Popsioak 9

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Item Number: XXXX

Clearance Level: One

Object Class: Euclid


A photograph contained in one of SCP-XXXX's pockets.

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX is to be contained within a standard humanoid cell. Stimulation, such as books, paper, and a pencil, are to be provided on a regular basis. No sustenance is necessary.

Description: SCP-XXXX is a disembodied arm of an adult male. Despite a large wound where the arm would have been affixed to its original body, as well as signs of decomposition and arthritis, it shows no negative effects. It is clothed in an Indian Army uniform, dating back to the early 1940s. Genetic testing to determine the owner of SCP-XXXX has proven inconclusive.

SCP-XXXX is capable of limited movement. By repeatedly locking and unlocking itself in positions and grasping surfaces with its nails, it can produce a vaguely inchworm-like style of locomotion. Additionally, SCP-XXXX is capable of challenging manual tasks, such as threading a needle or flipping a glass, despite lacking ocular organs or a neural center.

SCP-XXXX has displayed signs of sapience, writing in a dated form of British English to communicate when given a pen. However, SCP-XXXX is incapable of understanding attempts to communicate with it, presumably from a lack of expertise in Braille.

Attached are assorted communications from SCP-XXXX.


Glory to Khalistan.

It is so dark. Where has everyone gone?

I smell fire. It is dead for now. Long dead. But I smell fire.

I feel like many small parts all at once.

Where is the rest of me?

Where is my regiment? They will come. Back. It has not been too long. I don't think so.

Where are you?

My love. Where have you gone?

There was a man.
He said to fight for the British, against the Germans.
I did not want to. We left the British before.
But I trusted him.

I should not have trusted him.

They told me that if I died, I would see God.
I have not seen him. Everything is terrible.
Their God takes care of all His children. I should have remembered 20 missionaries who told us that before.

I am scared of myself. I am scared of loud noises. I am scared of being trapped. I cannot breathe.

Get me out of here.
Get me out of here.
Get me out of here.
I do not want to live like this.

I am sorry I will not be able to send you money, dear.

I know your cousin needed it for her wedding.

Please forgive me.

Do not leave me.

I do not want to be alone.

They will not come back to me. I will be alone.

If only.

I have one option.

I will move.
I will return.
I will create my Khalistan.
My farms are dry. They will soon be fresh.
Glory to Khalistan.
I will get out.
I will get out.

Note: On production of the last note, SCP-XXXX produced a fully-loaded Lee Enfield No.1 Mk.III rifle from its pocket. The origin of this weapon is currently unknown - checks in SCP-XXXX's pockets previously yielded no thaumaturgical traces or spatial anomalies. SCP-XXXX proceeded to grasp the rifle, and fired it at the nearest window. Recoil from the musket caused it to jump backwards and sever SCP-XXXX at the wrist. The detached arm section's flesh immediately decomposed into a black, putrid sludge, leaving bone. The hand section fired again, immediately dislocating and severing SCP-XXXX's lower portion of its hand and thumb with the rifle's bayonet, leaving a thin section of flesh and four fingers. The severed section decomposed as well. The remaining section ceased firing, instead retrieving a piece of paper and proceeding to write the following note.

I will continue.
There is no other option I have.
I do not want to die. I do not want to live like this.
I must continue.

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