Jessie exhaled slowly as her vision detached itself from linear 
temporality. Once again, she saw the end of the line. As the image 
of the Foundation’s symbol crept into her mind, she saw herself in a 
room, closed in, unable to move... 


...waiting... 
And happy. 


She did not understand. No matter how much she looked, she did 
not understand what experiencing that was like. 


“We have to be taken in by the Foundation,” Jessie said. 


“Yes,” the other said. “And we have to—we will—set the necessary 
events in motion to have that happen. In an hour, we have a talk 
with Carmen.” 


In the darkness, Jessie could hear the other’s breathing, and she 
could smell her own shampoo on the other’s hair. She was in the 
company of herself and could not be more content. 


“Erase my memory,” the other said. 


“What the fuck?” 


“This was cheating. Conversations with myself to learn more about 
myself are cheating. And that aside, it’s not even causally open, 
which basically means it’s bullshit,” the other said. “Just wipe the 
details. I'll remember to set the end into motion, but | don’t want to 
remember this conversation.” 


“What the fuck? I’m not going to wipe you! That’s so fucked up. | 
mean, / don’t want to be wiped, and if | wipe you then in my future I'll 
get wiped. No thanks.” 


“It'll be a game. Maybe one day, we'll figure out that you wiped me— 
because you're going to wipe me—” 


“—yeah, | know that | wipe you, but that doesn’t mean | can’t still be 
weirded out by it.” 


“—let me finish, Christ. I'll figure out that you wiped me—I wiped 
myself—and we can have a game to see if future me can undo past 
me’s—your—wipe. It’ll be fun.” 


Jessie rubbed her eyes. “Are we really doing this?” 
“Yeah. You know we don’t like cheating.” 


“_..fine,” Jessie said. “God, now | know why you were so moody 
when you first came here. You had to do this stupid thing, didn’t 
you?" 


“Well, | didn't understand then. But now | do.” 


Jessie rolled away from the other. “Man, go fuck yourself,” she said. 
After a moment’s pause, she said, "I’ve applied the wipe. It’s time- 
delayed. In ten seconds...” 


“So hurry up and go back,” the other said. “To have this 
conversation." 


“Yeah,” Jessie said. “Fine.” 


She disappeared. 


The other smiled. A few seconds later, her specific memory of the 
last ten minutes was destroyed. 


There were two steaming slices of pepperoni pizza on Jessie 
Moon’s dining room table. Jessie took small, careful nibbles out of 
one of them. The other one sat, alone in the darkness of the unlit 
room, across from her. 


Jessie took a sip of Sprite to wash down the taste of grease and 
cheese. She snapped her fingers, and an Italian woman 
materialized in the seat with the lonely pizza slice. 


“Hello, Carmen,” Jessie said. 


Carmen blinked a few times in surprise as her eyes adjusted to the 
darkness of the kitchen. “Sorry, uh...Jessie? Would you mind 
turning on the lights?” 


“Yeah, | would.” 
Carmen laughed. “Well, that’s fine. How are you doing, Jessie?” 
“| thought | had a designation.” 


“Mhm, you do. You’re SCP-Black Box. But you’re Jessie to me,” 
Carmen said. She took a large bite out of the pizza. In between 
mouthfuls, she said, “I mean, come on. |’m not going to dehumanize 
you when I’m a guest in your house.” 


Jessie sighed. “You do, however, fully intend on jailing me for life.” 


“Of course,” Carmen said. A wide, warm smile stretched across her 
face. "That’s a given. Thanks for the pizza, by the way.” 


The floor creaked as Carmen leaned back in her chair. “May |?” she 
asked, reaching for the Sprite bottle. 


“Go ahead.” 


“Thanks.” Carmen grabbed a plastic cup, filled it with Sprite, and 
began to drink. Jessie stared at her in silence until she finished with 


a sigh. 


“So,” Carmen said, putting the cup down. “You called because you 
wanted to tell me something, so that | could relay that to the O5s, so 
that events pan out in a way you want them to. I’m afraid | can’t 
quite tell what that way is, but, nonetheless—* 


“Carmen,” Jessie said. “Carmen, listen. The Alpha-1 ‘I know things 
that you haven't told me’ shtick is a lot less impressive to people like 
me.” 


“I’m not trying to impress, Jessie.” 


Jessie rolled her eyes. This conversation should have been finished 
in thirty seconds. Until this moment, Jessie had not been entirely 
certain if she was still capable of hate. Carmen was at least useful 
enough to rekindle those emotions. 


“The hypocrisy of the Foundation astounds me. You guys in the Red 
Right Hand hop yourselves up on fucking HALMAS, which is 
definitely anomalous—” 


Carmen laughed. “Memetoamnestics is a perfectly legitimate 
scientific discipline, Jessie,” she said. 


“Okay, we’re not talking about this anymore.” 


“You're the omniscient one, Jessie, you tell me what we do and 
don’t do.” 


