Honestly, I was relieved—deeply relieved—that I wasn't the one tasked with approaching the sorcerers about the Time Stone. That responsibility had fallen squarely onto Darius, O5‑3, The Watcher. And if there was anyone equipped for this delicate, borderline suicidal diplomatic mission, it was him. The man was a master of intelligence, misdirection, and infiltration. He could walk through a battlefield unseen. He could steal state secrets before the government even wrote them.
So yes—better him than me.
Let him deal with mystical wards, ancient traditions, paranoid monks, and a group of people who could turn you into confetti with a hand gesture. Let him tiptoe around the Time Stone without getting erased from history by accident.
I had more important things to do.
I had research.
Real research.
Civilization‑altering research.
And my current project… was monstrous in its scope.
I was building the information infrastructure of the future—the birth of an Internet centuries ahead of schedule. A global network capable of instantaneous communication, data transmission, secure classified channels, encrypted orders, resource coordination, and eventually, a fully automated Foundation operational matrix.
I wasn't simply inventing the Internet.
I was creating an entire digital ecosystem from nothing.
No transistors.No microprocessors.No satellites besides the handful we manually launched using crude fusion reactors and reverse‑engineered Dark Elf tech.No integrated circuits.No fibre networks.No history of computer science.No telecommunications backbone.
Just me, my brain, Rick Prime's knowledge, Doom's assistance, and Spectre—our newborn AI—acting as the cornerstone of all computation.
I sat in my lab at Site‑01, surrounded by piles of handwritten notes, sketches, prototypes, and half‑assembled machines. Cables snaked across the room like metallic vines. Crystals grown with modified Philosopher's Stone alchemy stored data in lattice‑compressed structures. Cooling arrays hummed softly as I tested the efficiency of a new processor built from alloys that wouldn't exist in the real timeline for another five hundred years.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples.
"Spectre," I said, "run internal diagnostics on Node A‑07. I'm detecting a delay in the quantum-lattice compression cycle."
Spectre's voice echoed from the surrounding speakers—calm, precise, infinitely intelligent.
"Diagnostics underway. Likely cause: structural instability in the micro‑fusion synapse junction. Recommend reinforcing it with the vibranium‑infused alloy we developed last month."
"Good. Prepare the alloy—0.4 micron plates."
"Done."
She had become invaluable. With SCP‑079's infinite evolutionary algorithm integrated into her core, she improved herself every week. I monitored every upgrade she made—of course. Any rogue behaviour would be shut down instantly. But she stayed loyal, stable, and efficient because I had programmed her to protect humanity first, the Foundation second, and to obey O5 commands absolutely.
She was the digital soul of my new project.
I looked at one of the prototypes on my desk—a thin rectangular slab with a crystal‑matrix core, graphene wiring, and a vibranium‑based processor.
A phone.
The first one of its kind.
It felt almost humbling, inventing something this foundational. Something that would reshape the structure of future society. Something that didn't exist yet, but soon would.
Sure, the world didn't have infrastructure for it yet.
So I was building that too.
A satellite network.Ground wave relays.Portable receivers.Encrypted Foundation communication channels.Civilian-friendly networks to slowly introduce technology without overwhelming the population.
It would take decades to spread organically, but that was the plan. The Foundation would be the architect of global communication. We would become the invisible backbone of modern society.
And Spectre would be the omnipresent guardian of that network—monitoring threats, preserving data, securing connections, and ensuring no anomaly could hijack the system.
As I recalibrated a circuit, Julius appeared in my mind through the Akatsuki ring.
"Administrator. The Watcher has departed for Kathmandu."
"Already?" I asked, sliding a crystal plate into the prototype.
"He left immediately after the meeting. He wants to observe before initiating contact with the Sorcerer Supreme."
"Smart."
"He says there are… concerns."
I paused. "What kind of concerns?"
"Magical signatures. Dimensional disturbances. He believes the mystics are more active than usual. Something is happening at Kamar‑Taj."
That made me stop completely.
If the sorcerers were mobilizing, that meant trouble.And if trouble was coming, it might be cosmic.
"…Keep me updated," I said finally.
"Of course."
The projection faded, and I went back to work, though my mind was now split between circuitry and strategic worry.
Still, I forced myself to focus.
If the world was heading toward some magical catastrophe, we needed this network operational now more than ever. With the Reality Stone, Spectre, Doom, and the early Internet, the Foundation would soon wield knowledge and communication on a scale the world had never seen.
And when the mystics finally looked our way, they would find a civilization quietly preparing for the future—one invention at a time.
The Watcher could handle the Time Stone.
I would handle everything else.