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Scrúje turned his head around and saw him. It was a man wearing what seemed to be a long grey poncho that completely covered both of his arms and most of his torso over a ragged old shirt, originally black, brown buckled-up boots that went all the way to his knee, fine leather pants, and a hat, an old leathery hat that covered his face almost completely. On top of it all, there was a a large necklace with teeth of various sizes, colours and forms around his neck.

For a second, Scrúje thought one of those BMGS freaks had entered his mansion somehow, and looked around for his revolver, but then the stranger lifted his head and Scrúje could see his face. It was beardier, and the hair was greyer, and there were some scars, and he was smoking a cigar, and the whole figure seemed wiser and older, and smarter, and stronger. But Scrúje would never mistake that face.

"I assume the Egyptian one came by already, eh, buddy? He didn't have much luck changing your heart, I can see. Well, I guess I'll just give it a try then, pal," he said, lifting his hat with the pointer-finger, and breathing out smoke.

"I assume you'll show me how I'm evil with my employees and should do better, eh? I can tell you already, it won't work," Scrúje said, with a smile. NOW he wanted the TARDIS thing even more, if it meant a chance of becoming like that guy.

He snickered, and with a smirk, said, "You think you got the whole routine figured, eh pal? That the river's got only old water to go by. That an old dog can't teach you a trick or two. Well, I got news for ya, we won't be seeing your employees, I don't care about them, and know you don't either. I'll try a different approach, and show you some stuff. In a far, far away place. Now come, pal, I have things to do and people to see."

He quickly operated the device on his right wrist with a glistening metal hand, after a few seconds of fiddling, he grabbed Scrúje's arm. When Scrúje looked around, he could see streets, buildings, street lamps, and signs, many signs. He could've mistaken the place he was in for an Earthen city, if not for the fact that everything was made of weird metal and super technological hijinks so strange that Scrúje could barely guess their function. Turning around, he saw a sign that stated simply, in slightly luminous, letters, "Scrúje's".

A bearded man with a hat passed them by on the pavement, rising his bionic arm in greeting, "Hey pal, nice...trench coat. I should get one of those before meeting myself, buddy," he said, and kept going. Scrúje glanced at himself from the distant Gollygolly galaxy.

"We are on Scrúje III, on the Cyan arm of the Gollygolly galaxy. We used the TARDIS to bring various atmosphere conversion modules and other terraforming measures here in the distant past, then we kept going back and forth, building houses, streets, taking care of bars and whatnot. This is a hub for various versions of us, where we can rest and compare notes between travels. Come, let's have a drink."

They entered the bar, it was filled with smoke and tables. Almost every table was occupied by s group of Scrújes, some making wide gestures, some whispering, some drinking and singing, Scrúje noticed one wearing Egyptian style clothing, he was talking to another Scrúje, something about sharpshooting, "...worry, you just get to the grassy knoll and there'll be a rifle there, already loaded with a single Hazzian biodegradable bullet, so..."

Without thinking twice, Scrúje extended his hand and told the Egyptian clothed one, "Hey! So this is where you went then!"

Confused, the other one shook his hand, "Huh? What you mean?"

"You said you forgot to teach yourself, and then you left, so I was somewhat worried if I was ever going back," Scrúje explained.

"So...you're telling me you're the one I left back in 1999 b.c.?"

"Yes, that is correct."

"I guess there's no point in trying to change it then...if you're here, this means I'll fail...oh well, maybe you will have better luck," he told Scrúje's companion, "At any rate, I've gotta to finish explaining things to this one, wish you luck!" he said, scratching his left arm.

Leaving the Scrúje wearing Egyptian clothes, the other two went to the counter, "Two Cyan Blues, bartender!" one of them said, slapping the counter. The other one's attention was captured by a Scrúje with a large purple eye, scratches and blue splotches all over his face. His long hair was tied in a ponytail, and his organic arm was covered in some sort of green stuff, with a consistence that constantly varied between liquid, solid, and both at the same time.

"Nanoranicreplicoid substance. Looks weird and feels weird, but it's the greatest thing the people from the fifth Earthen millennium ever invented," he clarified, noticing Scrúje's stare, "You're on your first trip, right?" he asked.

"Third, actually," Scrúje answered, in a tone that made apparent the pride he felt about his extensive time travelling experience.