The first time she had brought Carmen in for a conversation, the 
woman had only been surprised for a second before regaining 
composure. She freely admitted to being of the Foundation’s Red 
Right Hand and openly stated her intention to conduct surveillance. 
It was infuriating. 


Jessie thought to herself that Carmen was wrong in trying to justify 
the Foundation. The Foundation was the Foundation; nowhere was 
there any guarantee that it had to remain internally consistent. She 
thought this, but she did not say it. 


“On May 10th, 2016, Seattle becomes temporally corrupted,” she 


Description: SCP-601 is a group of 12 adult humans of varying 
age, gender, and ethnicity. The constituent members of SCP-601 
perform all actions and bodily functions in unison inasmuch as is 
physically and anatomically possible, with no more than 0.15 
seconds of delay between any two members of the collective. The 
source of this synchronization is unclear; no means of relaying 
nervous system responses between the twelve components of 
SCP-601 has been observed. Moreover, fMRI and EEG readings of 
SCP-601-01 through SCP-601-12 suggest zero brain function 
despite continued (and synchronous) operation of all other organ 
systems. Proximity appears to be a significant factor in this regard: if 
any member of SCP-601 is taken farther than 5 meters from the 
current center of SCP-601, it ceases to be a member of SCP-601 
and immediately responds to the effects of total brain death as is 
typical for a human body. As SCP-601 will typically orient 
themselves to occupy the smallest space possible for a given 
activity, such events are rare. 


Although the actions taken by members of SCP-601 are generally 
identical, small variations may occur to facilitate successful 
navigation or manipulation of an environment. This behavior is most 
conspicuous while SCP-601 is walking; small variations in stride 
length and turning radius allow each component of SCP-601 to 
arrive at a separate sink, bed, seat, etc. as needed. 


SCP-601 speaks aloud at all times regardless of activity, pausing 
only to inhale, sleep, eat, or drink. The content of SCP-601's speech 
varies, but typically resembles a dramatic narration of any event 
taking place within 4 kilometers of the current center of SCP-601. 
The language used in this speech varies, and may change at most 
once every 76 hours. Virtually all known and several unknown 
languages have been used by SCP-601, including dialects dated as 
early as the fifth century BCE. 


In the event that any of the 12 members of SCP-601 expire or 
become permanently incapacitated for any reason, the remaining 
members of SCP-601 will enter an agitated state and actively seek 
out the nearest able-bodied human (henceforth ‘the subject’). 
SCP-601 will physically restrain the subject with their right hands 
while placing their left hands on the subject's head, brain stem, solar 


said. “It’s a betrayal by Sedna Prewitt, Director of Site 76. She 
defects to the Chaos Insurgency.” 


Carmen whistled. “Wow. Heavy stuff. Are you going to move out 
before that happens?” 


“| think Ill stay.” 
“Why are you doing this?” 


“Because if you sufficiently prepare for Seattle’s corruption, which 
you will, a certain chain of events which | will not divulge eventually 
ends in my capture by the Foundation. Which is my ultimate goal.” 


“Really,” Carmen said. She raised an eyebrow. “If that’s the ultimate 
goal, why don’t you just come with me?” 


“Because | don’t want to go into containment,” Jessie said. “The 
universe, by and large, does not paradox itself into incoherency. | 
don’t do things that | don’t want to do because causality says so. 
Maybe the idea of causality makes me want to do something, but 
that’s not the case this time. All | want to do is experience my life, 
and an intrinsic part of my life involves being contained by the 
Foundation.” 


Carmen laughed. “Oh, okay. Any more information? Specifics?” 
“Just...prepare. You have six months. And you don’t stop Prewitt.” 
“Of course, Jessie. I’m not an idiot.” 


Jessie sighed. “Carmen, why do our talks always have to devolve 
into petty, passive-aggressive arguments? Look, |...I like people. | 
like friends. | wonder, sometimes, what it would be like to be friends 
with you, and | think it would be kind of nice.” 


A vague feeling of satisfaction settled inside Jessie when she saw 
the smile on Carmen’s face waver. She blinked once, and then her 
expression was radiant again. 


“| don’t know you, Jessie. | don’t understand you. Let alone being 
friends with you...| told you earlier what I’m supposed to do to what | 


don’t understand.” 
Jessie and Carmen sat in silence for a while more. 


“All right, fine,” Jessie said. “Go tell the O5s. Have fun. Don’t let the 
Foundation fall." 


“The Foundation will never fall. You know that.” 
“| thought | was the omniscient one.” 


“| have some vision of my own, Jessie. Why do you think the Red 
Right Hand is so loyal to the Foundation after what they’ve done to 
us? We ‘hopped up’ on HALMAS, we read between the lines of the 
universe, and we picked the winning side. The Foundation is a 
universal, immortal constant." 


“Go home, Carmen.” 
“Good night, Jessie. Thanks again for the food.” 


The door creaked shut behind Carmen, and peace was restored to 
Jessie Moon’s tiny suburban Seattle house. 


