Link to article: SCP-7390 Fragment 6.
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[[=image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/scp-7390/Linger.jpg]] … with the number clearly visible. Heads again. Grimsley gives a slow, mocking applause. ‘Very nice, excellent form. Me and my team will take our leave now.’ Lance raises an eyebrow. ‘It’s heads. You lost.’ Grimsley shakes his head. ‘And you cheated.’ Grimsley holds out his hand; Lance returns the Coin. He positions it between his thumb and forefingers, then launches it with a snap. ‘Tails,’ he says, letting the Coin land in his open palm – the eagle facing upwards. He positions it again. //Snap!// ‘Tails.’ It lands; tails again. //Snap!// ‘Tails’ – Tails. //Snap!// ‘Heads’ – Heads. //Snap!// ‘Tails’ – Tails. This continues for another five tosses, alternating the call but always getting them right – because the Coin isn’t actually flipping at all. The snap of his thumb launches it into the air, but it wobbles instead of spinning; the movement, aided by its speed and the sunlight glinting off it, gives the illusion of it tumbling, but whichever face it starts with is what it inevitably lands with. ‘I’ve worn this Coin around my neck for the past thirty years,’ Grimsley says. ‘Do you really think a cheap parlour trick would work on me?’ ‘I was not aware of that technique,’ Lance says, his expression returning to indifference. ‘Sure you weren’t. I’ll just have to trust you?’ Lance crosses his arms. ‘You wanted to test my luck; now you have. Do not test your own by reneging against me.’ Lance immediately disengages, joining George as he argues with the Epsilon Seven agents. Grimsley reaches for the acrylic case, but after a few moments of fumbling and finding nothing but shirt, he looks down. ‘What the…’ He puts the Coin into a buttoned pocket – his back-up in case he loses the case – and takes off his lanyard, holding it off to one side. ‘Guys?’ Lance and George turn to Grimsley as he approaches. The lanyard grabs their attention. It’s hanging at an angle. Not straight down, as it should; leaning toward the wreck. Pulled. Grimsley tosses the lanyard toward Lance – it curves off to the left. ‘Magnetic?’ George says. ‘Plastic,’ Grimsley says. ‘Not magnetic. Gravity.’ Lance’s eyes are focused on the discarded lanyard; his brow, furrowed. Grimsley’s accusing glare softens. ‘You actually don’t know what’s here, do you?’ Lance meets his gaze. ‘No. I do not.’ A moment’s pause. ‘George, go up to the base camp, tell them there’s an anomaly down here. Find something we can measure the pull with, another lanyard, or some rope, or…’ George holds up the water bottle. Transparent and half-filled. Once the water settles, there’s a visible tilt in its surface. ‘I can mark the level with a pen,’ he says. ‘Do it. Get a few, bring them down here and put them around the wreck. They all need to be watched, and if the pull gets worse, tell us and evacuate. Do it now.’ George nods and sprints for the base camp. ‘Was there an anomaly on this plane,’ Grimsley says to Lance. ‘There was nothing anomalous on-board at take-off.’ ‘Then it’s almost definitely at fault. How much time do we have?’ ‘Seventy minutes.’ ‘Not extending the blackout?’ ‘No.’ Grimsley bobbles his head to either side. ‘Then we’d better work fast. Come on.’ ----- The inside of the fuselage is a furnace. With the unyielding Death Valley sunlight blasting down onto it, the metal carcass has built up heat within it, easily exceeding the external 128 F in spite of the numerous, yawning breaks along its length. Grimsley swears the moment he steps inside, struck by the soaring temperature; even Lance recoils when he enters behind. ‘Five minutes,’ Lance says, setting a timer on his watch. ‘Agreed.’ The wreckage reeks of ash, burnt fuel, and melted plastic. The port-side wing has completely broken through what once had been the floor of the aircraft – beneath which was the main fuel tank. The liquid had spilled out and ignited, nigh-incinerating everything inside. A piece of charcoal crunches under Grimsley’s boot. He briefly wonders if it could have been important – but it’s too late now, and regardless, containing an anomaly is far more important than collecting evidence. He holds the lanyard in front of him, using it like a compass; before it leaned northward, but now at the rear of the wreck it instead leaned southward, confirming the gravity source is somewhere in-between. ‘What’s the plan once we find it?’ Grimsley says, stepping onto a mail cabinet that had come loose from the ceiling above. ‘Identify it, theorise properties, then inform Epsilon Seven.’ ‘And if they can’t deal with it?’ ‘An uncontainable gravitational anomaly would warrant a field neutralisation.’ Grimsley nods. He steps down from the cabinet, hopping over a gap into the next segment. ‘We’re still missing something,’ Grimsley says. ‘Explain.’ ‘A gravity anomaly, an engine explosion, the tail breaking off, and loss of contact. They’re related somehow – they have to be, too many coincidences in such a short span – but I don’t see how.’ ‘You are certain they happened together?’ ‘The mayday means the pilots knew what was happening – either the tail fell off, or the engine fire started and the suppressants didn’t go off. Both happened in the air, and contact was lost between them. If the anomaly manifested before the accident, they would have noticed, because the gyroscopes would be wrong compared to half a dozen other systems, and they would’ve mentioned it to ground control. I don’t see why a mundane plane crash would create a gravity anomaly – it’s possible, but unlikely – so it probably appeared during the accident, which would mean it’s responsible somehow.’ Grimsley ignores the muffled scraping noises coming from the wall to his right, where the port-wing had broken through; the workers were still going to remove the wing, but would wait for Lance and Grimsley to leave before starting. ‘But I just don’t see how. If the anomaly was on-board, why did the tail break //off//? Shouldn’t it have been pulled inward, crushed into all of this? And how could it have caused the engine explosion?’ Grimsley crosses another gap, onto a section with the floor dented inwards. The moment the lanyard is above the dent, it hangs limp; Grimsley slowly waves it about, watching where it relaxes, and where it leans once again. Pulling it back, it leans forward; beyond the dent, it leans backward. Everywhere between, nothing. ‘Here,’ he says, crouching down to search through the ash, charcoal, and melted plastic littering the floor. ‘It’s right here, in this. It must be a letter or something, survived the fire…’ Lance crouches down and joins the search; but after a minute, neither has found anything other than burnt fragments. ‘Wait,’ Lance says, standing upright ‘What?’ A pause. ‘It may be the ash itself.’ Grimsley stands back up, surveying the scattered white debris. ‘Was something, destroyed on impact. That must be why it’s so weak now. Or it was something in the wall, damaged by the boulder – an electronic, or the window, or… something.’ **//Beep beep beep beep beep…//** Lance presses a button on his watch. ‘Time.’ ‘What? That wasn’t…’ He pauses, wiping the sweat from his forehead. ‘Nevermind. If it’s in the wall, we can’t get it anyway.’ The two return the way they had come, Grimsley now taking care to cause no further damage to anything inside. Emerging from where the tail should have been, they move a distance of several meters from the wreck, then Lance holds a hand up, indicating the agents can remove the wing. The crane’s engine starts up, and the wreck groans loudly as the wing is pulled upward. ‘Sir!’ George races down the west slope, almost tripping over several times; he thrusts a collection of photographs into Grimsley’s hands. ‘What?’ ‘The cowling sir! Look!’ Grimsley looks through the offered photographs. Lance steps over, observing the photos over Grimsley’s shoulder. ‘Explain.’ ‘The cleaners found most of the engine’s cowling,’ George says. ‘Damage consistent with a long drop, but they’re otherwise mostly intact, except near the top. And…’ George takes the collection back, searching through it, then returning it to Grimsley with one specific photo on top, which he points to. Grimsley’s eyes widen. ‘No fire damage,’ he says, passing the photos to Lance. ‘No charring, nothing. These came off before the engine caught fire.’ A pause. Grimsley slaps his forehead, gasping. ‘I’m an idiot! Broken at the top, before the fire – pulled off like the tail, //downwards//. The anomaly was never on the plane – it’s here! The plane was literally pulled out of the sky!’ ‘And the loss of communication?’ Lance says. Grimsley’s ecstatic smile wavers. ‘I… The radio system must have been dislodged, or --’ A loud, metallic snap catches their attention. The port-side wing finally breaks free from the body, rising into the air; but it had been keeping the fuselage from rolling further. Without the external stabilisation, the fuselage rolls clockwise, righting itself and landing on its underbelly with a loud, screeching thud. Grimsley clutches his head with both hands, watching as the Epsilon-7 crew, oblivious to the damage they have just caused, continue lifting the wing out of the valley. Lance steps past Grimsley, walking alongside the aeroplane’s body, where it had been moments ago. ‘Does //anyone// on that team actually know //anything// about how to do their job properly?’ Grimsley hisses. Lance stops, turning to Grimsley, and points to a newly-uncovered spot. ‘What?’ Grimsley asks. Lance raises an eyebrow. ‘What, the boulder?’ Lance looks. He looks to Grimsley again. He turns and continues along, stopping where the indented part of the wreck had rested. ‘This.’ ‘Yeah, what about it?’ ‘This looks like a boulder to you.’ Grimsley raises an eyebrow. ‘Yes, it looks like an ordinary boulder. Why?’ ‘Describe it.’ ‘… What?’ ‘Describe the boulder.’ ‘… beige, shiny, square, six wheels…’ ‘Six wheels.’ ‘Yeah.’ ‘The boulder has six wheels.’ ‘What’s your point?’ A pause. Lance looks to George. ‘What is this?’ ‘A boulder,’ he says. ‘With six wheels?’ Lance says. ‘Three on this side, yes.’ Somehow retaining his indifferent expression, Lance turns back to the “boulder,” taking a deep puff from his pipe. As he exhales, he removes the pipe from his mouth, examining it. ‘Grimsley,’ he says. Grimsley grunts. Lance offers him the pipe. ‘No thanks, I don’t--’ ‘Do it.’ ‘I don’t --’ ‘Do. It.’ Grimsley sighs, taking the pipe – wiping the mouthpiece on his shirt – and inhaling through it. The acrid taste that fills his mouth sets off an aggressive coughing fit. He stumbles backwards, off-balance, overwhelmed by the caustic, industrial chemicals surging into his lungs, diffusing into his blood, into his brain. Nothing around him physically changes, but everything seems to in an indescribable, paradoxical way; the links between things shift, rearrange, becoming simultaneously clearer and blurred, nearer and further, blander and weirder, coherent and chaotic. The chemicals seize the camera of his mind, performing a dolly zoom – changing his perspective of the world, forcing it to match an artificial, constructed one. ‘What… the hell…’ Grimsley gets out as the fit subsides, his expression softening to indifference. ‘Look,’ Lance says. ‘Wait, I--’ ‘Look, before it wears off.’ He looks. There’s an object where the boulder was (still is?), but… he can’t tell what it is. It’s obvious, yet not; nothing about it has changed, its aspects are clear, yet everything about it is unclear, inscrutable. His mind argues with itself, trying to identify it, and in so doing renders both labels unintelligible. ‘I do not know,’ Grimsley says. ‘Another.’ Grimsley doesn’t refuse. The chemicals taste the same, yet don’t – the goalposts have moved, lessening the impact. He looks again, and his eyes widen. ‘Now?’ Lance says. Now, Grimsley can recognise it for what it is: a six-wheeled combat vehicle, the sort used to drive through landmine-infested regions. Unsurprisingly, the weight of the plane has crushed it, along with whatever is attached to its roof, but the vehicle’s intended durability has enabled it to resist the weight somewhat. ‘Grimsley.’ ‘Military combat vehicle, crushed.’ ‘Before?’ Grimsley shakes his head. ‘Visually identical, but… a boulder.’ ‘What are you talking about?’ George says. ‘It’s just a --’ ‘Perception filter,’ Lance says. ‘To disguise it. Your lanyard?’ Grimsley takes it off, again using it to dowse the gravitational pull. A full circle confirms it – the vehicle is the source, the hanging case always pointing towards it. ‘This is the source,’ Grimsley says. ‘All this over a rock,’ George says. ‘George, please return to base camp and obtain water for me.’ A pause. George watches Grimsley, equal parts surprised, confused, and worried; the lattermost feeling grows when Grimsley turns to him, his expression still indifferent. ‘Please.’ After a moment George nods, leaving the two assistant directors to survey the discovery. ‘This was an attack,’ Grimsley says. ‘The vehicle must possess signal jamming capabilities. It was intentionally parked here in preparation for FM-2439; the device on the roof must be the source of the gravity anomaly.’ Lance pulls out his phone, checking it, then returning it to his pocket. ‘One hour. This will complicate clearing the area. Are you satisfied with your findings?’ ‘Further investigation into the attackers, and how they --’ ‘Are not your concern. Your focus is on determining the cause of this incident. Are you confident that this is the source, and satisfied with your findings?’ Grimsley turns to Lance. Both sport expressions of indifference; yet, their altered perspectives reveal underlying nuances to both, betraying their true emotions. Lance sees confusion and irritation; Grimsley sees concern, fear, panic. ‘Yes,’ Grimsley says. ‘I am confident in attributing this crash as caused by an attack from a hostile Group of Interest, facilitated by this vehicle.’ ‘Then your investigation is concluded, and your presence is no longer necessary. Instruct your personnel to surrender all collected evidence to Epsilon Seven, and evacuate this area within the hour. Ensure your personnel do not withhold anything. Once compiled, submit your report directly to me, without copy. I will oversee publication, and the destruction of the wreckage. Understand?’ Grimsley nods, returning the pipe to Lance. ‘Will the vehicle be destroyed?’ Lance takes a long, extended drag from his pipe. ‘It is an anomaly. It will be retained and catalogued. I must instruct Epsilon Seven to begin immediately.’ Lance turns and proceeds up the eastern slope, letting out a piercing whistle and issuing orders to the agents there. Grimsley lingers for a few moments, surveying the scene – the chemicals are already beginning to wear off, the vehicle(?) becoming obscured – before turning and advancing up the west slope, shouting to grab his team’s attention. ----- ----- [[div style="width: 99.7%"]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:s7-apcs scp-number = 7390 | scp-class = euclid | non-standard-class = Any_value | lineFirst = Security Clearance Level 4 | lineSecond = ETTRA | lineThird = Site-15 | danger-select-1 = Perception Distortion | danger-select-2 = | danger-select-3 = Gravity Bending | danger-select-4 = Electronic-affecting | danger-select-5 = Object of Interest | danger-select-6 = | activation = Utility | threat-ind = 6 | contaiment-risk = C4 | k-class = none]] [!