Chapter 99
Léonard woke up early in the morning and stretched, feeling refreshed. Several agents brought him his breakfast, which he ate while a doctor finalized the last medical procedures. Finally, Léonard was cleared to leave his room.
As he stepped out, Graves greeted him with a broad smile. "Good morning, Boss. Ready to get back to business?"
Léonard returned the gesture with a grin. "Morning, Graves. So, what's on my schedule for today?"
Graves replied, "Well, first, we'll be meeting your assistant for a discussion. After that, I believe they'll give you a tour of the site. Then, if you don't mind, it's a bit of a personal request, but the rest of my guys would really like to meet you in person for the first time."
Amused, Léonard chuckled. "I don't mind at all. We'll go see them afterward."
Graves said, "Thank you, Boss."
Léonard then asked, "Anything else?"
Graves replied, "After that, TA-A requested that I help you learn to control your newly acquired strength, so you don't accidentally destroy everything, like the bar on your bed."
Léonard chuckled, thinking about the look on the poor nurse's face yesterday when she saw the bed rail bent at an impossible angle.
Léonard and his escort walked along the manor's halls until they reached a checkpoint. The guards recognized Léonard and stepped aside, saluting him as he passed. They approached a door, and Graves knocked. A voice from inside responded, "Come in."
Graves opened the door and allowed Léonard to enter.
Léonard found himself in a room styled like a Renaissance-era office, save for a few modern electronic devices and other contemporary touches. Behind the desk facing the door sat Franz, who immediately stood and greeted Léonard with a smile.
"Good morning, Boss. I'm glad to see you back on your feet."
Léonard replied, "Hey Franz, how are you?"
Franz answered, "I'm doing well, thank you, Boss, for asking," and gestured for Léonard to take a seat.
Franz then asked, "Would you like something to drink?"
Léonard responded, "Hot chocolate."
Graves quickly stepped outside and instructed the staff to prepare hot chocolate for the Boss.
After some lighthearted jokes and friendly exchanges, the hot chocolate was served. Once the butler left the room, Franz's demeanor shifted to a more professional tone.
"Boss," Franz began, "I have so much to tell you, but I'm sure you have just as many questions. So, go ahead."
Léonard placed his cup back on the table and asked, "I do, actually. What is this Ennui protocol?"
Franz replied, "Ennui? Well, it's an emergency contingency plan designed to administer amnestic agents on a global scale to prevent a 'Lifted Veil' scenario, one that would lead to catastrophic planetary consequences by revealing the Anomalous. This particular amnestic is so potent that even the O5 Council cannot resist its effects. Only certain members of the OoTA, like you and me, are unaffected.
"During your coma, I gave the order for MTF Delta-0 'Men in Black' from the Francophone branch, to execute the Ennui protocol. At the same time, we erased all traces of the incident from the internet. However, the unit is now on cooldown for several weeks due to the toll of executing Ennui."
Léonard sighed. "At the very least, let's announce the heroic deaths of the Foundation agents who perished during the incident. Pay them their respects. Their deaths and sacrifices must not be forgotten."
Franz nodded and pulled out a notebook, jotting down Léonard's instructions. "Understood, Boss."
Setting the incident aside for a moment, Léonard asked, "What about the consequences of my fight?"
Franz responded, "The vast majority of the affected space has been restored to its original state. But the various GoIs present are another matter. Most of them are in the process of forging diplomatic ties with us and with each other. Others are trying to gain access to the last affected areas of the battlefield, but they've been blocked by our forces.
"Initially, the GOC attempted to push through, but when we denied them access, they cooperated and simply requested an explanation."
Léonard thought for a moment. "Hmm… Issue an official explanation stating that Foundation forces engaged a highly dangerous anomaly in the area and successfully contained it after a fierce battle. I'll reach out to their leader personally later."
Franz nodded while noting down the instructions. "Understood, Boss. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"
Léonard asked, "How is our expansion in the United States progressing?"
Franz replied, "Our expansion is going splendidly, Boss. We've infiltrated multiple law enforcement agencies, such as the Virginia State Troopers, various police departments, and sheriff's offices. Additionally, we've gained influence within a branch of the FBI in Florida and Washington. We've also taken control of the governor's office in Nevada and heavily infiltrated several state governments.
