It came to him one evening as though from a dream. SCP-1950 was 
the same as SCP-176, but the field was too powerful, and the loop 
was still open. SCP-281, 1979, 119, and 1859 all stemmed from the 
same basic anomaly, with different dilation and constraints. There 
were patterns in these anomalies. Even weird ones like 982 and 
1309. The tachyon field model could accommodate them all, and 
some even made his ‘event boundary’ hypothesis look less like 
desperation and more like a legitimate explanation. 


And that was when a time before whispered in his ear, and 
reminded him of Item # SCP-084. 


“Initiating transmission... For the experimental record: we'll be using 
video from the Ed Sullivan show at 1.28 GHz, and live-feeds from 
FM 89.3, 99.9 and 107.1 MHz, and AM 545, 890, and 1240 kHz,” 
Attie said, fingers storming across the keypad before her. “The 
signal will be broadcast at power of 10 watts, and should keep our 
area of effect under 2 m in radius.” 


“Outstanding.” 


They were calling it ‘the Static Tower’, probably because 
‘Temporospatial mind-fuck’ had already been taken. Documentation 


SCP-745: The Headlights 


Item #: SCP-745 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-745's point of origin has 
been traced to an abandoned stretch of Highway _ in northern New 
Mexico. The Foundation has purchased the surrounding land and 
the highway has been redirected. On-site security are disguised as 
Highway Patrol agents and are tasked with removing trespassers 
and capturing any new hunting pairs of SCP-745. Any SCP-745 
creatures that are captured, live or dead, are to be loaded into class 
3 BCU storage containers to await transport to Site 17. Containment 
procedures to preserve living specimens of SCP-745 are still being 
researched and no captured specimen has survived more than a 
week in captivity, but as there have been no new sightings of 
SCP-745 outside of its point of origin the species is presumed to be 
effectively contained. Requests for access to SCP-745 cadavers are 
to be forwarded to Dr. Langford directly. 


Description: SCP-745 is a bipedal nocturnal predator. The head is 
a bloated sack of clear skin that lacks visible sensory organs or a 
skull. The brain of the creature can be directly observed and is 
wrapped in a web of bio-luminescent organs below the skin. Skin 
covering the rest of the body has a deep black coloration. Living 
specimens of SCP-745 are capable of producing a steady output of 
1400 to 3200 lumens from their head. At night, this effectively 
obscures the rest of the body and gives the appearance of a floating 
point of light. When defending itself or communicating with other 
members of its species, this light has been observed to change color 
and flash in specific patterns. SCP-745's genetic structure is not 
carbon based. 


SCP-745 almost exclusively hunts in pairs along remote sections of 
highway. Two specimens are capable of moving at speeds of up to 
180 km per hour in perfect unison, taking the appearance of the 


back home had clearly labeled 084 as a temporal anomaly in its own 
right. But whether through clerical negligence or prevailing attitudes 
of a different nature, the Foundation of 1997 had labeled it a 
‘radioactive space-time anomaly’. Not /ncorrect, but not the most 
descriptive interpretation. One look at the ‘flicker’ phenomenon and 
it was obvious. The spatial distortion was a result, most of all, of the 
temporal distortion around the tower. And why, among all other 
temporal anomalies, did 084 alone exhibit this odd spatial reflection 
and scattering? Because the tower was pumping out a thronging 
mass of EM radiation at nearly 100 watts. All of it, every last 
nanosecond could be explained without the need of anything so 
vulgar as a temporal paradox. Paradoxes don’t exist in nature. 


Hypothesis: tachyon fields can be manipulated with powerful radio 
signals. Procedure: hook up a known tachyon emitter to a 
transmitter. Transmit from it on multiple frequencies and see if you 
get something like 084. 


At least, that’s how it looked on paper. Maybe it was a risk to try 
reproducing it in a lab. Strike that, it was absolutely a risk. But 
without risk, there is no gain. And if Xyank could break time so 
thoroughly, and put it back when he was done, that meant he 
understood time. It meant he understood time travel. It meant it was 
only a matter of a few (relatively) safe experiments to find a system 
to predict travel frequencies from now to anywhen. 


It meant he could finally go home. 
“Begin transmission, if you would please.” 


Several oscillating waves overlaid one another on the screen above, 
and Marcus Kitterman let out a whistle at what to him appeared to 
be a gibbering line of chaos. “Radiation is still steady, thank god.” 


“Good,” Xyank said, brushing some silvering hair back away from 
his face. “I’m going to try turning 281 back on. Mr. Kitterman, let’s 
see about film capture on my mark.” 


Marcus opened his mouth to let out one final objection, but thought 
better of it. Jr. Researcher versus tenured Doc. That would be a 
really short conversation anyway. “Ready.” 


What was that saying? Something about finishing what you start, 
he'd think of it later. “...Mark.” 


