rating: +45+x

Item #: SCP-7695

Object Class: Safe

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-7695 is to be placed in Site-99's Low Containment Security C-Wing. Requests for experimentation with SCP-7695 are to be filed with the Site Director, with test subjects to number no more than ten persons (either as players or SCP-7695-1 instances).

Description: SCP-7695 is a collection of twenty seven brass instruments manufactured sometime in the early to mid 1870s. This collection has ten drums (half snare, half bass), nine cornets, four Saxhorns, two fiddles and two bugle horns. Each one has a five sided insignia, similar in design to a Maltese cross, crudely pressed into the material.

When SCP-7695 is played together in close proximity, all individuals a twenty to eighty square kilometer radius, will disappear and rematerialize in another area disconnected from baseline reality. This area will often resemble its state between 1861-1865. Excepting SCP-7695's players, all individuals in this area will become instances of SCP-7695-1.

SCP-7695-1 instances are similar to their baseline counterparts in personality, but typically dress in era appropriate attire, and often lack memories of their prior life. Upon SCP-7695's activation, SCP-7695-1 instances will relocate to several camps, and begin organizing themselves into one of five separate regiments active during the American Civil War: 2nd Wisconsin, 6th Wisconsin, 7th Wisconsin, 19th Indiana, and 24th Michigan.1 This entails the election of officers among SCP-7695, basic training, the sewing of regimental flags, and procurement of firearms, all of which will take no less than a day. When this is accomplished, a battle occurs with SCP-7695-2.

SCP-7695-2 is the collective designation of a group of highly aggressive gray-skinned humanoids, typically between one to two meters tall. Universally, SCP-7695-2 instances are afflicted with various mutilations of the body, although the origin of these injuries is unknown.

When SCP-7695-1 finishes its organization, SCP-7695-2 will attack, which will be signaled by the production of a loud, high pitched scream produced by an SCP-7695-2 instance. This assault will only cease upon either: 1) SCP-7695-2 instances have been entirely eliminated, or 2) SCP-7695-1 instances suffer at least a 85% casualty rate. With either of these criteria met, SCP-7695 related phenomena will cease, causing living SCP-7695-1 instances to rematerialize in their prior locations, lacking knowledge of their past acts.

SCP-7695 was discovered on January 7th, 1876, following its activation in the town of Belling, Indiana the day prior, with only twenty percent of its pre-activation population surviving. Shortly after this, the American Secure Containment Initiative was contacted, who quickly discovered SCP-7695 and its effects with the help of local Franklin Drew, the sole survivor of the local Sheffield Military Academy. After initial containment was confirmed and amnestics applied to survivors, a cover story of a yellow fever outbreak in Belling was distributed to local authorities and the media.

SCP-7695 was found in the choir room of the Sheffield Military Academy, alongside the rest of Sheffield's class of 1876 and the Academy's founder, Anthony Sheffield. Sheffield, a former officer of the 6th Wisconsin, was found clutching his medal of honor, presented to him on October 9th 1864 by President Lincoln.

Addendum-7695.I — Recovered Documents

Following an interview with Franklin Drew of Sheffield Military Academy, the American Secure Containment Initiative was informed that SCP-7695 had been in possession of Sheffield's commandant and founder, Anthony Sheffield. Drew alleged that SCP-7695 had been procured by Sheffield for purposes unknown to himself. While SCP-7695 was being discovered, ASCI agents raided Sheffield's home and office in the Academy. Several documents related to Sheffield and SCP-7695 have been reproduced below in full below.

The weather was acceptable, mild rain only. The boys were doing their marching when the man from the town over came to see me.

He came in smiling, arms wide and happy. I greeted him coldly, before he presented to me his medal to me, and he came to me, whispering, that we had fought in the Overland campaign together. Sgt. William Mitchel of the 2nd Wisconsin,2 at my service.

I waited to see what he wanted. Always have time for a fellow soldier. He said that he could help me with my boys. Little over two dozen instruments, fashioned for our Brigade but never finished before the war's end, entered the Sergeant's possession. Syncope Artisans, he said, was one of the highest quality producers of instruments available to the soldiers of the United States. When I asked of price, he said he'd manage it. I thanked him. I think I'll use them for the ceremony. It's only a year away.

