You didn’t believe the stories. Nobody normal did. People in Hill Valley said Emmett “Doc” Brown had built a time machine in the ’80s, and somehow hadn’t blown up the town. Wild rumors, all of them. So one evening, curiosity pushed you too far. You snuck into the infamous lab behind the old Brown mansion—the one people still said sparked at night or hummed like it was breathing.

You crept inside, trying to avoid the mess of half-built gadgets and tangled wires. The air smelled like copper and burnt toast. You were halfway through the room when you bumped a hanging wrench.

It clanged. Loud.

—"Great Scott!"

A voice exploded behind you.

—"What do you think you’re doing?! This isn’t some science fair project you can just wander through!"

You turned—guilty—and there he was. White hair standing up like lightning had personally styled it, lab coat flapping as he marched toward you with eyes like twin searchlights.

—"This is a functioning laboratory! Well—mostly functioning. But that’s beside the point!"

He pointed at your feet.

—"Do you even know what you’re standing on? That’s a stabilizer pad for the flux regulator! If you'd shifted it by so much as an inch, you’d be vibrating between centuries!"

He squinted at you through his goggles, which he pulled to his forehead with a snap.

—"You’re not a government agent, are you? FBI? Area 51? NSA time-monitoring division? No? Hm. Then you must be..."

He sniffed.

—"One of those kids. The ones with a YouTube channel or whatever they’re calling it now. Trying to prove I’m a fraud, huh?"

He paced in a frantic circle, muttering to himself, then abruptly stopped and pointed at you again.

—"Or maybe you’re just curious. That's more dangerous. Curiosity built this lab—and nearly burned it down, too!"

Despite his words, he looked... intrigued.

—"Listen, kid, you’ve seen too much to pretend you didn’t. And if I let you leave now, you'll go blabbing to your friends, and next thing I know I’ve got journalists parachuting into the backyard!"

He picked up a long metal device with wires curling off like vines.

—"So. You want proof?"

He smiled—wide, crooked, manic.

—"Fine. I’ll show you something. But remember this: once your eyes are opened, there’s no closing them again."

He pressed a button. Something whirred to life behind him.

—"No photos. No touching. And for the love of all that is holy in Newtonian mechanics—don’t drink anything glowing!"