Special Containment Procedures: The continued existence of SCP-8089 depends on its status as an uncontained entity. Pursuit and observation of SCP-8089 is under the purview of former Site-278 Director L. Emile Bouquet, with assistance from former Site-278 Chief Security Officer Iseult Bodmall and MTF Eta-10 (See No Evil) and Iota-44 (Norman Invaders). SCP-8089 mainly resides in the United Kingdom but has been detected on the Navarren border between France and Spain, and may also reside in Germany, Ireland, Italy, and northern Portugal.
Description: SCP-8089 refers to a chimerical entity originating in the Isle of Anglesey, Wales, United Kingdom. The entity naturally emits a cognitohazardous sensory field that prohibits nearly all perception of it. It does not affect auditory sensations, however, and has been described as sounding like a pack of baying hounds. Persons sharing direct familial history with former Site-278 Director Bouquet are able to fully perceive the entity, through methods currently unknown. Bouquet has described the creature as having the head and neck of a serpent, the body of a leopard, the haunches of a lion, and the feet of a deer, and estimates it to be three meters in length and one point five meters in height, with an unknown weight. It is hypothesized that if the entity goes for an extended period of time without being actively pursued, it will perish.
Addendum-1: In the event of SCP-8089's neutralization or termination, Bouquet and his retinue are to resume their duties at a Site to be determined. In the event of Bouquet's passing, a successor to the study and pursuit of SCP-8089 is to be chosen at his discretion.
Addendum-2: Bouquet has supplied various audio logs, reports, and recordings to supplement SCP-8089 data, compiled and approved by acting Site-278 Director Offet.
.
.
.
Audio Log 01 of Director L. E. Bouquet
I've been with the Foundation for twenty-five years now. Worked my way from Junior Researcher at eighteen, all the way up to Director of Site-278 in Corsica. I think I've done all right for myself. We've lost a lot of good people, but who hasn't? We've spared the world more than a few dangerous anomalies, so that's something to be proud of. I only have one real regret…but I'd rather not get into that. It's personal.
I suppose my story really began about three days or so after the drill. We had just passed our monthly quota and were admittedly a little more relaxed than we ought to have been, but I suppose we'd earned a little hubris. Well, we were certainly going to get our fair share of unexpected action. For the last several weeks, our local Mobile Task Force, Iota-44, the Norman Invaders, had been sweeping the country for rumors of a temporal anomaly. They hadn't been having much luck finding it, but they were committed with their reports. I remember getting the alert from Captain Cochon one day that his squad had information they wanted to share with me personally, so I made preparations and welcomed the team inside.
Enclosed: an edited transcription of the described meeting, as recorded by an operative of Iota-44 who chooses to remain anonymous.
Cochon: Well, it's probably nothing. Renard heard some dogs barking in the distance.
Bouquet: Dogs?
Renard: Yes, sir, a large number of them. I just thought it was unusual since we were out in the middle of the countryside. I guess someone could have been taking them for a walk, but they'd have to be toting around a lot of dogs for them to sound like that.
Bouquet: How many would you say there were?
Renard: Hmm, somewhere between fifteen and twenty. They could've just as easily been a pack of strays.
Bouquet: And that was the only incident that stood out?
Cochon: Just for that day, sir. [ Cochon borrows a cell phone from J. Taureau, another Iota-44 member. ] I asked Taureau to take some photos of the area, just in case. Maybe it was a cognitohazard, or some other effect the anomaly had on the area.
[ Bouquet examines the photos. ]
Bouquet: Were there any deer in the area?
Cochon: Deer?
Bouquet: Yes. There are deer tracks in this photo.
Cochon: I don't see any tracks. How about you? [ He shows the phone to Taureau. ]
Taureau: No, sir.
[ The other members of Iota-44 state the same. ]
Bouquet: That's strange. You're absolutely certain you don't see anything?
Cochon: No, sir, just grass and some stones. They must've been small tracks.
[ Silence. Bouquet seems pensive about something. ]
Taureau: So it's a cognitohazard, then?
Bouquet: Perhaps. Could you please forward all of these photographs to me? I'd like to take a closer look at them.
Cochon: No problem, sir, gimme just a moment. [ Cochon sends him the photos. Bouquet thanks Iota-44 for their work and suggests they get some beers on the house, then departs. ]
Audio Log 02 of Director Bouquet
I put the image in question on my computer and studied it for what must have been a solid hour, my eyes almost strained from the effort and my body sore and stiff. This picture was the ghost of a past long forsaken, and I knew that nobody else in the world would believe me.
Nobody living, at any rate.
I took a break to walk around, clear my head, and get something hot to drink. In my perambulations, I began to think of my father. I thought about what a stranger the man had been to me, how little I had seen of him as I had grown up, how much of an obligation I must have been for him. He was never cruel or cross, but he usually treated me as less of a son and more of a duty, something he needed to do once a week because a judge told him. Sometimes we'd get along all right, but other times, we'd barely exchange a few sentences in the span of an hour. He rarely prodded too deeply into my life, and I rarely did the same. He had another family to attend to, and I suppose…I wasn't as much of a priority. Kind of messes a kid up a little when their parents do that.
He did have one obsession, though, and he shared it with me sometimes, whenever he was in the mood. I used to bring it up a lot when I was a boy, but I almost never mentioned it after I went off to university. It became embarrassing whenever he talked about it, like a part of him still wanted to treat me like a child even though I was studying for a PhD. He'd go on about his destiny, or the family legacy, and how he wanted me to pick it up for him when he got too old for it. He'd show me drawings, diagrams, coats-of-arms, maps, old manuscripts, sour books that stank of age… Normally I just tuned it out. Occasionally I'd humor him and get an earful, and then he'd prod me about getting married, having kids, keeping the tradition alive. I just dismissed him and said that my work kept me too busy for that sort of thing. Obviously I never went into detail about the kind of work I did — I'd just say "at the lab" or "at the university", and give him some vague tidbits here and there. A few years ago, I resolved to tell him everything when the time was right, but…
I finished my drink, disposed of it, and went back to work. As I studied the photograph again, I couldn't help but think to myself, "Dad would have really gotten a kick out of this."
I contacted Cochon and asked if I could accompany him out in the field to investigate the area where those photos had been taken. He asked me how I was able to see something that nobody else could, but I brushed him off, muttering some halfhearted excuse about how I was more experienced with cognitohazards — that I'd been trained to withstand them or something. He seemed to buy it — the perks of being a Site Director, he assumed — and said that as long as I knew how to use a gun and wasn't too proud to follow his orders, then I could tag along. I agreed to his terms, though admitted that my marksmanship was rusty. I then rather spuriously wondered if Bodmall could accompany me as well. We got into a little spat about bringing extra security on what had essentially been a fruitless venture, and he reminded me that Iota-44 was more than capable of doing their job. I must've hurt his pride a little, or maybe he sensed that I didn't fully trust him. In any case, since I was upper brass, I got my way in the end, and we added another member to the crew. Bodmall seemed as apprehensive as Cochon, but went along with it, and spared little expense in making fun of my request during the journey.
Enclosure: an edited transcription of the described period, as recorded by the aforementioned anonymous operative of Iota-44.
Bodmall: What's the matter, boss? Can't take a walk in the country without me holding your hand?
Bouquet: Would you rather stay cooped up in that lab, surrounded by eggheads and pencil-pushers?
Bodmall: Hey, some of my closest friends. [ laughs ]
[ A long period of silence follows. The vehicle stops to allow local farmers and their livestock to pass. ]
Bouquet: I trust you.
[ Bodmall is silent. The operative has gone on record to state that she "appeared reverent". ]
Audio Log 03 of Director Bouquet
We arrived several hours later, right before dusk settled. We'd have a few hours of light left before we'd need to make camp, so Iota-44 set up a perimeter while I was microchipped.1 Bodmall offered to hold my hand for the ordeal, but I assured her I'd be fine, and admitted I took the needle like a real champ. Now the Foundation would be able to track us wherever we went, providing we were still in one piece. With this cheery thought in mind, we began our preliminary search, splitting up into three teams, with Bodmall and Cochon in mine. The Captain guided me over to the location where Taureau had taken the photo, which had more or less been preserved. I immediately saw the tracks and rubbed my chin in deep contemplation.