I played with the drum by myself as the boys marched in unison lockstep outside, and I could feel myself back then, in the fields, and I had to stop, lest I feel myself fall into it, letting myself get lost in the memories.

Even so, I quickly continued after a quick rest. They are high quality, as the Sergeant had promised. That night I slept thinking of the pounding of hooves and ripping of cartridge packs and whistling soaring harmonious soft explosions in the distance.

I think they'll do well for their graduation.

When I play I remember the sensations of yesterday, echoing throughout eternity and back into the Now. Even touching them brings to the fore ancient knowledge that buried itself deep into the chords of my soul. Knowing, remembering, returning to those sacred years, the years that repeat, on, on, on, even now, reverberating to me now, and into the vibrations of sound, spreading

I forgot what I had forgotten and I missed it

They raised the Statue yesterday3

I stood there with Mayor Bulworth and felt hollow as I looked at the boys below us, staring, watching, observing, worshipping, eyes in love with the man on horseback and feeling nothing as the militiamen fired into the air to tell the world that it was over and that they could go Home

The Mayor said the boys were a good influence on me and yet the only thing I could feel was the broken spirals in my head expanding against the top of my skull jutting out of the Then into the Now

They're good boys the Mayor said, and I nodded, remembering us on the fields then, the idiot smiles on our faces, wild for battle and ready to kill and hurt and scream and bleed and flail and terrified and

They're good boys. They're good boys. They're good boys.

We were good boys too

My boys were in the choir room and we were singing when I had raised to dismiss them when the young asked What was it like to fight?

It felt good I said, wishing I was wrong, no longer in the Now but the Then as the ringing echoed inside my skull and into everything everything everything

What was it like to fight the Rebs? they called to me, smiling, eyes glinting, congregating, two dozen boys turned into thousands of men staring at me, staring on the field, barking, screaming, wailing, and I missed it, missed the harmony of rank and beats of marching and whistling of shells, wishing I didn't, wishing I was back Before, back Home

They will never let me go because there is something broken inside of me broken broken broken down to the base of my soul for god did not intend man to do the things we did to each other and to the ones we love and to the ones we hate and we knew this and went forward into the breach into the broken lines into the mud and the shit and

The boys left happy and full of knowledge and excitation at the thought of killing

The Then that was Then is still Now. I know that It echos throughout eternity and it pulls me back into it because nothing is after it and nothing was before it, those days and years that sucked everything out of us and spat us out after it was done with us, I cannot forget, I cannot go back, I cannot go forward, there is only then, then, then, forever

Harmony rings

Harmony rings

Harmony rings

I can feel my heart beat to the sound of the guns

tap tap tap

silence, silence, silence


Harmony Harmony Harmony

I miss it

I miss when things used to make sense

The flower of youth trembles forward, time moving even as we remain waiting to die, on, on on, only glimpsing past hushed whispers and fanciful yarns of the Truth, and as they grow they will forget us, forget the living dead, and throw themselves once again on the pyre, willingly, lovingly, wrapped in the stars, even as they scream, scream, scream

They simply cannot know

They must SEE

Addendum-7695.II — Drew's Testimony

The following is an excerpt from Franklin Drew's written testimony of SCP-7695's activation.


We played Old Glory, and the world began to shift and turn and twist. I saw the sun bleed in through the walls as if they were but curtains. And suddenly I realize that we are not in the choir room at all but in the fields outside, and that the buildings and the flat ground has been replaced by the overbrush and trees and wild nature spreading forth everywhere. The Colonel looked at us and told us, smiling, that we were 'there.'


We marched until we saw the first sign of camp. I could not believe what I was seeing, and if the rest of my comrades had not, I would have believed I was dead. Belling's citizens were in blue coats and pants and holding Springfields and wore stern faces. Even the women were there. Even the children, not much older than twelve. 'We are here,' the Colonel told us, approvingly. 'It's just like it had been.'


