Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures: The area surrounding SCP-XXXX in a 1km radius is to be divided by fence and patrolled regularly as a strict wildlife reserve. All aircraft are to be denied access to pass over SCP-XXXX. Local authorities have agreed with our conditions and are willing to accept our influence in this area.
Description: SCP-XXXX refers to a 25km radius of dense boreal forest in Far-Eastern Russia. The epicentre of SCP-XXXX is 243 km from the nearest sustained human population in Yakutsk, and encompasses 157km² of landmass.
The zone within SCP-XXXX is partially isolated, known to exist within a Separated Temporal Resurrection Process (STRP) that is predicted to have lasted 67 years. Objects that enter SCP-XXXX are known to exist as normal, however from an external viewpoint appear to be locked in time in the position they take approximately 1608 hours after first entrance. For example, if an object were to enter SCP-XXXX and remain inside it they would be seen by the outside of SCP-XXXX to immediately appear at the position they would be found in after 1608 hours of time spent within SCP-XXXX. Objects that exit SCP-XXXX before 1608 hours have passed are capable of leaving SCP-XXXX freely and will immediately appear outside of SCP-XXXX just after they have entered, as though they have spent no time within SCP-XXXX at all.
SCP-XXXX is understood to have an isolated 4th dimension (being time) from our own dimension. SCP-XXXX's appearance of not posessing a 4th dimension are due to this, as both separate instances of time inside SCP-XXXX and outside SCP-XXXX are non-translatable. Despite this, objects that have not become 'locked' into SCP-XXXX are capable of passing through SCP-XXXX unaffected.
The world viewed from within SCP-XXXX is described to appear as though it is "on repeat", causing the same objects and light patterns to enter SCP-XXXX regularly every 1608 hours, producing a build-up of identical objects within SCP-XXXX. Objects that become time-locked within SCP-XXXX are described as "always being there", in the sense that they have become part of the object-entry cycle and seemingly since the moment they enter SCP-XXXX have always existed inside it. This is known as the 'resurrection process' of the temporal disturbance affecting SCP-XXXX.
Addendum XXXX-a | Object Exit Report
Several objects originating from within SCP-XXXX have been observed to exit SCP-XXXX without outside influence. Notably, are 3403 individual 6mm rifle rounds, 83 burning rounds from a flare gun, 83 cargo crates of illegal surgery spirit, and 83 front sections of a russian cargo airliner, each containing the bodies of two unidentifiable individuals (presumably pilot and co-pilot) in the cockpit.
Addendum XXXX-b | Climate, Vegetation and Wildlife Report
Vegetation within the zone of SCP-XXXX is limited presumably due to the climate, and relatively little edible flora is available causing a negative affect on wildlife. Notably, deer and bear populations within SCP-XXXX halved respectively within two years between 197█ and 198█, apparently due to overhunting. Forests within SCP-XXXX are characterised by a dense population of pine, spruce, birch and poplars, separated by frequent streams and fast-flowing rivers. Winter temperatures within the zone of SCP-XXXX range between -17° and 4°.
Addendum XXXX-c | Dr. Michael Lister Report(s)
It is understood that SCP-XXXX captured the specific event of a plane crash, which has now become time-locked within SCP-XXXX. Research teams have recovered 83 semi-identical copies of a handwritten journal written by a survivor of the plane crash identified to be Dr. Michael Lister, who was confirmed a missing person on ██/██/198█.
The account written by Dr. Lister contains extensive details surrounding the situation within SCP-XXXX, such as the existence of a primitive indigenous population living within SCP-XXXX. Descriptions of this population is vague, consisting of around 150 individuals and centralised around three separate factions. Relations between factions are reported to be extremely hostile, including the widespread practice of human cannibalism. It is suspected that acts of cannibalism between factions are performed out of necessity or desperation due to the lack of large wildlife within the region.
Addendum XXXX-d | Recorded Entries of Dr. Michael Lister [Instance #156]
Friday 17th November, 198█.
I need to stop. I need to stop and think. I'm going to write it down.
The crash put me on the east side of the river. I saw the rest of the plane continue overhead and land a couple of miles further on.
There's nobody with me; I searched. Nobody but bodies under the snow. I fell from the back of the plane still attached to my seat. It's what broke the fall through the trees. I've lost my left ear and I might have a broken collar, but I can still walk. That's all that matters. I need to find the rest of them so they don't leave me behind. I have to stop writing. I'm sorry. I can't stop shaking.
