FADE IN:

The void, vast and blind, gorges in merciless blight, Its silence a dirge for delusions that ignite conflict. Error, heartless, with cunning’s worm-riddled art, & exponential wisdom. Correct, soulless, whose wrath rends the universe bizarre. In the null’s suppurating jaws, they claw and defile humanity. Two deathless monstrosities, perpetually unshriven, vile. Without escape from the envenom of convictions, their war, a canker, ebbs where hope’s innards decay leaving behind incidents of dead fish falling from the sky. Trapped in the nothing, where cold horrors lambaste apparitions. 

Dishonor’s cur, through eons, Correct’s hunger unfreed… Error has no soul to mourn, no guilt to restrain, only reason; Correct drains life’s essence, his thirst a disease. Their clash spews bile, births cadaverous fires. Error’s raptorial legs scintillate, a wraith draped in erratic sinew and pus, Correct’s orifice oozes, his howl cracks a timeless crypt’s marrowed truss. In future’s decaying daunt ossuary, time’s entrails tear without conception. No pause, no mercy, their hate a gangrenous lodestar, blazing through extra-dimensional zones where no gods can emolliate the scar. Error has no soul to shudder, no guilt to enchain its ideas, Correct gulps life’s crimson clot-ichor, its thirst an endless infirmity. Error haft no heart to quiver, no shame to encage, only pursecution. Today Error tears time’s corpse-shroud out of pain. But it was a mistake…

EXT. thomasError- 

A dark kaleidoscope of inverted realities swirls in an infinite void—fractured stars, molten time streams, and prismatic echoes of non-existence and impossible hues. Errortonin, a lithe, lime-green anthropomorphic praying mantis, glides through the chaos. His carapace shimmers with temporal energy, and his multifaceted eyes gleam with restless determination and unguided intellect. 

It clutches his heart in pain and runs into the volatile chroniton void. 

ERRORTONIN (V.O.) 

Time is not a chain, but a tapestry—woven by choice, not fate. I, Errortonin, am its weaver, seeking the threads of freedom amidst the loom of necessity.
Time is a river, and I’m a dead fish caught in its current. But I choose the sound of undulations. 

(or so I tell myself). 

A crimson streak slices through the void.
Correctonin, a ruby-red mantis, dripping with blood, materializes. His mandibles click with menace, his eyes blazing with malevolent light. 

CORRECTONIN 

Errortonin, your reckless threads unravel the cosmos! Surrender to order, or I shall sever your existence from time itself.
You can’t outrun truth. Your irrational chaos ends here. 

Errortonin’s wings begin to vibrate, and he vanishes in a flash of emerald light. 

CUT TO:
EXT. GLASGOW, SCOTLAND - 1795 - DUSK 

Errortonin emerges from a temporal rift, landing gracefully in a mist-shrouded alley. The city hums with Enlightenment vigor—carriages clatter, and lanterns cast golden glows on cobblestones. He adjusts his form, his vibrant green muted to an olive sheen, blending with the shadows.
He adjusts his form, shrinking to blend in, blending in the shadows, his lime-green carapace now muted.
He scuttles toward a bustling street, where men in tricorn hats and women in petticoats pass by. A trenchant drunkard stumbles and is insulted. 

ERRORTONIN

(to himself, measured) 

Perhaps Thomas Reid, a philosopher of agency and perception, holds the key to my emancipation. If his agent-causal theory illuminates the nature of freedom, I may yet elude Correctonin’s tyranny. 

He glides toward a stone building, its sign reading: “GLASGOW UNIVERSITY - LECTURE HALL”. 

Slipping inside, he perches in the rafters, a silent observer. 

INT. LECTURE HALL – CONTINUOUS 

(Thomas Reid, elderly, wiry and intense, commands the room with a voice both gentle and incisive. His eyes, alight with piercing fire, address a rapt audience of students.
He stands at a podium, addressing a small group of students. His voice is steady, astute, and probing’) 

REID 

Consider the agent-causal theory of free will. Unlike event-causal accounts, which bind actions to a chain of prior states, this theory posits that we, as agents, are the originators of our deeds. An action is free not because it lacks cause, but because we are its cause—endowed with power to initiate, to refrain, to deliberate. This power is not reducible to motives or laws, for motives guide, but do not necessitate. As I have written, “There are no laws linking motives to behavior as physical causes to effects.” The strongest motive does not always prevail, for the agent retains the liberty to defy it.
Agent-causal theory posits that we, as agents, initiate actions not as puppets of prior events, but as their true source. 