"On the intelligence community front, we've yet to penetrate the NSA, Secret Service, or CIA. However, we've managed to infiltrate the DIA, AF ISR Agency, ONI, MCIA, several INR offices, and the DEA, although none of our assets have reached high-ranking positions just yet."
Franz continued, "On the military side, we've infiltrated several battalions of the US Army and managed to secure complete control over Fort Knox in Kentucky. Additionally, we've gained a foothold in the US Air Force Academy and Davis-Monthan Airfield in Colorado.
"We've also infiltrated Marine Corps Base Quantico and established influence within several National Guard units and Coast Guard stations. We've even taken control of one US Navy vessel. However, we've yet to infiltrate the US Space Force."
Franz concluded, "Finally, we've also infiltrated several influential corporations and established multiple companies of our own, spanning various industries, including the Bulwark PMC. Additionally…" Franz pulled out a sleek wallet filled with numerous cards and handed it to Léonard. "Here, Boss, these are the VIP cards for all those companies. Any purchases you make with them will be fully covered by us."
Léonard held his head in his hands, clearly overwhelmed by the cascade of information.
Franz couldn't help but smile, amused by the visible struggle of his young leader trying to process it all.
Franz stood up and stretched slightly. "Alright, Boss, let's skip the boring parts of this meeting. I think you're much more interested in visiting Site-01 and SCP-001, aren't you?"
Léonard jumped up with excitement. "YES, YES, LET'S GO!"
Franz chuckled and led the way out of the room, followed closely by Léonard and Graves. As they walked through the corridors of the mansion, Franz gestured around, narrating. "We are currently in the East Wing of the mansion, which houses our offices, workspaces, and dining areas."
They entered a room unlike the others, a space dominated by glowing screens. Franz gestured broadly. "This is SCP-001-02. It's a converted bedroom here in the East Wing. Most of the furniture has been removed to make room for 30 monitors and televisions mounted to the walls. These displays continuously stream a variety of global information, such as the daily NASDAQ average or the precipitation levels in the Middle East."
He paused, pointing to the arrangement of screens. "Higher-priority information stays permanently displayed on the larger monitors, while smaller ones shuffle between data feeds at random intervals. What's most intriguing is the source: these screens and the room's power supply are completely disconnected from any external systems. They're linked only to each other."
Franz smiled faintly, running his hand along the edge of one of the screens. "Even to this day, it's a mystery that surprises me."
Léonard commented, "Fascinating," as he stepped closer to one of the monitors displaying a live feed. The screen showed information about an ongoing battle: "Firefight ongoing between Yeda Zoher and ORIA in the city of Mosul, Iraq," accompanied by a drone image. Léonard's smile vanished, and he cursed, "Damn it, I forgot about those two."
Franz, standing a few steps behind, inquired, "Would you like me to intervene?"
Léonard shook his head. "No need. We'll discuss it with the O5s later."
Franz gave a short nod. "As you wish, Boss."
They left the room and stepped into the garden, walking through neatly trimmed paths until they reached a sprawling greenhouse. As they entered, Franz gestured around with a hint of pride in his voice:
"SCP-001-05 is more than just a greenhouse, it's a piece of history reborn. Every plant you see here is unique, reconstructed from ancient genetic blueprints by the Foundation's labs. These species no longer exist anywhere else in the world. Interestingly, medieval herbariums from Britain describe plants just like these, claiming they once grew on the anomalous Kingdom of Hy-Brasil."
He paused, running his fingers over the delicate petals of a glowing, otherworldly flower. "I come here often, not just to admire their beauty, but also to study them. These plants hold secrets modern science can't begin to understand. Their properties are… extraordinary, and I've been able to craft some truly remarkable things from them."
Reaching into his coat, Franz retrieved a small, elegant vial and handed it to Léonard. "This, Boss, is one of my creations. It's an elixir with remarkable properties, it can heal you from the brink of death, even regrow a lost limb. It's not something to be used lightly, but in an emergency, it might just save your life."
Léonard turned the vial in his hands, watching the liquid inside shimmer with an unnatural glow. "Impressive work, Franz. I hope I'll never need it, but it's reassuring to have it."