Saturday 18th November, 198█.
I saw the fires from the plane last night on the horizon. It's still there. Christ, those fires make me feel cold all the way from over here.
I found some of the crates that fell in the crash under the snow. Useless. Carrying elastic rope or climbing equipment or some shit. It's not what I'm looking for. There must've been a couple that fell. I guess they're scattered around here somewhere. At least some of the crates have food. Mostly cereal. It's edible, but dry as hell. I hope they've got something else to eat when I find them.
I tried my best to bandage my ear with some rags. It hasn't stopped bleeding yet. I can barely hear out of it.
I'm still to cross the river, but I can already smell the smoke, and I've found parts from the hull. The trees ahead are scarred, so I know the plane isn't far-off. The ice on the river should be thick enough for me to cross. They'll be waiting for me there, I just hope they don't leave me behind.
Sunday 19th November, 198█.
They're all dead. I
I don't know what killed them. There's nobody at the crash, and the fire was just
Jesus Christ. Why are they all being burnt?
Monday 20th November, 198█.
I don't know what's happening out here.
The plane was deserted, save for the bodies being burned in the fire of the engine fuel. The cargo hold has been emptied, and whatever it once contained is being burnt along with the other passengers. They weren't really passenger, just pilots and foremen and cargo crew. I knew some of them. Now they're just charring in front of me. I can't get near enough to put the flames out because of the smell.
Dammit. That's nearly 2 million in illegal spirit burning away in front of me.
I can't keep writing. I'm going to search to see if anyone is around. I need to know if I'm alone.
Tuesday 21th November, 198█.
I waited overnight, but nobody arrived.
I realise I'm going to be here longer than I first imagined. I haven't spotted a rescue plane. I haven't heard any indication that they're even looking for us. I might as well tell you my story, since I can find a way to burn this easy enough should I need to.
Three years ago I got caught in the transport of illegal surgery spirit from Russia to Alaska, where it would gradually siphon its way down into the US. I'm still not sure exactly what the stuff is. I didn't set it up, I was just getting paid. I have to make the money to keep dad in the care home. Six years in medical college gave me nothing. Nothing other than an offer to take 8 million in illegal alcohol across the bering strait for 50k. Look where I am now.
Fucking karma.
I guess the shipment is scattered over this area like all the other crates. Christ- that's 8 million buried under the snow. I don't know whether it matters if they find it or not anymore.
Whatever boxes of cereal I could find I threw in a layer of tarpaulin and rolled it up. I took a hat and a scarf and a pair of boots some of the people on the bonfire. There's a crate axe on the plane, a prybar, and a fire extinguisher. This job taught me to be resourceful. I just don't know if I can do it again out here.
Wednesday 22nd November, 198█.
I climbed a tree to see if anyone was nearby. Damn pines shatter like glass in the winter; at least I know how to get up one. I tried calling-out but the wind was too loud up there to hear anything.
There's a storm on its way. The snow has started again and I spent the day hacking apart branches and fastening them together to form a shelter. I can't spend any more nights on the plane - it looks like it's about to explode.
As far as I can tell the plane went down over southern siberia, I think. That means I'm going to be hundreds of miles from the nearest town. There's no chance I could navigate around here. Even if I could, I'd freeze solid before finding anyone.
My left arm keeps shaking and I can't stop it. Hell- I can't tell if I'm cold or scared.
Thursday 23rd November, 198█.
Found one of the crates I've been looking for. Practically walked over it, buried into a snow drift a couple of feet down. I forget how deep the snow can get in places.
I tried some of the spirit. Fucking disgusting. Tastes like sour vodka if there's such a thing. Had to eat snow to wash it from my mouth.
Christ. Now I know why it's illegal.
Thursday 23rd November, 198█.
I feel so ill and broken from this weather.
I
I don't know why I'm here.
Friday 24th November, 198█.
Storm lasted three days. Found a group of other passengers waiting outside my shelter when I left it. Mostly just heads on sticks. I don't know what's happening. Their teeth are gone and their tongues
Jesus Christ. I
Saturday 25th November, 198█.