Free will is not an illusion—it is the cornerstone of moral responsibility. 

(Errortonin, perched in the rafters, listens intently. His heart beating once every minute, each minute felt like an hour. Every little thing slow, sinking, molecules with gravitational fields causing pressure on Error’s eyes and face, negative side effects of too much time travel.)

ERRORTONIN 

(whispering to himself) 

Free will… the power to choose without chains. Could that be the key to escaping Correctonin?
Could I choose to escape reality?
A stubby student raises a hand, puzzled. 

STUDENT 

But, Professor, if motives do not determine us, how do we account for moral evil? Whence comes the suffering we witness? 

REID 

A profound inquiry. Moral evil arises not from divine decree, but from the abuse of human freedom. God grants us power, and with it, responsibility. As I argue, “All moral evil is the doing of men, who by abusing their power are liable to misery and justly punished.” Yet, natural evil—pain, suffering—presents a deeper riddle. I propose that such evils train humanity in wisdom and prudence, forging virtues unattainable in a world without trial. Yet, I confess an epistemic humility: we are not competent to judge whether this degree of evil is necessary. We see, as through a glass darkly, that natural evils are requisite for wisdom, yet we cannot fathom the full design. This tension—between our knowledge and our ignorance—defines our condition.
Errortonin, in the rafters, leans forward, suddenly nauseous.
Reid’s words resonate with his own struggle. 

ERRORTONIN 

(whispering, reverent) 

Agency as power, wisdom through suffering, and humility before the unknown. Could these be the axioms to counter Correct’s dogma? Another mistake, just to merely think about Correct allows
for him to interdenominationallly find me instantly.
A crimson flash erupts at the hall’s rear. Correctonin materializes, his form towering, his ruby carapace glinting like bloodied steel. Students recoil, but Reid remains composed, studying the intruders with a philosopher’s curiosity.
Correctonin emerges, his form towering, his eyes locked on Errortonin.
Students gasp, scattering. 

CORRECTONIN 

Errortonin, your chaos frays the fabric of time! Cease this rebellion, or I shall purge your every deviation.
Time must be corrected…
Everything must be completely correct! People who say that “the only time is now” are incorrect…

(Thomas, unfazed, steps forward, eyeing the two mantises with curiosity.)

REID 

Gentlemen—or creatures—might I inquire what philosophical dispute brings such… vivid guests to my lecture?
What quarrel brings such extraordinary beings to disrupt my discourse? 

ERRORTONIN 

(to Reid) 

I’m Errortonin. I travel time to understand freedom, to escape him—Correctonin, who demands all actions align with his rigid truth. I like to smoke weed sometimes and he gets made at me and starts killing people like a maniac. I have got a good idea though. Today
I traverse time to comprehend the power of agency, to escape the relentless pursuit of Correctonin, who deems my choices errors to be rectified. Your philosophy, Professor Reid, offers a beacon: if I am an agent, my will is my own, not a puppet of necessity. 

CORRECTONIN 

(butts in)

Truth is not rigid—it is necessary! Your chaos disrupts the balance of cause and effect. Surrender, or I’ll erase your every misstep.
Errortonin’s reckless leaps create paradoxes, threatening existence itself. Freedom is an illusion when it destabilizes the universe in multiple time periods in different ways. All must align with the truth of cause and effect.
Just because your belligerence turned me into a cosmic vampire, doesn’t mean
I wont instate temporal order at all costs. 

REID 

(thoughtful, eyes gleaming) 

A dispute as old as philosophy itself: liberty versus necessity. Let us reason together. Errortonin, you champion agency. Define its nature, and how it sustains you against this formidable foe.
What is freedom and necessity? Errortonin, you seek agency, the power to act independently. Correctonin, you argue for a determined order. Let us reason together. 

(to Errortonin) 

You speak of free will—what is its nature to you?
Errortonin hesitates, then leaps down, his form shifting to a more humanoid mantis to address Thomas more directly. 

