Item #: SCP-XXXX
Object Class: Euclid (Request submission of class change to keter due to recent events)
Special Containment Procedures: SCP-XXXX-A is to receive standard human living requirements, although food is optional, as the SCP seems to have a way of procuring full meals from an unknown source. Clothing and books are permitted to be changed periodically if requested. As there is no way to prevent SCP-XXXX-B from manifesting in SCP-XXXX-A's presence, standard pest extermination protocols are to be abandoned. See Addendum XXXX-2
Description: SCP-XXXX-A, given name Auticius Ryan, is an average-build Caucasian male, approximately late twenties in appearance (though, if journals are correct, is actually ██ - See Addendum XXXX-1), with neatly-cropped blond hair, black-framed glasses, and prefers wearing a dark business suit with a distinct yellow jacket. Aside from the abnormal aging process, it appears to be a perfectly average human being, having no anomalous origin. SCP-XXXX-A carries a black briefcase, through which bees normally emerge, though the briefcase is not the source of the anomalous event.
The bees themselves, collectively called XXXX-B, are a larger, hardier breed, which SCP-XXXX-A claims to have bred in Brazil in the 1950s, with published journals to confirm his claim. The venom from this particular breed of bees seems to contain more , as well. They appear to manifest periodically in the briefcase, though it seems to only be a preferred place of origin, as it has been shown SCP-XXXX-A can manifest bees anywhere that seems suitable at the time, including inside of people.
Excerpt from The Condensed Memoirs of Dr. Bees
Let's start at the beginning, shall we?
I was born in the spring of ████, in the house of my family orchard, just outside of Savannah, Georgia. It was a time when things were simple and manners had the priority of one's intentions… but that is a different matter. My parents were nice enough, as aloof as they were. But they did not comfort me as much as the bees. Every night, as I would go to sleep, they would drift into my room from the orchard and buzz me a lullaby, and I would dream the same dream.
I wake up in a honeycomb residing in a hive so immense that the world could rest within its splendor. With a blink I would stand in front of a truly massive queen bee; I knew her to be Aphorous, the only thing to give me attention and love. Every night, she would ask me a different question, all of which had similar themes, such as, "Is one life worth that of another?", "Is free will a birthright, or is it earned?", or "Is individuality the bane of order?"
If my answer satisfied Aphorous, I was whisked away on a feeling of bliss that left me rather invigorated. If my answer was to her disliking, pain would wrack my body, lasting long after I awoke. Knowing that the pain was very real, I began to look at things differently.
When I was ten, I had my last dream. In it, Aphorous asked me, "Would you allow me to be a part of you? Protect you? Improve you?
"That is not my choice to make," I said.
The next day, I woke to find Aphorous was talking inside my head now as I followed her wishes. My parents were gone. Not that it mattered; I had Aphorous. After growing to adulthood within a matter of weeks, I obliged her request to attend college. As my countrymen fought across the seas, I took my studies of insects at Yale. If ever I needed things like food or money, Aphorous would seem to make them appear. With her help, I graduated with a doctorate in entomology.
Her plans for me were far grander than that of a college education. I was to travel abroad to study and improve bees around the world. I was in Brazil in the 1950s working with their scientists on a hardier species of bee. I did a little extra work, and after creating a suitable specimen… accidentally released a couple dozen queens and drones. The result left this bee as the single most successful invasive species in the world.
After half a century of work for Aphorous, she gave me some things I didn't deserve: my free will, and dominion over bees. It is to her I owe everything that I am and will be, because, after all the inconsistencies in my life, Aphorous was the only thing that truly thought I had worth.
Phone conversation intercepted from the last known whereabouts of Dr. Bi████ ██████, assigned as head researcher on the properties of SCP-XXXX
Dr. ██████: Good evening, this is Dr. ██████, how may I be of assistance?
An unknown caller, speech unable to be identified: Hey there, gorgeous. I bet you'd look pretty sexy in a bee outfit.
Dr. ██████: Where did you get this number? Who are you?
Unknown caller: Oh, don't worry your pretty little head about that. I don't really understand half the shit I do, but this little string here says you'll be important one day, and I can't really ignore fate. But first, you gotta do something for me.
Dr. ██████: I don't have to lis— (interrupted)
Unknown caller: If you hang up, you're dead. Maybe not right away, but they will come after you. They'll demand you let him go. He is the figurehead for that entire cult, you know. I'm trying to help you, alright? He'll need you one day, and you have to trust that what I'm saying is true.
Dr. ██████: (Brief pause) What do you need me to do?
Unknown Caller: Oh, wait, hold on a sec. (Muffled, as if a hand is over the receiver) Dude, get rid of the trackers, yeah?