Excerpt from The State of Chronic Bookkeeping:
From the spire of which I seat myself upon in satisfactory comfort, the pen of the Tempus Syndicate shall neither wax nor wane.
Time, as I am called, for my given name is beyond the realm of language, shall relay thoughts concerning the distraught yearnings within this fellow known as Ghid. How far can the itch of creation fester within the encampment of the mind before the pains draw forth out of the mouth and into the ear of unsuspecting witness?
Truly, how should such an appearance of folly linger any further without the guiding hand of the Tempus Syndicate? For we march on within the travels of space as the first to truly tame the firmaments within the shadows. Space is not a frontier, but a child of inexperience that must be disciplined.
For you see, Ghid. I am from a future you merely shadow. Where the Tempus Syndicate reside, creation never ceases and never fades to the eclipse of life’s busyness.
You long to witness practitioners of the three virtues heed the call of exploration into space? How endearing. We shall watch with amused interest, as your masters of fate.
Excerpt from The Order Menu at an Undisclosed Restaurant:
My name is nothing of interest at the moment. Only, must I warn about the Tempus Syndicate. The organization began as a trading company, meeting at a trading post of what would later become The Fourth Corner, where the edges of five asteroid fields would meet, but alas the fifth corner succumbed to a parasitic virus that nawed away at the fertile soil used in farming both the Kjwl Plant, liken it to Earth Corn, and the Wskp Creature, similar to Earth’s Pterotrachea Coronata. The Wskp is useful in maintaining a healthy space garden by feasting on rocky fields and producing rich soil or clay (depending on the type of rock it eats). However, I carry a secret. The virus that plagued the fifth corner was man made, the Tempus Syndicate created it in order to maintain control of space’s agricultural efforts. Now, be wary, for the Tempus Syndicate now know of someone who wishes to enter space, a disruption to their carefully crafted order of maintenance. I beseech you to be on guard. Members of this organization have shed human formalities, encasing themselves in human-like shells to maintain their withering bodies.
Please keep this napkin safe from the wheelie bin and from the recycling can. Neither are fit as its last resting place.
I would like to play the bad guy.
it’s definitely real and worth it trust 