Franz smiled faintly. "I hope so too, Boss."
They exited the greenhouse and followed a winding path through the lush garden, eventually arriving at the edge of a serene lake. A white wooden gazebo stood at the water's edge, its reflection shimmering on the still surface. Franz gestured toward it with a knowing smile.
"This is SCP-001-07. Anyone who steps inside it will be temporarily transported to an extra-dimensional location. Don't worry, though, it's completely safe. We've tested it thoroughly."
Léonard approached the gazebo, curiosity evident in his expression. "An extra-dimensional teleportation? You're definitely piquing my interest, Franz."
Without hesitation, Léonard stepped into the gazebo, eager to experience what lay beyond.
As Léonard stepped into the gazebo, a faint hum resonated around him. The lush garden, tranquil lake, and warm sunlight of Site-01 vanished in an instant, replaced by a somber scene. The air felt colder, heavy with an oppressive stillness.
He stood inside the gazebo, its familiar structure unchanged, but the surroundings were entirely different. The sky above was blanketed with thick, grey clouds, a faint drizzle painting the ground with darkened hues. Outside the gazebo, a small crowd of people gathered in quiet mourning.
A closed casket rested on a table in the center of the gazebo, its polished surface reflecting the pale light. An elegant portrait of a woman stood beside it, propped on an easel. Her features were delicate, her smile kind, but Léonard couldn't place her face.
His gaze shifted to the dozen or so individuals present. Some stood in quiet conversation, their murmurs barely audible. Others sat in silence, their heads bowed, clutching handkerchiefs or wreaths of flowers. The atmosphere was one of profound grief, yet there was no weeping, only a weighty acceptance.
At the edge of the gazebo, just beyond the casket, a figure stood apart from the rest, his back turned to the crowd. He stared out at the mist-shrouded expanse of Site-01 beyond, his posture rigid, hands clasped tightly behind him.
Léonard's heart skipped a beat as recognition struck him. It was Franz.
His face was devoid of emotion, but Léonard knew better. The subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers gripped one another too tightly, betrayed the turmoil beneath his stoic exterior.
"Franz…" Léonard whispered, stepping closer instinctively, but he stopped short as he realized something. The mourners didn't acknowledge him. Their eyes passed over him as if he wasn't there. Even Franz, standing so close, gave no indication of Léonard's presence.
A sinking realization washed over him: he couldn't interact with anything here.
Turning back to the casket, Léonard's curiosity deepened. He moved toward the portrait, examining the woman's face. She seemed familiar in a vague, haunting way, yet he couldn't place her.
As he returned his gaze to Franz, he heard faint snippets of the crowd's murmurs:
"Such a tragic loss…"
"She meant so much to him…"
"He's never been the same since."
Franz, still motionless, finally spoke. His voice was low but carried clearly to Léonard. "You were the best of us. I'll never forgive myself for what happened."
Léonard felt a pang of unease. The weight in Franz's words was crushing, a level of guilt Léonard had never seen in his trusted assistant. He wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but his hand passed through Franz's shoulder like mist.
The scene began to shimmer, the mourners fading into a haze, the edges of the gazebo dissolving into an otherworldly glow. Franz remained still, his gaze locked on the horizon, even as the world around them disintegrated.
Léonard's surroundings blurred until he was back in the gardens of Site-01, standing in the familiar gazebo. He stumbled slightly, the disorienting transition leaving him breathless.
Franz and Graves were waiting for him outside, their expressions expectant.
"How was it, boss?" Franz asked with a small smirk, clearly unaware of what Léonard had seen.
Léonard hesitated, his thoughts racing as he studied Franz's face. Whatever that vision was, it was deeply personal. He chose to keep it to himself for now.
"It was… enlightening," Léonard finally replied, his voice steady, though his mind was anything but.
After the experience, they returned to the main path and continued their walk. Léonard glanced back at the gazebo with a contemplative look but said nothing. They moved onward until they stopped in front of a large warehouse.
Franz gestured to it. "And now, let me introduce SCP-001-03."
The building was unassuming from the outside, with its corrugated metal walls showing signs of age and weathering. But once Franz opened the doors, the interior revealed an entirely different sight.