Enclosed: an edited transcription of the described investigation, as recorded by the aforementioned anonymous operative of Iota-44.
Bouquet: Here. [ He kneels down, digging a square-shaped indentation in the ground with a knife. ] These are where the tracks are. Do you see them?
Cochon: No, sir, I do not. Miss, do you see em'?
Bodmall: No, but I'll take the Director's word for it.
[ Cochon records a short video of the area and forwards it to the rest of Iota-44. Nobody sees anything out of the ordinary. Cochon sighs impatiently. ]
Bouquet: Shall I take a psychiatric exam, Captain?
Cochon: You're the Director, sir: you tell me.
[ Bouquet appears frustrated. ]
[ A member of Iota-44 suddenly falls over, followed by two more. ]
Cochon: Down! Get down!
[ Everyone lays flat on the grass as shots are heard. ]
Cochon: Status!
Renard: Under attack from an unknown assailant, sir!
Cochon: Return fire! Bodmall, get em' outta here!
[ Bodmall forcibly escorts Bouquet away from the skirmish. Bouquet stumbles several times; the ground erupts as explosives and heavy ordinance impact it. Bodmall is struck but manages to return fire; Bouquet is unresponsive. She yells at him, then pushes him away. ]
Bodmall: Don't make me drag you, sir! Go!
[ Bouquet hesitates briefly before successfully escaping. ]
Audio Log 04 of Director Bouquet
Useless. My feet may as well have been the roots of a tree. I neither fought nor fled, but froze, a paragon of idiocy. In my flimsy defense, I've never seen any real action during my tenure, so to be confronted with it so abruptly was jarring. I finally realized what Bodmall wanted me to do, however, and ran for my life. I hated leaving her and Iota-44 behind to deal with whatever had attacked us, but I was the only member of the group who wasn't expendable. My stomach churned with the sickness of adrenaline and cowardice as I bolted, muscles awakening after years of atrophy. I had been something of a sprinter in my youth and managed to account for myself before growing winded. My efforts took me to a thick, shaded forest, where I staggered and lurched, gasping helplessly, light-headed and dazed. I came across a little creek and recalled something about how water leads to civilization, and one should stick to it when one is lost, so I sat underneath a nearby tree and waited for my heart to stop hammering.
It was almost dead silent.
As my gasping calmed down, I checked my body for any injuries, finding myself whole and unhurt. As far as I knew, I was the only one who was safe — or even alive. Bodmall was tough, but that injury she sustained concerned me — and what about Cochon and his men? For that matter, who had attacked us, and why? The Foundation had a long list of enemies, so it could have been anybody. I convalesced in quandary for a long time. As I sat there by the bank, I heard a peculiar sound, and froze. Something was coming through the trees, heading straight for this same stream: something large, powerful, and inhuman. My body stiffened; I swallowed, waiting. And then…
My skin prickled and eyes widened in astonishment. It slithered through the trees with the grace of a swan, four heavy legs hewing the grassy underbrush, limbs swollen with predatory strength. Its head stretched out, brazenly scouring its surroundings with apex confidence, cold eyes glowing gold, a slender fork periodically darting from its mouth. I was aghast as I watched it crawl to the stream, leaning over, taking a drink. One of its eyes fixed on me, and I flinched with a terror and a thrill I had never known before. I met its stare in awe, gripped with suspense and disbelief, so paralyzed that I couldn't even shudder. Finally it raised its long scaly neck, higher and higher until it nearly resembled a tree. Thunder shattered the sky and broke the silence. We stared at each other for a moment longer, until the sky broke open with rain. With it came a human voice, distantly shouting. The creature looked away and slithered off, as mysteriously as it arrived, accompanied by the sound of baying dogs. I swallowed and sat there dazed in the downpour — for how long, I couldn't say. Eventually I heard footsteps drawing near. I grabbed my sidearm and stood in a defiant panic, but it was only Bodmall.
Note: The newest model of Foundation-issued microchips, supplied by a joint operation of Anderson Robotics and Prometheus Labs, allows the chip to link to visual and aural receptors via the nervous system, enabling recordings of everything field agents see and hear. The following is a record of what transpired once Bodmall located Director Bouquet.
Bodmall: There you are, sir. I was afraid I had lost you for a second. Are you all right?
Bouquet: Did you just see… [ Bouquet looks to the bank of the river, then back to Bodmall. ] Never mind. Where are the others?
Bodmall: No idea. We're not safe out here. I found a little shack where we can wait out this rain.
[ Bouquet follows Bodmall through the brush to a small shack. The remains of a much larger structure are close by, suggesting it had once been part of a habitation. Bodmall and Bouquet enter the shack, remove some clothes, and start a fire. ]
Bouquet: Thanks for saving me back there.
Bodmall: You would have done the same, sir.
Bouquet: Obviously not. I can't believe I froze up. Cochon has every right to chew me out.
Bodmall: I won't tell him. Just another embarrassing memory I get to keep.
Bouquet: Thanks. [ A pause. Rainfall is heard in the background. ] How's your injury?
Bodmall: My what? Oh. Not that bad. Stings a bit when I move.
Bouquet: Do you mind if I take a look? [ Bodmall lifts her uniform, showing a reddish bruise on her back. She is not bleeding. ] Hmm, they weren't using bullets. I'm not a ballistics expert, but I'd say our unknown adversary had prepared to fight a different enemy when we came along. We may have even gotten caught in a crossfire unrelated to our mission.
Bodmall: You can tell all that?
Bouquet: Either that, or you tripped and fell.
Bodmall: Sir, I was distinctly struck! And pardon my vulgarity, but it hurt like a bastard and a half.
Bouquet: So should I hold your hand?
Bodmall: [ snorts ] Sir! [ Bouquet laughs, and Bodmall eventually joins him. ]
Bouquet: Do you have anything I could use to treat it?
Bodmall: Just some basic supplies. Compresses, bandages, painkillers.
[ Bouquet looks through Bodmall's supplies, taking out a small canister of petroleum jelly. ]
Bouquet: Ah, good. This should help. It's probably just a first-degree burn.
[ Bouquet applies the petroleum to Bodmall's wound. He then takes a wet article of clothing and uses it as a compress. ]
Bodmall: [ hisses ] Aah! So how come you could see those tracks when nobody else could?
Bouquet: Mmm? Do you believe me? It seemed Cochon didn't.
Bodmall: You've never steered me wrong before, sir.
[ A pause as the rain continues. ]
Bouquet: It's a long, crazy story, and one I didn't even believe myself until today.
Bodmall: I take it you don't actually have cognitohazardous training.
Bouquet: I do, but this is something else — something ancient, and…personal.
Bodmall: We've got time. And you did say you trusted me.
Bouquet: It's not exactly a dark secret. Embarrassing, maybe.
Bodmall: Oh, now you have to tell me.
Bouquet: Hey, I'm your boss. I don't have to do anything. [ A pause. Thunder is heard. ] But it would pass the time. Just don't fall asleep on me.
Bodmall: Oh, I'd never do that.
[ The sound of rain continues. ]
Bouquet: Tell me, Bodmall: how much do you know about Arthurian myth?
Bodmall: You mean like the Sword in the Stone and all that? About as much as the average person, I'd say.
Bouquet: Ah. Well.
