Item#: 7316

Level2

Containment Class:
pending

Secondary Class:
none

Disruption Class:
dark

Risk Class:
notice

link to memo

Special Containment Procedures: The file containing SCP-7316 is to remain undisturbed at the present time, pending relocation decisions from the O5 Council. Under no circumstances are Foundation personnel allowed to experiment with the concepts of quantum immortality and the Many Worlds theory, unless explicitly assigned to such research.
Description: SCP-7316 designates a singular file, uploaded to the SCiPnet directory at exactly 00:00 on July 25th, 2022. The file is, at time of posting, compatible with the SCiPnet directory and takes the form of a standard SCP entry, though using Foundation classification techniques which began to be phased out in the mid 1960s. SCP-7316 contains, in addition to the standard entry, hidden text and video components which have been extracted. GPS signatures found in the document indicate this file originated from a Foundation safehouse/nuclear weapons storage facility located in Acadia National Park, Maine. This safehouse, after investigation, has been deemed abandoned since 1943. After its initial posting, the contents of SCP-7316 have been locked on order of the Overseer Council.

BY ORDER OF THE OVERSEER COUNCIL
The following file is Level 5/7316 classified. Unauthorized access is forbidden.

Any attempt to access this file will be tracked.

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Welcome, O5-6.
Notice: Researcher Andrew Dillon was recorded as: [AWOL] in [1955].
Mobile Task Force Beta-7 is currently en route to [Mount Desert Island].
SCP-7316 files are currently: Available.

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Item #: SCP-7316
Object Class: Keter
Special Containment Procedures: As SCP-7316 is a result of multiversal interactions, the only feasible method of containing SCP-7316 is a complete disconnect of our universe from all others. This can be accomplished through use of a Universal Exclusion Device. When activated, this device will first broadcast a copy of the SCP-7316 file to all SCP Foundation databases, and then remove the affected universe from all interactions with other, adjacent universes.
Description: SCP-7316 designates the concept of "quantum immortality," which is the theory that consciousness persists through many alternative universes. For example, should one die in an accident in one universe, their consciousness would be moved to a universe in which they had survived this accident. This theory posits that the human consciousness is functionally immortal from its own perspective, though not the perspective of others.
While Foundation research into this perspective has been ongoing, it is worth noting that no Foundation experiment has been proposed thus far which has officially proven the concrete transfer between worlds via death. The fact that the phenomenon can only be observed by the test subject results in the procedure of the containment project being assigned only one researcher. Foundation universal transfer meters have determined fluctuating transfer readings among personnel, even those who have not undergone voluntary universal transfers, but the reason for these events is still under investigation.
Since the discovery of SCP-7316, Project Janus has been initialized to provide permanent containment via the usage of a Universal Exclusion Device, under sole directorship of Andrew Dillon.

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Entry 001: 01/24/55
Managed to secure two weeks of vacation. Foundation's always been tough about time off, but I have enough here to figure out the truth. Too many close calls in the past, things I survived but definitely should not have. I have a theory, though. Some folks outside of the exclusionary sites got real weird with death, cycling between death, life, and whatever is in between like some kind of Schrodinger's cat. Something to do with probability and shifting, at least from what I overheard. Probability isn't enough to account for what I've been through, or at least I don't believe it is. I'm going to push probability to its limits.
Either way, I'm glad the computer system's still running. The keycard I stole to get in here worked too. Lucky me. It's time to find out the truth. All I need now is a neutron detector.
Signing off, Andrew Dillon.

Video file 001: 1/29/55
Warhead Hall Camera
14:58
[ANNOTATED]
Andrew Dillon is seen pacing circles around a modified Alpha Warhead. The detonation system appears to have been modified, with an unidentified component, likely a neutron detector, attached to the trigger mechanism.
A few seconds later, the component buzzes, and Dillon looks at his watch. After a few seconds, Dillon looks down at his hands, and appears confused.
The footage continues in a similar pattern for approximately 40 minutes, with each buzz occurring exactly one minute apart.
Footage ends.