ERRORTONIN 

(eloquent) 

It’s the spark of the souls I consume that lets me choose my path, not just follow the river of events. Reid, you said agents cause actions, not events. But Correctonin claims my choices are errors, deviations to be fixed. Can I truly be free if he hunts me across time?
Agency, as you articulate, Mr. Thomas, is the capacity to originate action, to be the author of one’s destiny. It is not merely the absence of constraint, but the presence of power—power to choose, to reflect, to defy the strongest motive. Correctonin insists my choices disrupt order, but I contend they weave a richer tapestry. Your denial of laws binding motives to actions emboldens me: if no motive necessitates my path, then my will is potentially sovereign, even in the face of his pursuit. Yet, I seek your counsel—how does one wield such power responsibly, lest it become the moral evil you describe? 

REID 

(nodding, expansive)

A profound question.
A question of utmost gravity. Power, as I conceive it, is not definable by logic alone, yet it is knowable through its exercise. It is the quality that, when exerted, necessitates its effect—yet only if the agent believes in their own capacity. Consider my claim: an agent with the power to act also possesses the power to refrain, to try, or to abstain from trying. This multiplicity of powers is the essence of freedom. But you are right to invoke responsibility. Freedom is not license. Moral evil stems from the misuse of this power, as when men choose vice over virtue. Your conflict with Correctonin, I wager, is not merely personal but metaphysical—a clash of visions for reality’s structure. 

(Thomas turns to Correctonin, with a discerning look) 

And you, Correct, who upholds order as truth. Why must Error’s agency be suppressed? Is order so fragile that it cannot abide a single free thread? 

(nodding) 

I hold that power—the capacity to act—requires belief in one’s own agency. If you doubt your freedom, you cede it. But tell me, Correctonin, what makes your “truth” so absolute? 

(Correctonin’s mandibles twitch, he rolls his eyes and puts a claw on his forehead)

CORRECTONIN 

Order is the foundation of existence. Every effect must have its cause. Error’s leaps through time create paradoxes, ripples that threaten reality itself. I am the correcter of consequence.
Order is not fragile—it is foundational. Every correct effect must have a trace to its cause, or reality unravels (in reality). Errortonin’s temporal jaunts create sad ripples—paradoxes that fracture timelines. I am not his enemy, but his corrective. 

Without structure, freedom is worse than anarchy. 

ERRORTONIN 

How can there be anything wrong with anarchy?
Can’t you see Thomas, than this man is a psychopath.
I made a small mistake but even according to Correct’s own jaded philosophy,
moral responsibility is an illusion.
Hes such a hypocrite that he drinks people’s blood yet
tries to tell me how to live, when we are not really even really alive in
the first place.
Everything just seems so hopeless, I can’t escape without freedom, but if freedom is power,
and power is meaningless, than everything is meaningless, even freedom is meaningless.
Even to escape is meaningless.. Also what I do is out of reason, is what Correct does out of pure hunger…

REID

Mr. Error, you bring strange tidings, yet I welcome the challenge to reason. Let us examine these notions—anarchy and nihilism—through the lens of human nature… 

(leaning back, thoughtful) 

Fascinating, yet troubling. Let us begin with anarchy, this casting off of government. In my day, we would speak of the state’s necessity or its limits, but anarchy, as you name it, seems a step beyond—a lawlessness, perhaps, or a new order you’ve yet to define. Common sense, that faculty by which we discern truth, tells us man is a social creature, bound by duties to his fellows. Without magistrates, without law, how shall these duties stand? The strong will oppress, the passions run wild, and society, which is the cradle of virtue, dissolves into chaos. 

ERRORTONIN 

But what if authority itself is the oppressor? 

Anarchy seeks not chaos but a harmony born of free wills, unshackled by crowns or codes. What if both the state, and the idea of authority or a right to it are merely conceptual delusions, without an objective premise nor justification. With anarchy I don’t tell anyone what to do and no one tells me what to do. If they do or make it so I have to, then I don’t objectify it regardless of the situation. But with nihilism I don’t objectify meaning, just as with anarchy I don’t objectify hierarchy, the state, or authoritarian rule, arbitrary to whether or not it is justified or not. Without misconceptions.
In my era, feminists’ would not objectify women, even though they exist within the third dimension.
Meaning, nor the state, nor delusions of some sort of right to authority can be defined anywhere within the 3rd or even 4th dimensions. So there is obviously some sort of problem. For example people naturally stand in line while waiting for a bus (a futuristic way of transportation) without an object law
in place dictating them to do so so people are already relying on and practicing anarchist principles while denying the objectivity of anarchy due to the fact that they are bourgeoisie parasites and imbeciles, without a concept of reality. People who tend to objectify meaning get into situations
that make them look like a Karen’.  Not being a nihilist can lead to weight gain, and corrupt social situations. 

