Another year has passed, which in my life now simply means another anomaly is about to tear its way into existence. The system warned me days in advance—an anomalous flashpoint forming somewhere inside one of our secondary Foundation facilities. When the alert finally triggered, I wasn't surprised to see the designation: SCP‑590—Doctor Bright's brother, the anomalous healer.
Of all the SCPs that could have materialized, I'd say this one was among the least troublesome. A healer who drains his own life to mend others… valuable, if somewhat tragic. We immediately dispatched him to one of our medical-focused sites—somewhere he can be monitored, protected, and used to support injured personnel without burning himself out. Useful, yes. But not exactly something high on my personal priority list right now.
Because today, I have something more important to handle.
For months I've been planning the structure of my version of Alpha-1, the legendary Red Right Hand. Elite protectors. Shadows of the O5 Council. The kind of group so competent that enemies would rather run than fight.
But the problem was simple: we didn't have the numbers yet. Not the quality I wanted, at least. Ordinary operatives—even excellent ones like our spies, our sorcerers, our engineers—were simply not enough for my standards for Alpha-1. Not when the threats facing us could annihilate continents.
And then, while scrolling through the seemingly endless expanse of the system's store, I found them.
Units.
I could buy units of people.
Not clones. Real individuals from entire universes, pre-equipped, pre-trained, ready to deploy.
And there they were:
Death Troopers.
The moment I saw that listing I froze. Then I clicked it so fast I nearly broke my own finger.
Death Troopers weren't ordinary soldiers. They weren't even elite soldiers. They were monsters of efficiency—handpicked, surgically and cybernetically enhanced, trained in everything from guerrilla warfare to heavy weapons to silent infiltration. Their black armor was iconic, terrifying, and practical. Their communications system was encrypted through speech-scrambling; only those with the right helmets or comm links could even understand them.
Bodyguards to Imperial figures. Commandos for the Empire's most covert operations.
In every sense that mattered… they were perfect.
Exactly what the Red Right Hand should be.
I didn't hesitate. I purchased 25 Death Troopers at once.
The system shimmered around me, space distorting in my private facility. When the light cleared, twenty‑five towering figures stood aligned in perfect formation—black armor gleaming under the sterile white lights, their visors glowing an eerie green. They didn't move, didn't speak, didn't even tilt their heads. They simply appeared and awaited orders, as if their loyalty had always belonged to me.
I stepped forward. None of them flinched.
"You are Alpha‑1," I said. "My Red Right Hand. My personal guard. My enforcers. My shadows."
Every helmet dipped in unison.
Even for me, that was satisfying.
Their presence alone radiated intimidation. With them stationed across all of my facilities, protecting me, and acting as my silent blades, no threat—mundane or anomalous—would ever reach the Council without going through them first. The other O5 members can train their own elite units or purchase their own specialists from the system. I don't care. My Red Right Hand would be unrivaled.
And since I still had system points left over, I did something I'd been considering for months.
I bought the complete knowledge of Star Wars laser weaponry—the science, the engineering, the crystal resonance structures, the gas cycling, the focusing arrays, the capacitor matrices. Everything.
The moment the knowledge hit me, my mind expanded to accommodate designs for blasters, rifles, heavy repeaters, disruptors—an entire arsenal. Ammo production, energy cells, power regulators. I could replicate and mass-produce all of it.
Humanity wasn't ready for this technology. But the Foundation? My Foundation?
We were more than ready.
And I planned to integrate these weapons immediately—first for Alpha‑1, then for our strike teams. The days of relying purely on ballistic weapons were ending. The age of plasma, particle bolts, and energy disintegration was beginning.
My Red Right Hand would be armed with the most advanced weapons in existence.
But that was only one part of my long-term vision.
Sitting back in my lab, surrounded by half-finished schematics and prototypes, I continued refining the internal infrastructure—the communications network, the early iteration of the global Internet, online services, portable data devices, and every other piece of modern technology I was smuggling into a world unprepared for it.
While others negotiated with sorcerers or hunted anomalies, I built civilization.
I enhanced myself, too—giving myself the regeneration ability of Rick Prime, ensuring I could recover from nearly any injury so long as my head remained intact. A small comfort, but one I appreciated. In my line of work, immortality-lite was a necessity.
Another year, another SCP, another step toward an unstoppable Foundation.
With Alpha‑1 formed, laser technology unlocked, and new regeneration coursing through my body…
The world had no idea how much more dangerous I had just become.