It was then that he was clobbered by a bowl of chowder, steaming 
hot and packed with delicious clams and white potatoes, cooked just 
to firmness, with quite a few celery bits as well to give snap and 
flavor. It was New England clam chowder, for the figure who stood 
on the rooftop wearing a black apron and a tall chef's hat made of 
black cloth (blacker than the blackest of blacks that a black-wearing 
goth kid would wear at midnight) was not fond of tomatoes in his 
clam chowder, and considered it an abberation, nay, a heresy, 
which must be purged. 


Joe Knife screamed in pain as he raised his gun and fired it at the 
rooftop, but the black-clad, mysterious figure was too fast for him, 
and vanished in a flash of black cloth. "Come out!" he screamed. 
"Who the hell are you? Where the fuck are you coming from?" 


"Right here," said a voice, and it pounded him in the back of the 
skull with a ladle. 


Joe Knife grabbed the back of his head. "OW! That HURTS!" he 
shouted. "And you didn't answer my question, who are you?" 


The mysterious stranger drew himself up to his full mysterious seven 
feet of height, and the grin on his face was wide and mysterious. 
Moonlight glinted off the horns on his forehead. 


"The name is Clef," he said. "Chowderclef. Defender of the World." 


CHOWDERCLEF, DEFENDER 
OF THE WORLD 


CHAPTER 1: THE BADASS AND THE HOT 
CHICKS WHO WANT TO BONE HIM, OR 
BE BONED BY HIM 


Site 19 was in a tizzy. "Oh no!" shouted Doctor Rights. "All the SCPs 
are out of their pens!" 


"I'll save you!" said Doctor Clef, and he ran into the room with his 
shotgun. 


"Oh noes," said SCP-682. "It is Clef. He gong to kill us." 


"Ha ha hal" said Doctor Clef, and he shot at SCP-682 with his 
shotgun rocket missiles. 


"Argh!" shouted SPC-682, and it fell down and was ded. 


"You saved us!" said Doctor Rights, and she kissed him. And then 
they had sex. 


"The SCP Foundation would fall apart without Doctor Clef here," 
said Doctor Gears, and he gave Clef a promotion to O5. 


To everyone at Site 19, Doctor Clef was just a mild mannered 
researcher, an ordinary guy like any other. 


But Doctor Clef had a sekrets. At night, when the rest of Site 19 was 
alseep, he put on a black chef's toke and a black aporn. And he 
went to the Site 19 kitchen and he made a big pot of clam chowder. 
Then he went to Gotham City or Night City or Metropolis and he 
fought crime. He was Chowderclef! Defendeer of the innocent and 


SCP-817: Random Metamorphism 


Item #: SCP-817 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: SCP-817 is held in a solitary 
confinement cell in Site- . Numerous mechanisms for incapacitating 
SCP-817 are built into its cell, including sedative-loaded darts, 
pumps to fill the chamber with sleeping gas, pumps to remove 
oxygen from the chamber, a mechanism to flood the chamber with 
water or acidic or alkaline solutions, an electric current that can be 
run through the floor and walls, a mechanism to fill the entire room 
with quick-hardening foam, and a mechanism to introduce 
approximately three hundred (300) black flies to the room (SCP-817 
has a known phobia of flying insects.) 


The remainder of SCP-817’s containment procedure varies based 
on its current abilities. The following procedures must be re- 
evaluated and revised every time SCP-817 undergoes a 
metamorphic shift. 


SCP-817’s containment chamber is currently a simple, padded 
confinement cell (apart from the measures mentioned above) air 
conditioned to eighteen (18) degrees Celsius. SCP-817 is fed 
kilograms of cooked meat daily, as in its current form it consumes 
calories very rapidly. A detachment of at least five (5) armed security 
personnel must be present whenever SCP-817 is released from its 
cell, restraints must be placed on its ‘wing’ structures, and a 
specially designed muzzle on its head and neck. 


