With SCP‑914 secured and Site‑24 fully operational, the next step was obvious.
Creation.
Up until now, the Foundation had survived by containing, adapting, and occasionally exploiting anomalies. But SCP‑914 gave us something far more valuable than survival.
It gave us agency.
I formally authorized Project Anvil, the Foundation's first dedicated anomalous fabrication initiative. Its mandate was clear and non-negotiable:
No anomalous life.No self-willed entities.No reality-eating mistakes.
Only objects.
Weapons. Tools. Defensive systems. Instruments of control.
In this era, talent was scarce. Science as we knew it barely existed. Most scholars were philosophers, alchemists, or theologians. Brilliant minds, yes—but not engineers. Not experimentalists.
Which made my choice obvious.
I placed Doctor Bright in charge of the project.
SCP‑963 ensured continuity. His intelligence, curiosity, and complete lack of fear around dangerous experimentation made him uniquely suited for SCP‑914. Where others hesitated, Bright leaned forward. Where others worried about consequences, Bright asked better questions.
I gave him full authority over experimentation protocols—within my constraints.
"Explore every setting," I told him. "Rough to Very Fine. Learn the machine's habits. Its preferences. Its limits."
"And the goal?" Bright asked, already smiling.
"Anomalous weapons," I replied. "Weapons we understand. Weapons that obey. No creatures. No sentience."
Bright laughed. "Shame. But fair."
The early tests were methodical.
Primitive swords went in. Improved alloys came out. Crossbows became precision instruments. Early firearms, still crude by modern standards, were refined through Fine, returning with impossible tolerances and self-stabilizing firing mechanisms.
Rough taught us what SCP‑914 disliked.Coarse showed us how it disassembled ideas.1:1 revealed that the machine understood function, not form.Fine rewarded careful intent.
Very Fine, however, was handled like a loaded god.
We limited its use to non-weapons at first—measurement devices, containment locks, energy conduits. Even then, the results bordered on miraculous. Devices returned cleaner, more efficient, subtly altered in ways that suggested SCP‑914 wasn't just improving materials—it was anticipating future needs.
Bright documented everything obsessively. Patterns emerged. Certain materials reacted better. Certain designs produced stable results. Intent mattered. The machine responded differently depending on why something was placed inside.
This wasn't a machine you bullied into results.
It was one you collaborated with.
Within months, the Foundation possessed the first generation of Foundation-forged anomalous weapons—limited, controlled, and tested relentlessly. Nothing left Site‑24 without my approval. Nothing was deployed without redundancy, kill-switches, and containment contingencies.
We were not building monsters.
We were building answers.
I watched Doctor Bright work one night from the observation deck, SCP‑914 ticking steadily below us.
"You realize," he said casually, "that this is how it starts in every timeline that wins."
I smiled.
"Yes," I replied. "That's why we're doing it carefully."
The system remained quiet. No warnings. No corrections.
Which told me everything I needed to know.
This wasn't a mistake.
This was progress.
And for the first time since founding the Foundation in this world, I wasn't just preparing for the horrors to come.
I was making sure we'd be ready to end them. 🛠️⚙️✨