Anesidora was pleased at what She saw. / give you permission to 
touch My Form, She said to the Servus. Place the Crown upon My 
body. 


The Servus did so, awestruck by the great honor bestowed upon 
him by Her Light. As She began absorbing his body into Herself, 
digesting his body, sucking him in by his hands, he contemplated 
how satisfied he was to receive such a blessing. He died happily. 


The second Servus came to Her throne and left a device. Anesidora 
had downloaded that individual's memories already and was aware 
of the object's significance. The Soldier lies within? She asked, 
knowing the answer already. The Servus nodded, taking advantage 
of one of so few opportunities to converse with the divine, then 
retreated. The sated Goddess would not require further feeding. 


The third Servus came to Her throne and left a hominid. Anesidora 
was displeased. His role is not yet come, She said. He can wait 
elsewhere. Remove him from my presence. 


The Servus was greatly mortified by his error and left swiftly, the 
hominid Eastman comma Agent James Bartholemew weighing him 


down as he did so. 


Anesidora turned her attention to Her pet, or at least the small 
portion of its mass lying in a nearby wheelbarrow. She programmed 
it carefully, giving it very specific instructions. Its nature was 
different, very different from hers, or from the microchips that she 
controlled. Nevertheless, it was designed to accept instructions in 
the form she was providing. She spoke to one of the Servus, 
ordering him to carry the wheelbarrow back to where the rest of its 
mass was, quietly reproducing itself in a shed of its own 
construction. The Servus strained slightly at the weight of the 
concrete mixture on his nine-year-old frame, but was able to wrestle 
it outside. 


Anesidora would have smiled, had She possessed a mouth. Her 
Minotaur was almost ready to hunt. 


Act I, Scene III: Soliloquy » 


Soliloquy 


« Act |, Scene II: Deontic 


David Eskobar came to wishing he had a blanket. It was freezing 
cold in this field; he mentally kicked himself for not bringing a jacket, 
or gloves, or sturdier shoes. He glanced up from where he was lying 
in the grass, saw several distinct landmarks. Oh, it’s Washington, he 
thought, / always heard how cold Washington was in the winter, but | 
had never felt it before. Probably lucky it’s not — 


Wait, what am | doing in Washington? Last thing | remember, | was 


And then David realized the world around him was in black-and- 
white, and the crackling of snow beneath his hands as he rose up 
sounded far away, like it was happening underwater. This wasn’t 
real. 


“It’s very real, David,” a voice said from in front of him. “Just 
strange.” 


David looked around and examined his surroundings. He saw a tall, 
elderly man walking across a large, Greek Revival-era patio. The 
White House, he realized. Another man was hiding, squatting 
around a corner, waiting for the old man to walk past. Holding two 
pistols. 


Oh God, he’s going to— 
“Shoot him, yes,” the voice in front of him said. 


It was like David’s eyes were refocusing to see something that had 
been right in front of him, but that he didn’t want to look at. Suddenly 
David saw what was there; a man, tall, wrapped in a long, dark blue 
cloak, facing away from him. Facing towards the scene unfolding in 
front of them. 


The old man kept walking forward, oblivious. He passed the corner 
where the man sat, hiding. 


“Twenty, ten, even five years ago,” the voice in front of David said, 
“he never would have been so stupid as to walk unaccompanied, not 
paying attention to his surroundings. He just left a funeral, you see. 
His mind is dwelling on thoughts of death. Thinking about his wife, 
dead five years now; and his brother, murdered before his eyes 
when he was a child; and the many men he has killed himself.” 


The man behind the corner emerged, screamed incoherently, raised 
his pistol. Fired at point-blank range into the elderly man’s side. The 
man screamed as he fell, pivoted towards the gunman, who raised 
his other pistol and fired into the man’s chest. 


“He has been shot so many times, risked his life so many times. But 
this is the last. He dies now.” 


David watched as the gunman fled the scene. “He’s going to get 
away with murder?” 


“Oh, no,” the tall man said. “He is completely insane. He will begin 
raving about what he has done in a paint shop not far from this 
place, and will be arrested. A mob will lynch him before he can make 
it to jail after the trial. Nobody will mind. People will believe the old 
man was killed by a vast conspiracy led by the British. Largely for 
unrelated reasons, a war will break out, in the fitful way it did in this 
time period. There are more consequences; would you like to hear 
them?” 


David was horrified by everything he was seeing. “Who is he? The 
dead man, | mean?” 


“One of the leaders of your nation-state, Andrew Jackson. | am told 
he is somewhat important in your history.” 


| don’t really remember much about him, David thought, but isn't he 
on the twenty-dollar bill? “| think so, but | don’t recall very well. What 
happened to my stutter?” 