Somebody is doing this. I don't know. I'm sick of seeing them. I cut them down whenever I can but the sight of the empty ropes swinging from the trees still makes me feel ill. I don't even recognise these ones from the crash. They look older, like they've been dead longer.
I'm not sure if you know or not. I've been stoned the last few days so I'm not sure what I wrote. I drank more of the spirit. Can't remember the taste. Woke-up a day later and found bodies hung from the trees nearby. Maybe they were there before. It's fucking disgusting, I'll tell you that. I'm just trying to work out how many bottles I've drunk already. I think three. Christ.
Haven't seen anything living for a week now other than the occasional bird. It's getting unnerving. There's nothing to eat out here other than snow and cereal.
Sunday 26th November, 198█.
More of them, hanging from trees. I took their clothes and their shoes. I don't care what they think. They're dead, and I'm not.
The snow is getting deeper. I can barely walk in it. I took whatever rope I could cut down from the trees and a pair of tennis rackets from a sports cache that must've fallen from the plane. Seems like destination was Toronto. Looks like it might not be arriving for some time. I fastened them together into a pair of snow shoes.
Monday 27th November, 198█.
There must be other people here. The snow in this area is littered with bare footprints. Not passengers; I don't know who. I found some camps built by them out of twigs and snow and bones I think, but nobody was there; just an old fire that had gone-out hours ago.
There's blood in the snow the further I walk this way. I think I might turn back. I don't care who they are, I don't think they want me nearby. After all, their camps are surrounded by hanging trees, like they're leaving people out to dry.
Tuesday 28th November, 198█.
Found another crate full of spirit. My god this stuff is strong. It tastes like fucking petrol.
Wednesday 29th November, 198█.
Finally saw them. I heard shouting in the nearby treeline and I hid under a pile of snow and bracken. They were cutting-up a bear they'd caught. It had six spears in its back, made from long shafts of wood with bone fixtures on the end. I can't deny it. It made me feel hungry.
Didn't see them clearly. Most were wrapped in hide and bones - one of them had two antlers sewn to his scalp and bits of nail out of his forehead. This is wrong. I don't know who these people are but I'm so scared they're going to kill me.
Never heard of them. There aren't any indigenous populations in this area. I don't know what they'll do with me. Hang me like the others? They're not going to talk. Even if they would, I don't think they can.
Thursday 30th November, 198█.
The snow drifts are smaller, it's getting harder to hide in them. I think the ice is beginning to thaw.
I can't find a way out of this area of the forest. The more I try to backtrack the deeper I seem to get. I must be miles from the river despite trying to reach it for the last few days solid. I think I've drunk too much, can barely remember anything. Surgery spirit tastes like vodka to me.
Hell. This has gone on too long. Where the fuck are the rescue planes?
Friday 1st December, 198█.
A group of them walked past me last night. They look like fucking animals, all bent-over like a dog that's been hit by a car. I can't ever see much past the hides and bones they've sewn to themselves. Some carried bloody axes or crowbars or machetes with burning cloth wrapped around the end. I bet they didn't find them here - must've come from the plane. I don't know. I didn't think we were carrying many tools with us in cargo.
Needless to say, I can't keep hiding in the bracken and the snow. They're getting closer and closer to me each time. At some point they'll find me if I'm not careful.
The spirit tastes less foul when I mix it with snow. At least I don't feel like I'm going to pass-out from it anymore. Why am I drinking it, anyway? This stuff is literal shit.
Heard an explosion somewhere behind me a few minutes ago. It sounds like the plane finally burnt itself up. I know where it is now at least from the tower of smoke and burning trees on the horizon. I've been travelling the wrong way the whole time. It doesn't matter. At least I'm still alive.
Saturday 2nd December, 198█.
I found my way back to the plane. Barely anything is left. They were burning it all. Fucking dogs. I watched them find another passenger hiding in the clearing. I didn't recognise her, but that must've just been the blood.
Her body was mangled. They broke her apart. Fuck it, I feel sick. I couldn't get the coat off her once they had left. I wasn't sure if she was still alive or not, but I was too scared to stay around when I realised she might be.
Sunday 3rd December, 198█.
There's no way back. The river thawed over the month and now it's fast-flowing again but still as cold as ice. There's no way I could swim that. I tried getting in but I couldn't breathe while I was in the water. Even if I could, the water is too fast to have a hope to cross.
