The delivery drones hummed quietly as they deposited each nanotech suit into secured containers bound for the other O5 members. It felt strangely satisfying, seeing the culmination of six months of frantic design, rune‑carving, alloy reinforcement, and refinement finally complete. Each suit—if one could even call it a "suit"—looked like a ghostly echo of the O5 Council's mythos: faceless, shadow‑draped, an outline of darkness suspended in dim light. Exactly how the O5 are portrayed in those blurry photographs scattered across the anomalous underground.
My own version rested lightly between my fingers, no bigger than an ordinary pen. Sleek, matte black. Completely unassuming. The others would likely store their suits in containment lockers, biometric safes, or dimensional pockets.
Me? I tucked mine casually into the breast pocket of my lab coat.
It clicked against the fabric with the softest little tap, like it belonged there.
I already knew I'd rarely need it. My shield—my permanently active, invisible, unbreakable barrier inspired by Rick Prime's memories—made armor redundant. I could stand at ground zero of a hydrogen bomb and walk away untouched. The nanotech suit was mostly utility: anonymity, image, mystique.
A disguise for a role I technically already played.
After all… the world didn't know O5‑1 was me. At least, not the part of the world that mattered. To most of the Foundation, I was simply the Director of Site 999, the brilliant scientist who produced miracles and nightmares in equal measure. The "assistant" of O5‑1. A convenient fiction that kept curious minds away from one very dangerous truth.
And I preferred it that way.
I leaned back into my chair, exhaling deeply as the holographic progress charts dissolved around me. The last few months had been… relentless.
Orochimaru had surprised even me. Under his supervision, the Space Marine project finally pushed past its maddening failure cycle. One successful subject had turned into three. Then five. Then fifteen. Now we had an entire MTF—genetically restructured, enhanced, armored, and fully capable of wrestling Keter-class monstrosities into containment.
A powerhouse force built for the impossible.
But the cost…
The deaths…
The blood…
Necessary. Unavoidable. A price I had always expected, but even I could admit the project was the most gruesome one we'd ever pushed through Site 999.
Still, it was done—and in the hands of someone who would perfect it even further.
Which meant I was free.
Free to move on to my next obsession.
Free to keep advancing the Foundation's arsenal.
Free to keep shaping the future.
And free to return to the person who kept my sanity intact.
My shields dimmed automatically as I stepped out of the elevator into the nursery chamber—one of the most protected rooms in the entire Site.
Luna.
My little Moonflower sat in her reinforced crib, giggling, her tiny fingers waving as floating sparkles danced above her hand. Even with the suppression bracelet, her reality bending still slipped through in soft, harmless bursts—stars made of light, floating toys, miniature illusions.
Yet she always brightened the moment she saw me.
"Ma-ma!" she squealed, her eyes shining brighter than any SCP in my records.
My chest warmed—an involuntary, impossible, unscientific reaction I still hadn't been able to suppress.
I scooped her into my arms, pressing her gently against me. She felt warm. Safe. My shield adjusted, allowing physical contact, recognizing her as an allowed entity.
She suckled contently at my chest as I sat down in the rocking chair, stroking her tiny white hair.
"You know," I murmured softly, "Mommy just finished another big project. And I've got more work to do… but none of it is more important than you."
She blinked up at me like she understood.
Maybe she did.
Reality benders always did have… instincts.
"Someday," I whispered, brushing her forehead, "you're going to be stronger than almost anything in this universe. And I'll make sure you never have to be afraid of your own power."
She giggled—and a little moon-shaped spark floated up from her tiny hands.
I let it dance there.
I let her be happy.
I let myself be human—something I rarely allowed.
Because being her mother… was the one thing the O5 Council couldn't take from me. And the one thing I'd burn this world for if they ever tried.
My pen-suit, my shield, my stones, my impossible intellect… everything I'd built, everything I'd ever become—
None of it compared to this.
Holding my daughter.
My little moon.
My future.
And the most dangerous SCP the world would ever meet… raised by me.