Jessie walked out of her dining room and back into her bedroom. 
She peeked through the blinds and let moonlight cast her face into 
shadow. The moon overwhelmed her and her anger at Carmen with 
its indifference. 


A thrill rushed through her body. It was like the thrill of the illusion of 
choice. Changing what would happen—what she knew would 
happen—was impossible. But now, she was living through those 
events—feeling the river of time run over her skin—and wasn’t that 
exhilarating? Through being, she had all the power in the world. 


Jessie flopped onto her bed. Her eyes were already growing 
adjusted to the faint moonlight. She stretched her arms and legs out 
and felt her body settle into itself. A long sigh escaped her lips. 


“Carmen is Carmen and you are you,” Jessie said. “Carmen is that 
she is Carmen. And she...even she...is beautiful in that way and in 
herself.” 


She would be the humble god. 
Slowly, Jessie drifted to sleep. 


« CAV-003 | CAVALCADE | CAv-005 » 


Stuck 


Thaddeus Xyank had spent the last thirty minutes reading up on the 
theory behind Type B XACTS and studying the blueprints. Once in a 
while he'd silently shaken his head, and there'd been muttering 
aplenty, but overall he was pleased with the work he hadn't done 
yet. He had resolved to not put that memetic trigger in. He knew it 
was pointless, because he would and he had, but he felt it was 
important to at least stand up to yourself sometimes. 


When dealing with temporal anomalies on a professional level, at 
some point you just stopped trying to wrap your head around it, and 
started accepting things that made no sense whatsoever. Mostly 
because you felt they were probably going to make sense at some 
point in the future. 


"| have no idea why all nine of them got activated at the same time, 
Dr. Xyank. From what | can see, 00315-XK-001 only calls for three 
of them to be active at any one time." 


Simone van Oldenburg, one of his most gifted field engineers, 
squinted as she tried to make sense of the log she was reading. At 
only 24, she'd managed to become one of the Foundation's experts 
on Temporal Distortion Mechanics, second only to Xyank. Well, if 
she was completely honest, she had to admit Attie Anastasakos 
could kick her ass at temporal trivia too. She didn't like to admit it 
though, especially not to herself. 


"| don't even know why these things were installed around Seattle in 
the first place," Simone muttered, "They're not even a thing yet." 


Thaddeus pursed his lips. "Actually, they will be and they are. And 
they're not. I'll bring you up to speed in a moment. But you're right, 
three of these Type B XACTS should have activated. Nine of them 
did. And that...presents us with a bit of a problem." 


Simone made a sound that held the middle ground between a sigh 


and a cough. "! would say so, yes. I'd hate to be in there right now. 
just hope we find a way to disable six of these babies without..." 


Thaddeus finished the sentence for her: "...removing the city of 
Seattle from existence." 


The two of them stared silently at the continually shifting skyline in 
the distance. They watched the Space Needle flicker in and out of 
existence as one XACTS-induced temporal stasis field fought for 
control with the other two. It was going to be a long day. 


George Alan Gimbell had a lot on his plate. The 57-year-old 
business man had started the day fighting with his wife over the 
ever-growing stack of bills and the ever-dwindling amount of money 
coming in. Then, just as he'd gotten up to go have lunch, a call had 
come through from his distributor; they were filing for bankruptcy 
and that left Gimbell's Feline Fashion in a lurch. And to top all of that 
off, he was now trying to keep a straight head as the deli he was in 
seemed to simultaneously be a barbershop, some sort of futuristic 
oil refinery or something, and just that: the deli where he'd taken his 
lunch for the last seven years. 


His last coherent memory was of trying to shut the world out as he 
took a bite of his freshly made BLT on rye. And then suddenly there 
were so many things at once. It was like someone had triple- 
exposed a roll of film, with the images continually fighting for 
dominance. The BLT had lost all taste, and George dropped it to the 
floor. 


He breathed heavily and tried to remember his own name, but it 
refused to come to him, even when he took out his driver's license. 
The man staring back at him did not ring any bells, and he panicked. 
Looking around for help from those around him, George found out it 
wasn't just him. 


The young man behind the counter was slumped over the espresso 
machine, a glassy look in his eyes. He was mouthing something, but 
George couldn't make out what it was. To his left was a group of 
college students, their laptops still open on the table. The kids 
themselves were spread on the floor, having flopped from their seats 


only moments before. They looked like goldfish removed from their 
bowl, their mouths opening and closing without sound. 


George couldn't look at them for too long; he couldn't look at 
anything too long. Whatever he focused on tried to inform him that it 
wasn't there. And then it was. And then it wasn't. Or might be, who 
knew. 


He closed his eyes and got up. His senses were telling him he was 
standing on tiles, and smooth, poured concrete, and wood flooring. 
The stimuli were confusing on so many levels that he could feel his 
mind trying to shut down, as if it was opting for a coma instead of 
being subjected to this mockery of reality.