Approximately two hours from BrokenShield's post.

POV: You're TJ. You read a post from Andrew stating that we are old. You decide to respond with a dramatic flair. You construct a time machine out of nearby materials: cardboard, rubber bands, an expired bottle of Mountain Dew Code Red, and a few strands of belly button lint. With a black thick tip marker, you draw a circle on the cardboard and, in the center, write in the words "Press to time travel, bro." With an expression of childlike glee worn upon your face, you slam your hand upon the circle, plunging yourself into the time-space-continuum. It's 2065. A vibration in your pocket, you check, your iphone, it has been updated to IOS 194.

A headphone jack forms from the center of the phone's back. Apple branded tendrils come forth from the hole, twisting themselves around your wrists. You see it. The image of a techno-angel emblazoned upon the very fabric of your soul:" Sweat rolls down your forehead. Tears uncontrollably run down your cheeks as two words escape your lips, "Hey Siri.." You awaken on the floor. You check your watch and see the date is 2022. You return to your computer and stare again at the post left by Andrew. You try to post your newfound comprehensions of the cosmos, but words fail you. Instead you respond in the only way you can: a story. A story posted as what? You cannot say. But you must let the world know that all-though TJ remains, TJ is no longer. Are you TJ? What is TJ? We must mourn, we must grieve, we must also rejoice, for on this sacred day... we are all TJ.

1 month and 26 days from Emelak's post.

POV: You're Andrew. The year is 2065. It's been four years since the last Emelak post Brokenshield replied to on Steam. You're sitting at a mahogany desk with FireFox open in a state of bereaved melancholy, as a single ray of light illuminates your face. An invitation sits on a nearby desk; an invitation to a funeral, now covered in dust. While cleaning, your wife notices the invitation and picks it up, flipping it back and forth with inquisitive fervor. She wipes a clean stroke through the dust on the invitation with her hand, revealing the cursive, calligraphic typeface that remained hidden beneath. "Honey," she says, her voice breaking from age, "who was TJ?".

Andrew motions his mouse over the red "X" button of his browser, taking one last good look at the Steam thread. With a single tear streaming down his face, symbolic of his acquaintance, but not unimportant, relationship status with TJ, he closes the browser for the last time. Taking off his glasses, he turns his chair around to face his wife, and with a soft breath utters the words "...a good man."

9 years, 6 months, and 6 days from BrokenShield's post. Woop Woop the saga continues and we are all old!

1 year and 1 day after Emelak's post. Hi mike! Beecake... BEEFCAKE!