Link to article: SCP-7390 Fragment 7.
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[[=image https://scp-wiki.wikidot.com/local--files/scp-7390/Leave.jpg]] … with the eagle facing upwards. Tails. Lance’s brow furrows, his eyes drilling into the coin, betraying his intent; Grimsley grins, a mischievous, triumphant grin. Lance knows a trick that forces a coin to land on the side he wants – a trick he just tried to use. What he doesn’t know is that the Coin has a trick of its own; that, when used to gamble or make a decision, the Coin will always land in Grimsley’s favour if the flipper tries to load it against him. Grimsley watches, amused, as Lance goes through the motions that usually ensues; inspecting the Coin, weighing it, trying to figure out if it’s weighted. A few fair flips, then two or three loaded ones, all turning out as they should. No proof of an unfair bias, no evidence of anomalous properties. Only Lance’s confusion, and the assumption he had failed the trick. Lance returns the Coin. ‘Heads.’ Grimsley’s grin evaporates. ‘What?’ ‘The face displaying the value of the coin is tails. The opposite is heads. The outcome was heads.’ Grimsley rolls his eyes. ‘Animals have tails. Birds are animals. Don’t be stupid.’ Lance takes a puff from his pipe. ‘Do not redefine the --’ ‘Don’t, don’t even go there. The bird is always tails, the number is always heads, and I can prove it. George!’ ‘Yes, sir?’ George says, returning from speaking to the removalist crew. Grimsley holds up the Coin, showing the eagle to him. ‘Which side is this? Heads or tails?’ ‘That side is tails.’ Grimsley grins, shooting a sidelong glare at Lance. ‘Correct! Now, can you go up to base camp, tell everyone to pack up, leave all the findings and documents for Lance to clean up.’ ‘What about the investigation?’ ‘It’s a waste of time, I’m canning it. A round of beers at Vegas should help make up for it.’ George nods, running off and up the west slope. ‘And with us out of your way,’ Grimsley says, turning to Lance, ‘you can go full steam ahead with melting all this. How’s that sound?’ Lance crosses his arms, mustering up an almost-glare that makes Grimsley falter slightly. A few moments – and puffs of smoke(?) – pass in silence. ‘You are expected to conduct a thorough investigation.’ ‘Then give me more time.’ ‘I cannot.’ ‘Then tough luck.’ Grimsley turns; Lance grabs his arm, turning him back. ‘//Don’t//,’ Lance growls. A long, extended pause. ‘Give me one good reason to stay,’ Grimsley says. ‘Because I ordered you to.’ ‘I said a //good// reason.’ Finally, Lance develops a fierce, full-blown scowl. ‘You would be wise to --’ ‘Sirs!’ Both turn at George’s call from the valley’s edge. ‘You’re going to want to see this!’ Lance looks to Grimsley, the anger already subsiding from his face. ‘Reconsider, for your own safety,’ he growls before proceeding up toward the base camp. Grimsley stands in stunned silence, wondering whether winning the toss was a foul fortune. After a few moments to consider his options – this isn’t something to leave to chance, he decides – he follows behind, putting the Coin back in its case. ‘What is it?’ he says, joining the two beneath the nearest gazebo as the agents around them pack up the site. ‘Well, first, the cowlings as you requested.’ George offers a collection of photographs, which Grimsley and Lance quickly look through – numerous small aluminium fragments, all scorched black, scattered on various tarps. ‘Fire damage as expected,’ George says. ‘But the surprising thing, is that.’ A small distance away from the camp sits one of the removalist trucks, an off-road vehicle with an exposed tray at the rear. George points to what the truck is carrying; a solid metal box, two cubic metres in size, the top of which is blown outward like a flower – and brazenly plastered across its closest face, the Foundation’s logo, turned to one side. ‘Is that a…’ ‘Heavy-duty anomaly containment vessel. Except whatever was in it isn’t contained anymore. Just some dried residue, a film.’ Grimsley shoots a fierce glare at Lance. He barely suppresses the urge to punch him. ‘Was it labelled,’ Grimsley growls. ‘Marked for SCP-7390.’ ‘Which is…?’ ‘That’s the thing – we don’t have a 7390. The slot is unallocated.’ Grimsley sighs. ‘Get me a computer, it might be high clearance.’ Foreseeing the request, George already has a laptop prepared, the login screen ready. Grimsley types in his username, then takes a moment to check if anyone is watching – both George and Lance, knowing protocol, specifically turn away – before entering his password. Once in, he navigates to the main catalogue, types in the number 7390… = **SCP-7390 {{[SLOT UNALLOCATED]}}** He opens the file anyway, but unsurprisingly, it’s nothing more than a standard placeholder. At Level 5 clearance, too. Grimsley habitually logs out, then turns to Lance. ‘What is it.’ ‘I do not know,’ Lance says, indifferent. ‘Yes, you do. Don’t play stupid with me, I know you know.’ ‘I cannot be aware of an uncatalogued --’ ‘You brought Epsilon Seven with you!’ Grimsley screams – grabbing the attention of everyone around. ‘Guns and Roses, the tactical division! Do you seriously expect me to believe that’s a coincidence? You know full well that there’s something loose around here, and not only do you refuse to tell us what it is, you’re doing everything in your power to keep us here, in danger! You’ve given us --’ A metallic snap, followed by a distant shout, then a loud thud. One of the chains attached to the crane snapped, dropping the wing, still lodged in the fuselage. ‘And you’ve got your idiots over there ruining the evidence,’ Grimsley continues. ‘Enough is enough, Lance. We’re done. Keep lying all you want, screw around in the wreck if you want, but we’re done wasting time. We’re leaving.’ ‘No, you are not. Not until the nature of the anomaly is discerned.’ ‘You already know what it is!’ ‘No, I do not. Until I do, I must assume it will utilise your departure to evade containment. You and your personnel are hereby quarantined, and forbidden from leaving until the anomaly is recontained.’ Rage fills Grimsley. ‘You piece of --’ ‘Any individuals,’ Lance says, speaking loudly for all to hear, ‘attempting to violate this quarantine will be terminated. If you want to depart, locate and contain the anomaly.’ Lance locks eyes with Grimsley. ‘Get to work.’ With that, he turns away and proceeds down into the valley, letting out a piercing whistle to get Epsilon Seven’s attention. The intensity of Grimsley’s scowl makes his face hurt, and after a moment he vents his anger on the foldable table beside him, pummelling it until the locking mechanism gives way and it collapses. A stunned silence ensues, everyone still watching. ‘Call everyone back,’ he shouts. ‘Away from the plane, the tail, everything. We stay here, we stay alert, and we wait out Lance’s stupid charade. Clear?’ A unanimous ‘yes sir’ erupts all around. ‘Sir,’ George says as the hubble of activity resumes. ‘Yes.’ ‘Are you certain that Director Lance knows about the anomaly?’ ‘Abso-bloody-lutely. He hasn’t given us a straight answer all day, just non-answers to cover his hide.’ ‘But there’s no Level 5 file --’ ‘Level 5 isn’t the top of the chain, George. I know for a fact that Logistics alone has higher, specialised clearances – just because //I// can’t see it doesn’t mean it isn’t there.’ George nods. ‘But why would he keep us here, then? Wouldn’t he force us to leave to hide it?’ ‘They aren’t anymore. We’re here so they can make a lower clearance file.’ George furrows his brow. ‘I don’t understand.’ ‘Don’t you see? This is all the “discovery” of whatever was in that box. It’s probably some horrific Frankenstein monster the O5s built, they can’t keep it secret anymore, but they can’t admit they made it either – so they’ve cooked up this whole farce to make it look like it came from nowhere. We’re the expendable schmucks who get killed on “first contact”.’ George pales. ‘What do we do?’ ‘What they want,’ Grimsley sighs. ‘Even if we found proof, they’d just bury it under redactions and dispose of the evidence. Our safest choice is doing as Lance said – give them their discovery, then get the hell out of here. We can start with that box – where was it, and what did you say was in it?’ ‘Oh, uh…’ George takes a moment to set up the collapsed table again, then quickly retrieves a map of the area, spreading it out in front of Grimsley. ‘Here,’ he says, pointing to a valley a small distance north-east of where the tail is. ‘Angela found it, said it looks like it came down with the tail, bounced along a bit, then came to rest in a separate valley. We missed it because it was a distance away from the debris trail.’ Grimsley taps his chin, looking at the twisted metal sprouting from the box. He focuses on the rotated Foundation logo – then tilts his head to one side. ‘Came down with the tail, so it was first out, probably at the back. Are there any photos of the inside of the tail?’ George nods, fetching them. The outside of the tail is a battered wreck, resting upside-down, and lacking all fins; but he focuses on the inside, the rear wall of the fuselage, and the jagged edge where it formerly connected to the rest of the plane. The wall is warped, pushed into the rest of the rail, the numerous cracks and breaks across it indicating extreme force. Grimsley looks back to the box, pointing. ‘I’ll bet,’ he says, ‘that broken side was facing the back. The anomaly breaks out, accidentally hits the rear wall, breaks the tail off – that thing’s made of titanium or whatever, aluminium would be cardboard in comparison. The force jolts the plane, breaks the engines – fuel leak in the port one, a snapped wire ignites it, maybe. But that doesn’t explain the twisting, or why it’s facing…’ A pause. Grimsley shakes his head. ‘Doesn’t matter, we’re not investigating the crash. The anomaly would’ve been knocked out of the plane, either by its own force, or by the box coming with it. You said there’s a film on the inside?’ George nods. ‘Like a dried slime, shiny-ish and white. More at the bottom, but it’s on every interior surface.’ ‘Slug slime?’ ‘Yeah, like that.’ Grimsley claps, grinning. ‘Great! That means the thing was probably organic, and needed to stay moist. If the stupid thing wasn’t killed in the fall, then it would’ve shrivelled up in the sun by now. Either way, it’s dead, and we’re free to go.’ George bobbles his head, uncertain. The grin evaporates. ‘What.’ ‘What if it survived the fall, and… climbed inside someone, for moisture?’ A pause. ‘First of all, that’s disgusting, and I don’t want you to explain how it climbed in. Secondly, yes, that’s possible, and I hate it. Go tell Lance what we know, that it’s probably dead, but… X-rays to be sure.’ George turns to do so. ‘Oh! Wait, or it’s inside an animal somewhere. In which case we’ve permanently lost it, and it’s his problem.’ George nods, descending into the valley. Grimsley follows for a short distance, stopping at the edge. Epsilon Seven have wrapped a wealth of new chains around the port-side wing; the crane’s engine revs, indicating they are about to attempt another removal. Grimsley shakes his head. ‘Director Trudge.’ He turns to the voice. ‘Yes, Lydia, what’s up?’ She offers him a mobile phone. ‘Area-137, mortician.’ He accepts the phone, mouthing a quick ‘thank you.’ ‘This is Director Trudge,’ he says, turning back to the valley. ‘Director Trudge, I am Francis Estraad, pathologist at Area-137. I’ve completed the autopsy you requested.’ ‘Thank you.’ He decides not to mention that the findings are redundant. ‘Anything unusual?’ ‘The initial finding is incorrect; the victims were asphyxiated by strangulation, with the visible trauma occurring shortly after.’ Grimsley’s eyes widen and his brow furrows. ‘Strangles? Are you sure?’ ‘Very. The force was enough to crush the vertebra in their neck, C2 through C5. The bodies had also been exsanguinated, intentionally, through several puncture wounds…’ Grimsley doesn’t hear the rest. He says a quick ‘thank you’ and hangs up. He sees George ascending the further side of the valley; sees the crane take up the slack of the chains; but his mind is elsewhere. //Strangled, with enough force to crush bone, and exsanguinated. Drained of blood…// //Moisture.// He looks to the box. //Broken titanium. Stronger than bone.// He looks back to the plane. //Shelter from the sun. Twisted engines – turned. From the inside.// As the crane begins to lift the wing from the ground, Grimsley sees something move inside the cockpit. ‘It’s in the plane!’ he screams, cupping his hands. ‘George, run!’ The wing jerks back downward, pulling the crane; the driver jumps from the cab as the whole vehicle tips, falling into the valley. The arm slams down onto the fuselage, snapping, letting the rest of the machine to tumble down onto the wing. A writhing, reddish-purple-pink mass fills the windows of the cockpit; then, the gaps all throughout the wreck. The port-side wing shrugs, knocking the ruined crane off. The cockpit lifts up off the ground, turning towards Grimsley. Both wings lift up, then the engines snap off simultaneously; but neither hits the ground. There is no booming, terrific roar to mark the unwelcome awakening of the monster; only the groaning of its newfound exoskeleton, its armour. Then there is the metallic scraping of the engines against the ground, used as hands by the horrific, interconnected worm-plague, cooperating as a single organism to escape its perceived attackers – or retaliate, if needed. ----- ----- [[div style="width: 99.7%"]] [[include :scp-wiki:component:s7-apcs scp-number = 7390 | scp-class = keter | non-standard-class = Any_value | lineFirst = Security Clearance Level 3 | lineSecond = Department of Cryptozoology | lineThird = Area-14 | danger-select-1 = Open Aggression | danger-select-2 = Physical Power | danger-select-3 = Physical Impact | danger-select-4 = Damage Resistance | danger-select-5 = | danger-select-6 = Self-replication | activation = Permanent | threat-ind = 3 | contaiment-risk = KETER | 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/Dreadworms.jpg |caption=A small colony of SCP-7390 hatchlings. |width=100% |align=center]] ----- [[=]] ++ Special Containment Procedures [[/=]] All SCP-7390 instances outside of containment must be incinerated. All potential sightings of SCP-7390 instances or colonies must be investigated, with priority given to those in proximity to large bodies of water. Responding agents must be equipped with incendiary weaponry to facilitate immediate containment and neutralisation of all discovered SCP-7390 instances. The primary SCP-7390 