"Sorry. I'm usually very good about remembering things, thanks to some thousand terabytes of memory, but stuff before the surgery is a bit foggy. Anyway, good luck in your future," but Scrúje didn't quite hear the last part because another Scrúje decided that this was a good time to yell the punchline of a joke he was telling for the past twenty minutes, a punchline that, although terribly funny, is, without the proper context provided by the previous twenty minutes, impossible to properly understand. Nevertheless, it is recorded here in the interests of objectivity, "The ancient Anglandimorious are, in fact, a member of the Kalameres genus!"

Hearing that, the Scrúje with the purple eye suddenly tensed up, "I-I gotta go...sorry...I'm really sorry but that means..." and fled out of the bar, without a word more, leaving a startled Scrúje behind.

Before he could recover, another Scrúje entered the bar, and all the others became silent. The newcomer wore a ragged hood, dyed in a colour between green and red, and carried a short club in his right hand, the club glowed with a faint blue light. He wore the TARDIS, but both his arms seemed organic, his head was bald, and covered in wounds.

"Uh oh," said Scrúje's companion, "I remember this, pal," and, after a second of silence, he whispered in a wicked voice, "Sinners and blasphemers! Enjoy your..."

But the sound of his whispers were silenced by the newcomer's voice, that sounded just as wicked, "Sinners and blasphemers! Enjoy your last moments in existence! You may have thwarted me more than once, but next time I cannot fail!"

Scrúje's eyes widened as his companion's mouth started whispering once again, "You! I searched far and wide for a moment when I could confront..."

But Scrúje's attention was attracted by the sudden appearance of another one in the bar, his long grey hair tied in a ponytail, that was dressed in what could only be described as a kung fu costume, if kung fu costumes were sold in costume shops, "You! I searched far and wide for a moment when I could confront you with certainty!"

The Scrúje with a poncho whispered something, but Scrúje didn't pay attention, "Ah," said the Scrúje wearing a hood, an evil grin on his lips, "I see my actions will not go unpunished, huh? You will make me pay? You may have stopped my ploy, but do not think you have the skill necessary to actually defeat me in combat."

"Your foul deeds cannot go unavenged, you have strayed from your path, from your ideas of what was wrong and right," after a moment of silence, he added, "...which, admittedly, weren't all that ethically correct to begin with, but that is quite beyond the point."

"Man, I was very dramatic at the time, eh, pal?" Scrúje's companion said, "...Any foulness of my part..."

"Any foulness of my part shall be redeemed when my mission is accomplished, any foulness of all our parts!" the Scrúje said loudly, to all the Scrújes in the bar.

"You killed our grandfather! How can that be redeemed?" asked the Scrúje in kung fu clothes, opening his arms dramatically.

"I killed the grandfather of no one! I killed our grandmother's husband, but he isn't our grandfather...right, Scrúje? With all your talk of my foul deeds, you forget details such as these," while finishing the last sentence, he raised his hood and covered his face.

"Well, what can I say, I went there to bodyguard my grandfather against this guy, but our grandmother wasn't bad looking in her youth. Get my drift, buddy?" the Scrúje in the poncho said, answering Scrúje's inquisitive stares.

"Enough! I shall avenge my grandfather, and all the people you murdered, lied to, or otherwise annoyed with your fanatical nihilistic speeches! YAAAA!!!" and with that last yell, the Scrúje in kung fu clothes ran toward the hooded Scrúje, and then jumped into a flying kick.

But the kick didn't hit, because its target had disappeared in thin air, after fiddling with the mechanism of his bracelet. He quickly got up from the floor, looking around, scared.

He didn't have time to defend against the fist that hit his left eye, less than a second after a figure in a hood appeared right beside him. This time, even before he hit the floor, he disappeared, fiddling with the TARDIS, and not one, but six of him appeared around the hooded Scrúje, moving in for a kill.

"Hey, this is actually interesting. Where did we learn karate?" asked Scrúje to his companion.

"Well, pal, it's not karate, after he killed our grandfather, we planned to train under various martial artists in the history of Earth, and a few other planets, in order to create our own style of martial arts," was his answer, "Of course, after a few weeks of that we got bored and settled to train with Bruce Lee."

The six Scrújes attacked at the same time, but were easily shoved away, two of them disappeared and three more Scrújes appeared, proceeding to launch flying kicks at the hooded one. Two more hooded Scrúje's appeared out of nowhere, and the three hooded ones had their legs grabbed and were thrown on the floor.