Entry 002: 1/30/55
My God. I don't exactly know what I was expecting, but not…that. 24 hours in the chamber, with a nuclear weapon set to detonate with a 50% chance every minute? Do you know the odds of that just happening? Do you know what this means? It means I proved it! I've proved quantum immortality! I knew the incident back in '45 was too good to be true. Nobody's that lucky, but if I understand this correctly, my consciouness simply shifted to a universe where I did survive. I guess after that was when I started to question if it was all just luck, or perhaps something more.
I suppose I should explain the concept for anyone reading this. In a million different universes, I was incinerated in that chamber when that warhead went off. But, due to the interconnectedness of consciousness, when "I" died in that chamber, I was transported to a universe where I didn't, so I could keep on existing! Therefore, I was transported to a universe where the nuke never went off at all.
This means this sort of immortality is an inherent property to the universe. To the person reading this, do you remember when you almost stepped in front of a car, or any other moment where you might have died, but didn't due to 'sheer luck?' In reality, you did die, but your consciouness moved to another universe where you did not. I did not create it, rather we have lived with it for the entirety of our history. Each person is condemned to spend a life of immortality in a single universe, becoming more improbable with each second they continue to live. Improbable, yes, but not impossible.
Time to break out the champagne tonight. An academic discovery for the ages, to be sure.
Signing off, Andrew Dillon

Entry 003: 2/02/55
I can't go back there. This is my life now. They'll know what I did, they'll have me tortured, probed, and dissected once they find out what I've done. They'll know everything.
I tried something yesterday. I needed to see if it would work, and… I guess I got carried away. I guess I figured, if it works, won't need to worry about it anymore. If it doesn't… then I'll know the predicament I'm in. Took a piece of the champagne bottle, and ran it across my wrists. Hurt like hell, and I passed out shortly afterwards. Woke up again in a pool of my own blood. Humans contain a lot more blood than you think. I don't like this. I don't think I want to be immortal, but I don't think I have a choice.
I don't want to think about what they'll do when they find out what I've been up to.
Signing off, Andrew Dillon

Audio Log 001: 2/24/55
Dillon is heard coughing into the microphone for approximately 14 seconds before speaking. Coughs sound ragged, indicating lung damage.
Andrew Dillon: It's, uhm, it's been three weeks since I first tried to, tried to kill myself. I'm still alive. As you can tell, since you're listening to this.
Haha.
Got the computer system online. Ancient thing, but oddly advanced for the site. Contained some of the tech the boys told me about back at the exclusionary sites, something about measuring universal changes. I don't have the clearance to get into the monitors but I can pull just enough out of the stored data to get some blueprints generated. The reason I mention this is because as soon as it turned on, it spat some gas into the room and I got a nice mouthful. Not enough to kill me, but I suspect that's the case for everything right now. Either way, it's under control and I've got a handle on it.
Anyways.
In all likelihood, you're listening to this and I died right after hitting "end recording" because that's just how this bitch of a multiverse works, I guess. Maybe not for too much longer, though. SCP-7316- Yes, I've designated this as SCP-7316. It'll be a long while until the folks back at the Foundation proper fill this one out, and me being a deserter, it would be best to not return until I have a viable finished product on my hands.
As if they'll ever take me back.
Either way, I need to fix this problem. And I think I've got the solution. It's obvious I can't die here until I manage to contain this… anomaly. But how do you contain something that permeates the entire multiverse? I guess you'd have to contain your own universe from all others. Sort of like the exclusionary sites I used to work in. Something like that, but on a universal scale, to separate my universe from all the others. Only then, would I be allowed to die in peace.
I start work tomorrow.
Margot? I'll be with you soon.
Signing off, Andrew Dillon.
Audio continues for approximately 26 seconds. Papers shuffling and buzzing noises are heard in the background.

Entry 076: 6/18/64
I haven't been keeping up with my journaling lately. Haven't seen the point. It's enough to have to leave this place and scrounge for supplies nearly every week. On the bright side, I think the Foundation has given up looking for me, probably assumed I was killed by some anomaly or lost outside an exclusionary site. Happens often enough they won't think twice.
I've been busy lately, as much as one can be in situations like these. Only so many parts one can scavenge from nuclear warheads. The rest I've got to pull from local sources, and I can't stay topside for too long, or else someone will see me.
But I have figured out what I need to do. My purpose, my salvation, has revealed itself. This was an idea kicked around by some of the more tech-savvy folks at the exclusionary sites, something of a multiversal wire-cutter. They called it a Universal Exclusion Device. From what I'm able to piece together from this blueprint, the machine will disconnect this universe, and only this one, from the interconnected multiverse via directed energy pulses to various multiversal 'anchors.'
What the computer tells me, when this thing activates, it's going to eat a lot of power, and it's going to make a lot of light and noise. But when it's done, nothing will change from our point of view. However, when I die, I won't go to a new body in a new universe and just keep living. I will finally go to the afterlife, and be reunited with you.
I'm going to be honest, I have genuinely no idea how this thing works on the technical side, nor do I really want to. I just need to trust that it does, and that I can finally contain this once and for all. For us. Oh, how I miss us.
Signing off, Andrew Dillon

