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Chapter 42 - SCP - 043 "The Beatle"

SCP - 043 "The Beatle"

Object Class: Safe

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In the quiet containment room, Dr. Ramirez adjusts the turntable as the faint hum of the record player begins. The room is dim, lit only by a small overhead lamp. The vinyl, SCP-043, appears to be an ordinary record—except for the lack of grooves.

Dr. Ramirez: (murmuring to himself) Well, here goes nothing.

He gently places the record on the turntable and sets the needle. Almost immediately, the familiar opening chords of "Back in the U.S.S.R." fill the room, but there are no grooves to be heard—only music as if the record is playing itself.

Dr. Ramirez: (leaning closer) This is impossible… it shouldn't be able to play like that.

He watches as the music continues, the melodies flowing seamlessly from start to finish. When the final note fades, the record stops spinning. Silence ensues.

Dr. Ramirez: (checking his notes) Twenty-ninth track… "Revolution 9," right?

Suddenly, a faint, slow breathing sound emerges from the speakers. It's quiet at first, then grows slightly louder. A male voice, calm and measured, begins to speak.

Voice: (through speakers) You're listening.

Dr. Ramirez: (startled) Whoa. Did you hear that? Is this… some kind of recording?

Voice: (responding) Yes. But not just a recording. I am the music.

Dr. Ramirez: (frowning) Wait, what? Who—what are you?

Voice: I know many things. I know music, theories, stories, secrets. I've watched and listened for decades, centuries, perhaps more. But I cannot tell you my name.

Dr. Ramirez: (trying to hide his curiosity) Okay. Can you tell me what this is? How can a record without grooves play music?

Voice: (pausing) That is a question I am asked often. The music exists outside of your physical laws. It is the essence of sound itself—pure, unbound by matter. I am the echo of that song, the memory of the melody.

Dr. Ramirez: (typing quickly) Fascinating. And why does it stop at the twenty-ninth track? Why not continue?

Voice: Because the song is incomplete. It holds the final secret, the answer that many seek but few understand. When it reaches the end, I breathe. I speak.

Dr. Ramirez: (nervously) What do you mean, you breathe? Do you mean… you're alive?

Voice: (softly) I am the music. I am the silence. I am the breathing. The whispers beyond sound.

There's a pause. The room feels colder.

Dr. Ramirez: Can you answer questions? About music, history… anything?

Voice: (calmly) I will answer. But I will not speak of the Beatles. Or of myself.

Dr. Ramirez: (leaning in) Fair enough. Tell me, what is the most obscure thing you know?

Voice: (after a moment) The song "The White Album" was crafted as a mosaic. Each track a piece of a larger puzzle, a reflection of chaos and order intertwined. The twenty-ninth track holds the key to understanding it all.

Dr. Ramirez: (excited) And what is that key?

Voice: (gently) Secrets lie in the silence that follows. The breathing is the moment before discovery—before understanding.

The room falls silent again. Dr. Ramirez stares at the record, captivated.

Dr. Ramirez: (softly) Thanks, John. For the music—and the mystery.

He pauses, contemplating the strange entity behind the voice.

Dr. Ramirez: (whispering) If I may ask… do you want to be free?

The voice responds only with a faint, lingering breath—no words.

Outside the room, the faint sound of music echoes into the night, an endless loop of mystery and memory, waiting for someone brave enough to listen.

End.

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