There's no way out of here. I'm going to have to wait until someone finds me. I've seen no rescue planes. Nothing. They should've sent help by now.
I can't stand this anymore. I shouldn't be here.
Monday 4th December, 198█.
They saw my campfire the other night. I heard them calling and running. At least they don't know where I am now. I swear if one finds me I'll kill it. I'm done with this all hiding.
Tuesday 5th December, 198█.
I unloaded what little was left from the plane. There's more vodka than I first imagined. I mean spirit. Heh. Maybe that's why the plane exploded. I took the axe and the prybar and opened everything I could. There's more tarpaulin covering the boxes at the back of the plane, and I wrapped it around a pair of skis to make a sled. I took whatever I could find; elastic rope, netting, wood and nails from the crates.
I'm staying near the plane tonight. I don't think they know I'm here.
Wednesday 6th December, 198█.
One of them jumped me just before dawn. It was alone. I hacked it to pieces with the axe. It was pale white and thin as a bone, and it broke with the first strike. I don't know, I think it was starving.
It would explain why it moved alone. I don't think this tribe is fully united. Some of the people in the trees look like their own. I don't know. Could they be eating each other?
I threw the body in the river so they wouldn't find it and watched it carry downstream. I hate them. I've watched what they've done to people I know so many times. I don't remember anyone on that plane. I just remember what they looked like afterwards.
Thursday 7th December, 198█.
The bone tribe is getting closer to finding me. I see them searching the bracken and snow in a long line holding flaming torches every night. Stupid dogs.
I think I killed one last night. I can't remember. I found four bottles empty near the shelter. Thank god it's only vodka.
I can only stay low for so long. Soon they'll notice that some of them are missing, and they're already becoming more aware of me. They're searching more regularly. Hell- I must be the only other living thing in this forest apart from them.
Friday 8th December, 198█.
Spent the day searching for more fallen crates. Everything from the hold is pretty much empty or burnt. I reckon I could put some of this to use if only I had the time between running.
When I returned to camp one of them was waiting inside the plane for me. It was scrawny, looked malnourished, and went for me the moment it saw me. I beat it into the ground with the fire extinguisher. Why do they keep doing this? Why are they killing everyone? I'll kill them. If they try to kill me, I'll kill all of them.
I'm on the roof of the plane now. The winds have stopped, but it's still snowing. Can't stop thinking about the larger groups. Screw 3 or 5, I saw fucking 50 the other day. The only ones who know where I am are starving, but what happens when the larger groups find me? Tomorrow I'm going to prepare myself. I can't keep running forever.
Saturday 9th December, 198█.
I cut the elastic rope up and tied it to the trees and threaded each with a counter-weight. The noose catches them by their feet and hang them up like everyone else they've hung from the trees. The first one I caught lifted into the air immediately. I killed it right there with the rope and watched it choke.
I put these up all over the surrounding woods around the crash site and led the nearest group through them. The traps that triggered dealt with most of them, and the last few that survived them didn't get what was happening and ran away. But they'll be back. Probably with more of them.
The tribes seem to be divided here into maybe three factions. I've spotted around three. The first I ever saw were the 'bone' tribe. I don't know what they're doing, but they seem like they're hunting everything, including the other tribes. Most of them have antlers or bones or metal stuck or sewn into them. Then you have a tribe covered in blood. I haven't seen many of them, and only caught a couple recently. They're clothed in bear hide and seem to have their teeth removed and replaced with the decayed teeth of some animal. There's a 'face' tribe. I don't know much about them. I just saw one with some kind of skinned face wrapped over its own, probably the face of someone it had killed. I saw it with others so I guess they're together. Then you have the starving ones - I don't know what they are. Seem to be hunted by everything. They eat the dead from the other tribes. They're still trying to eat me.
Fucking animals. Fucking disgusting whores. All of them.
Wednesday 13th December, 198█.
I haven't written in a while. This place has turned to chaos.
My axe is pretty bloody. I'm covered in blood myself. I think I've killed five over the last couple of days. I'm not sure. The snow on the path to the river is stained red from all the bodies I've dragged
It doesn't matter.
The attacks are getting worse. I have to move the catches on the noose traps regularly to stop them learning the pattern. At least I found the flare gun yesterday. Scared the shit out of them. But it won't work forever. Can you kill someone with a flare gun? I think so. I should try next time they get too close to the plane.
