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Hi!

Item #: SCP-3939

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: Uhh, how does this section work? I don't know what this means and I don't want to mess this up so I'll say it's contained. That's fine, right?

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.

Tests to ensure a trilobite free environment are underway!

"What the hell are you? What are you doing here?" you ask, on the verge of shouting.

"I'm an anomalocaris, duh. I'm here for a routine checkup to make sure there's no trilobites around here!"

You heave yourself out of the room's corner and take a close look at the creature. Its head is all gun barrels, largely metal with only one barrel being organic. No mouth, no eyes, nothing. The only other metal on its body is the plating built into several fins and the main body.

"And why would you need to do that?"

It shifts over to a debris pile, prodding it with the end of a rocket propelled grenade protruding from a barrel, and abruptly swings to face you. Having the barrels pointed directly at your head is nerve wracking.

"Don't you know how evil trilobites are?" it asks.

"No?"

"They've destroyed towns! Cities! Worlds! No wait that world thing may be wrong, umm, but they would destroy a world if they could! And their bodies are so tiny the evil in them is at peak density!" The barrels are growing, accumulating additional metal from an unknown source to form missile launchers and a bundle of grenades.

"Is there any reason why they are that way?"

"No! Trilobastards exist to hate! That's all they're for!" One of the missile's engines ignites. Its voice suddenly becomes monotone. "Their First Lord was a hole and from that hole they—"

The missile launches at you. It curves inches from your body and speeds back to the chamber entrance, blowing the hole open wider. Bits of your shirt are singed from the engine and you spend a few seconds blowing the embers away.

"Oh sorry about that! Are you okay?" Its voice is back to normal.

"I'm— I'm fine."

You realize it'd be a really good time to change subject now.

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