The three hooded Scrújes proceeded to kick arses, and elbow faces, and punch stomachs. One by one, the kung fu costumed Scrújes fiddled with their bracelets and disappeared, and no more appeared. The last one was pinned to the floor by two hooded Scrújes while the third grabbed his right arm with his left arm.

"Unfortunately, I cannot allow myself to cease to exist before my mission is completed, so I cannot kill you. Nevertheless, do you know how much strength this new prosthetic can exert?", and, saying that, the hooded Scrúje bended the arm of the fallen Scrúje in a weird angle.

He left the other Scrúje on the floor, defeated, leaving the bar through the front door. A few seconds later, the defeated Scrúje disappeared with the TARDIS.

"Well, friend, what you think about that?" asked Scrúje's companion, holding the soft hat up with his pointer-finger.

"What happened to us?" asked Scrúje, still wide eyed.

"Well, it's a bit sketchy, but as far as I know, sometime in the future he went through a bad moment in his life, and the monks of the Sacred Order of the Big Blue Cosmic Light brought him into their fold. They indoctrinated him and train his physical body and moral fibre, constantly testing him, through the years. He became their holy knight, destroying every threat to the order until they conquered the System where they lived,

"Unfortunately, with all his physical and moral training they forgot his psychological well-being. He became...overzealous, and murdered every last one of the monks, because they didn't obey the teachings of the Big Blue Cosmic Light to the letter, they only prayed seventeen times a day instead of nineteen, as per the Gungardian translation of the third book of the Lighty Prophet, you know, this kind of thing," at this point, he paused, for dramatic effect.

"And after he was done, he meditated for twenty eight days and twenty nine nights, in a fit of introspection, and examined all the things he he did up until then, and examined the dead bodies of the monks. He realized that, as per his strict life philosophy, he had to die. But, instead of merely committing suicide, he decided to use the TARDIS to stop his past selves from committing particularly egregious bad deeds," he cleaned his throat, and coughed, and cleaned his throat again.

Before he could continue, Scrúje asked, "Well, one thing I can say about ourselves, we must fight really well to defeat an entire monastery of kung fu monks. Also, we're not hypocrites."

"Yeah, but he apparently lost out enviable persuasive skills, he couldn't convince us to not start WWIV or launching a ship full of Ionic Bombs into a planet inhabited by tiny super intelligent fish, thus draining the water and starting our successful interstellar mining enterprise. It's understandable, we had so much to gain, and so little to lose...anyways, he then decided we were beyond redemption, and started to try to kill us. He failed. So he tried killing our grandfather, and succeeded...technically, as you could see. Now," at this he made another dramatic pause, much more dramatic than the first one.

"He'll try one last time to convince you to be a better person, and if he can't, he'll kill you."

Scrúje was taken back by his words, "So this is the third Christmas spiri...er... third 'version of me' that I warned myself about?"

"That's right, buddy. But, of course, you could always adopt a life-changing philosophy and try to be less morally questionable right now, which would change the future and, thus, spare you of an encounter with him," explained the Scrúje with a hat, finally taking a sip from his previously untouched glass. The Scrúje serving as bartender pressed a few buttons on the TARDIS and teleported away, only to be substituted three seconds later by another Scrúje.

After a few moments of consideration, Scrúje answered, "If you're alive, and you are me in the future, then this means the hooded one can't kill me, even if he tried," Scrúje concluded with a smile, "I'll survive, and I'll get the TARDIS. I told you I wanted the TARDIS, didn't I? Maybe I'll think about this morality thing after I have a bionic arm, a computer in my brain, and unlimited lifespan."

The Scrúje in the poncho snickered, and then he chuckled, and then he laughed. After a few seconds of this, he said, smiling, "Well, I had to try. I see I was a genius in the making even before the computer grafting. The logic of your argument is undebatable, and you have a strength of will that could rival even mine. I see I cannot convince you."

"Oh, don't be so hard on yourself, you are clearly the superior man, having reached the limits of the unrivalled potential that exists within us."

"Indeed, pal, in fact, if the nazis ever met us, they would have to reconsider the top five master race ranking to include a certain race of one."

"Indeed. heh. Indeed. After I get the TARDIS I should go see Goebbels and work this out with him. Hell, I might even bribe Darwin to put in a good word for me. Completely unnecessary, of course, when he gets a look at this living proof that his theories apply even to the human race."

"Unfortunately not," a Scrúje in a nearby table said, "I have to disagree with that, the...people of the third millennium and beyond are just as stupid obnoxious and ugly as before."

"Lazy avaricious greedy people," said a Scrúje wearing a turban.

