Scene: A messy office, home to to one of the Foundation's best and brightest men. Not a big, or a fancy office, but one that gets the job done. We aren't talking about the name on the door. That guy's story will be told another day. Today, we talk monkey business.
The monkey statue saw it all. The organization it created was at once disrupted by the lawless spirit of reality. Sighing, it picked up the papers in the office and set them upright again. Standardizing the spelling, and removing any reference that wasn't Alto Clef. The ones addressed to Agent Ukulele, aka Adam ben Yahweh, aka Lucifer, First of the Fallen, aka That Bastard were thrown in the trash.
It wished it could return to any of the old masters of the universe. They didn't have to deal with this bullshit. Bright was a comrade, even if it had the sneaking suspicion he hated him. Kondraki was a ridiculous man, but at least he was usually out doing some crazy shenanigan and not trying to do his work.
Of all of them though, the best to work for was Dr. Gears. For Cog had seen the reality shift for what it was, and it left him so traumatized that he took no part in these new world antics. Usually, he sat in an empty office and stared at the well. When someone came to speak to him, then the role of the emotionless would begin, and he would humor them with a walk.
050 sighed, and returned to its master's work.
There was a knock at the office door. A curious occurrence. Usually, people were too frightened to even walk past the door, for fear that a shotgun-toting demon would leap out and end their miserable existence. Perhaps it was a mistaken knock, from a new researcher or somesuch thing. A one time-thing, quickly rectified to the horrors around him.
There was a pause, and the door began to open. The floorboards creaked as the figure slowly stepped closer and closer to the now-anxious clever statue. Stopping before it, the figure seemed to draw all light in the room to his person, making him a titanic figure in 050's mind. The figure's lips parted, and he spoke.
"I'm here to talk to you about the banana business initiative."
Swinging from vine to vine in her enclosure, SCP-397 was reminded of just how boring her life really was. She knew every inch of the enclosure by heart, and could swing from these vines with her eyes shut. Nobody really came to see her, most of the time, so that was at least some form of improvement. But there were other things to do besides sit in a cage and wait for death.
With a huff, she shimmied down the vine and to the cage floor, where for the hundredth time she felt around for any structural imperfection which may aid in an escape attempt. Every rivet was pried at, and every floorboard was tested, and the result was the same as always. Smooth and unbroken.
All the hair on her back perked up, and froze, like a glacier of monkey-fear. Someone was in her enclosure, and they were talking to her. Enemy, or friend? Fight, or flee?
Before a conclusion to these issues so suddenly raised could be reached, the voice spoke again, with a commanding tone.
"I think I have something you may be interested in."
A lavish party was underway in Site 19's cafeteria. There were streamers emblazoned with every potential birthday message that could ever be uttered. Candies and cakes lined up and down tables, shining under the bright fluorescent lighting and seeming to be calling out for consumption. Party hats adorned every head, and every hand held some other merriment device.
A small circus was in the center of the room, with elephants and lions and all other sorts of jolly animals. There were cannons, and trapeze, and maybe even some magicians. All of them stood below one massive banner wrought of velvet and friendship: "HAPPY BIRTHDAY DOCTOR RIGHTS!"
In the midst of all this, a single gentleman stepped to the cafeteria's threshold.
The man smiled as the crowd parted before him. While the party was a nice diversion from the usual drudgery of work, there was only one thing this party held which could be of interest to him. At a central table, surrounded by candies and clapping researchers, was a small monkey toy, bringing birthday cheer to all who wanted it.
"Birthday monkey. Long time, no see."
The monkey clapped, flipped, and continued with its song and dance routine.
"It's been a long time… but we need your organizational skills. Not many monkeys can put a party like this together."
With one final clap, the birthday monkey looked up to the man. It clapped its hands together twice.
"No… it isn't the Manhattan thing. We have a new job for you."
One could hear the proboscis engineer containment area before they could see it. Shortly after they heard it and before they saw it, the smell of hot metal, burning monkey fur, and slag would invade the smell-holes with vigor. After all other senses had been overwhelmed, the awe-struck visitor would be met with the gaze of machinery and magic.
An assembly line of faceless monkeys, all acting in union on a conveyer belt that could only fit the fattest conveyer man, were it a real belt. Each monkey knew its job, and did it with gusto. At the end of the belt, seven monkeys with goggles over their non-existent eyes were busily pounding parts into whatever the newest contraption was.
Production didn't cease as several men entered the containment unit. One man looked around at every wondrous device beheld within this room, and grinned. He'd come to the right place.
"Ask them if they'd be interested in a work proposition."
The young, acne-riddled boy on his left nodded, and spoke in the language of hand-signs.
"Well? What do they say?"
The acne-man looked up to him. "They're willing to work if you give them something fun to do."
"Tell them" he said, turning to walk out the door. "That's exactly what they're gonna get."
Dr. Jack Bright carefully watched the face of his newest visitor.
"I really, really don't want to do this."
The man leaned forward in his seat, idly playing with Bright's desk decorations. "You owe me, Bright. We both know that."
Bright grimaced as best he could with simian features. "You drive a hard bargain, don't you?"
"Always. Do we have a deal?"
Two days later, five monkeys sat together inside a largely empty podium area. Two statues, one Proboscis engineer, one resentful Chimpanzee, and a slightly bored and irritated Orangutan. The man who had called them together strode briskly to the podium, and pulled out some well-worn note cards.
"Gentlemonkeys. My name is Doctor Blast, and I am here to tell you about one of the greatest monkey-related investments the SCP Foundation will ever make."
He paused for dramatic effect. Nobody appreciated it.
"Introducing… Junior Omega-7 Task Force Five: Monkey Business."
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