rating: 0+x

Item #: SCP-XXXX

Object Class: Neutralized

Special Containment Procedures: No containment methods are necessary for SCP-XXXX or SCP-XXXX-1.

No attempt should be made to suppress knowledge of SCP-XXXX-2 however scientific research into SCP-XXXX-2 is to be monitored and disrupted if necessary. Any further specimens found with preserved neural tissue are to be obtained by the Foundation and preserved in Low-Value Item Storage.

SCP-XXXX is a series of anomalous radio broadcasts issued between 1853 and 1872. All information on these broadcasts comes from the writings of Elizabeth Carlyle, a Catholic nun who is now known to have been an instance of SCP-1723 (Link and Footnote: humanoid capable of receiving and understanding radio transmissions).

She recorded a large number of these broadcasts along with her interpretations of them in her diaries which have since been obtained by the Foundation (see Addendum 1). They were identified as anomalous due to several exceptionally detailed and accurate accounts of the Earth's magnetosphere as well as that of many planetary bodies. This prompted an autopsy of her remains which revealed the anomalous physiology of her skeletal structure.

The origin of these transmissions was initially suspected to be extraterrestrial or interplanar in origin due to predating widespread human use of radio transmission. It is now know to have originated from an entity now designated SCP-XXXX-1 active in North America from an unknown point until the late 19th century.

This was discovered through unrelated research by a non-Foundation body into the structure of the now extinct Ectopistes migratorius, known commonly as the passenger pigeon (SCP-XXXX-2). Analysis of several unusually well preserved specimens revealed a biological structure capable of generating electromagnetic waves. It is now theorised that similar to Columba livia domestica (homing pigeons) capacity to detect electromagnetism SCP-XXXX-2 was capable of generating electromagnetic waves for use in navigation and communication. From this and evidence from SCP-XXXX it is theorized that sufficiently large flocks gathering resulted in the creation of a gestalt intelligence capable of perceiving and transmitting a variety of electromagnetic waves.

SCP-XXXX-1 is not thought to have posed any significant danger as its transmissions suggest it was non-hostile and largely unaware of the surrounding world, including SCP-XXXX-2. It is to be considered Neutralised as of 1874-1878 when the last large flocks of passenger pigeons were killed prior to their extinction in 1914.

Addendum 1: Selected Diary Excerpts
Elizabeth Carlyle wrote diaries frequently throughout her life, many of which make reference to SCP-XXXX-1.

Diary 1
Father always said that writing was the best way to organise one's thoughts and I pray that is the case now. Ever since I arrived in America I have been plagued with the most awful delusions. I hear a voice, a voice that no other can hear that sings to me in a language that is without words and yet filled with meaning.
I fear that I am going mad, that I caught some sickness in the new land that has addled my mind. Or worse that the Sisters are right and the voice belongs to a demon trying to tempt me into sin. Despite what my logic tells me though, I cannot believe that this is true. No demon could sing a song of such beauty, so filled with joy at the world. I think perhaps it is an angel sent by Father to watch over me. If so he needn't worry, the work here is hard but I have a bed and a full belly and a love of God. I don't need a guardian angel to help me survive America. Still, the angel (if angel it be) sounds so lonely. Perhaps I could help it too.

Diary 2
I love the night time. Back home they called it the witching hour, that time when all others are asleep and the world becomes a more magical place. It's not a term the other nuns ould use but that doesn't matter. The witching hour is just for me.
I have been sneaking out of the convent at night to try and understand the voice that I hear. It's clearer at night, not louder but easier to understand, thoughts and emotions translating more easily. I am certain now that the voice is an angel, he is too persistant to be a passing fancy or delusion and too filled with love and joy for Gods Creation for him to be Evil.
It does not respond to me when I call out, I thought perhaps it ignoring me, that its search was for only its heavenly brethren but now I think it merely cannot hear me. Tis a sad fate for one with such a beautiful voice to be so alone. Is my angel perhaps one of the fallen? I dare not think so, how could one of such beauty be of such dark nature? Perhaps he has been sent here as a test from the Almighty? I wish it all success and I will listen to it, even if I cannot respond.
When he cries out in desperation for another of his kind it breaks my heart. If I cannot respond then I will at least listen and even if he doesn't know it

Diary 3
I have a headache today. I am prone to such afflictions and this is not my first instance but it is by far the worst. There is the most awful screeching in my head, like the crackling of thunder mixed with a mother goat in labour from back on the farm. Only now the sound is directly in each of my poor ears. Mother Mary thnks me weak or delicate and claims my faith should give me the strength to overcome such petty maladies. I would like to see her work with such a racket in her head, she who has not worked a nurses shift proper in twenty years.
At least my lonely angel understands. His voice is hard to hear through the din but I can tel he suffers with me. Cheer up old friend, we'll suffer through this together.
Foundation: Of note, this took place during the Solar storm of 1859. It is likely that the noise she describes is the reslt of electrical interference caused by the storm.

Diary 4
Another battle, another parade of broken and bloodied men. We are a nation tearing itself asunder because some men wish the right to imprison and brutalise others. At times such as these it is hard to believe in a loving God who cares for his children. And yet sometimes the beauty of his Creation still shines through.
I had finished a long night in the wretched tents we call a ward and was beginning the long trudge to the womens sleeping quarters. Then the harsh light of the sun dimmed above me and people around me called out in alarm. They talked about the whys and the whens, stellar astronomy and the movement of the planetary bois. But I was content to watch as the moon covered the sun and the hidden beauty of the stars shone again, a little peace of treasured night in the middle of the day.
Then I heard another voice over the din of the arguers, my lonely angel rejoicing in the miracle that I did. His eyes must be better than mine though, for as I as content to simply watch the stars he sings of patterns in the earth and in the sky. I think he may have given up on this world of ours and now directs his attentions to the heavens above. Perhaps while the sun is in hiding his message shines all the brighter to his heavenly fellows.
I have sketched a poor copy of what he has described, a map of our world in the cartography of the heavens. I do not claim to understand it and my copy is flawed, but when he sings of it his voice is filled with such joy. He may think himself alone on this world of ours but he can still see its beauty. And so long as he can find the strength to continue, so can I.
Foundation: This diay entry included the attached image which depicts an approximately accurate portrayal of the earths magnetosphere.

Diary 5
A terrible song today, a most terrible song. His health has been ailing for months now, perhaps years. I thought, perhaps it was my old ears which were at fault but it has spoken now and I know that it is its voice that is at fault. My lonely angel is dying. I have scribed its words as best I could, I cannot bear to be the only one to know its dying words. I know not what it means that an angel can die but truely this is the saddest day of my life. If he is to die then perhaps that means his exile is over and he can return to our heavenly father. If so perhaps we two can meet at last in the afterlife and laugh over our missed communications. I'd like that.
This will be the last of shouts, my desparate yells into the aether. For greater than 5 of the heavenly cycles(theorized-solar flare activity) I have called out to find another but I am alone. And now I am dying. I feel myself get weaker as my components fade and die, I do not know how much time that I hae remaining but I know that this shall be my final call. If there are any who someday hear this, on some far and distant plane know that I was once here, that I once lived. If you hear this you may know what I could not, you are not alone.