SCP-3939-44
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Item #: SCP-3939

Object Class: Unclassed

Special Containment Procedures: Object is kept in standard pre-containment holding cell. A researcher is to be assigned to classify it as soon as possible.

Description: None yet available.

The Site Director has to be wrong. She has to be! There's no way both O5-3 and O5-9 were wrong. It occurs to you that instead of bowing down and pretending you were wrong, you should have name dropped them. It's their word against hers. It doesn't matter now, though — you're going to have to do this yourself, and you don't even know if SCP-3939 really exists.

There's only one way to be sure — you'll have to go see it yourself.

You make your way down to PC01 — the Pre-Containment sector — and navigate your way to where you were told SCP-3939 is being kept. The door is electronically sealed, so you swipe your access card on the scanner. A red light becomes green, there's a click, and the door slides open — slowly at first, then faster, then slower again as it finishes opening. There's a very brief, very slight rush of air into the room, as if someone's been locked in here for a very long time and the oxygen is rushing back in.

You step into the room, and it's pitch black.

It's a square block of concrete with plenty of space. Concrete floor, five by five meters or so, walls a little under three meters high, ceiling same as the floor, and boy is it cold in here. It's a summer day, but the walls here are thick, and you're deep inside the building where there's no space for windows. Your breath mists in front of you.

Two bar lights on the ceiling suddenly flare into life, the leftmost burning a bright white stripe into your eyes and the rightmost flickering gently as if it can't decide whether to be on or off. Illuminated between them is a short pedestal, on top of which rests an antique gramophone.

A great brass horn stares directly up at you, the inside of the cone disappearing into darkness within. It's attached to an octagonal base of what could be polished mahogany — you've never been an expert on wood, and when it comes to writing the description, you'll probably get Carlos to do it for you. On the front of the base is the logo of the manufacturer — the little white dog staring down into the horn, thinking his master is trapped somewhere inside the phonograph, only hearing his voice and not realising that it's an imitation. On top of the base lies a single vinyl record, unmarked and unblemished. It's in perfect condition, despite the gramophone's needle digging into it, and despite the fact that it's still ectoentropically spinning even though there's clearly no power source.

What's next?

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