“But you said you can do a lot more than that.” 
“They don't know that. Real stand users keep their super powers 


secret. It's the fucking move. All | do is send some people through 
cellphone calls and text messages and stuff. Nothing, you know, too 


Ambridge: So what happens now? 
Stephenson: | am not in- 


Ambridge: Alright, | understand. | dare say | have little 
to complain about. Not every D-class gets a chance to 
become an old man. Thank you. And | mean it, thank 
you so very much, for everything. 


Document 1969-121-FB042-6, located in the Foundation 
Archives, formerly of the Foundation Precursor 


( ). 
Incident Class: Unconfirmed, unexplained. 
Assignment: ALPHA-BRAVO. 


Event: At 2pm on Thursday 14th March, 1969, a white 
male of age 20-25 was observed to appear in mid air 
approximately 30 feet above the ground of a field near 

, Pennsylvania USA. The male was observed by a 
Mister Dan McBriar, into whose hay cart he is reported to 
have landed. Mister McBriar reported the occurrence to 
local law enforcement, but the unknown male could not 
be located when apprehension was attempted. 


The unknown male remains at large and has been 
designated Person Of Interest 0001192. 


« SCP-663 | SCP-664 | SCP-665 » 


magic. | didn't wanna, uh, be made to do too much.” 


Esther was quiet for a moment, before she said, “Jude, do you think 
text messages are sent through the power grid?” 


“Yeah. Why? Aren't they?” 


JJ burst out laughing, eyes as red as his cheeks. “You're a 
dumbass, dude. It's a good fucking thing you didn't watch Naruto. 
Fucking Grand Hokage Jude, who doesn't know what a satellite is.” 


“If | had a stand, it'd be Joy Divison,” said Esther, as they walked out 
of the apartment complex. Alarms blared down the street as a 
firetruck and a police car sped down the street. 


“You can't,” said Jude, staring at the ground. Esther's car was a 
battered Honda Civic. It was a sickly shade of blue. Jude hated it. 
“That's been taken.” 


“You know it's not fucking real, right? Like this is just a fucking 
game? Your anime isn't real. Like, G-d, Jude. Chill out.” 


As Esther unlocked the door, JJ opened the back and slid in, leaving 
Jude and Esther to sit together in the front. 


She took the front, and Jude sat in the passenger seat. 

“So, do any of you drive.” 

“| probably could,” said JJ. 

“No,” said Jude. 

“Fucking great. Nice. Okay. In a car with children. Where to then?” 
Jude shrugged. 

JJ said, “Let's get something to eat. I'm fucking starving.” 


Jude and Esther looked back at JJ at the same time, both tilting their 
heads in confusion. 


“A dude just burnt like crazy in front of you, dude,” said Esther, just 


as Jude said, “Are you fucking kidding me?” 


Esther sighed and turned the key in the ignition. “Can you fucking 
believe him, dude?” 


“No. No, | can't,” said Jude, leaning his cheek against the cold 
window. 


In the back seat, JJ smiled, and he closed his eyes. 


Jude's Bizarre Adventure | Bong Rip Tendency » 


Bong Rip Tendency 


Alexander had a way of owning a room from the moment he walked 
in. So, as the door soundlessly blew off its hinges, Jude just reached 
down, pulled a rapidly warming beer out from JJ's backpack, and 
popped the tab. The door wasn't exactly broken, so much as 
pushed, so didn't it just make sense that Alexander picked it up and 
pushed it right back in, like a big jigsaw piece? 


He was tall. Taller than Jude, certainly. Wide, dark eyes nearly 
hidden by the unkempt dark hair. Long, nimble fingers uncorked an 
extremely large jug of red wine. “Cheers,” he said. 


Jude and Alexander both drank. Skunked beer and cheap red wine. 


Jude tilted back his head, draining the can of beer. Crushed it, 
dropped it on the hotel room floor. Esther hadn't moved from the 
bed. Two beds. JJ was in a different room. Of course he was. He 
always was. 


