I sat back in my chair, staring at the file someone had so bravely—or stupidly—written about me. The fact that they managed to sneak an SCP designation onto me without my permission was already irritating, but the funniest part was how accurate most of it was. The abilities, the immortality, the Phoenix Force, the elemental manipulation, the political power, the intelligence… sure. Guilty.
But the virgin birth part?Really? They couldn't help themselves.
Still, as much as I wanted to track down the author, drag them to Site-999, and make them explain themselves word by word, I stopped. I'm over two thousand years old. I can be petty, but I can also be mature. And—fine—I could be a potential world-ending threat if I ever snapped. It's not arrogance; it's simply acknowledging the truth. But I've built so many mental defenses over millennia that corruption isn't just unlikely—it's borderline impossible.
Between the metal neural plate, the psionic scramblers embedded around my cerebral cortex, the fūinjutsu seals layered in fifteen tiers, the runic encryption sequences, anti-influence wards, black-box mind partitions, and cognitive firewalls…Yeah. Good luck to anyone trying to mind control me. They'd need a multiversal god, a thousand chances, and still might only get me to blink funny.
Knowing all that, I took a deep breath.
I could write a humiliatingly detailed SCP file for every single other O5 member just to get even.
But instead…I'll be the bigger woman.
Still, I should prepare a way to stop myself if something ever did go wrong. A failsafe. A kill-switch. A contingency only I could design. Not because I fear corruption—but because I'm responsible enough to acknowledge the possibility. A proper adult decision.
With that settled, I left the archives.
And headed out to meet Cleopatra.
Cleopatra and I had been hanging out quite frequently these days. Turns out an immortal Egyptian queen and an immortal British scientist-goddess make an excellent combination of brilliance and sarcasm.
She lounged across from me, long dark hair braided with golden threads, her eyeliner perfect as always. "So," she said, tapping her stylus against her digital slate, "you're telling me the Foundation needs more financial infrastructure."
"Yes," I replied, sipping my tea. "And you're the perfect person to manage that. You've built empires twice. Three times, technically."
She smirked. "Flattery from SCP-001? Should I feel honored or concerned?"
"Honored," I said. "Concern comes later. Anyway, here's the plan: you'll create thirteen main bank accounts—one for each O5 member. Different banks. Different countries. Different legal structures. Layered ownership. Shell companies behind shell companies. Hidden under networks of AI-operated shadow accounts."
Cleopatra's eyes sparkled like someone handed her the royal treasury again.
"I assume you have some suggestions for optimizing their growth?" she asked.
"Oh, several," I said, handing her a crystalline data-drive. "A full guide to economic manipulation, market reading, multiversal commodity trading, and how to coax financial AIs into doing half the work for you. Also, talk to the Brain—he'll help you generate automated profit flows."
She nodded approvingly. "This will make the Foundation effectively untouchable economically."
"That's the point," I said. "Money builds stability. Stability builds power. And power keeps us all alive when some cosmic horror decides to say hello."
Cleopatra leaned back, smiling. "You know… for someone who could disintegrate the universe if mildly irritated, you're surprisingly reasonable."
I snorted. "Don't spread that rumor. The O5s will start expecting me to fill out paperwork."
We both laughed, the kind of laugh that only immortal women who've seen empires rise and fall can share.
Despite the chaos around us, the projects, the threats, the constant stress of running the SCP Foundation… moments like this made eternity feel a little easier.
And Cleopatra?She was quickly becoming one of my closest friends.