The space had been completely transformed into a sprawling workshop. Rows of machinery, some modern and others visibly from bygone eras, filled the area, each whirring or humming softly. Workbenches overflowed with raw materials, tools, and half-finished creations. The walls were lined with implements spanning centuries, from blacksmithing hammers to advanced laser cutters.
"SCP-001-03 is unique," Franz began, leading Léonard inside. "This used to be a simple warehouse, but it was repurposed into a workshop unlike any other. Anything crafted here using the tools and materials provided gains a minor anomalous effect."
He gestured toward several completed items scattered around. A suit of armor gleamed under the light, its surface reflecting in an unnatural way. "For instance, that armor can withstand anything from high-caliber bullets to extreme temperatures."
He pointed to a set of tools neatly arranged on a bench. "And those lockpicks? They can open any lock, regardless of complexity."
The workshop seemed alive with potential, its shelves lined with labeled items. Franz continued explaining the possibilities, but Léonard's attention was drawn to the intricate designs on some of the finished creations.
Franz then turned to Graves. "Time for a demonstration. Graves, hand me your service pistol."
Graves hesitated, then handed over his weapon. Franz carried it to a large machine in the corner of the workshop. "Let me show you what this place can do."
He placed the pistol into the machine and began manipulating the controls. The machine came to life with a series of clicks and whirrs. Sparks flew as tools worked on the weapon, shaping it into something new. After a few minutes, the machine fell silent, and Franz removed the weapon.
The pistol now had a faint glow, with runic engravings along the barrel. Franz handed it back to Graves. "Try it out."
Graves aimed at a metal target set up across the room and fired. The bullet exploded on impact, leaving a scorched crater where the target once stood.
Franz smiled. "Infinite ammunition, explosive rounds, incendiary capabilities, armor-piercing precision, and a few enchantments for durability. That's just a sample of what SCP-001-03 can do."
Léonard, visibly impressed, smirked. "If this is what you call minor anomalies, I can't wait to see what else this place is capable of."
They left the workshop and made their way back to the main building, entering the west wing of the mansion. As they walked through the hall, Franz stopped in front of an intricately carved door.
Franz turned to Léonard and gestured at the door with a knowing smile.
"This, Boss, is SCP-001-06."
He leaned against the doorframe, beginning his explanation. "It's a bedroom that has been completely remodeled and decorated in the style of traditional Middle Eastern homes. Step inside, and you'll find an atmosphere that feels like it belongs to another time and place entirely. Tapestries, artifacts, and small trinkets line every wall and shelf. The floor is covered with quilts and Afghan rugs, and the bed is just as ornate."
He pointed at the door, as though imagining the scene within. "In the center of the room sits a hookah on a low table. And here's where things get interesting. Every decoration in the room, from the tapestries to the rugs, is connected to the hookah. If you touch any of them, the hookah starts producing a light, aromatic smoke."
Léonard raised an eyebrow. "And what happens if someone inhales it?"
Franz chuckled. "That's when the magic happens. The smoke induces a powerful vision, stronger and more vivid than any dream you've ever experienced. These visions are… difficult to explain. Some people see fragments of their past, while others claim they glimpse potential futures. Others report something entirely different, like stepping into another realm or encountering people they've never met before. Whatever it is, it's deeply personal and not always pleasant."
Léonard folded his arms, intrigued. "What's the purpose of it?"
Franz shrugged, his tone contemplative. "Hard to say. It doesn't seem to have a practical use, other than to offer a unique experience. Maybe it's a reminder of the unknown, something to keep us grounded. Or maybe it's meant to challenge us with the truths we avoid."
Léonard smirked. "Sounds philosophical for a bedroom."
Franz chuckled. "Perhaps. But I'd advise against stepping inside unless you're ready for whatever it might show you. Most people walk out of that room looking… different."
Léonard glanced at the door, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "Maybe another time."
Franz nodded, satisfied. "Whenever you're ready, Boss. This place isn't going anywhere."
They continued down the hall, leaving SCP-001-06 behind for now.