Description: SCP-817 is a humanoid of indeterminate gender and 
variable physical features, although genetic testing suggests it was 
once , a young Asian male. SCP-817 periodically 
undergoes radical metamorphic changes to its physiology. The 
delay between metamorphic events varies but is usually about two 
(2) to three (3) months. These shifts and the physiological 


the protector of the world. 


This si his story. 


"I'm sorry to call you away from your work on such short notice." 


"Always glad to help out a senior staff member. What can | do for 
you?" 


"| have a question for you. Do you remember this?" 


"But of course. How could | forget? It took me hours to type up this 
report." 


"Please read the report again." 


"All right... it seems in order... wait. Oh my god..." 


Vanessa Danielle Heartilly picked up her tray of food and walked 
over to the lunchroom table. Halfway, there, she felt something grab 
her backpack and pull her down. She stumbled and fell, scattering 
her milk and spaghetti all over the front of her shirt. 


Alexis Evilmeir sneered at her. "Nice job, nerd," she said, flouncing 
her stringy blonde hair. "It looks good on you." She laughed and 
walked away, accompanied by the other popular researchers, who 
sat around with all of the jocks at their own table, gossiping about 
something stupid and lame. 


Vanessa whimpered and knelt there on the lunchroom floor. A single 
tear rolled down her face and splashed on the food. "Get the hell up 
and clean that up,” the lunch lady said, and Vanessa slowly got to 
her feet and started to gather up the fallen food. 


Then a hand reached down and helped her. "Here," a soft, gentle 
voice said. "Let me help." 


She looked up into the face of the most handsome man she had 
ever seen. His eyes were limpid blue, green, and brown orbs, their 
sparkling hues warming her heart, and his perfect white skin peeked 


from under the collar of his immaculate white labcoat. A broad smile 
on his face as he carefully wiped the tear from her cheek and licked 
it off the tip of his finger. "Beautiful girls shouldn't cry," he said. 


"I'm not beautiful," Vanessa mumbled. 


"| think you are. I've thought so for a long time," Doctor Clef said. 
"I've watched you for a very long time, you know." He picked her up 
off the ground and carried her away, while Alexis and her stupid 
friends looked on jealously. 


"Are you sure this is a good idea," Vanessa whispered. "| mean, 
what if the other senior staff see?" 


"Fuck the senior staff. Love is greater than this," Clef growled, and 
he started to take off her blouse. "But first, you need to know 
something," he whispered into her ear. 


"Anything," gasped Vanessa. 

"Late at night," Clef uttered, "| put on a black hat and apron and fight 
crime as Chowderclef." 

"My god. How far has it spread?" 


"As far as we can tell, to all of your records. Everything from your 
personnel files to your reports to your SCP articles." 


"This is ridiculous. How could anyone believe any of this? Ex-GOC 
sniper? | was a clerk! And my god, I'd never been anywhere near a 
gun, much less used one... they're like bad..." 

"Bad fanfiction, yes. SCP-732 is known to do that." 


"Can the records be retrieved?" 


"Perhaps... but it will take a while. Some of them may never be 
completely restored." 


"My god... all those years of work, all that data, reduced to the 
testosterone-laced ramblings of a preteen, violence-obsessed..." 


"I'm sorry, Doctor Clef. | really am." 


"DIE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS|" Clef screamed, and he blazed 
away with his twin Pancor Jackhammers, filling the air with lead. The 
zombies exploded into showers of gore, splattering blood and 
internal organs across the walls. "KEEP KILLING THEM, YOU 
FUCKERS, DON'T LET THEM GET AROUND US!" 


"SIR!" screamed Strelnikov. "THE DAMNED CHECHEN ZOMBIES 
ARE COMING THROUGH THE WALLS!" 


"FUCK THAT! KILL THEM ALL!" Clef roared. He threw down his 
twin Pancor Jackhammers and grabbed a pair of Mateba 
Autorevolvers, firing off the exotic .38 caliber weapons akimbo, as 
he dove under cover. "GRENADE OUT!" 