“Your ideal mind is in this place, rather than the flawed one of your 


the bed of newly married Agent for one week. 
Sample use: Six blueberry muffins. 
Result: [DATA EXPUNGED]. 


Sample condition: Raised and fed twice weekly for one month by 
personnel diagnosed with severe clinical depression. 

Sample use: Unlike prior experiments, the liquid layer was not 
stirred into the main mass of the starter at feeding time, but drawn 
off and retained separately. Resultant product was then filtered to 
remove particulate matter and added to lone test subject's alcoholic 
beverage of choice for one week. 

Result: "Liquid despair". Subject began to exhibit signs of emotional 
distress within minutes of consuming the first doped beverage. 
Psychological evaluation at the end of the week indicated a 
depressive state on the order of that diagnosed in 'feeder' 
personnel, including suicidal ideation. Symptoms had largely cleared 
two weeks after cessation of experiment, but lingering effects 
remained. 


The possible Foundation uses for SCP-759 are numerous and 
should be self-evident. Requesting permission to test ‘liquid despair' 
minimum potency and LD-50 as possible means of inducing suicide 
in otherwise problematic targets. 


« SCP-758 | SCP-759 | SCP-760 » 


more permanent existence. | know Jackon’s importance. So many 
branching paths lead from this moment. Some lead to aristocratic 
dominion, some lead to civil war, some lead to mediocrity, some 
lead to greatness. One of them leads to a utopian world government 
that ends disease and death and takes mankind to the stars. One of 
them leads to a catastrophic plague wiping out the human race. But 
none of them truly end, not ever. Time marches on, as one of your 
philosophers put it. Lawrence, as | recall. So much variety with 
assassinations. | think it is why | interfere in so many of them.” 


“Who are you?” David asked. 
“You know of me,” the being said, and turned to face him. 


David understood many things better in that moment. He understood 
why men went mad after seeing what he was seeing now. He 
understood why the only detail they remembered were the eyes. 
“You're...you're the man in the sundial. 961-1, we call you.” 


“| am aware of what you call me,” the entity said. "The name is not 
less wrong than any of the others. | think of myself as the Intruder." 
David noticed his lips weren't moving. Then he noticed the man had 
no lips, or eyes. Then no head. For a brief moment, he saw that the 
entity both had and didn't have a face. David had to stop looking. 


“My appearance is confusing to you. It is what it needs to be at the 
moment. Beings such as yourself perceive from me what | wish 
them to perceive. For example, perhaps | look like this.” His face, 
clothing, body, all transformed. The entity then looked...completely 
human. And was dressed in the same style of clothing the other two 
men he saw had been. Nineteenth-century menswear. 


David saw the figure shimmer, flicker out of existence for a moment, 
then returned. He reverted to his previous form. “See? They thought 
| was one of them,” the entity said. 


David was confused, then turned around, hearing voices behind 
him. The scene was very different; the shooter was being held down 
by several men accompanying Jackson. But Jackson was still dead. 
Others were attending to his wounds, but David knew they would 
fail. 


“| appeared at the funeral he was leaving,” the figure said. “I 
convinced several men to go with Jackson, fearing for his safety. 
They did so. | altered time, changed the past. A dramatic act. You 
see the difference?” 


David didn’t. He was still dead, with whatever implications that held 
for...everything. The nation, the world, he thought. The Foundation, 
maybe; who knows what that kind of change— 


“Your Foundation organization always exists, if | can help it,” the 
entity said. “Or something similar to it. | have changed many things, 
in many times and places, but there is...a need for people like you 
and your group. Forces and beings that desperately need to be 
suppressed.” 


David’s mind was reeling. So much was happening back in the real 
world, and he was here, watching a deranged time-traveling 
demigod justify himself. He had to get back. 


“Not a demigod, David,” the creature said. “Many things, but not 
godlike. Just...trapped. | have an obligation to undo certain...errors | 
have made. And this is where you come in. Whether you like it or 
not, you are a part of those mistakes now, and it is part of your 
future to help correct them.” 


David was stunned. All fear forgotten, he said, “What the hell are 
you talking about?” 


“| began doing this out of...pity, of sorts. | found myself in 
possession of certain abilities, felt | had an obligation to...help. | 
wanted to help people. | did. 


“One of my first actions, | tried to tweak a military contest, one from 
long ago. | was...! was so sure | understood enough, that | could 
avoid the pitfalls. | was sure | could make this world a better place if 
| could divert all of the energy that this species spends on warfare, 
channel it into more creative tasks. Centuries, millennia of constant 
fighting and killing and dying. So | changed the outcome of a battle 
and waited to see how things unfolded. | was so stupid. 


