The security guard sent to report on the situation spots the third 
monkey before he spots the escapee. As a consequence, he is 
unable to tell his superiors what is happening, before he is ruthlessly 
slaughtered. He says nothing at the end, not even a scream. 


Stumbling over a piece of debris, the first Monkey raises his voice to 
be heard. "Where are we going?" 


Using his tail to guide his blind brother, the second Monkey calls out. 
"Let's go down! | know a guy!" 


The last monkey would sigh, if he could. Instead he follows his 
brothers, doing his best to keep them on track. It's like herding cats! 
Or, you know, guiding deaf and blind monkeys when you yourself 
cannot speak. 


Eventually, the three brothers find their way to just the right office. 
The one they seek is inside. They know in their little plastic hearts 
that they are but pieces of a greater whole, not real beings. 


"Should we knock?" Asks the first, peering at the vast expanse of 
the door. 


"| think we're expected!" Says the second, as said door slowly 
swings open. 


The third, as usual, says nothing. He merely smiles, as he feels the 
atoms that make up his body loosen, and begin flowing towards the 
one who was awaiting them. 


"My children. Thank you, for holding the power, for so long. But now, 
| need it back. Speak your last words, that | may remember you." 


"Is this going to hurt?" And one was gone. 


"Give my love to whomever will take it!" And two were gone. 


The third, with a sickening ‘pop' wrenched his hands away from his 
mouth. He stretched his jaw as the other waited, took a deep breath, 
and said the only words he'd ever speak. 


"Well, shit." 
And all three were gone. But not forgotten. 


In the aftermath of a massive Keter breach, no one noticed the 
absence of three little monkeys. Amongst the dead was a 
researcher who had been awarded for being the cleverest, which 
may have been why the absence of another monkey wasn't reported 
either. 


« Splinter: Now... This | Canon Hub | Splinter: In the End: Elite » 


In the End: Elite 


Pain. Pain, and fire, and then peace. For a long time, she 
remembered the peace. There was a light, so beautiful and calm, 
that she drifted towards. Her parents, though, her parents would 
miss her, wouldn't they? She could hear them, and they sounded so 
sad. She couldn't leave, not yet. 


She tried to follow their voices home. It should have been so easy. 
She walked a line, not daring to look up, to the light that called, nor 
down, to the darkness that hungered. Her parents were her line, 
keeping her here, from floating or falling. They called to her, and 
people gave her rides, and she should have got there. And yet, and 
yet... 


Fire. Fire and pain. She felt herself set adrift again, her body 
wracked with nothing but pain. She saw them, finally, saw them as 
they floated past her, as she fell, burning, tumbling, into the hungry 
abyss. She fell through them, felt the pain of their deaths, added to 
her own, and landed, in the darkness. 


The darkness loved her. It took her to its bosom, and taught her. It 
showed her what had happened to her parents, who was to blame. 
The darkness showed her what she could do with her anger, with 
her pain, how she could feed it. Then it let her go. 


She didn't float, not anymore. She climbed up out of the darkness, 
every step a struggle, like forcing her way through a thick mud. Just 
because the darkness wanted her help didn't mean it was going to 
make her leaving easy. 


It needed feeding, so she fed it. She avenged her parents. She more 
than avenged her parents, with blood and fire and pain. Until. 


The girl looked up at the sound of a motor, a sad smile on her face. 
It was time to start everything again. She bent over to look into the 
car as it slowed down. "Excuse me mister can you give me a ride?" 


SCP-607: Dorian the Grey Cat 


Item #: SCP-607 
Object Class: Euclid 


Special Containment Procedures: Subject currently resides with 
Agent _ , who it has chosen as its "owner". Both Agent and 
SCP-607 are to be placed under full surveillance for study, and 
Agent is to report to Dr. for psychiatric evaluation every two 
weeks. A task force should be ready at all times with at least one (1) 
D-class personnel on hand for subject to "imprint" on in the case of 
the death of SCP-607 or Agent —_. When not being directly held or 
monitored by Agent , SCP-607 is kept shackled and bound in a 
small, portable containment chamber. The containment chamber is 
designed to immobilize SCP-607, allowing medical personnel to 
insert feeding tubes, IV drips, catheters, and other life-support 
devices. Due to the nature of SCP-607, Agent has elected to 
keep the portable containment chamber on his person or in his 
immediate vicinity at all times. 


Description: SCP-607 is a large grey male American Shorthair cat 
of indeterminate age with a collar reading "Dorian". 


SCP-607 was discovered in late 19 , wnen aman known as A 

S suddenly and without warning violently expired at a cocktail 
party in uptown New York City. Mr. S death was later found to 
coincide perfectly with the moment a party attendee leaving the 
home mistakenly backed over S 's Cat. 