“| really wish you wouldn't,” said Jude. 


Alexander spilled wine in a small line across the entry way. “It can't 
be helped.” 


“This is a stand thing, isn't it?” Quiet. More annoyed than scared. 
Esther drew her legs up onto the bed. 


Alexander raised the bottle, gesturing in a wide arc. Red flowed 
freely. He took a few steps in. An arc across the door to the 
bathroom. And then he turned. Another splash of wine stained 
closed white curtains. 


“| pour to Mithras. | pour to Zeus, to Perun, to the warriors and the 
fathers of old.” Alexander held out the bottle, pooling the wine in 
front of him before taking a sip. 


Jude reached into the backpack and pulled out another can of beer. 
“Don't drink or anything, Esther. That's how Temple of Love gets 
you.” 


“What? Why would | drink right now?" 


“In whose name do your pour, Jude? Do you pour for Christ? The 
Father? The Ghost? Do they share one, or is that three?” said 
Alexander. 


“Just one. You know whose name. Same as it's ever been." Jude 
flipped the tab with a hiss. He spilled the beer on the carpet and took 
a long sip. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down. The can fell 
lifelessly. “You went to Catholic school, too, you know. Same one | 
did.” 


“Someone's going to have to clean this. What the fuck kind of 
masculine bullshit is this?” Esther's face reddened. She reached out 
to Jude, to slap some sense into him, before the space between 
them widened. It stretched like silly putty. “No.” 


Marble pillars sprang up from the beds, and the window opened 
wide and dissipated. The television flew upwards and fanned out 
until it became everything there was, a sun and a deep blue sky that 
soon was covered by the austere white roof. The air was heavy. The 
sunlight slanted through the columns. lonic. Corinthian. Jude didn't 
know which. It was still after midnight, of course, and he was still 
tired. But, Alexander always loved the brightness. He said it gave 
him energy. The sun and the hawk and the bull. 


Jude cracked his knuckles. It was loud enough to reverberate from 
the columns. 


Alexander smiled. He hadn't changed. But didn't his clothes seem a 
little cleaner? Gilded, almost, in the outlines? Hard to see. 


“You know the rules, Jude?” He bit his lower lip. Fidgeted. A 
momentary glimmer lost before he yawned, took a sip of the jug of 
wine in his hands. 


“Thunderdome rules, right? Then what the fuck is she doing here?” 


Jude's eyes narrowed. A cloud covered the sun. The shade was 
cool. 


“A witness. | can smell the monotheism on her, but what is a contest 
of wills without an audience, Jude? | don't get out of bed for less 
than an auditorium.” A smile. Wine-stained teeth, too large, too 
sharp to be human. 


The wind picked up and died quicker than it began. The sun was 
back. Golden orb. If Jude cared to look, which he didn't, he'd 
probably notice it was a blinding chariot pulled by a beautiful horse. 
Alexander was always thorough. 


And then Esther was screaming. Jude turned. She was ina 
gleaming, golden cage upon a palanquin. The men that carried her 
were living statues, every muscle rippling like Bernini. They were 
marble, of course. Like everything else in the temple. Two had the 
head of a bull. Two had the head of a hawk. 


“So, you're their lapdog, when it all comes down to it? Friendship 
doesn't mean shit?” 


“You killed fourteen of them, Jude. You left the Gardener a walking 
skin graft.” Alexander took a long drink of wine. The jug was a 
goblet. Golden. Dazzling gems. An elegant stem. 


“I'd do it again if | could.” And then Jude ran at Alexander. All 
electricity and flame. 


Alexander caught the punch in his hand. A marble fist enclosed 
Jude's, crushing bones with a nice crunch. “I know you think you 
would, little Jude, but | don't think you have it in you.” And then a 
knee slammed into Jude's crotch. 


His vision went black. 

