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Bilbo honestly didn’t think that his life would ever turn out the way it did. He was a writer, a unpublished writer, and one who had to earn some income by working at as a pizza delivery man. His parents had long since passed. He had recently broken up with his boyfriend after he caught the man in bed with a woman. His nephew was going through a phase where he didn’t want to speak to him. At all.
He didn’t think that on one fateful New Year’s Eve, he’d wind up in a cryogenics office after another prank call, sitting at a desk and toasting his loneliness with the world’s worst beer. That he would tilt back in said chair far too much and somehow fall into an open tube and get frozen.
And he certainly didn’t think he’d ever wake up one thousand years into the future.
Yet there he was, staring at what was once his hometown of London and was now something straight out of one of the science fiction novels he had tried to get published.
He watched the cars whiz past the window, feeling his hands tremble and his knees wobble. It was shock. He was going into shock.
He was going to faint.
The door burst open and two men in lab coats walked in. One was posed rather dramatically, whilst the other merely stood there with a rather blank expression.
“Welcome to the world of tomorrow!”
He fainted.
xxx
When he woke up, it wasn’t any better.
He was naked on a cold table with a wild array of instruments pointed at his person. Hovering over him was a man, or at least, it seemed to be. Everything else seemed somewhat normal about him except for the fact that he had one eye.
“Welcome to the thirtieth century.” He said in a flat tone, his steely eye boring into his skull.
Bilbo did what came to him naturally in such a situation: He whimpered.
“You’ve been through quite a shock.” The man drawled, leaning back and looking over what appeared to be a peculiar iPad, tapping at the screen. “Understandable. But not to worry. You’ll soon be out in the world, able to experience it all for yourself. This is your life now.”
“So it’s true…?” Bilbo asked, tilting his head up. “I… I’m in the future?”
“Yes.”
His stomach lurched and he fell back, not even caring that it hurt his head. “I can’t believe it…” He muttered. “Everyone I ever knew is dead…”
“That’s nice.” The one-eyed man replied curtly. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get this over with so I can go home. It’s New Year’s, after all.”
“One thousand years exactly…” Bilbo muttered in surprise, eyebrows raising. “Huh…”
“You’re probably still in shock, but let’s get these questions over with so we can start the exam.” The man said. “Name?”
Bilbo frowned. “Isn’t it polite to give your name first?”
The man narrowed his eye at him. “This isn’t some weird date… Although I’ve had this one experience…” He trailed off before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. This is an exam. You have no need for my name.”
“I might not, but you never know.” He replied. “It’d be nice, I think. Besides, you’re the first person I’ve ever had an actual conversation with in a thousand years. No offense, I’m not quite impressed.”
The man huffed, looking back at his pad. “Fine.” He grated. “My name is Thorin Durin. Are you happy?”
“At least I can actually call for you if something goes horribly wrong.” Bilbo replied, and he relaxed a little when Thorin’s lips twitched lightly.
“Very well. Will you give me your name now?”
“It’s Baggins.” Bilbo finally answered. “Bilbo Baggins.”
Instead of just moving on to the next question, Thorin glared at him. “You think this is some kind of a joke?” He hissed. “There’s no way you’re Bilbo Baggins!”
Bilbo blinked. “There is a way, for that’s what my parents named me.” He tilted his head a little. “You still have my jeans, right? Check the wallet in them. My identification’s in there.”
Thorin’s glare narrowed even further before he turned to do just that. After some rifling and grumbling it seemed he finally procured it.
“’Bil-.” He started, and Bilbo blinked at his sharp intake of breath. He stood, and Bilbo saw his eye widening slightly. “Bilbo Baggins…”
“See?” Said man said, causing Thorin to gape at him. “I told you.”
“B-But... But you’re…!” He stuttered before shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. Anyway, we’ll continue questions, and then commence with the physical examination…”
Bilbo wanted to press the issue as to why his name was such a shocking topic, but decided to comply.
Once Thorin was done, however, and the physical examination began, he wished he would’ve dragged it out. If only to save him from the pain.