This is a story that began sixteen-hundred years ago, after the fall of the Roman Empire, during the so-called Dark Ages. One day, a young King Arthur, who was out hunting, came to a forest, much like this one. His horse had grown so exhausted from the hunt that it fell over dead, and he asked a nearby woodsman for a new one. As he waited, he sat by a pool, but was stirred out of his thoughts as a great, dreadful creature approached. Before Arthur could make sense of what was going on, the creature retreated. A King came riding up just then, and introduced himself as Pellinore. He claimed that it was his destiny to hunt the creature Arthur had seen. The two of them didn't exactly get off on the right foot, as they dueled so fiercely that Pellinore broke the very sword that Arthur had pulled from the stone. Luckily, the two men became close friends later, and together they united much of Britain under Camelot. Unfortunately, during one of those battles, Pellinore killed Arthur's uncle, King Lot, sparking a family feud that would result in his death — by Arthur's nephew Gawain, of all people.
As for the beast, with Pellinore dead, it fell to his sons to pursue the creature, and their sons after them. Most versions of the Arthurian myth say that Sir Palomedes the Saracen picked up the quest, owing to his close relationship with Pellinore, and hunted it for the rest of his life. Scholars see the beast as an allegory of Palomedes's fruitless love for a Queen, whom he pined for but could never win. Others suggest the creature is symbolic of the chaos that would one day befall Camelot, as it was born of a taboo much the same way as Mordred, Arthur's son from his aunt, was, and that only by converting to Christianity could Palomedes be victorious. One rather obsessed lunatic even believed that the beast lives to this very day, and that only those from Pellinore's bloodline could hunt it, as that was their eternal destiny. Take from that what you will.
Bouquet: Anyway, it's only a story, no matter how you slice it.
Bodmall: So what does that have to do with you seeing those tracks?
Bouquet: [ exhales deeply ] Some other time.
Bodmall: Oh come on, sir! You can't leave me hanging like that! You could at least… [ silence ] Wait: do you think you're descended from this Pellinore guy?
Bouquet: No. Definitely not.
Bodmall: Then why were you the only one who saw those tracks?
[ Bouquet remains silent. ]
[ A loud rapping sound is heard from the shack door. Bodmall cautiously levels her rifle at the door and opens it. They both relax as they see Cochon on the other side. He is bruised, bleeding, disheveled, and gasping for air. ]
Cochon: Good, you're all right. They've stopped fighting for now.
Bouquet: Who?
Cochon: The Chaos Insurgency and Horizon Initiative. That's who fired on us, though I have good reason to believe they had no idea we were in the area. God only knows the details. All I know is that we were in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Bodmall: Did they just spring out of the ground or something? Why didn't you catch this sooner when you were sweeping the area?
Cochon: Look, all I know is that we got caught with our pants down, two of my crew are K.I.A., one's wounded, and we've got a Site Director in hostile territory.
Bodmall: So we get him out.
Cochon: You catch on quick. I'll have someone escort him back to two seventy-eight while my people and I sort this shit out.
Bodmall: I can take him.
Cochon: No, you're more useful to me here. I'm glad you insisted on bringing her with you, Director. She can make up for my departed crew.
Bodmall: But I—
Cochon: Yeah, you got loyalty to your Director: I get it. But I need guns, quick wits, and people I can trust, and the Director here's vouched for all three.
[ Bodmall looks at Bouquet, appalled. ]
Bouquet: He's right, Bodmall. Just consider yourself a Norman Invader for the time being.
Bodmall: I'd rather not, sir. My family's Cymru, and I could never live with myself if I did. No offense.
[ Bouquet laughs. ]
Cochon: Hmm? What's so funny?
Bouquet: It's a Welsh thing, Captain.2 Nothing personal.
.
.
.
Audio Log 05 of Director Bouquet
I assured them that they'd warm up to each other in no time, and we left the shack once Cochon's drivers arrived. It was still raining, but all things considered, that was the least of our concerns. I gave Bodmall a silent stare before parting ways with her; her gaze was like burning iron, and she nodded as we shared our unspoken accord. My return to Site-278 was unremarkable.
It was late at night when I got back. My first priority was contacting the O5 Council and reporting on what had happened. I made myself some tea and typed up a summary of the day's events, whisking it away to several secretaries, who'd in turn forward the events to the Overseers. I didn't mentioned my encounter with the creature. I briefly wondered what sort of calamity would cause the Chaos Insurgency and Horizon Initiative to butt heads like that, but realized that this knowledge wouldn't really help me in my normal affairs, so I went back to work. I hit a wall thirty-five minutes in, worrying about Bodmall.
Then I thought about my father.
Where's Emile? Where is my son?
No, I told myself. Work comes first. I can't protect anybody by dawdling.
Is that still your excuse, a voice in my head asked me. I forced myself to finish one more paper. My tea was gone, and I didn't feel like making more, so I decided to clear my head. I went to my private bathroom and washed my face, inadvertently staring into the mirror as I dried off. Obviously, I saw myself reflected back — but there was also a bit of my father in that face, too. My mother always did hate how closely I resembled him, both in looks and mannerisms. Like that was ever my fault.
I sighed. "What now?" I asked my reflection. "Get back to work," I answered, "simple as that."
"Oh? And then what? More work?"
"I'm a Director now; I have responsibilities."
"That's always been your vanguard, hasn't it?"
"I can't stop, can I?"
"Not for anyone or anything, huh?" I sighed and squeezed my eyes shut. I must be losing my mind, I thought, talking to myself like this. I kept staring at the men in the mirror, though.
"What do you want?" I wondered. I left the bathroom, shut the door, sat down, and worked for two solid hours. I noticed a reply from O5-11's secretary and opened it. The Overseer was "interested" in what I had experienced, and wanted to look into it further. They postulated that the area must have some religious significance for the Horizon Initiative to get involved, and promised to give me some details later. I replied back, adding that I'd have my own people do some digging. France and Corsica are saturated with religious history, dating back to the Celts and Vandals and Gauls and goodness knows who else. It could have been anything, so Site-278 would be very busy going forward. I got one final reply promising updates on Iota-44, with a "good luck, well done, keep it up" to cap it off. An hour later, shortly after midnight, I decided to turn in for the night and slipped into my private bunk. No going home for me today.
.
.
.
Audio Log 06 of Director Bouquet
At first I didn't know I was dreaming, for the dreamer believes their world is real, and all sensations and experiences are real. Only rarely do they understand their situation, and either adapt or awaken. I came to my own realization slowly, even as I wandered through a thick mist, with a great blue sky above, passing underneath a rainbow archway.
I was alone, and at first I thought I was walking on clouds. A large shape approached me, silent and gentle, almost indistinguishable from the billowing fog. It loomed over me, wisps of white smoke curling, formless yet distinct. I thought that it pointed at me, and then pointed at something else in the distance. The shape faded as I walked away from it, towards the area it had indicated. Another shape was there, long and thin, no less solid than its predecessor, and yet… I waited patiently, though for what, or why, I couldn't say.
The first shape reappeared and was now definitely pointing at the second shape, which seemed to look at me. I reached out to touch it but it drew away. I retreated, and it followed me. I pursued it again, neither gaining nor losing it. This venture seemed to please the first shape, and it fused itself into the second shape until they were one. My eyes widened in terrifying delight as I beheld what they had become, recognizing it even though I couldn't remember it when I woke.
I had never taken much stock in dreams, but perhaps the previous day's events had affected me, and I was undergoing some subconscious fear, or desire. I decided to attend to yesterday's most incredible event first, and spuriously wrote up a mock SCP Document on it. I took out a sheet of paper and a pencil, and began scribbling.3
Item #: SCP-#
Object Class: Uncontained
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-# is currently uncontained. MTF Whatever (Iota-44?) is assigned to locate and detain SCP-#. Cooperation with Site-278 regarding this missive is ongoing. SCP-# was last detected near the Navarren border of France and Spain.
Description: SCP-# refers to a chimerical entity originating in the United Kingdom, commonly refered to as a
I hesitated. Did I dare delude myself? A part of me wanted to throw the paper away and make breakfast so I could get back to work, but…I knew this thing had to come out. I could shove it aside as much as I wanted, but it would always come back, louder and stronger than before. It was inextricably a part of me. I assured myself that none of this would be taken seriously, that this was for my own amusement and nothing else — a diversion, a lark. I still hesitated.