A whole bandolier of grenades flew over the desk and landed in the 
middle of the group of zombies, turning them into chunks of writhing 
flesh. "It's over," Demitri said. 


"No. Not yet," Clef snarled. He put on a black chef's hat and an 
apron. "The criminal scum who did this is still out there. We must 
bring him to justice." 


"I'll go with you," Damitri said. 


"No. | must do this alone," grimaced Clef. "Chowderclef always 
works alone." 


— Alice screamed with pleasure. "Chowderclef, oh god, | love you!" 
she screamed, as she came. Chowderclef's massive, throbbing — 


— "Fire photon torpedoes!" shouted Captain Picard. The U.S.S. 
Chowderclef raced after the Romulan invaders, firing a massive 
stream of photon torpedoes and quantum phasers, launching X- 
Wing fighters and Mark XI Vipers in massive — 


— "CHOWDER FOR THE CHOWDERCLEF, POTATOES FOR THE 


SPUD THRONE!" screamed the Chaos Space Marine, as he — 


"ls there anything | can do to help?" 


"... no, | think I'll be fine. But as long as the initial infection is gone, 
we should be fine." 


"You seem to be taking this well." 


"It is actually pretty funny. And | must admit, this... other Doctor 
Clef... seems to have a much more interesting life than | do. Instead 
of being cooped up in a lab, he seems to be living the life of some 
kind of action movie star. Killing... sorry, what's the word 732 
used... decommissioning SCPs... claiming to be Satan... he's 
actually quite the badass." 


"Isn't that the truth. Some personnel claim that we should keep 
these older files, simply for entertainment purposes, at least." 


"The originals will have to be restored, of course." 
"But of course. In any case, that is all. Oh yes, and here." 
"Ah, thank you. I'd wondered where they'd gone off to." 


"| wouldn't want you to lose them. After all, you'll need these if you 
want to fight crime as Chowaderclef." 


END 


Christmas 


| always have grand plans that few people help me on. 
I'm just gullible that way. This time, it was 100 word 
stories for Christmas, ala Gaiman's "Nicholas 

Was. .."| normally send one out in my Christmas cards 
(thanks again, Neil), and this year, | shared my story with 
the staff, including the idea that we all write one for the 
site. But, when time rolled around, there were only a 
handful of people who had managed to get one done: 
E4D (with Kens) and Mann. So, in honor of Christmas, | 
give you these stories. Feel free to add, but keep it at or 
very, very close to 100 words. Enjoy, kids! 


-Troy 


No Two Snowmen 


Susie later thought, as blood and bile oozed from the gash in her 
stomach, that thorn branches were a poor choice for arms. They had 
been what snared her with ease, the thick vines coiling around her 
wrist, tiny dagger-like barbs digging into clothes first... then flesh. 


But she mused for a moment that the hat they had found—neither 
silk nor top—was a miracle, and if miracles existed, then certainly, 
she might survive. But watching the other children scatter from the 
snowman in the pinkish snow quickly removed such illusions. As her 
wound turned from hot pain to cold, she closed her eyes. 


-Troy 


-EchoFourDelta and Dr Kens 


| knew it was wrong, even as | swung the hammer down on the old 


man's head. The bone shattered, and blood and brain sprayed out, 
matching the scarlet of his suit. Tears ran down my eyes as | struck 
again and again. | loved the old man. | knew it was wrong, but | had 
to you see, for my father. For honor. Only blood would make things 
right. He should never have done it, mistletoe or not. Not that the 
guilt was his alone. | would deal with her later. 


You see, | saw mommy kissing Santa Claus. 


-Dr Mann 


Being a Jewish kid around Christmas time always made me 
somewhat annoyed. | always wanted a Santa, but what | got was 
two grandparents pinching my cheeks and a gift card for Best Buy. 
Seeing this, my father told me of the Hanukkah armadillo, an 
armadillo that acted in the same capacity as Santa, but delivered 
presents to all the good Jewish children. 