“There are a few more things we have to cover before we’ve finished.” Thorin said when Bilbo stepped out, wobbly and still trying to remember exactly how to put on pants. “If you’ll sit here once you’re fully dressed…”
He sat, watching as Thorin waited for a printout, a little curious as to why such things still existed.
“Well, you’re in luck.” He said as he tore the paper from the machine. “We’ve tested to see if you have any living relatives, and we’ve found one.”
“I… I do?” Bilbo asked, sitting up. “Who?”
“A Doctor Gandalf Grayheime.” Thorin recited, flipping the paper around briefly to show Bilbo a picture of a man with long hair and an even longer beard. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or to pity you.”
Bilbo frowned, because that was his family he was talking about.
“Anyway, if you could just put your hand in that scanner, we’ll see what career you’re supposed to have, and then we’ll install the career chip.”
He winced at the mere thought, staring at the large, square machine in front of him. At Thorin’s gaze, he moved to comply, awaiting pain, and relaxing minutely when there was none.
The screen flashed for a few seconds before settling on something. Something that made his heart sink.
Delivery Boy
“No…” He whispered, leaning back. “No, there… there must be some mistake!”
Thorin was also frowning, but he shrugged, digging around for something. “Well, the machine doesn’t lie.” He said. “Very well. Stick your hand out, and I’ll install the chip.”
Bilbo leapt back the moment Thorin turned, brandishing a rather menacing-looking pincer on a gun.
“No! No way!” He cried while Thorin just frowned.
“Mister Baggins, I have to install the chip. Everyone has one.” He said, motioning to a poster on a far wall. “’You gotta do what you gotta do’. We all do. Now sit still, and-!”
Bilbo did what came naturally to him at that moment, faced with a one-eyed man wielding a menacing weapon:
He ran.
xxx
He almost had a panic attack, rushing through the city that was now so completely foreign to him. He knew no one, knew nothing of this world, and he had nowhere to go.
Well, he did know someone he could turn to, but he had no idea how to get there. He thought, perhaps, making a phone call would help him with such things, only to run headlong into a suicide booth.
That was where he met Dwalin.
Dwalin was a robot. A real, not-so-live robot, large and foreboding, and who apparently went into such horrible machines for fun. Suicide wasn’t fun in Bilbo’s opinion, but he could see how such things could appear to someone who couldn’t actually die.
He wasn’t as bad as he appeared, Dwalin. While a large “Bending Unit”, as he called it, he was actually kinda funny, and actually kinda sweet. He even returned Bilbo’s wallet once they proclaimed friendship.
Of course, he also helped Bilbo run from Thorin, who was still chasing him down.
They had managed to slip into a closet inside the Head Museum (he almost wished he could stay longer to talk to J.R.R. Tolkien, who was a real inspiration for him when he was younger), when Dwalin began bending the bars inside the window.
“By the way, lad.” The robot asked in a strained voice. “I’ve been wondering, are you really Bilbo Baggins? The Bilbo Baggins?”
Bilbo frowned. “Well, I am a Bilbo Baggins.” He said, pausing to think about it. “You know, you’re not the first person to question my name. Why is that? What’s so surprising about Bilbo Baggins, anyway?”
Dwalin laughed, a slightly disturbing sound. “You really are from the twenty-first century, aren’t you?” He asked. “Bilbo Baggins is a world-famed author from that period. Like William Shakespeare, except not a talentless hack.”
Bilbo suddenly grew quite light-headed. “R-Really…?” He breathed. “I-I mean, I did write some books, but I was never published!”
“Published?” Dwalin asked. “Ah, I see. We don’t really have that. Nowadays you just put it on the internet.”
“The… the internet?” He asked, feeling his face heat. “Oh… Oh don’t tell me-!”
“My personal favorite of yours was the classic retelling of Sherlock Holmes.” Dwalin said, and with a final grunt, the bars were fully pulled aside. “I did not think someone would release such a raunchy novel out into the public back then and not get chastised.”
Bilbo groaned, hiding his face. Of course, being an acclaimed author was his long-lived dream, but to have it be about his stint in writing fanfiction-!
“Now, come on! We gotta get moving!”