Link to article: SCP-3939-31.
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[[div class="scp-image-block block-right" style="width: 300px;"]] [[image https://scp-wiki.wdfiles.com/local--files/scp-3939/scp.jpg style="width: 300px;"]] [[div class="scp-image-caption" style="width: 300px;"]] Picture of SCP-3939 [[/div]] [[/div]] **Item #:** SCP-3939 **Object Class:** Safe **Special Containment Procedures:** SCP-3939 is kept in a standard holding cell, no special measures are needed. **Description:** SCP-3939 is an old gramophone with a brass horn and a wooden base. It displays a single anomalous effect which is that the vinyl record on it is continuously spinning. Further tests are needed to determine nature of this effect. [[div class="story"]] You reach behind you and your right hand falls upon the cold metal shell of the canister of amnestics. Your fingers move over the thing, feeling the trigger and the flexible plastic mask. You grab the canister, feeling the cold blend with the warmth of your skin. You're able to twist it, to align the trigger with your finger like a gun. A tiny part of you wishes that it's the experimental stuff. In a sudden flurry of motion, you swing both arms forward. You try to grab the back of Carlos' head with with your left hand. With your right, you force the amnestic mask onto his face. You squeeze both hands together to make sure he can't escape. But he's definitely trying to. His arms and legs flail everywhere, trying to push you away but more focused on uselessly panicking. If you were a lot stronger, physically, you might enjoy watching his true panic for a little while. As it is, you can barely hold him. You squeeze the trigger. There's a gentle hiss as the amnestic gas is released into the mask. You see it mist up between the plastic and Carlos' skin, a myriad of confusing colours that slip out of memory when you blink, waiting to confuse you again when you open your eyes. Carlos' eyes are of true panic. It's fascinating, like watching an animal you've never heard of on a nature documentary trying to breed. You can see him straining, struggling to hold his breath, but you both know that it can't last. He's barely struggling as this point. If it's a race between him trying to get away and you trying to hold him down, then you're winning. But you don't let go of him, not for a second. If you let him remember that you tried to amnesticise him, you'd lose your job in a heartbeat. All resistance suddenly drops. He can't take it anymore. He chose his life over his memory. He takes a breath, singular and deep, and his eyes roll back. It's now that you let go. The canister, now mostly empty, drops to the floor with a metallic clang. Carlos falls backwards onto the floor, with a long, painful moan. You tower above him, still standing, like a killer over a corpse. "What... what happened?" Carlos breathes. You don't know how much he remembers. You're not quite sure how much memory a Class B is supposed to take. A few hours? No, that's Class C. Or maybe that was Site-21's Class C. Site-39 might be different. "Do you know your name?" "What?" You're not sure that he remembers English. "Do you know your number?" "Num... number? What number? Who are you?" You glance down at the canister on the floor. Whatever was in there, it wasn't standard Class B. You wonder what happened to Dr. Greaves. "Your name is Terry Garcia." you say, eyes still cast toward the canister. "My name is Terry Garcia." Carlos repeats, slowly, like someone learning a language for the first time. You look at his eyes. They're empty. You quickly look back at the canister. "I need you to remember a number for me. Can you do that?" He nods in the corner of your vision. "3977. Three-nine-seven-seven. Repeat it back to me." "Three nine seven seven." he says, tonelessly. "If anyone asks you who you are, tell them that your name is D-3977, and that you are lost. Now get out of my office and go for a long walk until someone tells you where you should be." Carlos picks himself up and shuffles towards the door. "My name is D-3977. You are lost." He shuts the door gingerly behind him. You slump in the chair at your desk. The empty canister sits there on the floor, mocking you. You stare at it for a solid ten minutes, wondering [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3864 what new projects D-3977 will be assigned to]. Maybe you don't belong in the Foundation. ... No time for letting your mind fester. There's no good kind of festering. You've still got to rewrite the article. [[div class="choices"]] [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-3939/offset/18 Let's do that tomorrow. Time to go home.] [[/div]] [[/div]]