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Item #: SCP-742

Object Class: Euclid

Special Containment Procedures: SCP-742 is to be located in a secure safe, which may be stored in the general holding area under 24-hour security. It may only be removed by level 5 personnel.

Description: SCP-742 is a rather mundane-looking hourglass roughly 58.42cm (23in) in height. There is nothing unusual or remarkable whatsoever about the craftsmanship or the materials used.

Unmolested, SCP-742 seems to be completely inert. It may even be picked up with no observed ill effects. However, when SCP-742 is turned over, the person holding it disappears instantly, usually dropping SCP-742 to the floor (which, despite the apparently mundane construction of the object, does not appear to harm it in any way) .

Based on observation of test subjects, it is currently assumed that whoever turns over this device is sent to an unspecified point in the past or future. A theory by [EXPUNGED] suggests that every time the device is reset and turned over, each falling grain of sand will represent a specific and constant period of time, and this specific seed appears to be arbitrary - each grain representing a second or a millennium. Evidence also suggests that whatever point in time the user was sent to, the space his body takes up upon arrival is switched out with the space he took in the present.

Addendum: On November 8 of 2003, 10 test subjects - incarcerated prisoners with either death or life sentences - were brought in to test the device with the promise of either a commuted sentence or a full pardon. None of the ten were informed about the specifics of the experiment before being led into the observation room and instructed to turn over the hourglass. Once the prisoner had disappeared, an assistant would enter the room, place SCP-742 back onto the table and let the cycle complete, then leave. Once completed, the next test subject was called in. The results are as follows:

Test Subject 1, ████ █. ██████: Upon disappearance, a saltwater shape of the subject's form was visible for a moment before splashing to the floor. In this seawater was half of a fish that, according to all current knowledge, went extinct over 6 million years ago.

Test Subject 2, ██████ █████████: Upon disappearance, nothing unusual. Returned to the same spot three days later, as if nothing had happened (and frightening the cleaning lady in the process)

Test Subject 3, ███ █████: Upon disappearance, a short burst of flame exploded from where the subject was previously standing. This flame heated up the treated steel walls of the room to 480 degrees celsius, instantly. This necessitated a cool-down period of the room of several hours. SCP-742 was unscathed.

Test Subject 4, █████ ██ ████: Upon disappearance, nothing unusual.

Test Subject 5, ███████ ████: Upon disappearance, nothing unusual.

Test Subject 6, ████ ███████: Upon disappearance, there was a loud "thunderclap", and sensors detected a minor loss of air pressure in the room, as if a vacuum had appeared in his place.

Test Subject 7, █. █. █████: Upon disappearance, a few snowflakes appeared and quickly melted. The melted water on the floor contained microbes of unknown origin. The researcher, ID# 822-8772, died of extremely high fever caused by the onset of an unknown disease weeks later. Fortunately he is the only one who had extended contact with the water at the time.

At this point, General ████████ halted the experiment, and after weeks of examining what little information and evidence was obtained, permanently terminated the experiment.

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