Greg didn't have a lot of money, so purchased his replacement TV at a second-hand shop, repaired, cheap. The old shopkeeper barely looked at him, muttering only, "It works now."

Back home, in his cramped apartment, he plugged it in. One channel. A live feed of familiar downtown Main Street. No logos, no commentary. Just a silent, endless loop. At first, Greg dismissed this as a malfunction—until he realized the feed wasn’t showing now.

The TV was showing tomorrow!

A woman in a green coat. A Main Street performer’s song. The exact movement of traffic. Greg tested it. Took notes. The TV was always right, down to the smallest detail. Greg used it for small things—picking the right scratch-off ticket, finding a lost wallet before its owner noticed. Then, one day, the TV showed something else.

The TV showed downtown Main Street. Then a sudden flash. Fireballs rising over the city. Houses, roads, everything reduced to burning craters. People running, screaming—then vaporized in white-hot light. Nuclear war!

The TV feed kept running. Massive firestorms. Charred ruins. Smoldering smashed skeletons of buildings and cars. The city he knew—gone.

Greg had 24 hours.

Greg ran, screaming, pounding on doors. Neighbors dismissed him. Mark: “You're losing it, man.” Patsy: Puffed cigarette smoke into Greg's face.

Greg, desperate, sprinted to the city police station. Police: “You're lucky our jail's full. If you come back, we'll create a vacancy.”

Greg burst into KRTTN TV's news station lobby, begging, shoving the future images on his TV at KRTTN's receptionist, Kim, who didn't get it. Station manager Howard glanced and declared, “This is a hoax.” KRTTN TV security threw Greg onto the pavement.

Greg ran through the streets, grabbing strangers, shouting warnings. Some strangers responded. “Get off me! What are you even talking about?” They avoided his gaze, muttered about a lunatic or ridiculed Greg. “War. Check. I'll remember. Have a nice rest of your day.”

Defeated, Greg staggered home, collapsing onto his couch, staring at the TV’s flickering horror through tear-blurred eyes. Finally, exhausted and hopeless, Greg drifted into horrible sleep.

Morning came. The city stood firm. No fire. No war. Nothing!

Greg stormed back to the second-hand store, slamming the TV onto the counter. “It’s broken!”

The shopkeeper barely reacted. “Oh?”

Greg was shaking. Greg’s hands trembled. “It lied!”

The old man slid Greg’s money back across the counter without a word.

Greg exited the second-hand shop and turned. The TV was already back in the sales window! Someone else would buy it.

Greg would wait. Hours. Days, if necessary. Greg had to see who the next buyer would be.