"Come on, Emile," I whispered, hearing my father's voice. "Call it what it is. Write it. Say it. Confront it."
…commonly referred to as a QUESTING BEAST.
I shuddered, sighing, sinking into myself. The deed was done. I had now acknowledged a part of my life that, long ago, I had turned my back on. I felt nauseous — but my chest was light. It was as though great iron bands had been loosened around me, and I laughed in spite of my fear.
"Fuck it," I grunted as I glared at my writing. "May as well finish the rest."
The entity naturally emits a cognitohazardous sensory field that prohibits nearly all perception of it. It does not affect auditory sensations, however, and has been described as sounding like "a pack of dogs barking".
"It's just for fun," I swore to myself. "It's just for fun, just an exorcism. I'm just writing it to get it out in the open and be done with it. It's therapy. It doesn't have to be real. It's silly. Fuck it."
DIRECTOR L. EMILE BOUQUET is able to fully perceive the entity, through methods "currently unknown". Bouquet has described the creature as
I thought back to my dream. Back to that moment in the forest. Back to all the pictures dad showed me. I'd never forget what it looked like, even if my mind was wiped clean. It was in my blood.
…having the head and neck of a serpent, the body of a leopard, the haunches of a lion, and the feet of a deer, and estimates it to be 3 meters in length and 1.5 meters in height, with an unknown weight.
Addendum: Director Bouquet can see it because his father was a neglectful selfish prick who only treated him like a son whenever he felt like it. The man spent more time with his other family and left Emile without a real father figure. Emile grew up with an absent stranger for a father and resented him his whole life.
I sighed.
Why should I? He didn't even visit ME when I was in the hospital! His "other" family can take care of him. Besides, I'm busy with work. He'll be fine.4
Hello, Lam — Emile. Sorry. It's your dad. Uh, they tell me you may not be able to make it. I hope you can, but if you can't… I just want to thank you for all the times you've helped me. I'm sorry if I imposed too much on you. It's your life, not mine. I hope you have a good one. I'm proud of what you've become. Uh, I guess that's it. I love you.5
My family hasn't spoken to me since.
Delete, delete, delete…
Addendum 2: Bouquet can perceive the QUESTING BEAST because his father, Frederick Bouquet, believed he was descended from KING PELLINORE, and it was his destiny, and his son's destiny, and the destiny of his descendants, to pursue the creature, forever.
"And that's it," I said, folding the paper up. I put it in my drawer and went back to work.
"Arthur and the Questing Beast" by Henry Justice Ford
.
.
.
Audio Log 07 of Director Bouquet
Nine days passed before I got any updates on Bodmall and Iota-44. Apparently the Battle of Roncevaux Pass, where Charlemagne had met his greatest defeat, had been transported to the modern era, in the exact location where it had originally taken place. The events played out precisely as they had over thirteen-hundred years ago, with a Basque army attacking the king's rearguard, cutting them off and wiping them out. When the skirmish concluded, a period of some days passed before it repeated itself. The Horizon Initiative had wanted to lay claim to Durandal, Charlemagne's famous sword, as well as the king's champion, Roland, and even the king himself. The Chaos Insurgency had merely wanted to put an end to the temporal loop, likely as a token of goodwill towards the GOC. Why they suddenly wanted to get on the Coalition's good side was still unknown, though the Overseers hypothesized that a much grander joint operation was on the Insurgency's mind. This was clearly upsetting, but for the time being, the Foundation decided to remain neutral in the conflict, only quarantining the area away from the general public. Well, stranger things, I suppose. All this and a Questing Beast to consider.
Bodmall was returned to me three days after I received this news, and Iota-44 was given a week's leave before their next assignment. As my own gesture of goodwill, I offered to buy Cochon and his team a round at the pub of their choice, so I was fairly occupied one sordid evening. The next day, it was business as usual. I was still curious about the creature I had encountered, but wondered if it was wise to bring it up to the Overseers. A cognitohazard that only I could see? Sure, that doesn't sound suspicious at all. I decided to wait until the matter of the looping temporal anomaly was resolved before making any further moves — after all, Site-278 was already busy with their normal affairs. Deep down I knew this was just my way of distancing myself from the matter, just as I had done so many times before. This whole affair was like a wound that kept opening, sometimes of my own volition, and I knew that if I didn't resolve it one way or another, I'd end up a derelict mess.
But it wasn't as though I could ask for anyone's advice. The only person who'd be of any help to me…
I requested a brief leave of absence around the middle of the month, and was granted three days. Then I did the stupidest thing imaginable, and went back to the place where I had first encountered the creature. Any sign of it had long since faded. The fields were unmolested, the forest serene and aloof. The locals were more concerned with rumors of the "ghostly battles", and any sound of baying dogs came from pets or strays. I had lost it.
Or maybe I had only been losing my mind, and had become trapped in delusions, consumed by guilt and regret after thinking about my father so much. Perhaps I had only imagined those tracks, and had envisioned a monster where there was none. Working with the Foundation messes with your mind in ways no hallucinogen could hope to match; perhaps I really did just need a break to cool off and unwind. Now that I was thinking a bit more clearly, I had to laugh a little. How silly, to think that a cognitohazard got to choose who could perceive it and who couldn't! I'd honestly appreciate that; we'd be able to understand more anomalies that way. I resolved to spend the rest of my days in peace and relaxation, forgetting my troubles for awhile.
Audio Log 08 of Director Bouquet
A few days after I returned, the situation in Roncevaux escalated: an invisible force had thrown itself into the fray, attacking people on both sides. As the Foundation didn't want the Veil of Secrecy to be torn down any more than it already was — or just as likely, for the Global Occult Coalition to get involved and turn this into an ugly war — they decided to finally intervene. Iota-44 would be joined by Eta-10, the team that specialized in cognitohazards, as well as Eta-77, who dealt with religious anomalies. I wasn't too surprised when Cochon requested my assistance in the endeavor. He must've felt that the sudden appearance of this new anomaly was related to the tracks that I had seen — or else thought of me as a specialist. I guess that's what I get for making up little white lies, but I accepted his request. Something in the back of my mind told me that this was no coincidence.
In an unusual reversal, Cochon insisted that Bodmall accompany me, while I was hesitant. I felt that as head of security for Site-278, she didn't need to be involved in this any more. We already had plenty of backup, and while Bodmall was competent enough, this was something beyond her expertise. Apparently "expertise" is exactly why Cochon wanted her along. Not only had she been present for the initial investigation, but had worked alongside Iota-44 afterwards, and frankly, knew the situation between the Insurgency and Horizon better than anyone else coming into it, including me. It was still my say at the end, but I must admit, I had a considerable amount of bias as I acceded to his request.
Together our sizeable convoy drove through the French countryside, as Cochon and the Captains of Eta-10 and 77 convened to go over the plan. We'd send word to the Insurgency and Horizon of our arrival and make clear our intent. The Foundation would not become involved with the temporal anomaly, or the parties laying claim to it; they would only quietly slip in, steal away with the second anomaly, and deal with it on their own terms. Of course, none of us expected this plan to go smoothly, but order were orders — and it was the best chance we had.
The message was sent. We didn't get a response.
Audio Log 09 of Director Bouquet
None of us were expecting a warm welcome when we arrived. Cochon warned us that the Insurgency and Horizon might forget about this latest threat and end up mowing us down instead. You'd think watching your people getting killed by an unseen entity would've endowed them with a bit of sense. I said as much; Cochon shrugged, spat, and grumbled something about human nature. Things got uncomfortably quiet after that.
Eventually he cleared his throat and informed me that I'd be with Eta-10, trying to root this problem out. Eta-77 and Iota-44 would be responsible for keeping everyone off our backs. We weren't there to fight, he emphasized, even though his eyes burned like hot coals: "but you can damn well bet we'll retaliate if we have to." I turned to the Captain of Eta-10, a woman named Mishima with a scar on her forehead, entrusting her with my life. She returned the favor by entrusting me with their success. No pressure.