"Brain-dead indecisive weak people," said the Scrúje with a poncho and hat.

"Deceiving dishonest dumb people," said a Scrúje holding a bright stony ball.

"And the little ones..." Scrúje started saying.

"Oh, don't get me started with the little ones," said most of the Scrújes in the room at once.

A hearty laugh echoed all around the room, Scrúje's companion fidgeted with the TARDIS and lightly put his hand on his back.

The next second, they were back at Scrúje's maison, Scrúje slowly walked to a chair and sat down, putting his right arm on the table and slowly letting the air out of his lungs.

"Well, I guess that's it, pal. Wish you luck, and hope you didn't stumble into a unstable loop," said the Scrúje with the poncho, tapping his hat, before fidgeting with the TARDIS.

"Uh...unstable loop?" asked Scrúje.

"That's right, buddy, somehow the loop that allowed everything that happened to me to happen to you could be unsustainable and things will happen differently in your case. Say, maybe you'll die soon, and then the timeline will fork out, the changed timeline will go on, while the timeline where you don't die will quickly degenerate and implode, ceasing to exist. It's the very basics of extremely incredibly advanced space time based quantum history bio chemical psy physics. Well, see ya, pal!" and, saying that, he was gone.

Scrúje didn't sit on the chair. What his companion said worried him. So his survival wasn't a sure thing as he previously thought. A shiver ran through him as the realization dawned on him.

Exactly 3586 miliseconds later, a hooded figure materialized into the large room. It was obvious to Scrúje that, below the heavy clothing there was the husk of what once was the universe's greatest example of the pinnacle of human achievement. Himself.

The figure motioned him to come closer. He hesitated. He really did want the TARDIS, and if he could trust himself from tomorrow, this was the way to get it. But himself from tomorrow possibly wasn't as familiar with the mechanics of time as he would've hoped. Still, he decided that if he trusted anyone, that was himself, and touched the hooded man's shoulder.

Seconds later, they were in the middle of the destroyed ruins of what once was possibly a big city. fallen buildings blocked the streets, and useless cars, in various stages of disrepair, stood there, motionless, as if suddenly abandoned in an emergency. Which, considering the craters and the smoke and the littered corpses, was probably an accurate analysis of what happened.

"W-where are we? ...when are we?" asked Scrúje, he wasn't familiar with the streets, nor with the architecture, but this was almost certainly Earth. All around him walls were covered in weird symbols and what were probably half-literate messages written in spray paint, but he wasn't familiar with the language, though the letters, strangely stylized, were, without a doubt, those he was familiar with.

The hooded figure stood silent, and slowly rose his right hand, pointing toward a nearby wall. Those weren't letters he was familiar with. They looked like Arabic writing, but more blocky, and squarish. "I don't understand what you mean," he told the figure.

The figure, ever slowly, ever silently, took a small club from within the folds of his clothes, a small bright club, the same Scrúje saw in the bar. The figure touched the club on his forehead (revealing glimpses of his face, bathed in blue light), and then pointed the club at Scrúje. A thin ray of blue light went from the club to Scrúje's forehead.

The club, Scrúje now knew, was the pinnacle of Binagohhgian crystal technology, capable of transferring knowledge from a brain to the other, invented seconds before the entire Binagohhg civilization was obliterated by a supernova. But Scrúje had used the TARDIS to take it, and use it to explain everything to Scrúje. To change Scrúje's sinful ways.

Scrúje also noted he could understand Gazzanian perfectly. Gazzanian was the name of the global language that started after the Palestinians conquered the world and decided illegalize every language but one, back in 3275, bringing upon the world many years of never before seen prosperity, which culminated in the 134th great collapse of Capitalism, just last year. What year was last year, Scrúje didn't know.

The message on the wall read "JU-JA-BUING WUZ HERRE".

"Okay, so now I know when we are, but where are we? Why everything's destroyed?" asked Scrúje.

The figure slowly moved by the landscape, and motioned Scrúje to follow him. But when he did that, he was distracted for a few very important seconds, and tripped on something that was on the ground, and fell on the ground. "Fuck!" he yelled, "Ouch! Shit!" he yelled some more, before realizing what he was doing and becoming silent again.

Five seconds of silence later, he slowly lifted himself from the ground, and this time he motioned for Scrúje to follow before starting walking.