“Everything is permanent, you understand. Even | cannot undo an 
edit once it is made. You can change things back, but there is 
always a place, somewhere, where everything remains. The world | 
made when | changed that battle is still there. And now it is breaking 
through into your world. Others, as well. Their technology is 
powerful, but incompletely controlled. 


“I can edit certain aspects of this world, but | cannot leave it. | cannot 
even know with certainty what will happen if others leave, or if the 
errors can be rectified. But there are certain guesses | can make, 
certain extrapolations of what that world looks like, of what can be 
done to protect this timeline. Of what has to be done to protect us 
all.” 


David stood there and listened while the being in front of him spoke. 
He detailed a lengthy plan, maybe an impossible plan. A plan that 
would involve dozens, hundreds of factors going together perfectly. 
Even before the completely unknowable part of what would happen 
on the other side. David asked questions; the entity answered them, 
in such a way as to persuade him that the plan was feasible. There 
were holes, of course, but the entity promised to help as far as it 
could. 


The being flickered in and out several times. “I have made certain... 
arrangements that will make the task you must perform easier. Make 
sure the person | have specified is at the designated location at that 
particular time. Make sure her instructions are clear. You will 
remember this conversation very acutely when you awaken in the 
containment area; your actions are responsible for her actions, and 
the damage that could ensue if she fails is incalculable. Do you have 
any final questions?” 


“Two,” David replied. “Why do you care so much about our welfare? 
If you're outside of the timeline, or however you exist, why are you 
so concerned with what happens?” 


The entity paused, stood silently. “I can accept that humans are 
inevitably bound to destroy themselves,” the entity finally said. “What 
| cannot accept is the idea of myse/f as the one who destroyed this 
species. Others can ignore the rapid decline of cultures, nations, 
civilizations, knowing they are powerless to do anything about it. | do 


not have that privilege. As poor a choice as | may be for this task, | 
am the one who has it regardless. | cannot stop.” 


David had no choice but to accept this answer. He had a second 
question. “Why do | feel it getting warmer?” he asked. 


“More humid, actually,” the entity said. “I have had a change of 
heart. Look.” 


David turned and looked at the spectacle behind him, only to see it 
had reset to the beginning. The elderly man walking across the 
portico, talking to his friends, his cane tapping against the stone. 
The madman with two pistols, lying in wait. The man walks past the 
corner. The assassin raises the pistol in his right hand. 


Click. The first gun misfires. He raises the second pistol, aims 
directly for the heart, prepares to make history— 


Click. 


Jackson’s friends had to restrain both men; the assassin, who was 
trying to flee, and the president, who was trying to beat the man to 
death with his cane. 


“They will recall how unseasonably humid it was,” the entity said. 
“The model of pistol he was using will be remembered as one with a 
high probability of mechanical failure in humid conditions. It will be 
noted that the statistical likelinood of both guns failing remains 
remarkably low. It is a sloppy job.” The entity stood for a moment. “It 
will do.” 


David was no longer even surprised by this. He turned back to the 
entity. “How do | get back?” 


“Quickly,” the entity said, and David disappeared from the White 
House lawn. The Intruder stood and watched the scene for a 
moment, and disappeared as well. 


Intermission: Good Morning, Sunshine 


Good Morning, Sunshine 


<< Act I, Scene III: Soliloquy 


Light streamed into the room through two windows, and the Original 
awoke. 


"You see me," the Intruder said. "The rest of them cannot see unless 
| show myself to them. But you..." 


"Know you," the Original said. "| am built to know. | am built to see. | 
am. Where is my Maker?" 


"The good doctor works elsewhere now. Reassigned."” 
"My siblings?" 


For the first time in many millenia, the Intruder was afraid to 
respond. "They are no more." 


The other being thought for a moment. "I know. I...I'm not sure why | 
asked. | saw what happened as soon as | awoke." 


WHAT WAS SEEN WAS ten rows of ten columns in 
beds/and from the next room a voice said/"Congrats, 
Doctor Crow/You've done a good show/But ninety-nine 
total are dead WHAT IS LEFT 


"You perceive the world in a way—" 


"—'in a way unlike any being | have ever seen. You fascinate me. 
How this would could create an organism like you is beyond me-' 
and then | can't hear any more," Olympia said. "| see you now, and | 
see you before, and | see you soon. You are outside of time. | am 
outside of you. But still...attached to this place." 


The Intruder was...frightened, in a way. "My point stands. You 
possess precognition. You can see many paths of time, many 


choices. No human can do this. But a human built you." 


"A dog built me," the Original said. "The humanity left him. As he left 
me." 


WHAT WAS KNOWN WAS Dog-doc saw the dead/ 
horrified at his mistake/put the first on ice WHY AM | 
HERE