Video File 045: 4/02/69
Testing Chamber
17:04
[ANNOTATED]
Footage of Andrew Dillon interacting with a large device, cube sized and approximately 0.4 meters in length, is shown. Dillon is wearing grease-stained clothing and appears to be in signficant distress.
Andrew Dillon: Computer, can you shine some light over here?
A spotlight is directed opposite Dillon to illuminate his workspace.
Andrew Dillon: Thanks. Appreciate it.
Dillon continues working with the machine for approximately four minutes, during which occasional grunts and sounds of distress can be heard. After four minutes, the wrench he is holding drops to the floor.
Andrew Dillon: Fuck!
Footage cuts.

Medical Report: 4/19/69
Certified Automated Medical Report of:
[Andrew J. Dillon]

Vital Signs: Normal
Heart Rate: Slightly elevated, investigate further.
General Health: Mild radiation exposure detected, investigate further.

Diagnostics: Poor performance in spatial awareness and memory recollection skills indicate radiation induced early-stage dementia.
Current Treatment: None.

Entry 084: 11/17/72
Can't pull up the audio logs anymore. I forgot the password. More difficult to remember certain things lately. Can't remember where to find salvage, food, but I can still work the machines.
I feel sick. It's as if this machine is the only thing keeping me alive right now, but I know that's not the case. The machine is going to be what finally lets me die. But I'm tired. I'm so, so tired.
I'm going to go to bed.
Signing off, Andrew Dillon.

Entry 089: 12/05/72
Dear Margot,
I know you probably can't read this, but I figured I'd type it out anyway. Maybe it's selfish, but I think it would help. It's been 45 years since we married, and 30 since I lost you. They told me the pain would go away, I'd find someone new, I would go on living just as I had before, but they were wrong.
I've missed you every day since the day I woke up and you were no longer by my side. Anniversaries are never easy. I still remember the song they played for us that day. I remember holding your waist, looking into your eyes, and thinking how I would never want anybody but you ever again. I was right that day, more right than I ever could have imagined. At that moment, I was convinced that nothing could separate us, no force of man or God. I suppose I was too confident. Till death do us part, I suppose.
"I don't want to set the world on fire, I just want to start a flame in your heart."
My dear, my love, forgive me. I may set the world on fire, just to see you again.

Video File 063: 2/21/73
Manufacturing Room
14:45
[ANNOTATED]
Andrew Dillon, at this point confined to a wheelchair, is seen holding a mass of diagnostic cables, near a much more advanced version of the machine seen in previous video logs.
The machine is now approximately two cubic meters in volume, most of which is occupied by a toroidal structure in the center. Dillon seems confused by the presence and the purpose of the diagnostic cables. After a few minutes of holding the cables, Dillon exhibits signs of significant agitation, culminating in him throwing the cables to the floor and leaving the frame of the video.
The manufacturing room remains empty for approximately 14 minutes, after which point a small drone enters the chamber and begins to assemble the diagnostic cable in the proper ports.
Dillon enters the frame 12 minutes later. He appears to look for the diagnostic cable, and is noted as looking confused and crestfallen when he cannot find the cable.
Dillon leaves the room after a few minutes. Footage ends.

Entry 090: 12/25/74
It's cold down here in this bunker. Not so bad, being underground and all, but it could be better. Maybe I've just been getting colder lately. I forgot it was Christmas Day until a few minutes ago, seeing the calendar. How could I forget that? No matter.
I remember my first Christmas. I can hardly remember anything else from my childhood. When I sing the carols, though, I can remember. It was 1906, I was eight years old. I sat with my cousins, singing carols by the fire. It felt warm on my skin. Relaxing. I haven't felt that warmth in a long time, just cold on the surface of my skin, cold down to the bone.
I know I'm getting older. No use in trying to hide it. It's difficult to tell, usually, but when I sing the carols to myself, or the songs Margot and I used to sing together, I can see what I'm losing.
Oh, Margot. I try and pretend I write this log for me, but I know. I know I won't read this again, I know I write this for you.
I don't want to forget you. I don't want to lose you, your memory, to this bleak, forgetful existence I'm trapped in by this godforsaken multiverse. I need to isolate, and finally get to see you.
The machine is almost complete. I'll be able to see you soon.