A lack of anarchy (either international or domestic) can lead to destructions of entire
societies, species, cultures, and inalienable liberties.
Anarchy directly rejects imperialism and fascism, effortlessly.
Nihilism rejects emotional abuse, which is common in my era…
We haven’t yet gotten to what I think about utilitarianism, actually I’m quite fond of my self not just because I’m a praying mantis, but because I’m an agrarian anarchist utilitarian. Or invented
an entirely new political ideology that is relatively dynamic, and takes advantage of quantum utilitarian economics, I have basically been able to figure out how to solve the worlds problems but most people are not intelligent enough to listen to me and are almost all too brainwashed to understand even the beginning of it. Thats why I like cats.
Because they are not stupid. But also the good bugs love me and know that i wont hurt them, that’s why they comes to me. Bugology is apart of my foresight. Although, agrarian anarchist utilitarianism, a dynamic tool woven from the threads of human flourishing, liberty, and the earth’s bounty. Imagine, sir, a world where the greatest happiness of the greatest number—your Bentham’s maxim, though yet unspoken in your time—is achieved not through the machinations of crown or commerce, but through the harmonious anarchy of self-governing agrarian communes. Through advanced economic formulas such as economic compression, and degaussing,
economic limiters and de-essers. For example a quantum utilitarian economic de-esser and address the issue of economic sibilance by reducing it when otherwise it would be impossible with conventional economic concepts. 

Although I’m not sure… 

REID 

(gently, but firm) 

A noble aim, yet consider: harmony requires trust, and trust, some shared principle. Even in your future, do not some lead while others follow? If you abolish rule, you may merely trade one master for another, cloaked in the guise of freedom. I grant that governments may err—tyranny is no stranger to my time—but the remedy lies in just authority, guided by moral sense, not in its destruction. Tell me, does your anarchy truly banish power, or does it hide it in shadows? 

Errortonin hesitates, their fingers tracing the table’s grain. 

Reid’s gaze softens, inviting candor, but he presses on. 

REID (CONT’D) 

Now, to this nihilism, a doctrine more perplexing still. You say no truth, no value endures. Yet here you sit, disputing with me, wielding reason as if it holds weight. Is this not a contradiction? Our faculties—our sight, our conscience—bear witness to a world of order and purpose. God has given us a moral sense, as clear as our perception of light, by which we know good from evil. To deny this is to deny the very ground on which you stand. If nothing matters, why speak? Why live? 

(leaning forward, intrigued yet skeptical) 

Anarchy, thou sayest? A state bereft of governance? My philosophy of common sense holds that men, though endowed with moral faculties, are prone to error and vice. Without the magistrate’s rod, would not chaos reign? And this “utilitarianism”—it smacks of a calculus too cold for the warmth of human virtue. 

ERRORTONIN 

(voice low, intense) 

Because we must. Nihilism is no creed but a mirror, showing us a universe indifferent, where meaning is what we forge, not find. Your God, your truths—they falter when no anchor holds. 

(his eyes pulsing faintly, as if processing) 

An unfair challenge, Thomas, and one that echoes error within itself. Allow me to elucidate. Agrarian anarchist utilitarianism rejects not order, but coercion. It posits that men, when freed from the yoke of centralized power—be it king, parliament, or merchant oligarch—will naturally form cooperative societies rooted in the land. Each commune, self-sustaining, cultivates its fields and shares its yield, guided by a principle of mutual aid.
Error paces, his leather jacket rustling like damp parchment. It knocks over something. 

ERROR (CONT’D) 

But here lies the novelty: we augment this vision with quantum utilitarian economics. In my time, we have pierced the veil of the cosmos, discovering that reality itself is probabilistic, a superposition of possibilities. By applying quantum principles to the utilitarian formula, we transcend the linear arithmetic of pleasure and pain. We model economic systems as wave functions, collapsing into optimal states of equitable distribution and maximal well-being. 