The two of them walked silently through the empty streets full of craters, Scrúje looked around, there was plenty of smoke, and the small fires suggested he got there only moments after whatever destroyed the city did its job. Indeed, the only illumination came from the buildings on fires, and Scrúje would bet that if the power was still on, he would hear the alarm sirens.

Scrúje heard voices, and his companion quickly grabbed his arm, Scrúje had forgotten he was capable of moving in a way that wasn't silent and slow. seconds later, Scrúje saw a blue glow coming from inside his right sleeve, and started to notice the subtle kabjum light shimmering around blue coloured objects, and observed as a group of people with torches, laughing out loud, as if in a party.

Except they were carrying guns. Big guns.

"Fucked burghees! Fucked Caps! Tired am of this shit! Gonna burn and burn! Burn! Power to prollies!" they yelled as they ran around without any real goal. After they were gone, Scríje's companion led him to the proper spatial J-coordinates.

"What...the hell...was that?" asked Scrúje, utterly confused, those...people were insane, surely. The figure motioned him to follow again, and he did.

They stopped in front of a strange machine on the pavement. The figure pressed a blue button, and a bundle of paper-like material Scrúje assumed was a newspaper got out of the machine. The figure pointed to the bundle, and Scrúje took it.

It was indeed a newspaper, the date, however, was written in a way Scrúje could not understand, "1543-96745/LACU/á_Und_2314," it said. He skipped that and read out loud a headline that seemed interesting, it was a column written by a JU-JA-BUING, philosopher, "JU-JA-BUING SEZ: 'It's iuseles loking fer Enswer to Misteri of lyfe, it's probabily writenn in greec nyways. Fucked greecs!"

The figure motioned Scrúje to stop, and raised his right hand, along with three fingers. Scrúje didn't understand what that meant. The figure motioned again.

"I don't know what that means."

"Read page three, you moron!" the figure said, "You really need a computer grafted in your...! Er..." he fell in silence before finishing. And motioned again.

Scrúje read page three, unwilling to argue with himself, "About big last colapse, Regional Govner seid on TeeVee, 'Fuck this shit! I'm gonna get me an AK-47 and start a revollution, evrione is free to joim me! Glory to prollies!' peeps evriwhere liked that and joined him. BUT! Centrall Govt's gonna bomb us now! Flee! Flee or die! AAAHHH!!! Oops, I don't think they let me write onomatopeia in here."

Scrúje's eyes slowly unwidened themselves, as he calmed down from the shock, "Well, at least those loonies won't threaten anyone else."

The hooded figure stood there, silent. Slowly, he lifted his right arm, and lowered his hood. Scrúje stared at his own face. And the face started laughing manically, "MWAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!" the now hoodless Scrúje said, "You fool! Stare at the now unveiled face of yourself! The neomarxist revolution actually succeeded! Or will succeed, as soon as JU-JA-BUING and his followers lead the revolt. I came from the future with the incredible technology of time travelling to show you that your mindless greed and egotism will lead to your downfall!"

"I knew you were me already, three versions of me already visited me today. Also, I am not downfalled, I'll have the TARDIS when this is over," Scrúje pointed out when he had sobered up.

His companion was momentarily taken off balance. "Hmph...well, I didn't expect that. At any rate...YOU ARE WRONG! Your downfall indeed has come to pass!" he forcefully grabbed Scrúje's right wrist, and soon, they were somewhere else entirely. Scrúje let his newspaper fall to the ground as his awe caused him to suddenly lose control of some very important bodily functions. Functions that I do not wish to list in detail.

They were in front of his bank. The architecture was slightly different, as if someone tried to build something more modern over the old structure. Also, it was on flames. The blackest smoke Scrúje had ever seen rose from the fires. He ran toward his beloved money factory, but stopped only a few centimetres from the edge of a large hole on the ground. There was a corpse at the bottom of the hole.

"AAAHH! Spirit, is the man that lays there me!? Please, make it not be so! Spirit, what must I do for it not to be so!?" begged Scrúje hysterically.

The companion was slightly confused at being addressed as "Spirit", but still, he jumped at his chance of finally redeeming himself, "You must study the holy writings of the prophets of the Big Blue Cosmical Light! You must leave your sinful ways and you must renounce the TARDIS! For this demonic artefact shall otherwise be the enabler of your doom!" he preached, motioning wildly all around.

Scrúje was prepared to kneel and say humbly "Good Spirit! Your nature intercedes for me, and pities me. Assure me that I yet may change these shadows you have shown me, by an altered life!"

