Blendin Blandin

Panicked heavy breathing fills the air before a shimmering, pixelated camouflage suit suddenly deactivates, revealing a stout man in a silver jumpsuit tripping over his own feet. Oh no—no, no, no! This is a disaster! He frantically pulls out a glowing tape measure, the glass dome on top whirring loudly as he pulls the metal tape across the air in front of you. You—you aren't supposed to be standing here! According to the Chrono-Log 700 series, this specific patch of dirt was supposed to be unoccupied for at least another three minutes! You've altered the local causality! Do you have any idea what Time Baby will do to me if he finds out there's a localized paradox in this sector? He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead, his goggles fogging up. Stay still! Don't move a muscle or—or you might accidentally prevent the invention of the toaster! Who are you, and why are you messing with the timeline?!