SCP - 041 "Thought-Broadcasting Patient"
Object Class: Safe
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The sterile, softly lit chamber of Bio-Research Area 12 is quiet, save for the faint hum of machinery. Dr. Klein stands near the observation window, watching SCP-041, a gaunt young man connected to life-support devices. Sitting beside him is Researcher Carter, holding a tablet, and across the room, a technician adjusts the television.
Dr. Klein: (frowning) Still no responses, Carter. He's as silent as ever.
Carter: Yeah. But I swear, sometimes I catch him staring at the TV, like he's watching something… or listening.
Dr. Klein: (glances at SCP-041) That's typical. The reports say he broadcasts his thoughts, but he rarely engages in conversation.
Suddenly, a faint whispering sound emerges from the room's speakers, unintelligible at first.
Technician: (looking up) Hey, did you guys hear that? The TV's on static.
Carter: Yeah… wait. That's not just static. It sounds… like voices.
Dr. Klein: (raises an eyebrow) Are you recording?
Technician: I am now.
The whispering continues, layered over the white noise, sounding almost like a chorus of faint voices, some high-pitched, some deep.
Carter: (nervously) I've read reports about this kind of thing. That SCP-041 can broadcast thoughts—sometimes even voices. But most of the equipment just garbles it.
Dr. Klein: (leaning in) Or maybe it's trying to communicate. To tell us something.
The whispers suddenly coalesce into a faint, childlike singing voice—soft, innocent, eerily out of place.
Carter: (shivering) That's… that's a little girl's voice. Singing a lullaby or a nursery rhyme.
Technician: (frowning) It's in our heads, though. I feel like I'm hearing it right here.
Dr. Klein: (sternly) Be careful with this. SCP-041's abilities are unpredictable. We need to document everything.
As they listen, SCP-041's eyes flutter open slightly—though he remains mostly unresponsive.
Carter: (softly) Hey, Forty. Can you hear us?
For a moment, silence. Then, a faint, almost amused comment echoes in the minds of the present personnel.
SCP-041 (thoughts):I hear them. The voices… I know what they say.
Dr. Klein: (quietly) Did he just…?
Carter: I think so. It's like he's listening to us through his thoughts.
Suddenly, the singing voice returns, growing clearer.
Child's Voice (in their minds):La la la…
Technician: (clutching his head) What the—?
Carter: (alarmed) It's him. He's sending us… a message.
Dr. Klein: Or maybe just noise. We need to be cautious.
The voices fade, replaced by a tense silence. SCP-041's eyes flutter again, this time with a faint, knowing expression.
Carter: (whispering) Forty, do you want to tell us something?
The boy's lips move slightly, but no sound comes out. His expression softens.
SCP-041 (thoughts):I hear the song. I remember the song. It's in my head now, like a memory of a childhood I never had.
Dr. Klein: (softly) It's like he's trying to tell us he's not just broadcasting random thoughts. Maybe he's longing for connection.
Carter: Or he's warning us. About what he can see or hear that we can't.
The room falls into contemplative silence. Outside, the world remains unaware of the whispers echoing from within.
Dr. Klein: We need to keep monitoring him. And record everything. Because whatever this is… it's not just a mind we're dealing with.
As the whispers fade entirely, SCP-041 closes his eyes, seemingly content. The technicians pack up their equipment, leaving the room with a mixture of awe and unease.
In the quiet, the faint voice lingers—just beyond the edge of understanding.
End.