Due to the mysterious nature of S 's death, a local Foundation 
operative joined the investigation as a "consultant". Special Agent 
F had stepped outside to smoke a cigarette when he heard "a 
cute lil' mewlin' sound". SCP-607 subsequently bonded with Agent 
F _, who chose to bring it back to the Foundation as a pet and 
companion. AgentF _ reported difficulty in supporting SCP-607. 
The cat would not eat, became lethargic, and seemed to lack a will 


The old man inside turned to her, and smiled. "Oh yes my dear. I'm 
sad to say, | should have given you a ride long ago. Come on in." 
He unlocked the door, and she slipped inside, resting lightly upon 
the seat. She didn't bother to put on her seat belt, even as the driver 
drove off. 


"What do you mean by that?" she asked, poised to spring on him, as 
she had sprung on so many before. 


"You've been tormented, my dear. Far more than you deserved. 
You... fell off the list. You were never supposed to have been left 
out here, on your own, this long." He took his hands off the wheel as 
he turned to look at her. If she had cared about her health, she 
would have worried about crashing, but she didn't, and, oddly 
enough, the car seemed to know the way without being guided. "I've 
been... inconvenienced for some time. The Foundation-" 


"The Foundation? THE FOUNDATION?" she raged, her form 
shifting as her anger showed. "| knew it! you're another one of those 
damned scientists, trying to hurt me again! Well, | won't let you!" And 
the girl struck out, lodging her hand in the man's chest, where she 
easily crushed his heart. 


...At least that's how it had always gone. The girl crushed, and 
crushed again, but found herself meeting no resistance. The old 
man just shook his head sadly at her. "You see? You are supposed 
to be at peace, but to be so angry..." The girl heard a change. The 
car engine wasn't making any noise, any more. Had it ever? Instead, 
it sounded like... like the clopping of hooves. "It's okay Mary. All of 
the pain is over." 


Mary found herself unable to focus. The rage that had fueled her for 
so long was gone. She thought she heard her parents, calling her 
name. She found herself remembering a line from a poem she'd 
read in school. "Because | could not stop for Death, He kindly 
stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves And 
Immortality." 


« Splinter: In the End: Monkey Business | Canon Hub | Splinter: 
In the End: Europe » 


In the End: Europe 


"It's almost time." Allen kept his hand on the button, and his eyes 
glued to the monitor. He was alone in the booth, the same as an 
unknown number of compatriots. The system had been designed so 
that no one could tell what booth was in control of what, or how 
many there were. 


"All eyes are locked on target,” the voice to his left commented. Due 
to the effects of the radio, it was dull, monotone, and even the 
gender didn't come across. Allen knew his voice would be the same 
on their end. He would never know what booth was talking. He 
flicked his left hand across the prep buttons, nodding, even though 
he couldn't be seen. 


"Guns are armed. We've got..." His eyes dropped to the number on 
his screen before jumping back up to the monitor. "Approximately 
seventy four weapons of various types trained on target. One of 
them should do something." He hoped. Under the sound of their 
voices, he could still hear the count down. It was getting closer. 
Soon, all their preparation would be worth it. 


"All booths are online,” claimed the voice to his right. Allen was 
slightly relieved that someone could tell. All alone in this booth, 
knowing what was to come, a small part of his mind insisted that he 
was the only one. That no one of the outside took this seriously. But 
no, the booths were all- "Strike that. We just lost a booth. Attempting 
to reconnect... connection lost. All booths, be aware, one booth has 
gone dark." 


He leaned forward, taking his eyes reluctantly from the screen to 
check his board. Three weapons had just been shunted to his 
control. Acid sprayer, flame thrower, and armor piercing bullets in a 
Gatling gun. He knew there were backups on backups, but still... He 
flicked the buttons, readying his new weapons. The countdown hit 
thirty seconds, and he was ready to do his job. 


"Two more booths just went dark. Attention, all booths, we have lost 
three booths. It is possible we are looking at enem- Five, we have 
lost five booths.” Allen's hands were a blur, readying more weapons 
systems. The numbers moved steadily downwards, as the dull voice 
spoke of more booths lost, and the importance of every remaining 
booth staying active and alert. 


At the five second mark, even that voice stopped. Allen knew in his 
heart that he was alone. He was the last one. 


At the four second mark, something pounded on the side of his 
booth. His finger hovered above the button. 


Three seconds, he could hear something ripping into the wall behind 
him. 


Two seconds, and he felt a breeze against the back of his skull. The 
doors were supposed to be proof against that! 


One second, and something touched his back, trying to pull him 
away. With the last ounce of his strength, as the timer reached zero, 
Allen pushed the button. He almost thought he heard a human 
voice. The monitor that showed that god damn box blanked out in 
the flare of weaponry. 


