You cycle through time until you find all the shakers at their communal evening meal. 80 men and women at long tables, men on one side, women on the other. There are no children, since no one in the community has engaged in baby-making activities in quite some time. The community is eating a humble-looking stew, Lucy Wright's dark eyes looking over her flock from the front of the room.
You roll back time, the shakers spooning dinner from their mouths back into their bowls. Once the contents are ladeled back into a big pot, you stop time and stir in some extra flavoring: an ass-load of research grade THC you liberated from a government lab. Then you rush the group back to their meal.
As decidedly less pious looks invade the shaker's faces you put them all on slow mo and decide what other medications they need on a case by case basis.
The men's table is quick and easy. They all get enough sedative to keep them snoring until noon the next day. The older women get the same treatment as do all other women you're not interested in seeing naked. That leaves 16 women between the ages of 18 and 50 that would make the world a better place if they were less inclined to be clothed. They get a random selection of club **** you stole from a frozen rave.
Lucy Wright, slurping her soup with a dopey grin on her pretty face, gets the high-grade xtacy you stole from the same lab you got the THC from.
You then leave the shakers to finish their meal and take their medicine, walking about in the growing dusk and taking a piss on a fence. Sometimes its nice just to let time push you along at its accustomed pace. After half an hour, though, you figure its time to check on your project.
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