fragment:prehistoric-artillery-strike-22
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SYSTEM ERROR

Item #: SCP-3939

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3939 is currently kept at Site-39 in pre-containment holding cell C (39-PC01-C). When not in testing it is to be kept in a standard containment locker of appropriate size.

Description: SCP-3939 is a gramophone, or record player, of unknown date of origin but consistent with design and manufacturing trends of the 1930s. It has an octagonal wooden base constructed of polished mahogany and is imprinted with the logo of HMV at the time. Atop this base is a turntable which is connected to the gramophone mechanism and a large brass horn. All components are in good condition.

SCP-3939 currently has a black vinyl record on the turntable, which is turning at a standard rate despite no visible source of power. Additionally, SCP-3939 possesses the ability to speak with a voice transmitted through the horn and potential sapience. Thus far it has only been shown to speak to certain people.

The brass horn always rotates to point at the observer. Other observers will see the horn rotate to point towards them.

Further tests are pending.

You slowly, quietly step over to the anomalocaris. You aim the sharp end of the debris down and swing. It lets out a cry. You swing. And swing. Chunks of exoskeleton are dislodged and blood is spilling out from between the metal plates. It's thrashing. You swing. It's crying. You swing. You raise your weapon for the final blow.

Your foot goes numb. No, not numb, exploded. The fireball from the miniature ICBM radiates up your legs as the shrapnel stabs through you, throwing you off your balance and onto the floor. The debris tumbles off to somewhere out of sight. There's a barrel pointing at your head and the fletchette inside glints under the chamber's lights. Before the shock of the missile's impact sets in you clasp your hands over the barrel, frantically hoping it proves possible to crush hard metal under your fingers. Boom. You see red. You see dark. You feel the flechette tear your head and pierce your skull—

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