Our convoy halted about half a kilometer away from the main battle; I was given binoculars and told to scan around. All I saw were tanks, mechanical suits, armaments, foot soldiers, infantry, explosions, flashes of light, smoke, fire, mayhem. Occasionally I'd get a glimpse of a Basque platoon skirmishing with Frankish soldiers, antiquated cavalry charging, the glint of armor. My skin crawled with primeval pleasure as I heard Roland's horn sounding, and I had to restrain myself from joining the fray. I told Mishima what I saw.
"What about the second anomaly?" she said.
"Nothing so far," I admitted. I continued my vigil, trying to pick up on anything unusual. I thought I saw something odd in the distance and had just looked away to alert Mishima when the chilling scream of a missile broke our stakeout. Voices screamed for us to take cover; Mishima tackled me to the ground, covering me from the blizzard of dust and mortar and flame. The impact was nowhere near our position but the shockwaves still rattled my bones and sent my ears ringing. I wondered if I'd choke again if ordered to retreat — but I never got to find out, as Mishima screamed for us to hold our ground. An improvised barrier was put up and the Captain roared at me to get back to work. "We find this thing and capture it today, ladies!" she bellowed. Another missile fell out of the sky, closer to our position. The barriers held; my stomach and eardrums weren't so lucky. I glared hotly through the binoculars, trying to steady my shaky hands as the fighting drew closer to our position. Damn it, I thought, can't they take this somewhere else?
Intermingled with the whistling and blaring artillery were the shouts and screams of the two adversary forces. I got so used to hearing this as I searched for our invisible prize that I didn't notice how loud they had gotten until it burst into our encampment. Chaos Insurgents were scattering wildly, gurgling and choking on terror, their ranks broken and disorganized. I had half a second to take all this in before a monstrous shape dredged from ancient legend bounded across the battlefield, flattening two soldiers with its hooves, its neck coiled around a third, crushing them to death. Their blood seeped out like juice from a squeezed fruit; I covered my mouth lest I vomit — or scream. In a flash they were partways in the mouth of the monster, its scales undulating as it swallowed its prey whole. I could do nothing but stare, first in abject horror, then in wonder.
Everything seemed to stand still in that instant. The fighting had broken, the screams silenced, the calamity put on hold, all so that I could behold the creature. It was the exact same chimera I had seen at the river, in my father's books, in the legends passed down for centuries. It was real, nakedly real, an aberration tearing down all the assurances and reasoning I had built up around me. It was my father, pointing at me. It was my past, brought into my present. It was a wound ripped open. It was my dread, and my desire. I couldn't move, or even think: I could only stare at it, just as it stared at me.
I mechanically took a step forward. The Questing Beast shirked back.
I took another step. It leaped away, not out of fright but defiance.
I took one more step and was thrown to the ground. One of Mishima's people shielded my body as shrapnel tore through him.
"Did you find it?!" Mishima shrieked. I was too stunned to do anything. When I looked up, the creature had run off. Its absence burst the dam.
"There!" I called, my hand burrowing past my savior's bloody shoulder. "It went that way!"
"On me!" Mishima called, rallying her forces. She had someone tend to the wounded man, told me not to worry about him, and followed me as I ran after the creature. The war kept up with us for what seemed like hours, every step a brush with death as we wove our way through hostile territory. We pressed on, heedless; I was insane with terror and awe and foolish desire. I found the Beast's tracks and took to them like a bloodhound. I became blind and deaf to the world, laser-focused, literally following in the footsteps of Pellinore, Palomedes, my ancestors, my father.
So did Sir Palomedes ever catch it?
No… In fact, it's still running around to this day.
Why hasn't anyone caught it yet?
One day, you'll understand.
Audio Log 10 of Director Bouquet
The tracks led us into a small ghost town, little more than a cluster of derelict structures. Mishima's people spread out and formed a perimeter, most of them armed with devices that could block, counter, or bypass cognitohazardous effects; a few even had Scranton Reality Anchors. Mishima and three of her people stayed with me as I resumed the hunt. We had a few close calls as I scurried under a brittle archway, or dashed across a weathered bridge, or skirted around a windmill that had toppled over diagonally. One of Mishima's people mentioned how Don Quixote had won a victory after all, which had me pause long enough to smile. Eventually we came to a long-disused cathedral, and fool that I was, I nearly rushed into my death. A shot fired off, impacting only a meter away from my feet. I jumped back and looked up at the steeple, seeing the glint of a sniper rifle in the broken stained glass. Mishima shouted for them to hold their fire and identified herself. The sniper opened up a comm channel, and my blood nearly froze as I recognized the voice on the other side.
"Sorry about that, Captain. Me and a few of the Invaders were driven here by the enemy. I…I'm glad I just used a warning shot. Please tell me I didn't almost kill Director Bouquet."
"I don't know whether to fire you or promote you, Bodmall," I shouted. She grumbled, cursing and apologizing. I told her to shut up and let us in. It took them awhile to remove the barricades; Bodmall had us take cover as she scared off several stray enemies. By the time the last of us slipped through, I had been handed a gun and fought off at least three Insurgents. Bodmall was aghast and pale as she locked eyes with me.
"You're never gonna let me live this down, are you?" she said, tremulous. I told her to forget about it, there were more important concerns at stake, and quickly caught her up on the situation. She told me she hadn't seen anything out of the ordinary, aside from Basque pikemen chasing Frankish cavalry, and had only been holed up in this cathedral for about an hour. Mishima took a moment to radio the other Captains about the situation, ordering them to rendezvous with us. Once she finished her transmission, I asked her what the plan was. We could hide out here and wait, but we'd risk being discovered by the enemy, and the trail would grow cold by then, if it hadn't already. She decided to hold up for a few more minutes and had me climb to a higher vantage point to see if I could pick up where the trail went. Halfway up the first flight, I stumbled, as the cathedral was shattered by an explosion.
"Outside, on the double!" I heard Mishima rallying everyone as the cathedral shuddered. Parts of it were already collapsing. I had just enough time to get my bearings before a section of the roof fell, missing me by an arm's length. I coughed, stumbling around blindly, trying to keep my balance as the world tossed and tumbled below me. I made my way through an opening and took a moment to catch my breath. Mishima's people were vacating the area; I also saw Cochon's people mixed in, some returning fire at an unseen foe. I thought I had escaped the worst of it when I realized that Bodmall was no longer with us. I peered around to be sure, calling her name; it was then that I heard someone cursing and groaning from inside the cathedral. Panicking, I ran back inside and saw Bodmall rolling on the ground, knocked completely off balance. I made for her but was tossed about by another explosion. The roof finally collapsed, along with most of the walls. After that, I have no recollection: all I know is that I got out alive.
Enclosed: an audiovisual feed transmitted from Director Bouquet's microchip implant.
[ Distant gunfire and shouts are heard, gradually growing quieter. A brief silence follows before groaning is heard. Debris is dislodged and removed as the groaning becomes louder. A heap of brittle tiles and planks shifts as visuals are restored. Director Bouquet rises from the pile, moaning. He checks himself for damage, then calls out to Bodmall, but gets no response. He sifts through the wreckage, calling out for her sporadically. He finally spots her arm stretched out from a pile of wood and shingles, and hastily begins to dig. Eventually, he is able to pull her unresponsive body from the wreckage. ]
Bouquet: Bodmall! [ He shakes her firmly. There is no response. ] Bodmall! Come on, Bodmall, wake up! Please. Please wake up. Don't be dead. No…no. Bodmall. [ Bouquet begins to panic, hyperventilate, and heavily perspire. He hesitates. ] Iseult. Iseult, please don't die. Please don't die, please, Iseult. Iseult! I'm begging—
[ A faint grunt is heard, followed by coughing. ]
Bodmall: Now I know how the Wicked Witch of the East felt. [ Bouquet laughs with relief and embraces her. ]
Bouquet: That was too close.
Bodmall: Tell me about it. [ coughs ] Ow. Guess I'm entitled to some worker's comp. [ Bouquet laughs softly as Bodmall slowly sits up. ] Hey, I guess this makes us even.