“I'm just saying, | got food poisoning. You didn't. Your, your luck shit 
doesn't help me if it's going to give me diarrhea.” Jude was pouting. 
But, then again, wasn't he always pouting? 


Esther looked in the rearview mirror. He had his long legs on the 


car's seat. Muddy shoes everywhere. At least he had taken a 
shower. They had to stop to buy him new clothes, on the heels of all 
that shit. He couldn't just make more clothes. She had asked. And 
he had said, I'maan hashem, that he could never get the size right. 
That he always made it so the tags dug into the back of his neck 
enough to leave a rash. 


One got used to that kind of thing when being around Jude Kriyot. 
The only magical incompetent. A man who could keep the car 
running miles and miles on fumes but who had trouble eating a 
single meal without splotches of barbecue sauce on the front of his 
shirt. Or gravy. Or whatever gross bullshit he shoved down his 
throat. 


And the cracking. Cracked his neck, his knuckles, his toes, and, she 
swore, his jaw. 


“You didn't die, did you? | call that good luck then.” JJ's face was 
against the window. The point of his nose poking against the glass. 
Rubbing his gross sweat and oil all over it. He had a seatbelt on. No 
one else thought it was funny but Esther. “And | found that twenty on 
the ground when you were pooping. So really, your pain benefited 
us all in the end.” 


“You bought that fucking t-shirt with it.” 


“| think me looking beautiful and fierce can keep the whole gang's 
spirit up.” 


“It's hideous.” 

“Once again, you're just a jealous bitch.” 
“Who buys a fucking shirt at a truck stop?” 
“The gorgeous.” 


The shirt, truthfully, was hideous. World's Greatest Grandpa in large 
blue Comic Sans. There was an old man at the bottom, crudely 
drawn. He was fishing in a boat. He wasn't catching anything. He 
looked tired. It was three sizes too large. 


Esther didn't say anything. She kept her eyes on the road as much 
as she could. She hated being with men. Especially the two of them. 
JJ was a good friend of hers, certainly, but she always felt she was 
expected to mother them. To act as the wise middle ground in their 
constant little dick wars, or maybe it was just a weird kind of flirting. 


“Besides, it's my stand,” said JJ. 
“Your stand can't be a fucking shirt. There's no song called that.” 
“Mine is.” 


“Fuck you.” Jude cracked his neck, leaned forward between Esther 
and JJ. “If you had a stand it'd be like Safety Dance. Maybe, like, 
Nothing Bad Ever Happens to Me. The Oingo Boingo thing, you 
know. Or, like, Wheel in the Sky. I've gotta bunch, dude. You can 
have a good one.” 


“World's Greatest Grandpa gives me the power to fuck hot silver 
daddies. Big dudes who smoke cigars.” He paused. “Development 
Potential: A.” 


Jude stopped talking, leaned back, and looked out the window. 
Esther thought the ugliest thing in the world was a grown man 
pouting. Childishness. Learned helplessness. Jude was probably the 
kind of man whose mother made his dinner for him until he left 
home. Probably had her do the laundry until she was all broken and 
wrinkled. Probably never learned how to work the oven or the stove 
himself. Probably the kind of kid whose mother cleaned his room for 
him. 


“Don't say bitch,” Esther said without turning to look at JJ. 
“Demeaning to women. Even if you mean it in the sassy gay way 
you always do.” 


“Sorry, babe.” Pouted just like Jude. All men were the same, weren't 
they? Not like a woman. Never like a woman. 


They'd had the conversation before. They'd have the conversation 
again. JJ was a man, but the piece of shit was always so serene so 
soon. A performative sorrow. A learned reaction in all men to make 


a woman absorb the brunt of their baggage. It wasn't just the way 
trouble rolled off his back like water on a duck's ass. It was that he 
was a man. 


“It's okay.” It wasn't. “Just don't do it again.” Men don't change. No 
matter how hard they tried. He'd do it again. 


