I take a slow breath, leaning back in my chair as the SCP‑001 file about me remains open on the holographic screen. The absurdity of it all hits me again—not just the embellishments, not just the melodramatic tone, but the fact someone in the Foundation actually had the audacity to write a containment file on O5‑1 herself.
Sure, I'm technically ageless. Sure, I can bend elements, forge conceptual weapons, and yes, I possess the Phoenix Force. And fine—if I ever truly snapped, the universe would be in deep, deep trouble. I can admit that much.
But still. A Foundation‑issue SCP file. On me.
I rub my temple.
"I could write one for all of them," I mutter to myself. And I really could. I could make SCP files so humiliatingly accurate that the other O5 members would fall over themselves begging me to delete the drafts.
But… I'm over two thousand years old. I can be the bigger woman.
I sigh. "Ugh. Being mature is exhausting."
Still, the file did spark one rational thought—annoyingly logical, incredibly responsible, and absolutely something the others would nag me about sooner or later.
If I'm honest… I am a potential world‑ending threat.
If I ever turned corrupted… enraged… controlled… the Foundation wouldn't stand a chance. Not realistically. Not if I unleashed everything without restraint.
And that means I should set up a way to stop myself.
Reluctantly.
Annoyingly.
Responsibly.
I fold my arms, tapping my finger against my elbow as I think it through.
"My mind is already protected by… what, thirty different systems?" I mutter.
More like:
A reinforced metal neural plate
A network of psychic scramblers
A lattice of anti‑read, anti‑control tech fused directly into my neural pathways
Multiple layers of mental shielding seals from the Naruto‑verse
Advanced rune matrices carved through a thousand years of study
Phoenix Force stabilization rings
Anomaly‑nullifying internal wards
A psychic firewall so dense that even a multi‑versal god would have to punch through it for a week straight
"Honestly," I say to myself, "anyone trying to mind‑control me deserves a participation trophy just for effort."
Still… all defenses eventually meet something stronger. And all beings, no matter how impenetrable, have a breaking point.
Which means I need something more.
Something that could stop me.
Something that could stop SCP‑001.
I inhale, exhale, and begin designing safeguards—not just against corruption, but against myself in every conceivable future.
Dead‑man switches. Failsafe counter‑forces. Emergency protocols. Power limiters keyed to very specific conditions. An absolute cascade system that only activates if I ever become truly, irreversibly dangerous.
A weapon capable of hurting me.
A system capable of binding me.
A plan capable of stopping me.
I grit my teeth as I work.
Responsible adulthood sucks.
But necessary is necessary.
And if I ever become the thing that file warns about?
Then the world—no, the multiverse—will have at least one chance to survive me.