nn5n Foundation
Branch of SCP Foundation
nn5n: scp-3603 Stranger to You and Me
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SCP-3603
nojacketrequired

The image used for SCP-3603 in its original eBay listing.

Item #: SCP-3603

Object Class: Safe (SCP-3603), Euclid (SCP-3603-P)

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-3603 is to be kept in a sealed concrete enclosure in the F Warehouse accessable only to those with Level 3 and above security clearance.

Examples of fully manifested SCP-3603-P are to be kept in a small onsite prison conversationally known as the “Phil Bloc”. SCP-3603-P specimens are to be the only individuals permitted in the block barring SCP Foundation personnel. The perimeter of the concrete complex is to be patrolled by rotating shifts of 5 guards armed with handguns and sniper rifles.

Due to the identical nature of specimens of SCP-3603-P, each resident is tattooed with a number on the back of its neck. If any resident is not accounted for in head count, the facility guards are to be ordered to enact SLP (Security Lockdown Procedure) Foxtrot, which consists of [DATA EXPUNGED – PROCEDURE UNDER REVIEW]. See relevant assignment briefing for more details.

Should specimens of SCP-3603-P become belligerent, physical, up to and including lethal, force is authorized but is recommended to be used with discretion. Specimens of SCP-3603-P caught engaging in violence or [REDACTED] among themselves are to be placed in solitary confinement for a minimum of five hours with more time available to be added depending on the severity and specifics of the altercation. Any specimens attempting escape are to be shot on sight and their carcasses shipped back to headquarters for thorough examination.

Description: SCP-3603 is a vinyl LP of the 1985 Phil Collins album No Jacket Required. The album is physically unremarkable in every respect except for the serial number, which when cross-referenced corresponds to no serial number listed in the archive. The album is accompanied by its original dust jacket and interior photograph. When examined by a professional vinyl resale agent, SCP-3603 was declared to be in “near-mint or very good plus” condition. The vinyl disc itself is free from cracks, scratches and warps and the pattern of grooves on its surface correspond exactly to non-SCP examples of the release.

The only physical abnormality noted with SCP-3603 is that no dust has ever been observed to collect on its surface, regardless of the length of time it is kept in storage. Further tests are required to determine the specifics of this anomaly.

When a subject listens to the audio on the vinyl disc of SCP-3603, conversion of subject into a specimen of SCP-3603-P will begin to occur. The transformation speed positively corresponds to the amount of time a subject spends listening to SCP-3603. If the album is listened to front to back or otherwise for the full equivalent of its runtime, uninterrupted conversion will occur. Less time spent listening to the album has been tentatively shown to prolong the period over which conversion occurs. No correlation between conversion speed and the physical characteristics of human subjects has been observed. Proposals regarding experimentation on nonhuman subjects are currently under review.

SCP-3603-P-1 through SCP-3603-P-15 are 15 physically identical middle-aged, Caucasian human males. Brain scans of SCP-3603-P specimens reveal identical patterns of brain activity among the population in response to the same stimuli. Newly transformed SCP-3603-P specimens are also, as much as has been determined through archival footage and photographs, physically identical to the 1985 appearance of English musician Phil Collins. SCP-3603-P specimen collection dates back to 1989, 21 years prior to the containment of the object currently designated SCP-3603. Specimens of SCP-3603-P have been observed to age at the same rate as control group humans.

Each specimen claims its name is Phil Collins and that it is an English musician and former actor. When confronted with the truth about their existence and origins, specimens of SCP-3603-P are invariably disbelieving and belligerent. Extensive tests and interviews have determined that attempts to convince specimens of SCP-3603-P of the fallacy of their beliefs are unproductive and non-essential interactions with the specimens are discouraged as a whole.