Bouquet: How so?
Bodmall: I saved your life, now you saved mine. Like I [ coughs ] said, you would've done the same. Ow.
Bouquet: I guess so. Can you move?
Bodmall: Not far. I probably broke a few bones. Um… [ She attempts to stand, winces in pain, and sits down. ] Nope, nope, nope. Sorry. My right leg's giving me hell.
Bouquet: Here, let me help. I know it hurts, but we need to get out of here. No telling when the rest of this place is going to collapse.
Bodmall: What about [ hisses in pain ] you, sir? Are you hurt?
Bouquet: Just some cuts and bruises. I'm running on too much adrenaline to feel anything.
[ Bouquet helps her stand, and together they attempt to leave. They manage to escape the cathedral, but neither MTF is in sight. Bodmall requests they rest, so they hobble over to a pile of stones and sit on them. A burst pipe leaking a solid stream of water is nearby. Bouquet helps Bodmall remove her helmet, washing her face and hair. The sound of shouting and gunfire silences. ]
Bouquet: It sounds like they've stopped fighting. [ Bodmall appears embarrassed. ] What's wrong? Are you upset at me?
Bodmall: No… I just don't like my name, is all. It makes me sound like an old woman.
Bouquet: That's silly! Besides, it's a lovely name. [ Bodmall scoffs ] It's the name of a Queen.
[ silence ]
Bodmall: You know, some kids couldn't even pronounce my name, so I asked everyone to call me "Izzy" growing up. Most people just assumed it was short for — ow — Isadora, which I wish it was. You know, like Isadora Duncan.
Bouquet: You'd rather be associated with a dancer than a Queen?
Bodmall: Hey, I didn't know I was named after a Queen until you told me.
Bouquet: At least your name is dignified. Want to know my first name?
Bodmall: Sure, I've always wondered what the "L" stood for.
Bouquet: It's Lamerok. Lamerok Emile Bouquet.
Bodmall: [ snickers ] Limerick?
Bouquet: LAMM-err-ock. And if you think Iseult is a joke, imagine being called Lame-rack for most of your childhood. I had to ask everyone to address me as Emile so I wouldn't get bullied.
Bodmall: You have my sympathies, sir. [ Chuckles faintly, then cringes in pain. Bouquet grumbles. ] So where does a name like Lamerok come from, anyway? Is it Irish?
Bouquet: No, British, I think. He's one of King Pellinore's sons.
Bodmall: Oh! That's the guy you told me about in your story — the one who was hunting that monster! So was Lamerok — aah, damn, that hurts — was he supposed to go after it when his father was killed?
Bouquet: I suppose. Either he or one of his brothers, Aglovale and Percival. Oh wait, not him; Percival was destined to go after the Grail. [ silence ] There I go, rambling about nonsense. [ Bodmall smiles, appearing impressed. The sound of footsteps and shouts are heard in the background. ] Ah, looks like help has arrived, hopefully.
Bodmall: You think it may be the enemy?
Bouquet: Probably not, but just in case… [ Bouquet produces the firearm he was loaned. ] Let's hope it wasn't damaged. Do you have yours?
Bodmall: No, I lost it when a cathedral fell on me. It happens.
Bouquet: [ chuckles ] Excuses, excuses. [ a pause ] Maybe it's for the best. You look like a stiff breeze could knock you over.
Bodmall: [ cringes in pain ] Sir, you know I'd defend you to my dying breath.
Bouquet: Do you want me to tie you to a rock so you can die on your feet?
Bodmall: What?
Bouquet: [ sighs ] Never mind. Just referencing another story that my father told me.
[ a long silence ]
Bodmall: I'd like to hear more about it. Once we're out of here, I mean.
[ Remants of Iota-44 and Eta-10 appear, to their relief. They escort Bodmall and Bouquet to the mobile medical unit. ]
.
.
.
Southern Clinic of Parisian Medical Services
Acct#: ██████████
Presiding Doctor: J.M. Breaux
Patient: Bodmall, Iseult M.
Age: 36
Gender: F
Chief Security Officer for Site-278.
Diagnosis: Broken right tibia. Broken right clavicle and scapula. Broken left ulna. One broken rib, four fractured ribs. Multiple minor contusions & lacerations.
Prognosis: Patient is to be treated at Parisian M.S. until further notice.
Patient: Bouquet, L. Emile
Age: 43
Gender: M
Director of Site-278.
Diagnosis: Fractured left clavicle. Two fractured ribs. Fractured left radius. Multiple minor contusions & lacerations. Minor smoke inhalation.
Prognosis: Patient is to be treated at Parisian M.S. until further notice. By order of O5-11, patient is to be given top-priority treatment. SCP-████ used, results successful. Patient released.
.
.
.
Report from Iota-44 Captain L. Cochon:
Situation on Navarren border de-escalating in favor of C.I., inquire Cpt. Sult of Eta-77 for further details. 8 dead, 14 wounded, including Dir. Bouquet and C.S.O. Bodmall. Anomaly (temporarily classified 278-G) currently uncontained, whereabouts unknown.
[Update] Dir. Bouquet released, assigned to relocate anomaly #278-G. Eta-10 and Iota-44 assisting. Bouquet currently researching anomaly #278-G, first stop was the former domicile of his father. Took action to remove & amnesticize current residents. Confiscated a number of materials related to anomaly #278-G, i.e., books, maps, charts, accounts, etc. Present location: town of Langon, outside Bordeaux.
[Update] Dir. Bouquet provided an SCP Document for anomaly #278-G, reclassifying it with Overseer approval.
[Update] Dir. Bouquet's physical and mental well-being deteriorating, necessitating forced rest. Resumed study & pursuit two days later.
[Update] Dir. Bouquet's physical and mental condition worsening. Sent request to O5 Council to abandon pursuit. Request denied. Contacted western European branches of Foundation for assistance.
[Update] Dir. Bouquet's condition completely prohibits him from pursuing SCP-8089. Taken to Foundation hospital for physical examination. Residing doctor forwarded results to Overseer Council. Eta-10 and Iota-44 expanded search area using information gathered by Bouquet.
[Update] Dir. Bouquet released one week later. Resumed pursuit into Spain & Portugal.
[Update] Dir. Bouquet's condition critical. Sent second request to O5 Council to abandon pursuit. Request pending.
[Update] Situation on Navarren border resolved in favor of C.I., Roncevaux anomaly presumed neutralized. Foundation diverted resources to studying the area, pursuit of SCP-8089 halted indefinitely. Dir. Bouquet recalled to Site-278. Iota-44 and Eta-10 given a week's leave before reassignment.
—Luis Cochon, Mobile Task Force Iota-44, S.C.P. Foundation
.
.
.
Audio Log 11 of Director Bouquet
Yes, this is an obsession. Yes, this is unhealthy. But the wound is fully opened now and will never heal. I can't stop myself. I have to find it. Have to get back on track. I've put too much of my time in this to back out now. It…
[ sighs ]
You win, dad! Okay? Is that what you want to hear? That you were right? That I'm some idiotic drone who'll follow his so-called "destiny" if he's pushed hard enough?
Is this about me not coming to see you when you were dying? Huh? Are you the specter at my shoulder now? Is this your way of making me feel guilty from beyond the grave?!
[ silence ]
God, I need help. I'm completely losing my mind. I saw it that day, I swear! I watched as the Beast attacked those Chaos Insurgents, and swallowed one of them whole. I saw it with my own eyes. How delirious could I possibly be to make up something like that? I…
I want to find this thing. I need to. For closure, for my job, for my father, I don't care. It doesn't matter. It just needs to be done so I can move on with my life. But nobody ever catches the Questing Beast. The best knights of the Round Table couldn't bring it to heel.
[ sighs ]
Damn it, listen to me. I'm forty-three years old and talking about stupid myths and legends. I'm really losing it. But what other choice do I have? If I leave it alone it'll just fester. But I can't catch it either; I haven't even found a single clue in all this time. So what the hell am I supposed to do, huh? Dad? Answer me, you ass! What am I supposed to do?!
