A Year had passed since we ended the endless strategizing in the system chat. Words alone wouldn't build the Foundation. Plans alone wouldn't prepare us for what was coming. The twelve of us had begun taking control of our respective networks, our subordinates, and our influence, turning them quietly into the skeleton of what would become the SCP Foundation.
Julius naturally took the lead in this first phase. With his command over most of Rome, he wielded the largest and most disciplined military force among us. Troops loyal to him were trained, armed, and reorganized quietly, under the guise of border security and internal reforms. But this was only the beginning. In the shadows, his generals and lieutenants were briefed on the organization's purpose. They didn't need full details—only enough to follow orders without hesitation. Julius's efficiency impressed me even in a system chat; now seeing him in action, the scope of his authority and the precision with which he could maneuver both people and armies made it clear why the system had placed him here.
We had also begun recruiting our first personnel into the Foundation. Loyal subordinates, spies, scholars, soldiers—anyone capable of handling secrecy, obedience, and intelligence work—were quietly evaluated and folded into our growing network. Cleopatra oversaw medical teams and research candidates, while Ashoka and Cyrus began structuring intelligence and training divisions. Alexander and Qin Shi Huang took responsibility for security and containment logistics. Each of us leveraged our past lives' expertise, our memories of history, and our new abilities to strengthen the organization with terrifying efficiency.
And then, the system gave us our first warning: the countdown to the first SCP had begun.
We had been hoping—praying, almost—that the first anomaly wouldn't be immediately lethal. Something controllable, something beneficial, something that could give the Foundation a solid start. I knew we were taking a gamble; SCPs weren't designed to be convenient. But the system's rules were clear: summon, secure, normalize, survive.
The air shimmered in the central courtyard where we had gathered, an unnatural distortion, like reality bending inward for a single heartbeat. Everyone froze, even the soldiers and subordinates who had no idea what was happening. The twelve of us instinctively stepped forward, not out of fear but preparedness. The system pulsed, highlighting the anomaly's arrival, almost as if it was daring us to fail.
And then it appeared.
SCP-006. The Fountain of Youth.
It was breathtaking in its simplicity—just a pool of crystal-clear water, pure and radiant. But I didn't need to be told its properties. I already understood, instinctively, what this could mean for us. Access to this anomaly meant access to immortality. None of us had been granted eternal life. Even my abilities as Shammuramat, even the system's gifts, didn't make me immune to age or decay. But now, here it was, tangible, in our world, and infinitely controllable if we could secure it.
I felt my pulse quicken. Not from excitement, but from calculation. We cannot make mistakes. Immortality was tempting—but immortality without preparation could be a curse. SCPs had ways of corrupting, testing, even tricking those who sought to use them. Julius, standing beside me, understood this instinctively as well. His gaze was sharp, calculating, already considering troop deployment, protective measures, and extraction procedures.
"Formation," he said quietly, and everyone's bodies shifted into a defensive configuration. Cleopatra silently gestured to her medical team, ready to observe the anomaly safely, while Alexander and Qin Shi Huang positioned guards, measuring the surrounding terrain for natural and structural containment possibilities. Cyrus began mapping rapid evacuation paths, while Ashoka prepared protocols for immediate suppression if the SCP reacted unpredictably.
I stepped forward, my mind running simulations at a speed the normal world couldn't comprehend. Flash Forge hummed faintly at the edge of my consciousness. If containment materials were insufficient, I could create temporary reinforcements, tools, or barriers instantly. But we didn't rely solely on that. We relied on preparation, intelligence, and coordinated authority.
"Remember," I said aloud, though only the council could hear, "this is a test. Not just of our strength, but of our coordination. One misstep, and this could destroy everything we're building."
Julius nodded. "Agreed. We secure it carefully, quietly. No one outside our circle can know."
The soldiers approached under his command, moving with precision. The Fountain of Youth remained calm, almost inviting, but we treated it like the most dangerous weapon in existence. Immortality, we all knew, was a gift that could kill if mishandled.
Hours passed. Calculations, protective barriers, testing the perimeter, assessing magical, alchemical, and physical interactions. Finally, we confirmed what we had hoped: it was stable, controllable, and ready to be incorporated into the Foundation.
As I gazed at the water, a strange calm washed over me. For the first time, the Foundation felt real. Not a hypothetical organization, not a dream, but something tangible—a network of loyal subordinates, secure structures, and now, our first anomaly safely contained.
"This is just the beginning," I murmured to myself. "We secure one anomaly, one step at a time. But if we survive this, if we truly learn, nothing in this universe will be able to threaten what we are building."
The other eleven of us exchanged looks. Not excitement. Not pride. Focus. Determination.
The countdown reset quietly in the corner of my vision. Another SCP would arrive next month. And we would be ready.
But today, we had taken the first step. And that step was immortality itself.