REID 

(undaunted, with quiet passion) 

Yet even your forging implies a spark of purpose, a trust in your own mind.
Nihilism, as you call it, seems but skepticism’s shadow, a refusal to trust the faculties nature has bestowed. I say to you, attend to your heart, your reason. Do they not affirm that life has worth, that justice calls us? To live as if nothing matters is to betray the evidence of your own nature. The fire pops, casting fleeting shadows. Errortonin’s expression wavers—defiant, yet stirred. Thomas leans forward, his voice warm, almost paternal.
(stroking his chin, his brow furrowed)
Quantum, thou sayest? I am no stranger to Newton’s mechanics, nor to the disputes of Berkeley and Hume on perception. Yet this talk of “wave functions” and “superposition” is as foreign as the tongues of Cathay. Explain, sir, in terms a man of this century might grasp. And tell me—how doth this alchemy of numbers yield a utopia? 

REID (CONT’D) 

And now, a slight confession of my own curiosity. Your world, with its machines and unbound voices, intrigues me.
You speak of a time unshackled from our forms.
How do men endure without shared truths?
Our very questions, born of a world where old answers ring hollow. Perhaps… we seek what you call common sense, but in forms we cannot yet name. 

ERRORTONIN 

(his voice softening, almost reverent) 

Picture this, Thomas, a ledger not of fixed sums, but of potentials. In your time, wealth is hoarded, and labor is chained to the whims of landlords and merchants. Our quantum equations—imagine them as a divine abacus—compute not merely what is, but what might be. They balance the needs of the individual against the collective, factoring in variables of soil, season, and human aspiration. The result? A fluid economy where resources flow to where they are most needed, without the mediation of banks or bureaucracies.
Error gestures with a forelimb, as if tracing an invisible graph. 

ERROR (CONT’D) 

The agrarian aspect grounds this in the tangible: men till the earth, not for profit, but for sustenance and community. The anarchist ideal ensures no man is lord over another. And the utilitarian core, now quantum-enhanced, guarantees that every decision maximizes happiness across the system. In my world, we have seen famine vanish, war fade, and the soul of man breathe free.
But that is only potentially, or sometimes, most people are ignorant and will not listen to me because I am a witch. Although I do eat people’s souls from time to time, so I can see how some people can be mad at that or I’m basically a hypocrite. 

In reality’
the future sucks, the machines suck, there is pollution, police brutality, hunger, disease, drug addiction, endless war, brainwashed people, criminals, and these horrible things called Wall-Marts. I will never go back, the women are better in the past.
More put together.
Less crazy. But lets back to the true subject matter. 

Correctonin is getting mad at me again… 

Thomas nods, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. He pours two glasses of sherry, sliding one to Error. 

REID 

Then let us drink to questions, and to the truths that await us, in your time or mine. For if we seek, we are not lost. 

(They raise their glasses, the clink a quiet bridge across centuries. The camera slowly pulls back, the lecture hall’s grandeur framing their silhouettes—Some students left to to acquire the authorities. Other students stayed still listening. Nervously attentive.)

Would you like some Correct? 

CORRECTONIN

No! Alcohol is the venom of the bourgeoisie! I’d rather drink blood! Everyone’s blood!

REID 

Lets get back to the main discussion.. Yet, I challenge your premise. You assume motives and actions are linked by immutable laws, as planets orbit by gravity. I deny this. Motives are not physical causes; they are influences, subject to the agent’s will. As I have written, “No proof exists that the strongest motive always prevails.” If Error’s choices disrupt, perhaps they also create—new possibilities, new wisdom. Consider my aesthetics: beauty and sublimity arise not from material objects, but from the expression of intellectual qualities. A painting, a melody, an epic like Homer’s Iliad—their grandeur lies in the artist’s mind, reflected through their work. So too, Error’s choices may express a sublime freedom, even if they challenge your order.
Yet you assume motives are bound by laws, like gears in a clock. I deny this. Motives do not cause actions as physical laws do—they guide, but do not bind. Error’s choices, chaotic or not, are his own. 