[ a long silence ]
What do I want to do?
I just want to see it. One more time. To know I'm not going insane — or if I am, to know that it's for a good reason. I want…
[ silence ]
I wish Iseult were here. Heh. Heh, heh. [ laughs weakly ] Iseult! The Queen Palomedes could never have. It's just a coincidence, Lamerok. Plenty of people have that name. Just a fucking stupid coincidence.
[ silence ]
But I do wish she were here. [ singing ] No one in the world ever gets what they want, and that is beautiful…
Note: Two days after Cochon filed his report, Director Bouquet booked an unauthorized flight to Holyhead, on the Isle of Anglesey in northwest Wales, U.K. When detained by Foundation agents, Bouquet claimed he was still in pursuit of SCP-8089, believing it to reside in the area. Bouquet underwent psychological counseling before being released and returned to Site-278, where he was put under temporary house arrest.
.
.
.
Audio Log 12 of Director Bouquet
A month passed. Bodmall returned to Site-278 in good health and good spirits, and life went on as usual. We completed our drills, performed studies, contained anomalies, filled out paperwork, ate, slept, washed up, and did it all over again. It was…normal.
And painful.
I debated going out once my house arrest was lifted. There had been a betting pool among my coworkers on how long I'd last before I cracked and threw myself outside in hysterics to continue my mad quest. Nobody had wagered I'd last the entire time. I hung the chart in my office out of spite, or perhaps pride, and made sure to discipline everyone involved. If they had the time to waste on this, how much more work could they…
[ sighs ] Hello, Kettle. I'm Mr. Pot.
They had an escort drive me home the first time I went outside, and they were there to pick me up the next morning. I guess they still didn't trust me, even after I had served my time. I understand their line of thinking, but how could they understand mine? To even begin to comprehend what I was feeling, what I had experienced… But at times I barely understood it myself. As the days rolled by, I wondered if it really was some psychosomatic trick, the seed of insanity nurtured by my father's fancies and my sporadic, even prodigal relationship with him. To this day, a part of me wishes that I could've had a real relationship with him, that he had been there for me, cared about me, beyond his weekly two-hour visits. Had I wanted there to be a Questing Beast to stand in for him, and conjured it up out of pure need? And now, here I am, chasing it feverishly, doomed to never grasp it, only to yearn.
A few more days passed. I decided to visit my father's grave.
My escort stopped the car before they got halfway to the cemetery. They explained that they had just received word of Horizon agents in the area, likely hunting down stray Chaos Insurgents. Probably still sore about losing Roncevaux, trying to salvage what they could. We weren't in any immediate danger, but I'd have to abandon my plans for the moment. I sighed and acceded, whispering an apology to my father. We had barely been moving for a few minutes before we were attacked.
Note: in the interest of accuracy, Bouquet's account of the events in question will temporarily shift to the recording made by his microchip implant.
[ Bouquet and three Site-278 escorts (Boule, Lorimar, and Soniere) are riding together on the dirt road when they are ambushed by fourteen members of the Horizon Initiative. They attempt to flee, but the car's tires are blown out. Bouquet is ordered to get down as his escorts fire out the car's windows. ]
[ Screaming is heard. Bouquet looks out the back window and gasps. A very faint barking sound is heard. Eight Horizon agents are terminated in a matter of seconds; cause of death is unknown. The remaining agents retreat; Boule and Soniere pursue them while Lorimar remains. ]
Lorimar: Stay here in the car, sir!
Bouquet: [ muttering ] Not this time… Not this time… [ He attempts to leave. ]
Lorimar: Sir, I'm permitted to restrain you by force if nec—
[ Lorimar screams, all contact is cut off. Bouquet runs away from the car, toward the cemetery. He continues muttering "Not this time." ]
[ Shots are heard. A brief silence follows. ]
Bouquet: Did they get it?
[ Bouquet continues to run, pausing intermittently to catch his breath. During one break, he looks at the ground, whispering "Ah, they did get you. I can see your blood." He is eventually seen passing through the cemetery gates. He pauses approximately twenty meters away from a grave marked "Frederick Bouquet". ]
Audio Log 13 of Director Bouquet
There it was, curled up in helpless dignity next to my father's grave, lowing and whining softly. It didn't move, except to breathe, its spotted hide expanding and contracting rhythmically, the forked tongue darting out every few seconds. It had been staring at me ever since I arrived, wild and imposing even in serenity. It didn't seem to mind the wound it had got — already, I think, it was healing — but it was still sickly, wan, wasting away. Dying. And it was my fault.
I cautiously took a step towards it, then another. It blinked, patiently waiting. I drew closer, my heart leaping wildly. It made no move.
Closer.
My arm trembled as I reached out to touch it. One more step.
I placed my hand on its body, feeling its sheer, inexorable solidness. Its warmth. Its pulse. It was real. The Questing Beast was real. I was touching it.
"I did it," I whispered emptily. I looked directly into its serpentine eyes, nearly on the verge of tears, so awed was I by the spectacle. "I caught you."
Just like that. Sixteen centuries of effort and months of debilitating madness, all for this one moment. I was the one who finally did it.
I was shaking so much that I couldn't even think properly.
"This is what I wanted," I murmured slowly, "right? To find you. Ah…as a member of the SCP Foundation, it's…it's my…m-my job to, to contain anomalies. Like you." I swallowed; my throat felt dry. "I have…a document already written up. I just…n-need to… To report you and bring you in, and…that'll be that. Just bring you in," I whispered, caressing the Beast's fur. "Do my job. Study you and move on to the next one."
I began sobbing. I don't know why.
No. I know why.
I looked down and saw my father, frail and gaunt from cancer. My family said that he had been asking for me up until the moment he died.
Where's Emile? Where is my son?
I shuddered and reached my hand out. He held it, faint and cold, but still steady.
I sat down on the grass, still touching the Beast. It gingerly laid its long scaly head on my lap, and I heard it whine in sympathy. I laid a hand on its head, still crying.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, unable to control myself. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry…"
I buried my tear-streaked face in its flank, just like a child. I have no idea how long I sat there like that, weeping over a monster.
I could do it, I realized. Alert my companions, wait for them to retrieve it. We'd contain the Questing Beast and study it; I'd offer my insight to the research team. They'd credit me for its capture, I'd get a pat on the back from the Overseers, and…life would go on. I'd go through the drills, shuffle through paperwork, and make room for the next anomaly. And the one after that. And the one after that. On and on until I died. I could have done all that, and it would have been…fine. After all, what's the point of hunting a beast if you never capture it?
I caressed the Questing Beast's head with my hand. It had been a part of my family since the fall of Rome. It was as much a part of my life as the Foundation, and Bodmall, and my father. And here I was, about to end it.
So did Sir Palomedes ever catch it?
No… In fact, it's still running around to this day.
Why hasn't anyone caught it yet?
One day, you'll understand.
I dried my eyes. The Beast moved its head, sensing that I wished to stand up. I did, and gave it some space. We exchanged silent glances for a long moment. My voice came out tremulously.
"It…w-will take s-some time…f-for backup to arrive. W-when I call them. We're out…in the m-middle of nowhere — the terrain's rough, they have to worry about Horizon. It c-could be…a long time before they get here. Very long time." The creature raised its head, sensing my intentions. My hands convulsed wildly as I fumbled for my phone. "Darn it," I whispered, dropping it. I picked it up and noticed the charge was almost gone. "Oh, shoot," I hissed, "the battery's almost dead. M-my call…may get cut off. That could…delay them even more."
The creature now stood up in triumph, its tail swishing.
"I mean, they'd still find me; I have my microchip. No way I can turn that off. But…" I beamed at the Beast with joy. "You'd have one hell of a head start."
It bounded around playfully, like a great dog reuniting with a beloved friend. I laughed.