So, perhaps simply for a laugh, my dad dressed up as a giant 
armadillo, and | sat on his lap and told him what | wanted. And when 
Hanukkah finally occurred my dad gave me exactly what | wanted. 


A gift card for Futureshop. 


-Salman corbette 


| have been alive in this state for about a week, and there area 
couple things that I've figured out. Firstly, | think I'm in a time 
(CHOP!) loop, because every eleven seconds, | wind up in the same 
place somehow. Second (CHOP! OW!) , axes really fucking hurt, 
and | feel one hacking at me all the time. Third, | am fully (CHOP!) 
conscious, even though my left arm keeps being chopped off. 
Finally, the sky is (CHOP! OW!) for some reason changing; it used 
to be my house, then it got all dark, then an office. Although it 
(CHOP)) is really hard to tell, what with everything outside being 
fisheyed and all the damn snow that keeps falling. And the worst 
(nonono CHOP!) bit is that my assailant isn't even human. In fact, 
other than his facial features, he's completely made of snow. 
(AUGH! CHOP! AUGH!). And here we go again! 


-Reject 


| had always thought that reindeer were majestic, noble creatures. 
With their grand antlers and fine coats, to see one up close would be 
so special! That's why when the old man said he would take me to 
see the great herd | was as giddy as could be! Wild herds could 
reach hundreds of thousands, though this herd was far greater! 
When we first saw them | couldn't believe their numbers, their 
tranquil nature! Now with our sleigh overturned, the old man 
tramped, my leg broken, | can only think of how naive | was about 
such wild animals.. 


-toadkingO7 


Billy was over the moon. 

Christmas morning and he was allowed to open one of his presents 
early. As he pondered which present to open, he heard a voice from 
one of the boxes. “Release me this instant, you bandits!”, the voice 

yelled. 


Billy opened the box to see a funny-looking robot. 
“Big mistake, meatbag!”, it shouted. 

“Wow,” Billy exclaimed, “a real robot!” 

He reached for his new toy when the doorbell rang. 
He sprang up with a sigh and ran for the door. 


He opened the door and saw a man holding a cardboard box 
standing on the porch. 

“Hey there little man,” the visitor said. “Is your father home?” 

“He’s asleep, but I'll go wake him for you,” Billy said, eager to get 
back to his toy. 

The man smiled and quickly entered the living room as Billy ran 
upstairs. 

“There you go,” he murmured as he tossed the robot into the box. 
The robot screamed indignantly. “Unhand me ruffian, | will end you!” 
“I’m sure you will Pesterbot,” the man chuckled as he left the house. 
“I’m sure you will.” 


“He’s gone, and he took my robot!” Billy said, his voice trembling. 


“We didn’t even get you a robot, Billy,” his father yawned. 
Billy crossed his arms sulkily “This is the worst Christmas ever!” 


-StH9 


Merry Christmas! 


Christmas Dinner 


After Action Report, Incident MC-643 

Agents Samuels, Perkins, and Flanders were assigned 
to infiltrate and gather information regarding a Christmas 
masquerade believed to have been held by Foundation 
group of interest Marshall, Carter, and Dark on October 
2,20) "at Drive, the location of an estate believed 
to be owned by one of the founding members of 
Marshall, Carter, and Dark. 


Samuels spoke with a woman wearing a silver Venetian mask, her 
eyes hidden behind the grey film of her disguise. She was snacking 
on what Samuels believed to be a wafer of dried human heart, but 

he wasn't absolutely certain. 


"Dearie, you simply must try the punch. It is simply fabulous if | do 
say so myself, simply to die for. | do believe | will have some more, 
join me?" 


Samuels had already identified the table from which the punch, and 
most of the food at the party, were coming from. He didn't want the 
punch.