No sharp spark. Nothing, actually. An eerie silence as everything in 
the bubble seemed to freeze for a second, and fitfully start forward. 
And back... 


“Holy...” Kitterman said softly. Ants fluttered in clumps and trails and 
over houses. Cars leapt willy nilly upon their tracks. Lights flickered. 
The film from the cameras inside ran back and forth and was 
useless. “...We did it.” 


“Save it. We aren't finished yet.” Xyank flipped a switch and took 
hold of a small joystick. “Commencing drop test one.” 


084 produces a spatial anomaly around itself such that no object 
can approach within 200 m of the tower; it is surrounded by infinite 
space. If this was an accurate scale representation before him now, 
the ball in the basket directly above it should fall forever, never 
growing closer to its target than two meters. 


It wasn't. The ball fell straight and true. And at the same time the 
‘anomalies’ they had all witnessed stopped happening wholesale. 


“Ms. Anastasakos?” 
“We're still transmitting,” she replied, disbelieving. 


“Mr. Kitterman!” 


“Radiation level in there is still consistent with an active field,” he 
shrugged. “But | don't see anything that would lead me to believe 
there's a distortion present. Film is even coming through now.” 


Fuck! What had he missed? It wasn't supposed to go like this. “The 
model said...” Models are only as good as the math behind them. 
So what about this math? Had it been perfect? Had he fat-fingered a 
digit somewhere? Floated a decimal? Forgotten to carry a one? 
“Stay here, I'll be right back.” 


“Uhh...” Researcher Anastasakos began to ask. 


“Run a few more trials. If I'm not back in twenty minutes exactly, turn 
it off.” 


“Yes, sir.” 


Double doors out of the observation room, down a quick hallway to 
the end where his office and his whiteboards and his notes were. 


Damnit it looked so clear, and now it didn't work at all. Had he been 
too conservative with the interference pattern? Was the signal 
strong enough? Equations flowed past his vision as he jogged, 
second guessing and wondering and hypothesizing and desperately 
trying to find his answer. 


“Alright,” Thad; said, wiping some sweat from his brow. 
“.. Everyone listen up, because-” the door opened and 
Thaddeus Xyankg stepped inside, closing the door 
behind him before even looking up. Xyank; cleared his 
throat. The newcomer stopped dead, looked up to a sea 
of hisg own face looking back at him, and sank 
dumbstruck to a perch on a shelf by the door. “...As | 
was saying,” One continued. “I don't even have time to 
explain this once.” 


“Based on what we are all experiencing, our 084 
experiment was 

was 

was 

was arguably a success.” The whole room winced in 
unison. Thads 1 2 and 3 wiped blood from their ears and 
swore and cursed the day they ever had this half-cocked 
idea. 


“| thought it wasn't supposed to hurt!,” he, hollered, 
pressing his temples together and stamping his feet. 


“Electrical components,” the Doctore snipped curtly, and 
tapped himself on the temple. 


“Stop! Just move past it,” Xyank; said, eyes plastered 
shut. A two second beat to collect himself and put his 


glasses back on. “The point is, we seem to have initiated 
some kind of temporal isolation event. An open infinite 
loop.” 


“So,” Thadg asked timidly, “it... It actually worked?” 


“Oh yeah,” Thaddeus, smirked, watching the clock on 
the wall advance and fall back and advance and fall back 
as causality wobbled all around him. “It worked.” 


“And we're sure it's not a multiverse event?” Six said, still 
blinking in a bit of shock. 


Two scratched at his nose and pulled his lips tight. 
“Employee ID numbers anyone?” 


“0927-7182-3740-0918,” said all in unison. 


“Paradox,” Thads said, head hitting his desk. “God. 
Dammit.” 


“Okay, good.” Three stood up and tapped himself 
tapped himself 

tapped himself 

tapped himself a cup of water which he immediately 
dropped when another brief ripple of spasm leapt across 
the room. Xyankg3 hit the water cooler with the heel of his 
palm and it bubbled its unconscious reply. Enviable, 
these inanimate objects. Especially at a no-time like this. 
“If it's a paradox, there's got to be a way to resolve it, 
right? Paradoxes don't exist in nature!” 


“I'm getting to that,” Sub-1 said, and started drawing a 
diagram on the board. “Say this is the world line, like a 
river, flowing from past to future. What we did was take a 
bubble”(here he drew a small oval on the side of the line) 
“and replicated it at regular intervals all over the 
surrounding space.” 


“How far?” Five asked. 


“At least twenty, probably more.” Dr. Xyanko replied, 


arms crossed as he followed along. Six whistled and let 
his head bounce off of the cabinet. How much had heg 
missed? 

“One of these bubbles just so happened to land right 
here on this room. Something about how the other 281 
bubbles are interacting with this one is causing us to, at 
regular intervalsslavretni raluger ta ,ot su gniing us to, at 
regular intervals...” Thaddeus Xyank; braced his arms 
on the desk and bowed his head, two drops of red hitting 
the table and jumping back up his nose. That one hadn't 
been so bad. “...Every so often we run into the external 
world line and another one of me—or all of you, even— 
walks through the door.” 