colony, SCP-7390-2, is stored within a reinforced compost vessel inside a designated containment chamber at Area-14. The chamber should be kept below 15 degrees Celsius at all times, and no sources of water, including water-containing objects, are to be kept within 200 metres of the chamber. SCP-7390-2 is to be fed no more than 150 grams of sliced apple (cultivar irrelevant) once every two days; this portion also functions as adequate hydration for the colony. Any contact with SCP-7390-2 is to be automated if possible, and kept to a minimum otherwise. The weight of SCP-7390-2 must be kept between 1.5 and 3 kilograms at all times, with excess instances immediately incinerated. In the event of a severe containment breach, Foundation personnel are authorised to incinerate the entire SCP-7390-2 colony. ----- [[=]] ++ Description [[/=]] SCP-7390 is //Anomalis Formidovermis//, an anomalous species colloquially referred to as ‘dreadworms.’ Instances consist of a segmented, tubular body, growing up to three metres in length, four centimetres in diameter, and possessing red, blue, and/or brown pigmentation. The species has a rapid lifespan in comparison to other Annelids (segmented worms), with a maximum life expectancy of twelve months. SCP-7390 are hermaphroditic and facultatively parthenogenetic; instances will reproduce asexually if no suitable mating partner can be found, enabling singular uncontained instances to develop into large colonies. Juveniles are laid in clutches of six to sixteen, hatching fully developed within six days, and attaining sexual maturity after another fifteen days. SCP-7390 are social, amassing in groups to form unstructured colonies; instances will group with all other instances encountered regardless of relation, and established colonies will similarly merge with all other colonies encountered. In addition to the standard moistening and locomotive mucus secreted by Annelids, SCP-7390 can produce a secondary mucus that is highly adhesive while wet; instances are capable of both excreting water into this mucus and absorbing moisture from it, thereby enabling them to control its effective duration and detach when required. Colonies of SCP-7390 use this substance to adhere to each-other, simultaneously averaging available water among the member instances, and enabling them to cooperate to form larger, complex organisms; SCP-7390 colonies will additionally seek out structures or materials that can be utilised as rudimentary exoskeletons for these formations. SCP-7390 appear to communicate through physical contact while adhered, enabling rapid dissemination of information throughout the colony, and a subsequent high degree of coordination. Due to the danger posed by SCP-7390, accurate testing to discern the full extent of their physical capabilities has not been conducted. Visual observation has identified that the outermost, cuticle layer of SCP-7390 behaves as, or contains, a non-Newtonian fluid, immediately solidifying in response to applied force. To date, all forms of non-incendiary weaponry have failed to puncture this layer; further observation strongly indicates that SCP-7390 are invulnerable to all forms of physical damage except combustion throughout their entire lifespan. This property is theorised to assist in colony co-operation, enabling SCP-7390 instances to exert extreme amounts of force necessary to move the adhered colony and/or exoskeletal components without injuring other SCP-7390. SCP-7390 was first encountered on 05/05/2025 in Death Valley, California, when an attempt to remove the wreckage of Foundation flight FM-2439 disturbed a colony inhabiting it, designated SCP-7390-1. An investigation into the incident conducted by Assistant Director Grimsley Trudge[[footnote]]Department of Logistics, Investigations Division[[/footnote]] identified SCP-7390-1 as the probable cause, theorising that the colony had breached containment while being transported; however, no anomalous cargo registered in the flight’s manifest, the colony’s size significantly exceeded the volume of the containment vessel within hours of the incident, and the containment vessel was indicated to contain SCP-7390, despite the slot being unallocated at the time. Attending Mobile Task Force Epsilon-7 (‘Sign Here Please’) agents utilised petrol from nearby motor vehicles to contain the SCP-7390-1 colony and reduce its population to a manageable number. On 18/06/2025, a wild colony of SCP-7390 was discovered at Owens Lake, California, approximately 150 kilometres west of the FM-2439 crash site; a further 15 colonies have been discovered and neutralised in various locations throughout California, in proximity to large bodies of water and/or the east coast. [[footnoteblock]] ----- [[div class="blockquote" style="padding: 30px"]] [[=]] ++ Armament Ending (2/4) ----- ||||||||~ [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]]