Another quiet year slipped away, or at least as quiet as life ever becomes when you're building a Foundation that now spans anomalies, technology centuries ahead of schedule, and a growing web of cross‑world talents who answer only to me. With SCP‑2000 secured and Orochimaru beginning his deep dive into SCP‑4001's impossible library, my attention shifted back to something more… administrative. But for the O5 Council, nothing is ever truly simple. Especially now that my Council isn't just a handful of powerful administrators—it's the backbone of humanity's survival.
Communication between O5 members was efficient, but not perfect. Yes, we had overhauled world technology far beyond its natural pace. Yes, we had neuralyzers now mass‑produced and refined far beyond the Men in Black version. Yes, we had a personal butler from SCP‑662 and a literal reality‑editing library. But the Council itself lacked something subtle yet important: a constant, secure line of communication that couldn't be intercepted, hacked, jammed, or compromised by any form of mundane or anomalous interference.
And it needed to look cool.This part I won't deny.
So through the system store, with a thought and a handful of points, I purchased something purely iconic—the thirteen Akatsuki rings.
Each one a unique symbol.Each one tied intrinsically to a specific bearer.Each one capable—thanks to some very light, very careful modifications—to act as a quantum‑anchored communication link, naturally encrypted through dimensional frequencies. No radio waves. No signals. No outside detection.
Just pure, instantaneous communication between Council members.
I received all thirteen in a small, plain wooden box, the rings arranged neatly in their traditional order. A ridiculous sight, in a way. Legendary objects of one world delivered like costume jewelry from a bargain shop. But I could feel the power humming through them the moment the lid opened. The system had ensured they weren't simple replicas—they carried real metaphysical weight.
I slipped my own ring onto my finger first. The metal pulsed faintly, synchronizing with me, recognizing me as its owner. A whisper slid into my mind, clear as spoken words.
Connection established.Akatsuki Council Network activated.
Good. Perfect.
I dispatched the others immediately.
O5‑2 received theirs first at Site‑17, where she was still overseeing the ongoing consolidation efforts around SCP‑2000. She raised an eyebrow when the courier placed the ring in her hand.
"A fashion statement?" she asked dryly over the comms.
"More than that," I replied. "Put it on."
She did—and froze when the mental link clicked."Oh. That's… useful."
"One ring for each future Council member," I explained. "Thirteen rings for the thirteen O5s. Consider it the start of a new era."
"Let's hope it's not prophetic," she muttered. "Thirteen rarely ends well in fiction."
I laughed. "Fortunately, we're not in fiction."
(Well… we technically were, in a sense. But she didn't need the existential crisis today.)
Over the next week, each O5 received their ring, each reacting with varying degrees of surprise, caution, or amusement. O5‑4 simply called it "an unnecessarily dramatic but practical choice," which from him was practically praise. O5‑7 asked if she could customize the ring's appearance (I told her no). O5‑9 asked if it had any explosive properties (I told him absolutely not, and sternly reminded him to stop trying to weaponize everything he touched).
With each new member placing the ring onto their finger, the network grew stronger. More stable. More intricate. Thoughts could be shared, though only intentionally. Alerts could be sent in milliseconds. Emergency meetings could be called with no electronic trace. For the first time, humanity's most powerful governing body had a communication system worthy of the threats we faced.
It was a small change on the surface, but I could feel it—this would reshape our internal structure in ways I hadn't anticipated yet. A Council that could whisper across continents… could act with terrifying efficiency.
Good.
We would need that.
Because the world was growing stranger by the year.
And not just because we were summoning talents like Orochimaru and giving them level‑4 clearance to run research on reality‑altering libraries. Or because SCP‑2000 now existed under our control, dormant but ready if humanity ever burned. Or because modern firearms now existed centuries before their time.
No, something deeper was shifting. The veil around Earth was thinning. The Watcher—ever silent but always observing—had started sending me subtle signals warning that more SCPs were on their way. SCP‑4001 was just the beginning of this new wave.
And we needed to be ready.
One evening, after the last ring had been delivered, I sat in my private office within Site‑17, idly turning my hand and watching the ring catch the dim light. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the reinforced walls and the perpetual soft buzzing from the temporal stabilizers installed beneath the floor.
The ring pulsed.A Council member was opening a link.
O5‑2:We finished securing SCP‑2000's secondary access chamber. The power systems are older than expected, but Orochimaru says he can rebuild the organic components. Something about cellular elasticity.
I smirked.
Me: Tell him not to modify anything without my approval. Last thing I need is SCP‑2000 growing a tongue or shedding its skin.
A pause. Then:
O5‑2:…He already tried, didn't he?
"Multiple times," I muttered aloud.
She sighed mentally.I felt it through the ring.
I leaned back in my chair. "Did we hear anything new about the next anomaly?"
O5‑2:The Watcher hasn't given clear data yet. But he's uneasy.
Uneasy. From him, that meant something extremely troublesome was approaching.
"Understood," I said. "Keep the Site locked down. I'll prepare the rest of the Council."
The link faded as she withdrew, returning the office to silence.
I exhaled slowly and looked down at the ring.
Thirteen rings.Thirteen leaders.Thirteen minds united under one purpose.
Humanity would endure whatever was coming.Because we would force the world to survive.
Even if we had to rewrite reality to make sure it did.