since the assignment didn't limit a number I sent back enough inoculations of antibiotics to immunise four hundred people."
"Hmmm," Majister pondered the young God's universe. "So you're immunising people with 20th Century drugs?"
"No, early 21st," Yahweh replied. "Better quality, easier on the physiology but way too expensive for a life saving injection. By inoculating the province around the outbreak of the plague ten years before it takes hold, I intend to save over 200 million lives."
"By stopping the plague before it takes hold?"
"Correct," Yahweh smiled smugly. "I thought about sending back a crop duster to kill the disease in its tracks but that wouldn't have been effective since the source of the plague wasn't pinpointed. I could use myself given powers to determine the exact rat and flea, but I am sticking to the rules of your assignment."
Majister looked at the child and had a burning desire to nail him to the wall by his Chesire grin. "Consequences?"
"What?" Yahweh was puzzled.
"What are the consequences for your universe?" Majister asked. "The Black Plague ravaged the world for nearly a decade. By preventing it, and by introducing medicine to the world some seven hundred years earlier; what are the consequences of you sending antibiotics BACK?"
"Um, I..." Yahweh shrugged. "Dunno?"
"Have a look at your universe, young Master God?" Majister pointed into the diorama. "You save 200 million initially, but the knock on effect is catastrophic! Look, the world's population hits a billion by 1500. With 21st Century antibiotics permeating the DNA of generations there are no natural viruses that hamper human expansion. By 1604 the population is..."
Yahweh clapped his hands over his assignment and a torrent of water washed over it. "Okay, okay, I get it."
Majister watched in disbelief as the little deity flooded his own creation. "Back to your seats. Everyone."
"Since only four of you attempted the homework, and those that did seemed to have..." Majister rubbed the bridge of his nose to calm down. "New homework assignment, due tomorrow!"
The class groaned and complained until Majister slapped the desk with his hand bringing the room to silence. "Homework. Simple. You will send a chainsaw back from 1989 to some point in the Roman Empire which lasted about 300yrs giving you plenty of room. Record the results, those who choose not to participate will join Anansi in detention. Now, open your books...what is it Mr Shiva?"
"Can I go to the toilet?"
Majister sighed and pointed to the door. "Right, books open for string theory, page 616. Mr Ahuramazda, you will start at the top of paragraph two."
Entry 2 by @cbishop
"I'm telling you, Booth," John Parker whispered, pointing to an odd looking needle in his other hand, "this is guaranteed to kill the president, and we are far less likely to get caught!"
John Booth scoffed. "I want the world to know who killed Lincoln!" he said a bit loudly, drawing reproachful stares from other actors awaiting the curtain.
"Keep your voice down!" hissed Parker. "Who cares who does it, as long as it gets done? If it's so important to you, claim responsibility after we have made our escape!"
"You're a coward," Booth said with disgust. "Lincoln has declared the slaves free, and thinks that he has ended the War Between the States. Now is the perfect time to strike a blow for the Confederate army! How is that crazy sewing needle going to bring down the president? Are we to sew his nose and mouth shut so he can't breathe?"
"No, no," the security man waved off his ridiculous idea. "This needle isn't for sewing. It's called a high... high po'...high... Anyway, it's for medicine. You see this piece right here?" he asked as he pointed to the end of the hypodermic needle. "It's a plunger. Pull it back, like this? It takes in medicine through the needle. Then you inject it into a patient, and the medicine makes them better. Without medicine? It takes in air. Inject the air into the patient, and they die of a heart attack."
Booth raised his eyebrows at this, his full attention now on Parker. "And where did you get such a fantastic device?"
Parker raised his eyebrows at his friend's realization, and smiled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."
"Try me," Booth said, narrowing his eyes at his confederate.
Faltering a bit, Parker said, "It was a man on some kind of... it was like a machine-driven bicycle, but no bicycle I've ever seen. It was heavy and thick, and it was shiny- highly polished metals and other materials I've never seen the likes of. Almost a saddle on the back of it for a rider, rather than a flimsy seat, and it made the most noise I've ever heard without a gun or cannon. The rider was huge; strong- Nordic in his bearing- and called himself Manjaro. The machine he rode appeared in a glowing fog, and left the same way."
Booth scoffed. "Do you think me a fool, Parker? Of course I don't believe that drivel! No child over the age of seven would! Keep your secret then. So I inject the president with air, and he dies. Why is this better than a gun?"
"Because," he answered with a hideous glee, "if you do it right, then everyone will think it was a natural occurrence. We won't even be suspected," he said, offering the needle to the actor.
John Booth looked contemplative as he took the needle from Parker's hand, and held it up to the light. He pressed the plunger fully, and then pulled it out again, looking as if he could see the air fill the chamber. He held it as if he would inject someone, moving it in stabbing motions through the air. Then he rushed the guard, backed him roughly against a wall, and put the needle to his throat. "What would you have me do, John Parker? Stab the president with this as he arrives, and let him seem to die naturally so that he can be mourned, and lifted up as a hero to the people? No, sir.
"I told you that I want the world to know that Lincoln was killed. They have to know what happens to men who would try to inflict their will upon a country that does not want it! This?" he said, holding up the needle to Parker's view. "This is cowardice, just as I told you, Parker! If you don't have the stomach for true patriotism, then be gone with you!" he growled, throwing the man to the side. Then he dropped the needle on the floor, ground it beneath his boot heel, and stalked away.
Parker picked himself up shakily, looking after his mad accomplice as he stormed away. Pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped his forehead and face, and headed out of the theater's back door. He needed a drink.
He was out in the alley with a bottle he'd bought from the tavern across the street when he heard the shots, followed by Booth's shouts of, "Sic semper tyrannus!" Hearing the wails of panicked patrons as they stampeded for the doors, he fled back to the tavern, and found the president's footman and coachman, both of whom were passed out drunk at their table. When found, he claimed to have been drinking with them all night since being dismissed from his post. Having paid the maid to back up his story, his part in the assassination remained undiscovered.
Vote for one or the other, its up to YOU to decide a winner. We can't because my vote goes to cbishop and his to me coz you can't vote for yourself. So please, help us out and come play in the next one