Another year passed, and as the system had proven again and again, time itself seemed to tick in rhythm with the arrival of anomalies.
This year's SCP was almost… comforting.
SCP-590.
Doctor Bright's brother. A walking miracle of regenerative ability and instinctive healing, capable of restoring bodies from injuries that would kill even the most augmented soldiers we possessed. He manifested directly inside one of our facilities, which immediately reduced the usual chaos that accompanied first contact.
Containment was unnecessary. Direction was enough.
I had him transferred at once to one of our dedicated medical sites—sites already reinforced with anomalous equipment, advanced surgical technology, and reality stabilization anchors. SCP-590 became a cornerstone of Foundation medical operations almost overnight. Field agents survived wounds that would have ended careers. Researchers recovered from containment accidents that would once have been fatal.
Useful, certainly.
But not what occupied my mind.
What truly demanded my attention was Alpha-1.
The Red Right Hand.
Up until now, Alpha-1 had been exceptional—handpicked operatives, brutal training regimens, anomalous gear, unwavering loyalty to the O5 Council. They were the blade we sent when subtlety failed and annihilation was required. And yet… I could see their limits.
They were still human.
Highly trained humans, yes—but humans bound by biology, psychology, and the constraints of this world.
The system changed that.
While reviewing system options—an idle action that had a habit of reshaping history—I noticed something new. Not artifacts. Not anomalies.
Units.
People.
Entire formations, purchasable not as individuals but as cohesive, trained entities. That alone made my pulse quicken. Scrolling further, my attention stopped instantly on one entry.
Death Troopers — Star Wars Universe.
I didn't hesitate.
Death Troopers were everything Alpha-1 aspired to be and more. Elite black-ops soldiers bred and refined for absolute lethality. Their training eclipsed anything even our best task forces endured. Stealth, assassination, demolition, counter-insurgency, urban warfare, zero-visibility combat—there was no operational environment they weren't designed to dominate.
And they were enhanced.
Cybernetic augmentation. Surgical improvements. Conditioning that erased hesitation and fear. They were not mindless, but they were purpose-built. Loyal, disciplined, terrifyingly efficient.
Perfect.
I purchased twenty-five.
They arrived as a unit—fully equipped, fully trained, fully synchronized. Black armor sealed and matte-finished, helmets humming softly with encrypted comms systems that not even PROMETHEUS could penetrate without my authorization. Their presence alone changed the atmosphere of the site they materialized in. Security personnel felt it instantly. The sense that something far deadlier than them had just entered the hierarchy.
I personally addressed them.
Not as an emperor.
Not as a distant overseer.
But as their commander.
Their loyalty transferred seamlessly. The system ensured that. They acknowledged me not merely as an authority figure, but as their authority. My orders would override any protocol, any conditioning, any prior chain of command they once possessed in their original universe.
From that moment on, they were my Red Right Hand.
Not the Council's.
Mine.
The other O5 members could refine Alpha-1 as they wished—train their own operatives, buy their own units, or cling to tradition. I had no intention of arguing. Power, after all, speaks for itself.
And I wasn't finished.
With the system points I had remaining, I made another purchase—less visible, but just as transformative.
Comprehensive Knowledge: Star Wars Laser Weaponry.
In an instant, entire branches of understanding unfolded in my mind. Tibanna gas refinement. Focusing crystals. Power cycling. Heat dispersion. Modular emitter design. The difference between military-grade blasters, heavy repeating rifles, precision sniper platforms, and ship-mounted cannons.
Not just how to use them.
How to build them.
How to mass-produce them.
How to improve them.
This knowledge integrated beautifully with what we already possessed—Doctor Bright's SCP-914 refinements, Dark Elf energy systems, Reality Stone-assisted material synthesis, and Foundation manufacturing infrastructure. Blaster technology didn't replace our anomalous laser rifles.
It evolved them.
Within days, design teams were working under my direct authority, blending universes into weapons no single reality should have been able to produce alone.
And standing guard over it all were twenty-five silent figures in black.
Unseen.
Unquestioning.
Unstoppable.
The Foundation had many hands.
But now—
I had one that answered only to me.