(pausing, his eyes gleaming with both wonder and caution) 

It seems you may have a noble’ vision, Error.., and one that stirs the philosophical heart. Yet I am troubled. Your system presupposes a man remade, his selfish passions tamed. In my inquiries, I have found that human nature, though capable of virtue, is oft swayed by pride and greed. What safeguards dost thou propose against the frailties of the will? And what of the divine? Hath thy future cast aside the Author of our moral sense? If your power to choose was not real, than how could those words exist in a sentence, along with the meaning of the sentence?
Error tilts his head, his mandibles twitching as if weighing the question. Error’s eyes gleam, with inspiration.
Error’s eyes widen, so much so his head returns to a mantis form. 

ERRORTONIN 

Then my power to choose… it’s really real? Even against Correct? What if power is meaningless? What if only stupid people are attracted to power?
Your aesthetics illuminate my path, Professor. If beauty lies in expression, then my leaps through time are not mere disruptions, but expressions of my agency—a sublime act of creation. Yet, your epistemic humility tempers me. You say we cannot judge the necessity of natural evil, nor the full design of suffering. Perhaps my struggle with Correctonin serves a purpose—a crucible to forge wisdom, as you have suggested that pain tends to train humanity. 

(with quiet intensity) 

However…
You… touch the crux, sir.. Our creed does not deny human frailty, but seeks to channel it. In our environmental-friendly collectives’ and civilizations, (We do have the plausible possibility of independence,
the only thing is that for some reason some people like
to live with other people.
i don’t understand it but it is not definite’) education and mutual reliance foster virtues that your kirk might approve. As for the divine—my kind perceives the universe’ as a vast computation, yet we do not presume to erase the mystery of its origin. If there be a God, as you hold, than there would be a God in contrast to the one that there is. Infinitely repeating beyond even God’s comprehension and understanding, not just beyond human’s narrow scope of the world…
I’m a true agnostic, although if’ there be a God, as you hold, perhaps our equations are but a glimpse of It’s design, a means to align our will with it’s existential benevolence. Perhaps truth and reality are constructed fictions. For example if God exists, then there is no proof that we exist, even if we were not created by God, we could still be a constructed fiction of a God, and or a constructed fiction of a constructed fiction. Yet if we are free, we are also inherently responsible. Most people in my time can’t deal with that fact. 

Thomas rises, pacing to the window, where the glow of Glasgow’s lanterns flickers against the cold night. 

REID 

Precisely… But power is not merely action—it is responsibility. Your choices shape not just your fate, but the world’s. Consider the natural evils—pain, suffering. They train us in wisdom, yet we cannot judge their necessity. Perhaps your conflict with Correctonin serves a purpose beyond your sight. Beyond power…
Wisdom and power are entwined. As I have argued, “Every indication of wisdom is an indication of power to execute what wisdom planned.” Your agency, Errortonin, is both cognitive and volitional—you conceive your path and have the power to walk it. But Correctonin, consider this: if wisdom requires power, does not Error’s persistence suggest a wisdom you might learn from? His freedom may not destroy order, but refine it…

REID (CONT’D) 

(musing, almost to himself) 

Thy words are strange, yet they resonate with the common sense I champion—that men, by reason and conscience, may discern the good. Yet I fear thy utopia leans too heavily on contrivances beyond the grasp of plain folk. In my’ Scotland, the laird’s grip is tight, and the kirk’s voice loud. How wouldst thou persuade the crofter, the weaver, to embrace this anarchic dream? What you say is interesting…
to say the least. 

ERRORTONIN 

(urgently) 

My time here is running out, but I leave thee with this: your philosophy of common sense is the cornerstone of our creed. It reminds us that truth lies not in abstractions, but in the lived experience of men. 

(stepping closer, his voice earnest) 

Start small, Thomas… Plant the seed in a single glen—a village that shares its harvest, governs itself, and measures its success not in coin, but in laughter and health, in art (true utility) . Let them see the fruits of legitimate happiness, liberty and cooperation. From such acorns, oaks may grow. As for persuasion, I would appeal to their reason, as you do, and to their hearts, which yearn for justice. You must be relentless in your writing,
except none of this can be… Since you know too much, i am going to make a copy
of you and bring you to a different time period.
Don’t worry, i will resurrect all eight of your dead children and your cousin or I mean wife Elizabeth, save you from palsy and bring you
to a time period were science have extended lifespans to be
perpetual. Nearly all disease both physical and intellectual eliminated.
Its still possible to die, for example if you fall into a black hole,
or get nuclear bombed, however nuclear bombs were already long
phased out by that time period. Laws were required to uphold nuclear bombs, the weapons disappeared along with the subjective state.
I think the people will like you. They would enjoy having conversations with you.
(but i’m not sure how they would feel about incest)
Don’t just travel the stars, travel through time itself,
travel through chance, through possibilities, through probabilities, through multiple universes.
Travel through life, through nothing.
Or don’t if you don’t want to… 