I got called out to a possible anomaly today. It was located in an apartment on █████ street. It really seems like more of these are popping up every day. Worrying. Anyway, the tenant in Apartment ██ was exhibiting bizarre behavior according to the call. When I got there, he’d already booked it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary in his apartment, except for how extraordinarily messy it was. I guess this anomaly was a dud. The landlady lived next door and thought I was checking on the tenant’s well-being. She was so touched she invited me to lunch. Considering she was a pretty, petite blonde, of course I said yes. Rosalie, if you’re reading this, nothing happened except coffee and sandwiches. She did give me a gift though- kind of a strange one. Do I look like the kind of guy who listens to Phil Collins? If I do, that’s a little concerning. I guess it was a nice gesture though.

Put that album up for sale on eBay. I know that's rude, but if I keep it it's just going to get put in a box and collect dust. Now some weird Phil Collins fan can enjoy it, I guess. Funny thing is, when I started listening to it to make sure it worked, I suddenly got a splitting headache about 30 seconds into "Sussudio". Really goes to show how much I can't stand his music.

This is the third day in a row I've noticed clumps of hair falling out of my head in the shower. Working at this place has literally got me losing my hair. It's not even a metaphor anymore.
I really should not be losing this much hair. Going to schedule a doctor's visit. I'll be damned if I go bald faster than my father did.

I had a doctor's appointment today regarding the hair loss. According to him, it's "certainly unusual" to lose this much this quickly, even if I was naturally thinning. I showed him the bald patches that've shown up on the front and he seemed genuinely concerned. He gave me a prescription for hair cream- the stuff smells like toilet cleaner. I'm assuming that means it's strong. Hopes are not terribly high- Dr. ███ is not the best practitioner I've ever had. When he took my height and weight, he made me redo it three times, claiming the scale said I'd gotten shorter by almost an inch. I'm still not sure if he was trying to be funny or something with that.

I've been having the worst headaches over the past few days. At first I just assumed they were regular migraines, but they've started spreading throughout my entire face. They're excruciating and painkillers aren't doing anything. I've just been laying down with an ice pack on my face praying it'll be over soon.
Been wearing a hat to work to cover the balding.

I had a strange experience. I don't know if it's work-related, but it's odd, and if this job has taught me anything it's that damn near anything can be an anomaly. So I'm at work, feeling sad over Jennifer, and my co-workers decide to cheer me up by taking me out to dinner. And, well, you know I'm not the most extroverted person, but I appreciate the gesture and I've been making an effort to be more social lately. ██████, █████ and I, and that other guy whose name I always forget, go out to the new Japanese place downtown. While we're there, the others start imbibing and they start urging me to get up and sing karaoke. I normally wouldn't, my voice is… not musically inclined. But, they eventually ribbed me into going up. And, somehow, I suddenly could sing. My singing voice had become not only passable, but excellent. The staff even stopped cleaning to stare at me and the guys were hollering. They even tried to pay me to sing more in the car, but our designated driver made them knock it off. Putting this down on paper, it sounds like bragging, but I swear it was a real and uncomfortable experience.

The therapist told me I need to get over Jenny and live in the now, with Rosalie. He doesn't understand I can't just get over a betrayal like that. What does that say about my worth? Just because I'm a man doesn't mean I'm not allowed to have feelings or be hurt by a woman.

I need to stop thinking about her.

Were my eyes always this light? Maybe it's the new bulbs in the bathroom.

Dear Jennifer,

You know what? I'd forgive you if you wanted it. But you don't want it. Which is why I'm writing this letter just to myself, and you're never going to see it. You haven't responded at all to any of my contact attempts. I was trying to offer you a second chance and you threw it away. Do I have no value to you anymore? Am I just something to be left in the past? Just trash to be thrown out? They say you have to communicate to make a relationship work, but the only communication you've been doing has been about me, trying to smear my name. I know you've been doing that, Jennifer. But you know what? It doesn't bother me. Nothing you say can affect me anymore, because I'm over you. I'm over your refusals and your alienation and your lies. You mean just as little to me as I mean to you, if not less. And you can stay in the past where you belong.