Video File 068: 5/03/76
Living Quarters
22:24
[ANNOTATED]
Andrew Dillon is seen entering his living quarters. He approaches his bedside table, upon which he rests his glasses. He appears to attempt to lift himself on his bed, but a combination of the sheets slipping and his arm giving out under the strain result in Dillon falling out of his wheelchair and onto the floor.
Sound indicates multiple bones were broken and Dillon appears to pass out, likely suffering severe shock.
A small drone attempts to move Dillon. This attempt is unsuccessful. The drone connects Dillon to his life support system, which appears to induce a coma.
Footage cuts.

Automated Testing Log: 6/01/80
Testing Chamber
10:00
Testing Object: Universal Exclusion Device Mark I

Testing Objectives: Isolate one (1) object from the multiverse.

Input: One (1) Rattus Norvegicus, or brown Norway rat.
Power Usage: 0.0000024 W
Result: Rat was terminated. No universal transfer of consciousness was recorded via Universal Travel Log. Device deemed a success.

Testing Objectives: Rate system for 0.4 TW of power.

Input: None
Power Usage: 0.468 TW
Result: None. System remained intact. Device deemed a success.
Further human authorization required. To confirm, enter the Testing Chamber, and full device activation will begin.

Exploration Video Log Transcript
Date: 7/25/22
Exploration Team: Mobile Task Force Beta-7, detachment Charlie
Objective: Locate PoI-7316 / Recover Foundation Nuclear Storage Site 08
Charlie-1 : "Okay, this is the last safehouse it could be in so be exceedingly cautious. We have no clue what he's been up to down here, and the radiation may pose a danger. PoI-7316 is almost certainly dead, but if what's in the initial report is true, he could be alive and needed for questioning. Are we ready?"
Charlie-2 : "Yes sir."
Charlie-3 : "Yes, sir."
Charlie-1 : "Alright, let's move."
Charlie-1 uses a crowbar to dislodge a drainage grate, revealing a metal door. Charlie-1's Geiger counter begins to tick.
Charlie-2 : "There's no chance this guy's alive. What, 70 years down here?"
Charlie-3 : "You and I have both seen much worse. We can't know for certain, let's go."
Charlie-1 leads as they go lower into the facility. The team passes a kitchen, monitoring station, and storeroom, each of which is coated in a thick layer of dust. Some monitors are broken and the cameras are dead. The corridor leads into a dilapidated, dated medical room. A body lays on the floor, attached to various tubes and IV drips. A broken medical drone lies next to the figure. From the vital signs on the life support equipment, the subject appears to be in a coma.
Charlie-2 : "Looks like he was wrong, let's grab the body and leave."
Charlie-3 : "Wait a minute, 2. We haven't investigated the testing chamber yet."
Charlie-1 : "3, take the body to the surface and bag him. Command's gonna wanna take a look."
Charlie-3 : "Got it, good luck."
Charlie-1 : "Testing chamber is sealed. I'm going to cut door hydraulics, and you're going to enter the chamber. Slowly. Weapons up."
Charlie-3 exits carrying POI-7316 as Charlie-1 and Charlie-2 proceed forward.
A loud hiss is heard as Charlie-1 cuts hydraulic control to the testing chamber door. Charlie 2 is seen stepping into the chamber, and all the lights in the building activate.
System : "Activation authorized, proceeding with exclusion"
A loud flash is seen, color consistent with massive electrical arcs. When the cameras return to normal, no change is observed.
Charlie-2 : "Well, shit, doesn't look like anything happened. Stay alert."
Charlie-1 : "No disturbances on my end."
Command : "Evacuate and return to site until farther notice. We don't want to chance it."
Video cuts.

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Universal Travel Log of Transfers
Personnel: [Andrew J. Dillon]
Total Universal Transfers, due to Many Worlds decision-splitting, voluntary transfer, use of Ways, or otherwise: 0
[A typical score on this metric is about 42 transfers per year alive. If your score is significantly higher or lower than this number, speak to a Foundation quantum statistician. Have a nice day.]

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External Data Intercepted: Open?- Close (Unknown Data)?

And so the Serpent lay, coiled atop the Library, as if a protector and captor at once. The Serpent watched the multiverse, each universe intersecting with the Library painted as a star across the cosmos.
Behind each star, in each universe, in an underground bunker, one Dr. Andrew Dillon took his last breath before he could see his wife once more. In each universe, one massive flash of light, sound, and fury ripped through hundreds of thousands of anchors, setting each star adrift on its own course through the inky void.
As the Serpent stared lazily into the stellar tapestry above it, each star began to go out.
.
I witnessed this, a lowly wanderer before him, and saw your fate outlined in those stars. If you can read this, there is still time. Do not let your star go out.