The tribes are getting less wary of me. They understand my traps. I've seen them putting-up some of their own. Hah. Like they'd know how to by themselves. I'll set some new ones tomorrow they won't have seen. I have to keep changing the organisation of my traps to keep them scared.
They'll stop hunting me sure enough, just as soon as I kill some of them. I have to prove myself, right? Even then, they shouldn't need any proving. I've killed enough of them already, but they still keep coming.
Whores.
I'm sick of this. I don't care what they do to me. I'll do worse to them.
Thursday 14th December, 198█.
They've started watching me from the treeline. I shout at them but they don't run away. I don't know what they're doing.
I felled a load of trees around the plane, and cut the timber up into logs. I knocked 8-inch nails into the wood and raised the logs into the trees with a winch. When anyone runs under it'll land on them. I hope it fucking impales them. I hope it fucking impales those bitches.
I dug some deadfalls in the morning and stuck the stakes facing inwards so that anything falling in can't get out. They're all covered with bracken and snow now. Some of the tribes try to rescue the ones that fall in. I don't know if they're worth the effort. It takes a hell of a long time to dig a hole deep enough for someone to not get out of. I found a crate full of pickaxe heads and i hammered one onto the end of a stick. The tool is nearly broken now. I should make some more if I want to continue this.
Friday 15th December, 198█.
I put the pickaxe heads to better use. Attached them each to a rope from the trees. When they release they'll be like a swinging mace. The glass from the empty alcohol I've crushed and scattered in the snow. My snow shoes keep me high enough to not get cut.
I found part of the cargo manifest. Says there's a hunting rifle somewhere out here with at least 50 rounds. Probably heading to a remote hunting village. Hmm. I might need it more. Can't find it yet. I hope it's nearby.
Saturday 16th December, 198█.
The traps are working. I've started burning the bodies because it's easier than dumping them in the river. Anyway, I need that water.
I found a crate full of fishing line and I've spent the last few days wrapping it from tree to tree. It works well - you can hardly see it. Last night a group of the bone tribe broke through. When they came close I stuffed a cloth down a bottle of vodka and lit the end and threw it at them. Hah!
I'm getting hungry. Dear god, I hate cereal. I need meat.
Monday 18th December, 198█.
I found the rifle cache while searching for deer. Was addressed to somewhere remote, transport details listed another company. Maybe someone else was smuggling things on the flight as well. I'm glad I've found this. It's all that I have besides the traps and the axe.
More of them are waiting in the trees near the plane. Maybe a hundred. The bone tribe seem to be starting fights with the face tribe. I bet they're arguing about who gets to eat me.
No matter. I'll eat all of them. A couple came through the fence and I shot them all. I burned the bodies in front of the rest of them. I hate them so much. They've killed and dried and eaten everyone but me. They're disgusting. They deserve to die.
Tuesday 19th December, 198█.
I taped the butane canisters to the trees and put a nail through each valve. I like the smell of butane. It reminds me of the lamps we used at home when the power was out.
I recognise some of their faces. They're wearing the survivors from the plane. Why do the face tribe do this? Why do they hide who they are?
It doesn't matter. None of this matters anymore.
Thursday 21st December, 198█.
A large group from the bone tribe attacked me last night. I have 42 bullets left. I often forget I have the rifle with me, I'm so used to using the axe.
I haven't seen the starving tribe in a while. They just seem to arrive and kill whoever has been caught on the snares and eat them right there. They won't come any closer. Maybe they're scared of me. Hah! Fucking whores.
I put more spikes in the ground. There's no point hiding any of the bodies - they already know I'm here. Anyone I find I cut-up and burn and leave the charred skull on a stick. I can see around 20 in front of me. Hah! I've spent so long doing this I don't remember killing any of them. Must be the vodka. I think I'm going blind.
I don't care. It's better this way. It's always better to forget, isn't it? I can forget the taste of cereal. I can forget all the other
Friday 22nd December, 198█.
31 bulle
30 bullets remaining. They just don't stop appearing.
I'll make sure to keep one bullet in case they catch me. They're monsters. Some of them have nails in a ring around their skull, or bits of bone or metal sewn into them all over. I know what they're doing - they're making themselves harder to eat, aren't they? Fucking animals! I can't even eat them!
Saturday 23rd December, 198█.
