The moment the system announced Warhammer Space Marine Technology had appeared in the shop, something primal inside me snapped awake. Space Marines—Astartes—were not just soldiers. They were walking demigods of war, each one capable of slaughtering armies, shrugging off explosions, and fighting for centuries without ever faltering. An army of them would make the SCP Foundation unstoppable. And under my command? It would make us a force that even cosmic entities would think twice about provoking.
Naturally, my first instinct was to seize the entire project for myself.
I had practically lunged into my office, hands flying across my holo-terminal as I began drafting schematics, procurement lists, genetic templates, and hypothetical power-armor blueprints. I was already planning implantation sequences, gene-seed vaults, and the layout for what would become the first Foundation fortress-monastery.
But the moment I actually saw the depth of the technology package—the full genetic engineering process, the psycho-indoctrination fields, the organ implantation, the Black Carapace integration, the hypno-indoctrination sequences, the power armor schematics, the plasma reactors—my excitement stalled.
This wasn't a "big" project.
This was a continent-sized project.
Even I had limits.
If I tried to hoard this to myself, the O5 Council would burn Site-999 to the ground to stop me from accidentally creating a private army that could overthrow the world.
So, with a rare moment of restraint, I reached out to two people who could bear the weight of something like this:
O5-2 — Julius (Sentinel), the man who literally had Gilgamesh's arsenal at his fingertips.
O5-3 — Darius (The Watcher), the one who saw timelines like chessboards and walked between possible futures like stepping through doors.
Together, the three of us represented a terrifying concentration of power—political, anomalous, scientific, and military. If any trio in the multiverse could manage the birth of Astartes, it was us.
Within hours, we had combined our budgets into a single project vault, merging resources so rapidly the Foundation accounting division nearly passed out from the shock.
And then the real chaos began.
The first major step was assembling a scientific team—a true elite group. I summoned every brilliant mind under my authority, every senior scientist I trusted or at least tolerated:
Dr. Jack Bright, unpredictable but brilliant, especially with anomalous organs and immortality research.
Dr. Everett King, a mad genius whose theoretical physics alone could destabilize reality if misapplied.
Senku Ishigami, the prodigy of human innovation, a miracle worker of pure science.
Lex Luthor, one of humanity's greatest engineers and strategists—though having him in the same room as Bright usually required ten armed guards.
Orochimaru, for genetic engineering, implant integration, and biological enhancement. A monster, but an indispensable one.
I also pulled in dozens more—senior biologists, medical experts, magical theorists, cyberneticists, SCP-specialized researchers, and even several thaumaturgists from the Paratechnology Division.
Site-999 descended into a frenzy.
Entire wings of the site were shut down and reconfigured into genetic laboratories, cybernetic workshops, indoctrination chambers, and power-armor foundries. Hundreds of containment zones were repurposed to store gene-seed, training arenas, experimental augmentation pods, and advanced surgical suites.
It was the largest scientific mobilization in Foundation history.
And we didn't stop there.
We funneled into this project enough money to bankrupt a small nation—possibly several. The Foundation's secret stockpile of rare metals, magical catalysts, anomalous tissues, energy reactors, and dimensional minerals were redirected to the project overnight.
Even the D-Class population—already enormous due to the Foundation's multiversal reach—was essentially bottomless. We had more test subjects than we could use.
But Warhammer technology wasn't simple.
Space Marines were designed to be created by a civilization that ate planets and waged war like breathing. Their biology, psychology, and equipment were all made to operate in hellish warzones. Their gene-seed wasn't just DNA—it was a blueprint written in bio-anomalous code.
The more we studied it, the clearer it became:
We weren't building soldiers.
We were building weapons of myth.
Three days into the project, Julius appeared in the command center, golden armor gleaming, multiple Noble Phantasms floating lazily behind him. He looked at the gene-seed storage vaults with amusement.
"You realize," he said dryly, "that if these soldiers go rogue, even I will have to take them seriously."
I smirked. "Good. That means they'll terrify everyone else."
Darius stepped in then, the Eye of Agamotto glowing faintly against his chest. He scanned the simulated timelines playing across the holo-wall.
"There are futures," he warned, "where the Astartes project reshapes Earth. In some of them, the Foundation becomes a galactic empire. In others… humanity goes extinct."
Julius raised a brow. "Which outcomes do you prefer?"
Darius sighed. "Prefer isn't the word I'd use. But the safest timeline requires all three of us maintaining oversight."
I shrugged. "Then we stay involved. I didn't start this to lose control."
And it was true.This project would change everything—the balance of power on Earth, the future of the SCP Foundation, and possibly the fate of entire universes.
But with me, Julius, and Darius united behind it, nothing would stop it.
Not gods.Not cosmic entities.Not other O5 members.
The first Astartes—Foundation Space Marines—would be born soon.
And when they were?
The multiverse would learn what true fear looked like.