[ The next three pages were torn out of the journal, presumably by Dr. Copping himself. Analysis of the imprints of pen pressure on the following page reveal at least one of them was intended to be a love letter to Copping's ex-wife. ]

Somebody finally bought that album. Got a decent 20 bucks off of it.

I went to the doctor again. Something is seriously wrong with me. My hair is almost completely gone from the front of my head and my eyes are sky blue. Dr. ███ was baffled. Assumed I was pulling a prank on him. The headaches are getting worse. It's like my whole face is just acheing. Deep, deep, pain everywhere. Doctor doesn't know what to do about that, either. He just gave me stronger painkillers. I'm starting to think it might be work related. Going to talk to the guys and see if any of them have had similar symptoms.

I talked to the guys and none of them have been having any issues like mine. They noticed after I pointed them out, though. Noticed and ribbed me for losing my mind. Assholes think everything is a big joke right up until somebody ends up dead.

Had a horrible nightmare last night. My body was swollen and misshapen, covered in hair and bulging veins. I had a collar around my neck and was being led through a black void- a tunnel?- by a cloaked figure. I could hear the sound of heavy breathing, like a predator just out of sight in the blackness. Eventually, I was led through the twists and turns to a cage. On the door of a cage was a sign that read "BEAST THAT CAN TALK". They wanted me to get in the cage. I refused, saying I'm a man and not a beast. They tried forcing me, and eventually the figure pulled out a taser and shocked me until I was limp and helpless. They then kicked me into the cage and disappeared. Everything disappeared. The figure, the cage bars, the breathing.

Everything except the blackness.

My fucking lips are gone. They're GONE. They've just shrunk down to little pink slivers like I've been sucking on a lemon for the last week and a half. Fuck the doctor. I'm going back to that apartment. There must have really been an anomaly there, and I just didn't pick up on it, and it's somehow affected me. I have no idea what's happening to my body or if it's reversible, but a man can hope.

I went to that apartment again last night (…) I banged on the landlady's door for about an hour. I heard something moving in there, and I assumed it was her, but she never answered. Eventually I decided to pick the lock. Standing there in blackness with the lock open, about to step inside was one of the tensest moments of my life. Slowly, I opened the door and peered inside, with no idea what I'd find. The lights were all out, so I fumbled for a switch in the darkness. When the lights went on… I still haven't fully recovered from what I witnessed in that apartment. The place was torn apart, absolutely ravaged. It looked like a monster's lair. And… scattered around the rooms were… piles. Piles, several feet high of… drum machines. And synthesizers. That wasn't all. There were music magazines with circled ads strewn about the living room and notebooks full of lyrics piled up on the bed. Looking at that, looking into that apartment, I felt like my heart had been stabbed with a dagger of ice. I couldn't bear to see that for more than a few moments. I booked it the fuck out of there, just sprinted back to my car and hyperventilated for about 15 minutes. I'm not even sure what it was about it that disturbed me so deeply. (…)

I feel like I have the answer I was looking for, but I'm still missing some sort of key piece. What is it??? What the hell is happening??? What's going to happen to me??????

(…)

No. No, that can't be it. It can't be. That's not what's happening that's not what's happening that's not what's happening (…)

It's that fucking album. It's the album. That apartment… there really was an anomaly there. And I just walked home with it. The album, it spreads Phil something. It's dangerous. And now it's gone to God knows where.

What the hell do I do? Tell the Foundation? If I admit I listened to it, and what it's done, they'll lock me up. Or worse. I can't do that. I can't leave Rosalie. God forgive me, I'm going to have to do this on my own. I'm going to have to get that album back before it destroys even more lives.

Hello? Hello, does this work? Oh, thank Christ. See, old Roland, some things are still going your way… Ahem. This is Dr. Roland F. Copping of the SCP Foundation. I'm currently on a, well, what could be called an anomaly retrieval quest. I'm heading to Chicago today to pick up the anomaly. When all this is sorted out, I'll turn this tape into the Foundation so they can have more information on it.