Her tatty, her dad, her father, Rabbi Kogan, he never changed. 
Every Shabbat, every time he spoke G-d's words to the 
congregation. He said such beautiful things. But men forget beauty. 


Kh’hob im in d’r erd arayn. As far she was concerned, he was dead 
and buried. 


Her hands bit into the wheel. Wanted to break through it. Wanted to 
tear it from the steering column and throw it in the street. Fuck to G- 
d, fuck to Life, fuck to the Stupid Bullshit she had gotten herself into. 


“We need to stop,” JJ said suddenly, his voice cutting through the 
fog like a shofar. “We need to stop. We have to stop. We need to 
stop. I'm going to open the door. Stop the car. I'm getting out.” 


“Fuck. L'maan hashem. Okay, okay.” And then she was pulling into 
the most nondescript diner she had ever seen. If it was dark outside, 
she bet most of the letters in the sign would be out. Erma's Diner. 
Who was Erma? Why couldn't this bitch get some more lightbulbs? 
The mind boggled. 


“Are you hungry?” 
“Kind of. We have to stop here.” 


Jude grumbled, stretching his long arms and long legs, cracking 
them like a fucked up daddy longlegs. She wanted to reach back 
and hit him. And JJ, too. Fuck. Like children. Always a mother. They 
couldn't even drive. As soon as she parked the car, JJ sprinted out 
into the diner. Around them were only gigantic trucks. Some with 
rigs, some without. Wonderful. More men. 


“Alright, fine. | could go for something to eat,” Esther said, yanking 
out the key, opening the door, and leaving Jude stretching and 
making gross noises in the back seat. 


As Jude regained consciousness, he could hear Alexander 
speaking. The words didn't work in his head. But the tone was 
unmistakable. Pontification. That's what Jude recognized it as. It 
was just the way he was. The way he had always been. 


“Shut the fuck up,” said Jude. He tried to stand up then fell. He 
remained on one knee. Panting. It was so hard to be here. So hard 
to continue existing in the face of this fucking blowhard. 


“Rude. Here | am, giving your good friend—what's your name 
again?” said Alexander just as Esther said, “Shut the fuck up. Oh my 
G-d.” 


“It's Esther,” said Jude, shaking onto his feet again. Didn't fall. The 
floor was marble. It looked different. The gilded cage was the same. 
So were the gigantic animal headed statues holding it. Alexander, 
however, wore a toga and laid out on a triclinium. 


“Yeah, beautiful name. Someone in the Old Testament, right?” 


“The Tanakh,” Esther corrected, before a single marble arm 
protruded from the top of the cage and held its hand over her mouth. 
lis grip looked hard to Jude. 


“All monotheism is cut from the same cloth. The same refusal to see 
the varied power of nature. A simplistic attempt to glean order from a 
series of wills all clustered and fighting but sometimes together. It's 
arrogant, really. But | lost my train of thought.” He plucked a grape 
from a vine that grew, self supporting, to the level of his arm. 
Alexander took it and popped it into his mouth. 


They were the most purple things Jude had ever seen. Anything 
else that had been purple looked like bullshit in comparison. The 
apotheosis of purple. The platonic ideal of it. Jude realized he was 
drooling when he was on his own two feet. Trembling. Anemic. 
Definitely not a shounen hero. More like a shounen zero. 


“What were you boring her about?” 


“Oh, yes. | was telling her about our friendship. About my life. | knew 


your parents, may the gods hold them in their minds for eternity. You 
knew my mother.” He spilled wine from a goblet that was in his hand 
for a moment and disappeared the next. “I thought she needed to 
know. It's good for the audience to have a good idea of the turmoil 
between the two heroes.” 


“You're the antagonist.” 


“| guess | am,” said Alexander. He shook his head, sliding off from 
the couch. “I told her about our childhoods. About high school. About 
college. Same high school, same college. Recruited by the same art 
collective slash terrorist group.” 


“You were the Architect.”