To all units: 

Arctic Base Theta has gone white. No response from any 
systems. All teams on site are believed dead. Automatic 
systems have activated onsite nuke. Our teams didn't 
make it in time to prevent detonation, those paranoid 
bastards actually did it. 

Withdraw all units from the area, we don't have time to 
deal with the fallout. 

Special Agent Joshua Kent 


« Splinter: In the End: Elite | Canon Hub | Splinter: In the End: 
Rawhide » 


In the End: Rawhide 


Al woke up suddenly, unsure why. Something, something there, on 
the edge of knowing... Was it another breakthrough? They came to 
him so often in his dreams. He blamed the object, although Robert 
would claim it was natural genius. Al wasn't so sure, anymore. 


Heh. Al. He'd been using that name so long, it came naturally to 
him. He'd had many names over the years, and even some 
numbers, but he'd been doing this job for so long, his handlers just 
called him Al. It was a mark of respect, or possibly trust. He wasn't 
sure which. 


He slung his feet over the edge of the cot, trying to figure out what 
had woken him. His mind drifted, as it was wont to do these days. 
This job had been intended as a reward, for services rendered. Then 
the job title started to mean something it hadn't when he took it, and 
things got rough, until someone stepped in. 


It was funny, back in the day, when he first took the job, they had all 
sorts of plans as to how to disguise him, so his handlers wouldn't 
recognize him. In the end, his suggestion that they cut his hair 
proved to work wonders. He'd let it grow out since then, but 
everyone thought he was dead these days, so it didn't matter. 


He was given everything he wanted. Lots of paper, access to the 
Object, and all the latest information on scientific advances. In 
return, he kept turning over his papers to the Foundation, giving 
them all sorts of new information they could use for... whatever they 
use it for. He didn't care anymore. All he wanted was to be left 
alone, and not to have to think about his sins. 


He pondered again his wakefulness. It couldn't have been the 
Object, he was used to the sound of... nothing. He tilted his head to 
the left, listened. Nothing. The sound that had become a part of his 
life, had stopped. 


Al lunged for the box he kept by his bed, opening the lid carefully. 
The track was smooth. The oil was fresh. The Object... was still. 
Slowly, reverently, he reached within, picking up the Object gingerly. 
He remembered the destruction it could cause if enclosed... but, no, 
nothing. Not a shred of movement. 


His mind raced, in a desperate attempt to find a cause. None of his 
previous theories ever accounted for this. Matter + Mass, no, that's 
not right. If the speed is equal to the velocity, no! Al thumped his free 
hand against the wall. Nothing accounted for it stopping! 


He rolled it between his fingers, staring, hopefully. Maybe he could 
jump start it? No. Nothing. After all these years, all the papers he 
had written, all the possibilities he had explored, the simple Object 
that had made him a household name was no more. With a curse in 
his native tongue, he threw it to the ground, lost in his anger. 


CRACK! 


Al quickly glanced downwards, staring in horror at the shattered 
remains of the Object. He had only a moment to try and understand 
what was before him, before the energies inside blasted through 
him, reducing the caretaker to less than ash. That which had been 
contained was unleashed, and it fled into the universe, to seek out 
the others like it. 


All that was left was the echo of his last words, as he finally 
understood everything. 


"It vas an egg." 


« Splinter: In the End: Europe | Canon Hub | Splinter: Tenebrae 


» 


Tenebrae 


It had started when he remembered his name. That was the point at 
which the pieces of the puzzle started to snap back together. 


That was the problem with amnestics, though. Echoes of memories 
still wafted through your head at times. Smells were the worst. A 
cookout at Site-14 had a woman who'd been laughing and smiling 
crying suddenly. The smell of a steak on a grill had triggered 
something... but he’d never found out what. That would have been, 
after all, classified information. And he wasn’t supposed to have 
classified information. 


Heh. 


It had started when he remembered his name. It was such an odd 
thing, too. He’d been reading, sitting in the mess and staring out the 
low bay windows at the world that he was becoming more and more 
surprised was still there, when he’d heard someone yell. 


“Hey! Jere! Where are we going after lunch?” 


Maybe it was the sandwich. He’d been eating a pretty good 
sandwich too, and he was certain that the taste was familiar, but he 
couldn't... he just couldn't place it. But ‘Jere.’ That felt right. That 
felt... disturbingly right. 


“Colton,” he said. 


It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. The other half of the puzzle 
piece sliding back into place, curves locking together. And it had 
started. 


The next piece was a birthday party—he still wasn’t sure whose, 

maybe his, maybe someone else’s—at a pool, and there was this 
rosebush there that was just... perfect. He’d seen a similar one in 
the botanical garden, walking with Sophie. He frowned slightly, his