I finally have a plan. I called Billy, the guy who bought the album, and we agreed to meet at ███████ in Chicago. I brought the record player, so the two of us can… listen to it backwards. It makes sense, right? Forward induces the… the effects, so backwards will reverse them. It's only logical. So I'm going to meet Billy, listen to the album and be cured. Alright, that's the plan. Remember that.

Delivery van out here driving like an absolute wanker. License plate is- um- ███████. You can bet I'll be calling in a complaint when I get this sorted out.

I just pulled over and got a Big Mac. That means I'm still me, right? I'm not that far gone. They don't even have Mickey D's across the pond, right?

It's that album, that fucking album, it sold, but it's not being taken seriously, Sussudio, that's all Letterman wanted to talk about, Su-su-sudio…
Please be the right turn.

It's gone… it's gone… half my head… the hair is gone…

It's dark. I'm going to pull over and sleep in the car.

I… just realized I might have tried to drive on the wrong side of the road. I'm pulled over now.
I… I'm struggling. It's hard. It's so hard to stay myself. I can feel the… the pieces of me, just slipping away, like grains of sand falling into a river. Like a flame slowly being snuffed out. That's me. Everything that's "me" is being consumed by these… memories, these feelings that aren't mine. I can hold them back for now, realize they're not mine, but… they're seeping in. Soon they're going to be everything.

I made it! I made it! Oh, thank all the gods that don't exist, I made it to the meet up spot. Now all I have to do is wait for Billy. It's almost 3:30, he should be here any minute now…

[Beeping can be heard, presumably from Dr. Copping dialing a phone number.] Please pick up, please pick up… Please… [More beeping can be heard.] Billy, please, you told me you'd come…

He's still not here. It's been two hours. I don't know what I'm going to do, I don't know, I don't… [Muffled sobbing can be heard for several minutes, then more beeping]
H-hello? Rosalie? Please don't hang up- No! Please, Rosalie, it's me! Roland! No, please, I know I sound different- but- No, please, please!
[Continued beeping as Dr. Copping redials the number several times.]
[More sobbing for approximately one and half minutes.]

I… I need to record this. It's ruining me, but… I need to have this on tape. I need to be able to hear it… in case I forget.
My birthday is… I can’t remember. My father's name is Stephen Copping. That asshole. My mother's is Abigail. My sister… I have a sister, right? She's real. I remember her too clearly. Her name is Carole. No, it's… it's Sarah. Sarah, I'm sorry too. I know you'll never hear this, and we're not on good terms, but… I miss you. And me… My name is… Rob- no, Roland Copping. I was… I'm…

[More beeping as a number is typed.]
Don't hang up, this isn't a prank call. This is Roland, I'm… I work for you. I think. I need… I need you to pick me up. I'm at… [REDACTED]. You… probably won't recognize me, and I might not recognize you. Ok. Ok. Thank you. [Beep.]

I love you, Jenny. I'm sorry.

Title: EXTREMELY URGENT – BILLY READ THIS ASAP

From: Dr. Roland F. Copping

To: Billy ███████

This is NOT a practical joke, meme, or spam. I need you to read this, take it seriously, and do exactly as I say, no matter how bizarre it might seem. I can’t explain why, but this is extremely important.

You might recognize me as the man you bought that Phil Collins album from on eBay. Do NOT, under ANY circumstances, listen to that album. If you already have, the situation is even graver than I’ve been implying.

I need to have that album back as soon as possible. Please, PLEASE, call me at [REDACTED] so we can schedule a time to meet up and discuss this in more detail. I will come and meet you in Illinois- mailing the album will take too long and I can’t risk it being lost or damaged. Again, DO NOT LISTEN TO THAT ALBUM. Don’t even touch it except to bring it with you when we meet up. Don't tell ANYONE - only you know and I know about this.

I know this sounds completely crazy, but please trust me, this is for your and my own safety. PLEASE CALL ME AS SOON AS YOU CAN.
-

~:*{Hangin’ in there!}*:~

Roland Copping

page revision: 13, last edited: 06 Feb 2018 21:51
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