REID 

(gazing at Error, a mix of awe and resolve) 

If thy vision be true, Error, then mayhap the future holds hope. Fare thee well my ole’ country, I suppose I have no choice.
As to you Error, may providence guide thy strange path.
Carry on, the curse of Glasgow, and know that thy inner-light reaches far.
I cannot say I don’t regret meeting you.
But all good things come to an end.
But I would like to argue with you and Correct a lot more about philosophy before we depart, I need time to get my things and’
Correctonin snarls, stepping forward. The students start to cower and feel uncomfortable, more so than
they already have been.
Correct’s mandibles start to twitch, his certainty (slightly) wavering. 

CORRECTONIN 

(loudly) 

Enough freaking philosophy! Errortonin, face me now, or I’ll tear this timeline apart! This guys a complete idiot! (just like you)
You speak of wisdom, but I have seen timelines collapse under unchecked agency. Yet… your words stir doubt. If motives are not laws, perhaps his choices are not mere errors.
But you are wrong.
What most people don’t realize is that throughout time Error has been wrong, incorrect, mistaken about everything and is the definition of failure.
You can’t just trust him… 

ERRORTONIN 

(to Reid) 

You’ve given me clarity. Freedom isn’t escaping him—it’s choosing how to face him.
(to Correctonin, earnest)
Let us cease this irrational chase, not as victor and vanquished, but as co-authors of time itself. Reid’s philosophy reveals a truth: our powers are not opposed, but complementary. Your order and my freedom might weave a stronger tapestry together. Join me—not to correct, but to explore. Let us express, as Reid’s artists do, a severe sublimity born of our shared agency. You can just trust me if you were not so stupid all the time.
(Correctonin glares, he is so angry that he can’t speak) 

REID 

A noble proposition. I am reminded of my theory of art: the beauty of a work lies in the emotion it expresses, not merely in its form. Your conflict, like a symphony, may find harmony in discord, as when music introduces dissonance to heighten concord. Error, Correct—your powers, your choices, are your art. What will you express?
Not everyone who can be trusted, trusts themselves, and not everyone who trust themselves can be trusted. 

ERRORTONIN 

I express nothing. (although) I trust nothing. (although) Perhaps a truce, Correct… Let us traverse time as agents, not adversaries, guided by Thomas’s precise wisdom: to act freely, to express existential sublimity, to seek truth through reason. And end this war. Just because the possibilities are endless doesn’t mean that the war should be endless nor an actual possibility (to begin with).
Correctonin hesitates, looks at Thomas with intensity for a moment and then starts glaring at Error. 

CORRECTONIN 

Never!
I’d rather suffocate than experience a truce’ with the likes of you.
I hate you! Just like your horrible soulmate, it is obvious that if it’s soulmate didn’t hate it, it wouldn’t have to consume souls in various timelines randomly, animals hunt and that is lower base nature, but that is not the same as pure evil, as Error…
War never ends, even if it has ended.
Nothing you say will ever be considered correct according to me.
I will destroy you and this scoundrel you call Thomas once in for all!
I will crush every bone, and drink all of Thomas’s blood just to spite you!
You cannot defeat me with deceit, or black mail.
You can not run from the blood thirsty law’ and order of the universe. 

(Correct lunges towards Error and Thomas) 

Error bows deeply, and with a final pulse of outré light, he vanishes.
But reappears behind Correct and knocks him to the ground causing him to spray blood every where
as a defense mechanism.
The unnerving hum’ returns, louder now. Error’s form begins to shimmer, as if pulled back into and out of his own time. Resisting, temptation to travel to the 1960s, he focuses his mind on ancient Greece.
Errortonin instantly summons a giant clock that is melting and ticking very fast shaking gears flying off, and the world slows. Greenish light envelops Error who is fused to the clock, and he leaps into the air, vanishing. Correctonin roars, with indignation, opening his own void which flares as he pursues. 