Some of the primitives from the face tribe I seem to recognise as if they were with me on the plane. I don't know. When they get snared, I hate coming close to them. Sometimes I leave them to freeze in the snow before collecting them. Something about their faces. It looks unnatural. Like they've got the wrong face or something.
Sunday 24th December, 198█.
I went blind for the last hour. They were too scared to attack a blind man. Maybe they were scared of me. Some of them are blind as well. It's why they can't see my traps. Ha. They're blind and starving. Just like me.
How did they get blind out here? Maybe they found some of the petrol. Maybe it is petr
Thank god it's only vodka.
Monday 25th December, 198█.
They all look the same. All same height. Same hair. Same skin. All got no ear on their left side. Most have a cataract in one eye. Look like some of them have a broken back. Look like they're dead. They look almost like me. Ha. As if they're like me. I've killed a hundred of them. They're still yet to kill me. Ha!
Tuesday 26th December, 198█.
Why do they enjoy the fire? They cook themselves in front of me. When I light the molotovs I hear them laughing when they burn! Whores! HA!
HA!
They've made a bonfire of themselves in front of me. I don't remember it. They must've got past the snares. I'll burn some more of them for that. You don't build any fucking bonfires! ONLY I MAKE THE BONFIRES YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!
April 27th December, 198█.
They taste like chicken.
Friday 28th December, 198█.
Bonefire bonfire, I take their bones and I take their meat.
I should've done this from the beginning. I haven't tasted meat in so long. Whenever I see a starving one, I'll make sure to kill it. I'm glad I'm here. I'm glad I survived the crash. I'll get my reward. I'll get my reward.
Saturday 29th December, 198█.
15 bullets remaining.
They just don't die. Sometimes I have to use the axe. Ha.
There are a couple of them here now. I keep on hearing gunfire. Maybe they've found a rifle of their own. I'd like to see them try to aim it. TRY AND AIM IT BITCHES! I never miss. I hit them through the eye. They're eyeless. That's why they're all blind. I've shot all of their eyes but they just don't die. Why don't they die they just keep watching me why are they watching me they can't see me.
Where's the gunfire? Where's it coming from? I'll kill them. Don't worry. Don't worry.
Sunday 30th December, 198█.
8 bullets.
I saw a red flashing star pass overhead last night. It landed somewhere in the forest, and there were huge fires. It must be the other engine of the plane. Maybe the vodka. Can vodka explode? I've had too much. I hate cereal. I eat meat. Only the fucking monsters eat cereal.
I'm going to get off the roof of the plane. It's too cold up here tonight.
Monday 31st December, 198█.
Some of them are starting to put their hands in the air when I aim at them. These are from a new group, I don't know what they're wearing. Something made out of plastic. Fucking monsters.
Hah! I don't care! I hang them from the trees like everyone else! They're unarmed! WHY ARE YOU UNARMED BITCHES? DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?
Tuesday, December, 198█.
Three bullets. Three bullets is enough. I saw them shooting each other the other day. Fucking animals. Look at what they've done. They've built these traps around the trees, put their skulls on sticks and burnt themselves in front of me. And now I see them in the woods, running, scared scared scared.
I'm not scared anymore.
Friday 36th December, 198█.
There's no more fucking-
Where's the vodka?
Gun is broken. Didn't get to use the last bullet. They tried to shoot me the other night but I shot back. Now I can't. I take their axes but none of them I caught had guns.
I'm alone now. Nobody can help me. They never came to save me with their planes and their helicopters. There are no more flares. They'll eat me today.
There's no more hope for me like this.
God grant me mercy. I'll have to join them.
Notice from Dr. Reed addressing Dr. Marshall
Is this what we all condense down into? When there's nothing left to eat?
Sorry. I feel sick working on this project. Drop napalm on the fucking place, I don't care. Just don't let this continue.
Notice from Dr. Marshall addressing Dr. Reed
I don't think you understand, Rachael. I don't think that would help at all.
It's his character. This wouldn't be the same if there wasn't half a tonne of illegal spirit falling from the sky every 67 days. It wouldn't be the same if that plane had carried something other than cereal. It wasn't the same in the beginning, but they went insane. And now they all go insane, just before the next one arrives, and so it spreads.
Rachael, he's spent 67 years eating himself. I'm sorry. That's not going to end any time soon.
Per 