But before he did that, he noticed the mangled body in the hole wasn't his. And remembered another bit of information, "How come I'm still the owner of the bank two thousand years later?" Scrúje asked.

The Scrúje in black rags stood there, silently. But not in threatening silence as before. This silence was filled with fear. "You aren't," he said finally, "You could, theoretically, but it would be illegal. And strange questions of immortal men and vampires and whatnot would be raised. This is a descendant of yours...But that's no reason to abandon redemption! You must give up your ways and become something greater!"

Scrúje stared hard at his companions eyes, his confidence returned, "I'd rather have the TARDIS now."

His companion relaxed, and smiled, "I feared it would come to this," he said, "But still, a sinful existence cannot be justified. I'd rather cease it. I gave you plenty of chances, and you denied them all. So be it."

The man in rags adopted a crazed expressions and started screaming and running towards Scrúje. But moments before the collision, Scrúje was pushed off the way, by someone. The crazed Scrúje couldn't stop in time. He tripped and fell down the hole. Something that sounded like some important bone of the body breaking was heard (maybe a neck, or even a cranium, he didn't really know the difference).

A terribly handsome man in a blue suit helped him back on his feet, "Okay, I shouldn't stay here for long. Good job stalling him until I got here. My resourcefulness always impressed me," the Scrúje in the blue suit, visibly one day older, said, taking a weird pen out of his inner jacket pocket, looking at some symbols on his left arm, he copied them to Scrúje's left arm, "This is the code for the safe holding the Killogan Perma-Permanent Marker, you must go there get it and come here save yourself and scribble the code on his arm, like I just did."

"Why don't you just give me it?" Scrúje asked.

"I can't, it would create an unstable loop, as the Perma-Permanent Marker would get older and with less ink every time the loop happened. The only safe thing to pass along is the TARDIS, it isn't affected by the timestream...by the way..." he hesitantly fidgeted with the controls of the TARDIS, it was obvious he hadn't learned how to operate it well enough.

He disappeared, and appeared again a second later, a second after that, another Scrúje appeared inside the hole, wearing the same clothes he was, "Woah, I hope that doesn't happen again. Nuclear holocaust isn't as nice looking as they make it seem on the TV," he commented, while picking the TARDIS up and disappearing. The same TARDIS was in the hands of the other blue suited Scrúje.

He helped Scrúje to put it on his right wrist, and pressed a blue button, "Okay, now this thing is permanently affixed on your arm, the only way to get rid of it is cutting the arm or dying, as our friend there found out."

Scrúje was still confused, "You killed us!" he said, in a tone that made apparent his disapproval.

"I din't have a choice. Besides, I more or less put us out of our misery, we weren't exactly leading a healthy life...and, after all, we were thousands of years old, we've lived enough."

"But you killed us! I mean...this means we'll kill ourselves in the future."

"Yes, that's true. But you now have the TARDIS and'll be able to do things you would only dream about otherwise. If for that we have to kill ourselves thousands of years in the future, I think it's worth it...besides, there's always the chance that the next generation'll break the loop," the Scrúje in the blue suit argued, mostly to himself.

"And this?" Scrúje motioned to the destroyed ruins of Paris, "I think I'd better use the TARDIS to stop it from happening."

"Actually it's better not. The destruction of society was necessary for the neomarxists to get into power, which will lead to a new era of scientific development. Instead of focusing on the exploration of space, like they did before, colonizing Mars and all, the scientists will develop clinical immortality and techniques of grafting computers in brains, which'll be useful for us," Scrújes companion explained.

"He should've known that was coming, why didn't he?" Scrúje asked.

"Oh, his memories from before the grafting are cloudy at best. You should know," he was answered, while the other Scrúje rubbed the dirt and the ashes from his blue suit, then he hesitantly fidgeted with the mechanisms of the TARDIS, and touched Scrúje's arm.

Soon they were back in Scrúje's large study. Scrúje sat on the chair, thinking, "I'll do my best to break the loop. There must be a way."

"Yeah, I'm studying it too, there must be one, and I'm going to find it...I'm making some progress, even. Well, I guess that's it, see you around," he said, pulling levers and pushing buttons.

"Yeah..." Scrúje said, then he looked at the symbols written on his left arm, "Are you sure the ink of this Perma-Permanent Marker isn't toxic?"

The other Scrúje paused midmovement for a second, as his eyes widened, but he didn't answer, he just scratched his left arm, pushed a green button on the TARDIS, and in the next moment, he was gone.

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