-- http://scpfoundation.net/sandbox:s7-apcs-guide --] [[/div]] [[include component:image-block name=https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/scp-7390/Weapon.jpg |caption=SCP-7390, photographed in a shipping yard. |width=100% |align=center]] ----- [[=]] ++ Special Containment Procedures [[/=]] SCP-7390 should be stored in a standard containment chamber at Site-15, separate to SCP-7390-1. All personnel assigned to SCP-7390 must maintain a blood content of at least 0.5% [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-4923 Class-A agnostics] for the duration of all investigations. Personnel experiencing symptoms of tooth pain are permitted to apply for temporary relief until such symptoms desist. SCP-7390-1 must be stored in the highest level of Site-15, firmly secured with the barrel pointing upwards, and physically disconnected from all possible power sources. The ceiling of SCP-7390-1’s containment chamber must be constructed exclusively from light, low-density substances, and designed such that its collapse will not affect the structural integrity of Site-15. All tests involving SCP-7390-1, its components, and/or recreations of its components, must be pre-approved by the Director of Site-15 and conducted off-site. ----- [[=]] ++ Description [[/=]] SCP-7390 is a heavily damaged armoured vehicle, visually comparable to a BAE Caiman MTV; the manufacture and origin of SCP-7390 is unknown, as no identifying marks, serials, or logos are present, and the technological complexity of its constituent elements exceeds both consensus and the Foundation’s capacity to replicate. The body of SCP-7390 has been vertically crushed due to the circumstances of its discovery; furthermore, the cockpit controls of SCP-7390 have been intentionally damaged, rendering SCP-7390 inoperable. SCP-7390 is subject to a perception-altering effect which causes observers to misidentify the vehicle as a mundane object appropriate for its current environment. The physical appearance of SCP-7390 is not obscured in any way, enabling observers to correctly identify and recount individual characteristics of the anomaly; however, they are unable to recognise if these characteristics are incongruous with its perceived identity, and will continue identifying SCP-7390 as a mundane object even after acknowledging its individual components as appropriate for a vehicle. SCP-7390-1 is a turret-based paratechnical weapon formerly mounted onto the body of SCP-7390 behind the main cockpit; the damage incurred by SCP-7390 has compressed the weapon into the body, preventing it from being aimed away from the vehicle. As the muzzle of SCP-7390-1 exerts a constant, minor gravitational pull, in conjunction with the incident that precipitated SCP-7390’s discovery, it is expected that SCP-7390-1 is capable of exerting a focused gravitational pull on a targeted object, with sufficient intensity to sever lightweight structural metals; the further capabilities of SCP-7390-1, if any, cannot be discerned, as the complexity and damage incurred by its components prevent accurate identification. SCP-7390 was discovered in Death Valley, California, on 05/05/2025, beneath the wreckage of Foundation flight FM-2439. An investigation into the incident conducted by Assistant Director Grimsley Trudge[[footnote]]Department of Logistics, Investigations Division[[/footnote]] identified SCP-7390 as the probable cause, theorising that SCP-7390-1 had been used to detach the aeroplane’s tail section mid-flight, then pull it off-course and crash atop the vehicle; both pilots were killed on impact. Two corpses were discovered within the cockpit of SCP-7390, believed to be the individuals responsible for the incident. Attempts to identify either have thus far failed, with neither possessing any close genetic relatives; however, both were discovered to possess extensive cybernetic augmentations, the design of which matched those recovered from [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-6934 the boarding of SCP-6934 on 03/05/2022]. Investigation into which Group of Interest is responsible is ongoing. [[footnoteblock]] ----- [[div class="blockquote" style="padding: 30px"]] [[=]] ++ Incursion Ending (1/4) ----- ||||||||~ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7390 Start] || ||||||||~ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7390/offset/1 Heads] / [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7390/offset/2 Tails] || ||||~ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7390/offset/3 Heads] ||||= [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7390/offset/4 Tails] || ||~ [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7390/offset/5 Heads (1/4)] || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7390/offset/6 Tails (2/4)] || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7390/offset/7 Heads (3/4)] || [https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/scp-7390/offset/8 Tails (4/4)] || [[/=]] [[/div]]