“Has anyone tried leaving?”g 


The second most haggard looking member of the party 
shook his head. “That's how | got here.” Thaddeus; and 
Xyankog tightened their lips and nodded together. “Not 
going to work.” 


“But!” four jumped up. “We might be able to keep it from 
getting any worse if we keep the next iteration from 
entering YES!” He4 clapped in excitement. “BRILLIANT! 
He can even go turn it off, and then it'll be over!” 


“For whom?” Three asked solemnly. 


And he was right. There were two possible outcomes to 
this scenario: Void and Eternity. There would be no 
‘escape’, at least not for these assembled. 084 creates 
infinite space and infinite time within its boundary. Even if 
they turned the device off, and even if the anomaly 
subsided from an exterior perspective, and even if they 
could actually prevent Lucky Number Seven from 
passing over the threshold into this little pocket they had 
created for themselves, it would not be over. 


Infinite loop. 
Infinite loop. 
Infinite loop... Thaddeus let it sink in for a moment, 


making sure he all understood. 
“So... So we just die here? Is that it?” Six asked. 


“If we’re lucky.” Thado said, pulling off his glasses and 
rubbing the bridge of his nose. 


The handle of the door began to rattle. All twelve eyes 
locked upon it as their owners froze in place. 


“...Should we rehearse something?”5 


“There isn't time,” Xyank; answered. “Once that rattle 
starts we have thirty seconds to two minutes 
subjectively... It's hard to tell when you're just talking to 
yourself all the time.” 


It felt good to chuckle, for all of them. The damned must 
also laugh. But the moment was not destined to linger. 
The latch began to slip and unslip and slip and unsilip. 


Sub-two, nodded and grabbed up the just-in-case 
shotgun from its place behind his filing cabinet. “Still. We 
have to try, don't we?” The others silently agreed. 


“Pay close attention to what you say,” the Doctor, 
warned as he picked up a marker and began to write. 
“I'm going to see if | can't figure a way out of this... shit- 
fest.” 


He was so absorbed, that when he laid hands on his door and 
opened it, it took the open barrel of a very familiar Remington 870 in 
his face, and what looked an awful lot like a rifled slug at the back of 
it to snap him out of his mathematical haze. 


“Well, that’s one way to do it,” Thad heard his own voice say, but 
was sure he didn’t speak. 


“Step back, Dr. Xyank. Step back across that threshold right now.” 


Eyes never leaving the front-sight, he complied. Switching focus he 
beheld a visage not unlike his own. A little older. More worn. Blood 


was slowly trickling from all of their ears and noses, and their 
sleeves were all covered in smudges where they had wiped it away. 
Six of them. The whiteboard had been erased and rewritten, and 
erased again, and as he watched, the figure standing at it unwrote a 
line and re-wrote it, pausing only to press his temples and groan 
before moving on to the next. Before him, the stranger version of 
himself grew stubble and lost it, and a tiny red rivulet ran forwards 
and back, up and down his neck as desperate, pained eyes fixed on 
him. 


“What you are experiencing,” The Xyank behind the shotgun said as 
four other injured selves looked on, “is some kind of temporal 
decohesion event. We haven't figured out how to stop it yet, or even 
if it can be stopped from in here. But we can keep more of you from 
coming in here with a little timing.” 


“| don’t—” 


“Understand?” one over the gunman’s shoulder said sarcastically. 
“No shit. Neither do we, and who knows how long You Prime over 
there at the board has been in here.” Without turning, the man at the 
board grunted and continued writing. Dr. Xyank did his best to take a 
photo of his work, but the pain at the back of his neck said 
something had gone amiss inside. 


“But—” 


“You are number 7. We are numbers 1 through 6. But you are also 
number 0. And that means you have to stay out there while we 
puzzle it out in here.” 


“ _.the model?” 


One of the copies in the rear threw his arms in the air and suddenly 
stifled himself. “...Decimal error. You were off by a whole order of 
magnitude. Congratulations, you just ended time as we know it over 
a radius of twenty goddamn meters.” 


The man behind the shotgun nodded, shoving the barrel into Thad’s 
chest and thrusting him back out into the hallway. “Now get back out 
there and turn it off before you break this whole site!” 


“But what about—!” 


The office door slammed closed and locked. No further answers 
would come, even when he beat against the door until his knuckles 
cracked open. Not a sound save the steady atonal rhythm of 
frustrated failure against the door of his own mausoleum. It did not 
echo down the hall. 


“...Jesus Christ he's been gone a long time,” Marcus mumbled as 
he pressed the button and watched another ball fall directly into the 
center of the model. There was a pile forming now, building up 
slowly around their little transmitter. “How long has it been anyway?”