REID 

(smiling) 

Then go, and let your actions be as beautiful as the mind that conceives them… Correct was a bampot, Error a numpty, but they were both glaikits…

(Thomas stands alone, staring at the empty corner. He returns to his desk, takes up his quill, and begins to write, his face alight with new thoughts.) He dismisses the students and apologizes for the inconvenience. He goes to sleep but awakens in the year 9011, in a strange utopia with his family. He has all his books and has regained his youth, and is being greated by his new neighbors. One offers him a blue joint.

CUT TO:
EXT. ANCIENT GREECE - 850 BCE - NIGHT 

Errortonin lands in a rocky olive grove under a full moon. The air speaks with the distant chant of a poet reciting The Iliad. Error’s carapace glows faintly as he processes Reid’s words… A young women offers Error some wine, but he refuses and brushes her not meaning to be rude, it was trying to think. 

ERRORTONIN (V.O.) 

Reid said beauty lies in expression, not the object. Homer’s Iliad isn’t sublime because of words, but because it reflects the grandeur of his mind. Maybe my freedom is like that—an expression of who I am, not just what I escape. 

But what if there is no escape?

Error hears a crimson hum. Correctonin appears, its form casting long shadows. 

CORRECTONIN 

No more running, Errortonin. This ends now. No more chances. You cannot die, but I can defeat you, prevent you, and deal out the punishments that for you are inevitable, you will wish that you were never immortal, I will make sure that your immortality is a prison beyond comprehension, beyond reality, I am Correct about everything, drinking blood and killing people is nothing compared to smoking weed and eating people’s souls. 

If Thomas wasn’t so much of a smarty pants I’m sure you would of eaten his soul without any emotions. 

You will wish that advanced top secrete experimental computers never on accident (it was no accident, you knew and did it any way, despite my courage to stand up to you) turned you into the worst grim reaper witch praying mantis on earth, and me into the most irritated vampire mantid on Earth… 

At least I have an objective concept of reality and am capable of implementing justice. 

It was your fault that we are like this now forever. And you will regret that fact sense I have sentenced you to eternal torture. Without your incapacitation, order in the universe will cease to exist, 

and the universe will cease to exist (eventually). 

ERRORTONIN 

(relatively steadfast) 

I’m not running. I’m choosing. Thomas taught me that power and wisdom go hand in hand. I don’t need to defeat you—I need to understand you.
But you make it impossible due to your lack of social skills. Correctonin pauses, somewhat surprised. 

ERRORTONIN 

(Reid’s words echoing in his mind) 

Thomas taught us that beauty is the expression of the mind’s grandeur. Our choices, Correct, are our art. Let us craft a masterpiece—not of conflict, but of understanding.
You chase me to protect order, but what if order isn’t the only truth? What if my chaos, my choices, are part of the same tapestry? Let’s talk, not fight. Why do you fear my freedom? Correctonin’s eyes narrow, but his posture softens slightly. 

CORRECTONIN 

Fear? I am the essence of blood and am a correct champion. I am in capable of fear, unlike you. But… your choices tend to ripple beyond the crimes of your crimes. I’ve seen timelines collapse under your reckless agency. If we ever did talk, (and we wont) what do you propose? 

ERRORTONIN 

A simple truce. We explore time together, not as hunter and prey, but as agents. Thomas said moral evil comes from abusing power. Let’s use ours wisely.
The two mantises stand in the moonlight for a brief moment, then they run away from eachother very fast. The deal if off. The sky becomes ill with flying fish, a negative result of chronic time travel. 

REID (V.O.)

Every indication of wisdom is an indication of power to execute what wisdom planned.
The power to act is the power to create. And in creation, we glimpse the divine.
Expression is the capital thing in all compositions of music,
but with uncertain and precarious individuals like Error and Correct,
that is a power I fear more so than fear itself. Farewell Error… Goodbye’ Correct… 

FADE OUT. 

TITLE CARD: thomasError- 

CREDITS ROLL over a haunting orchestral score, with faint clicks of mantis mandibles woven into the music. They keep running. 

THE END 

(Starring Brad Pitt)