We spent a day there. The camp was like he had described to us: the mass of humanity that congregated as tiny civilizations in these camps. Men tightly packed into tents, the few who were lucky enough to have them, and those who could not make it, slept outside. The Colonel told us that we were to not sleep in tents; he had done no such thing in the war, and, he said, if it was good for him, it was good for us. I slept on the ground in the grass, even as the Colonel told us to keep an ear out, for the Rebs could be out. My comrades and I rolled our eyes at this paranoia. We shouldn't have.


I heard it in the morning. I awoke to the sound of a horrible, undulating cry that echoed around me. I felt myself being shook, as the Colonel looked down at me, and screamed at me to wake up. I saw into his eyes, and I saw fear - the first time I had seen such at thing before. Despite that, he was smiling. I think that scared me more.


We line up in the fields below the camp. Large lines of men and women in uniform stood across from these gray massed hoards. They were thin and walked as if they were in pain. They said nothing; they simply continued to wail and screech, flailing their arms and guns and swords around as they marched slowly towards us.

The commander - I did not see him, but I believe him to be Mayor Bulworth - gave the brigade the orders to fire. The Colonel gave the bugle call, and, as we joined him in unison, playing John Brown, I heard the explosion of gunfire. I saw the first wave of monsters fall, clutching their chests. They fell without grace, without purpose. They just sat there, crawling. Sometimes they just collapsed, and did nothing. And yet they still came.

Another order was given to fire. This time, I felt the booming of artillery behind us. The screaming continued. Everyone was shouting, most of all the Colonel, who told us to keep playing. We did so. I beat the drums as hard as I could, beating in conjunction with the sound of the pounding of the guns behind us. Ringing in my ear continued. They kept coming. The pounding in my ear joined with them marching. I could see their faces now. They had wide grins, no eyes, and kept wailing. And then the first wave clashed into our skirmishers a couple hundred feet ahead, and I stopped playing as I stared.

There was no fighting like I imagined in my mind. None of the horse charges, none of the battle cries, nothing. Just people clashing, a melee of hundreds that drew more men and women closer to the front as they tried, I presume, to help their comrades. In those moments I saw a dozen acts that I can not help but say as they were, as they happened: a gray-thing thrusting a knife into the head of a woman; a gray-thing on the ground, hands raised in fear as a man thrusted his bayonet down into it; a man hesitating to shoot before he is shot in turn; an explosion that threw dust up, bringing a dozen bodies to the ground, screaming; a running man shot in the back by a gray-thing; on and on and on, the little acts collected together, and I began to scream.

The Colonel, hearing me, grabbed me by my hair, and began to drag me away from the front. I screamed still, the sensation of terror gripping me, consuming me. Even when I felt myself being hit and slapped, I could not control myself, and it was only when I felt something hard hit against my head and the world went black that I could relax.


I woke up hours later, under a tree. The Colonel was there, staring into the distance. I looked with him; the camp was deserted. Bodies littered the ground. Off in the distance I could hear moaning. I heard a voice cry for water. When I looked to the voice, I saw a figure in the distance, crawling, waving a sole hand in the air. The other lay limp beside it, cut off at the elbow.

'All dead,' the Colonel said, tired. 'The line didn't hold.' He wheezed.

When I asked about the others, he said they died. 'I was dragging you back when they all got hit. Artillery shell. Gruesome.' He spoke coldly.

'To where?' I asked, pointlessly.

'I don't know. They never told me where they go after they die.' He laughed humorlessly, and coughed blood into his hands. 'I got shot,' he added, as if it was normal.

I asked what was going to happen to us. To the ones left. 'I don't know. I've already gave you what I could. You've graduated with flying colors.' He smiled, and I saw his eyes roll back into his head, and then everything was gone, and I was back in the choir room. My classmates lay dead in their chairs, gripping their instruments.

After Mr. Drew was determined to not be permanently affected by SCP-7695, he was administered amnestics and transferred to the Washington Military Academy and its ASCI affiliated training facility for future integration into their organization.

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