My next major project was something I'd been planning ever since we founded the early structure of the Council: a proper, fully functional Operation Phoenix, modeled after Rick Sanchez's personal resurrection system—but perfected, streamlined, stabilized, and adapted for the Foundation's needs.
If we intended to rule the world from the shadows, reshape civilizations, contain anomalies, and wield Infinity Stones, then the five of us could not afford something as mundane as death interrupting our work.
Fortunately, between SCP‑2000, my complete understanding of Rick's original Operation Phoenix, and our existing cloning technology, the entire system practically designed itself.
Each O5 member received their own Phoenix network:
Clone vats.Neural receivers.Soul‑anchoring conduits.And a consciousness‑transfer hardline reinforced with metaphysical stabilizers.
Redundancy upon redundancy.Backup upon backup.
Even if the universe exploded, we would probably wake up five minutes later complaining about the lights.
Of course, there was one drawback—one I had to explain to the others carefully:
Some of our abilities were tied not to the soul, but to our physical bodies.Meaning resurrection might cost certain enhancements, mutations, artifacts, or blessings.
But survival always outweighs power.
Besides, we could always reacquire abilities later.The Foundation does not lack opportunities—or anomalies—for that.
With the Phoenix systems finally humming beneath our primary sites, the five of us had achieved something close to immortality. Not the godlike eternity of ascended beings, but the mechanical, scientific immortality that comes from refusing to die out of sheer stubborn brilliance.
If one of us fell in battle, got reality‑warped into atoms, or was torn apart by some multidimensional horror, we wouldn't be gone.
We'd wake up new, fresh, and irritated that someone dared inconvenience us.
And with the Phoenix Protocol completed, the O5 Council was no longer just powerful.
We were eternal.