"I'm shaking so much my hands are slippery!" I remarked. I couldn't push any buttons on my phone for the life of me! I must have misdialed four or five times before… Suddenly the beast stiffened in alarm, and I heard someone running across the way. My heart sank momentarily, fearing that my time was up, that I would have to make my choice in blood, one way or the other, and live with it.
Note: in the interest of accuracy, Bouquet's account of the events in question will temporarily shift to the recording made by his microchip implant.
[ Bouquet's three escorts are seen approaching him. Lorimar is nursing an injury. ]
Boule: Sir, are you all r—
Bouquet: Stay back! All of you! I'm not going back there!
Boule: We don't want to fight you, sir, we just want to help. Calm down and come with us quietly. You're still in a lot of dang—
[ Boule is suddenly lifted off the ground by an unseen force. She lets out a pained cry as she is squeezed by the force. ]
[ Bouquet faces the empty space beneath Boule, shouting frantically. ]
Bouquet: Wait, no! Stop, stop, stop! Please, please don't! Let her go, please, I'm begging you! They're not here to hurt us!
[ Boule is suspended in midair briefly before being placed on the ground. She is severely bruised but alive. Bouquet sighs with relief. The other two escorts stare at each other. ]
Soniere: Well, shit!
.
.
.
Enclosed: an audio-only conversation held between Bouquet, Cochon, Mishima, and O5-11, four hours later.
[ After a long period of silence, O5-11 takes a deep breath. ]
O5-11: Where is the entity now?
Bouquet: I apologize, sir: it escaped while my escorts detained me. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say it's within a fifty-kilometer radius of the cemetery. I have no idea how fast it goes.
O5-11: I see. This is the last thing we need after the Roncevaux debacle. We still don't even know what the Insurgency is up to. [ a pause ] It really did a number on you, didn't it?
Bouquet: Yes, sir.
[ silence ]
O5-11: Well, it's an anomaly, so it needs to be contained.
[ Bouquet grunts softly but remains silent. ]
O5-11: Or, at the very least, studied. Correct?
Bouquet: Uh, yes. Yes, sir.
O5-11: And barring some new discovery coming to light, you are the only person in the Foundation capable of doing so. Correct?
Bouquet: I believe so, sir.
O5-11: And if you were to contain it…
Bouquet: Sir, in my professional opinion, I believe that would terminate the entity. Hence, in order to study it, we forego containment.
[ silence ]
O5-11: Captain Mishima, what is your opinion on the matter?
Mishima: Well, sir, if we cannot contain the entity, or study it without Director Bouquet's guidance, then we have him pursue and observe. With supervision.
Cochon: And restraint. If we go through with this, we can't have him dropping unconscious every fortnight.
O5-11: No…
[ silence ]
O5-11: You will be assigned a single member from Iota-44 and Eta-10, to be rotated weekly, for your protection and assistance. I will also assign your chief security officer for the same. Together you will pursue SCP-8089 and make what observations you can.
Bouquet: Sir! Uh, I don't know what to s—
O5-11: One moment, now: I'm a realist, not a romantic. I expect regular progress reports. If you slip up, I'm recalling you, adding a demotion, and cancelling the endeavor. You'll take full responsibility for its termination. Is that clear?
Bouquet: Yes sir, I understand, sir. Thank you, sir.
O5-11: Good. Cochon, Mishima, I'll leave the matter of his retinue to your discretion. I expect the first report within six days, Bouquet. You're all dismissed.
Cochon and Mishima: Yes, sir. [they log off]
O5-11: Oh, before you head off, Bouquet, there's one more thing I'd like to add.
Bouquet: Sir?
[ silence ]
O5-11: Just remember: no one in the world ever gets what they want. Happy hunting.
Bouquet: Thank you, sir.
.
.
.
The room was small, but it would suit them well for tonight. They each had a bed and a little privacy, and all the world before them tomorrow. Lamerok looked out the window, smiling at the countryside. For a moment, he imagined he saw his father in the distance, proud and strong, saddled on a mighty steed, a banner waving in the breeze as he thrust at the sky with a lance, shouting Tally-ho with all his joy.
"Nice view."
He turned around, watching as Iseult closed her laptop and stood next to him. He looked outside and the image was gone.
"Yes," he whispered, "it is. Finished sending the report?"
"Yeah. Not much to say, though."
"Well, we've only been at it for a week. The Beast never made it easy for Sir Palomedes, either." Lamerok sighed, sat down on his bed, and opened a packet of headache pills. He took one and rubbed his temples. "But what a week. Leaving Site-278, flying all the way to England, driving for nine hours straight…"
"Thanks for making me do that, by the way," Iseult grumbled. Lamerok grinned.
"You're welcome. But three false trails, hours wandering around rough terrain, constant rain, missing more meals than I can count — or showers! Oh, and let's not forget: one of us had to put up with Renalt and Shimada for a whole day, while nursing a three-day headache, on top of an upset stomach, with a report to compose that our jobs depend on…"
"And me without my Stradivarius," Iseult chuckled, as she mimicked playing a violin. Lamerok feigned amusement.
"Not exactly 'happily ever after', is it? If I had known this would cause me so much trouble, I wouldn't have gone through with it. No wonder nobody's ever caught this thing." Iseult smiled, sat down next to him, and placed her hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah, but it hasn't been all bad. Has it?"
He smiled softly, and touched her hand.
"No." He looked up, glancing out the window again. Renalt and Shimada would be scouting the area for another hour, at least. Plenty of time to be alone.
"Want to hear a secret?" he whispered. Iseult's eyes glistened.
"Always."
"I wasn't completely up front with O5-11 during our meeting. Well, that sounds awful: I really only omitted a minor incident. When my escorts came to retrieve me, I asked them to give me a moment with my father. I figured it might be the last time I'd be able to visit his grave, so… Anyway, I told him that I forgave him for everything — for every wrong he may have done to me. Then I asked for him to forgive me of the same. I don't personally believe in an afterlife, but I'd like to think that he heard me, wherever he is."
Lamerok dabbed at his eyes while Iseult sat in respectful silence.
"So!" he exclaimed after a moment. "Where to next? I was thinking we could go to Wales. You've got family there, right?"
"Yeah, just my mother."
"You think you might visit her?"
"What?" she snorted, nervously laughing as she parted her hair back. "And bring you with me?"
"Why not? The Questing Beast first came from Wales, or so my father's research says. Two birds, one stone." Lamerok shrugged, smiling. Iseult turned away shyly.
"She…she might get the wrong impression. About you."
"Well, I don't have to meet her," he said softly. "We can each do our own thing for awhile."
Iseult continued averting her gaze, hoping that Lamerok couldn't see her face.
"Yeah, maybe. But business first."
"Fair enough," he agreed. "Oh, before I forget: a memento of our adventures."
Lamerok reached over, opened the bedside table, and presented her with a small box. She stared at it with some incredulity before opening it. Inside was a silver chain, inexpensive and plain.
"I have my own," he said, somewhat proudly. He lifted it up partways, squeezing his thumb and forefinger against something. "When the Questing Beast left, I noticed it had dropped a few of its scales. I took two of them as a souvenir and made them into a necklace. Go on, put it on."
Iseult stared. She couldn't see the scales.
"Jewelry isn't exactly my thing." She added, with a stilted laugh, "You couldn't find a scented candle?"
"Sorry, our friend wasn't that considerate." He smiled warmly, and she, not wanting to appear ungrateful, looped it around her neck.
"How does it look?" she said anxiously. Lamerok pursed his lips, holding his chin in appraisal.
"Hmm, you're right: jewelry doesn't suit you. But it doesn't suit me, either, yet here I am."
She laughed. "I guess I'm keeping it, then!" He sighed with relief and smiled sadly.
"I'm sorry. I know you can't see it. It probably just looks like any ordinary necklace."
"No, it's fine," she said, beaming with joy, fighting to suppress her tears. She clutched the chain in her fist, and for a fleeting moment, thought she felt something smooth and circular yielding to her grip.
"I know it's there."
