There is a paradox. A knot in space-time. It doesn’t matter to me who or what caused it. All that matters is that it is there, so I must fix it, like I always must. To get to the origin I go FTL. The universe isn’t too happy about this, but if it wants to get unknotted, it has to play by my rules. I come to a dead stop a couple feet from the planet’s surface, and land with a roll. Not strictly neccessary, but I have my fun while I can. There’s so little of it in this job. I check the display on my readout. The source appears to be one Reginald Thomas, working from his house in Bear Falls, Kentucky, Terra in the subjective past. The planet of my origin. Lucky for me. I hate disguise cloaks. But still, it saddens me to do what I have to do to a fellow human. I stroll into the house, phasing through the door as to not make any noise. I hate it when they run. It makes my job that much harder.