I made sure Doctor Gears received a measured dose of SCP-006's waters. Someone like him—an invaluable scientific asset with no sense of self-preservation—couldn't be allowed to simply age and die. But I wasn't about to waste precious supply either. I gave him just enough to keep his biological age locked in his early sixties, the point where his experience peaked but his efficiency remained razor-sharp.
He accepted the vial without comment, drank it, and immediately returned to work as though I had merely handed him a cup of water.
With that, he took full command of Site-16—the site we had converted into the Dark Elf Technology Research and Replication Division. Under his direction, the site had already begun reorganizing itself into something frighteningly efficient. Gears wasted no time tearing apart Dark Elf weapons, scanning starship components, dissecting singularity warheads, and mapping every shred of gravitational engineering they possessed.
He would reverse-engineer their technology.He would improve it.And he would do so without sleeping, complaining, or blinking.
Meanwhile, I remained at Site-01—my personal domain. The core of the Foundation. My fortress. My sanctuary. The most secure structure on the planet, reinforced by mundane science, cosmic knowledge, and anomalous engineering.
This was where I spent most of my time.
Today, I sat in my private lab, reading through stacks of reports from my subordinates. Dozens of them. But one, in particular, caught my attention—Orochimaru's latest submission.
His report described an experiment unlike anything I had expected.
He had written a full biography of a person that did not exist, crafted an entire life story, detailed achievements, relationships, memories, everything… and then placed the book inside the library.
And reality responded.
For ten minutes, that fictional person lived—manifested into existence with a full physical body, memories aligning perfectly with the written text. Then they collapsed and died instantly of a heart attack.
Fascinating. Dangerous. Useful.
Even more interesting was the second part of the report: Orochimaru had increased a D-Class's intelligence by writing, in their biography, that they possessed mastery over several advanced disciplines. When the D-Class emerged, they had gained every ounce of that knowledge.
Orochimaru, naturally, wanted more D-Class personnel to experiment on.
The request was immediate, unapologetic, and signed with that unnerving confidence of his.
I approved it.
We needed results.We needed progress.We needed tools.
And Orochimaru was nothing if not productive—so long as he was allowed to break a few minds and bodies along the way.
I signed off the authorization, sent the order, and leaned back in my chair, tapping the Reality Stone's container at my side.
Everything was accelerating.
Gears was dissecting cosmic technology.Orochimaru was rewriting reality through fiction.Jack Bright was crafting anomalous weapons.The Foundation's influence was spreading.And I, Administrator, sat at the center of it all.
The multiverse was beginning to shift.
And we were only getting started.