Disclaimer: I do not own Sly Cooper. Everything else is fictional.

A Matter of Restoration

"Suddenly the wretch, animated with his last burst of strength,

Raised his hideous head from the damp and sunken pavement.

Then, as I remained, paralysed with fear, he found his voice

And his dying breath screamed forth those words which have

Ever haunted my days and my nights."- (The Alchemist; H.P. Lovecraft)

Pulling jobs doesn't always pay off, and sometimes, the pay off is something, which has a value of infinite scars that haunt. One of my first jobs as a master thief began with a house, which was so wide, full of fallen beauty, whose color seemed equal to that of a dust covered photo, that it would be understandable that a faux thief would want to use it. However, this faux thief I knew little about except that he had only stolen a bottle of pop. But this night he had robbed the town's museum of all it's displays of coal, which dated back to the early days of colonization. It may sound odd that I go after such a figure, yet this coal was worth millions, and it only seemed fitting to take it back.

The place was not very secure, which is quite odd for someone of his nature. I traveled onwards though and made it inside. I did not know what he was up to, yet I knew I needed to take his prize. This mansions floor seemed to have endless hallways when I crept around, but in the end, with all my stealth, I could not find the ruffian. I had about given up until I noticed something odd about a painting, which was turned upside down. Odd, yet I had to chuckle because within this vast behemoth, who would dare look for one thing out of place? Still, I walked over to the painting and turned it right side up. The entrance floor opened up to reveal a staircase and I slowly began my descent, which would leave me to a great discovery, yet also a painful set of scars, which would take years to bury into the subconscious part of my mind.

Candles in their holds lined the walls, which revealed small bars in the wall and held skulls, which I had never seen before. More than three set of eyes holes, and bugs of all sorts crawled around them as if meat was still there. What sort of mad lot had once used this place? Why would this faux thief come to such a chilling realm, which reeked of death, evil and treacherous patterns of thoughts? Once I had made it down I had more to walk and could see more candles, yet they showed a more terrifying event. Half and half animal monsters, which were strapped in mad chairs, but what horrified me was how violent they were shaking. It was as if they were being electrocuted, yet these were mad chairs and not electric chairs, or else there would be cables of some kind. As my heart beat to a fast pace I kept walking past the poor abominations, which who knows what was really going on, and stopped at a door.

I heard hissing of steam, gears turning, and horrific shrieks of laughter. I gathered my strength and kicked the door down. The faux thief was completely hidden in works of clothing, and when turned around revealed to be holding a book, which I had only seen once, The Strayed Ancestors. It was a book, which I had only seen once a youngster, and in it were pages about faux thiefs of the Cooper Clan, which had dealt with dark material for success instead of honest hard working tricks. The figure removed his hood and showed a raccoon, whose face was burnt in third degree. He smiled and I began to shake with fright.

"Sly Cooper, my dear nephew, will you join me in a toast? For those who I feel sorry for that are suffering in the mad chairs, to those foolish creatures, which I made using the coals' oils, can you join me in a toast to a great success? For tonight, I drink the oil once more to keep living and create more abominations, for the coal's oil are life."

The raccoon throws The Strayed Ancestors book at my feet, and I picked it up slowly watching him grab a glass. It is filled with melted down coal, and he drinks it. I pick up the book and open it to find a single page, which is of the raccoon. I run out hearing the raccoon laugh with wicked glee. The monsters break free of their mad chairs, and I watch them sink to the ground. They move through the bars and past me to the room of the raccoon. I stop and see the monsters travel, crawling over the raccoon in their liquid like state. He screamed as they traveling through down his mouth. I watch the raccoon choke to death, dropping to the floor, and after that I ran because I knew they'd come after me. I was his nephew by blood; I was related to a mad faux raccoon, which dealt in a blasphemous process to meddle with all life. Kountant had been his name; He was my dark uncle from the sands, which had lived longer than any ancestor I knew in my life.