They entered a bar, and Léonard's eyebrows shot up in surprise. A bar in Site-01? He hadn't expected such a place here. The room was bustling with life, filled with members of the Office of The Administrator, Resh-1 operatives, and Site-01 personnel.
As soon as Léonard and Franz stepped inside, everyone stood up to greet them, saluting respectfully. Léonard nodded back, acknowledging their respect. The atmosphere was lively, with clinking glasses, low conversations, and the faint hum of music in the background.
Franz gestured around with a grin. "Welcome to the unofficial heart of Site-01, Boss."
Léonard smirked, scanning the room. "I have to admit, I didn't expect to find a bar here. What's the deal with this place?"
Franz chuckled, leading Léonard toward a corner where a polished, antique bar cart stood. It gleamed under the warm light, laden with a wide variety of liquor bottles, everything from cheap beer to rare and expensive scotch.
"This," Franz said, tapping the cart lightly, "is SCP-001-12. At first glance, it's just a luxurious bar cart, perfect for entertaining. But there's a catch."
Léonard tilted his head, intrigued. "Let me guess: it's not as simple as it looks."
Franz nodded, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Not even close. The bottles on this cart never run out, pour as much as you like, and they'll still look full. Sounds like a dream for any party, right?"
Léonard crossed his arms, sensing the twist. "What's the downside?"
Franz grinned, pouring a glass of what appeared to be bourbon. The liquid shimmered as it left the bottle, but as soon as it hit the glass, it transformed into a thick, black sludge. He held it up for Léonard to see.
"Here's the kicker: whatever you pour from these bottles turns into something else. Sometimes it's harmless, like water or juice. But more often than not, it's something toxic, like this delightful tar cocktail."
Léonard frowned, looking at the glass. "So how does anyone drink from this thing?"
Franz gestured subtly around the room, and Léonard noticed something odd: every person in the bar was drinking straight from the bottle, skipping the glasses entirely.
"That's the trick," Franz explained. "If you drink directly from the bottle, it's perfectly fine, whiskey tastes like whiskey, wine tastes like wine. But the moment you try to pour it into a glass, the cart decides to play its little game."
Léonard laughed quietly, shaking his head. "Anomalies really do have a sense of humor, don't they?"
Franz shrugged, setting the glass down. "You could say that. It's one of the safer SCPs here, just a bit inconvenient if you're not in on the secret."
Léonard glanced around again, noticing the camaraderie among the employees as they drank straight from the bottles. He couldn't help but smile. "Seems like this place has its charm, even with the quirks."
Franz chuckled. "It's a good spot to unwind. Everyone needs that now and then, even here."
They left the bar cart behind and moved to join the others, Léonard feeling a bit more at ease in the lively yet surreal environment of the Site-01 bar.
They returned to the main hall and stepped into an ornate elevator. Franz retrieved his access card, swiping it beneath the sleek panel beneath the buttons. Léonard raised an eyebrow as the card reader emitted a quiet beep, followed by a soft chime.
Without warning, the elevator began to descend, its motion smooth but deliberate. Léonard's curiosity was piqued, his sharp eyes scanning Franz's expression for any hint of what awaited them.
Finally, the elevator came to a stop. The doors slid open with a hiss, revealing a stark contrast to the luxurious manor above. The underground area was a hive of activity, filled with operators in tactical gear and administrative personnel working at an array of glowing consoles. The hum of machinery mixed with the low murmur of voices, creating an air of constant motion and purpose.
Franz stepped out first, his demeanor shifting to one of command and authority. He turned back to Léonard, spreading his arms slightly in a gesture of presentation.
"Welcome to the lower levels of Site-01," Franz said with a faint smile. "This is the nerve center of the Office of The Administrator and Resh-1 operations."
Léonard stepped out of the elevator, his gaze sweeping over the bustling environment. The walls were lined with reinforced panels, and the floor was a polished metallic surface that reflected the dim, utilitarian lighting. Screens displayed live feeds of global activity, operational updates, and classified mission briefings.
"Impressive," Léonard murmured, his voice carrying a mix of admiration and intrigue. "I didn't realize there was this much activity below the surface."
Franz gestured toward a row of operators seated at their stations, their focus unwavering as they monitored various anomalous threats and coordinated missions in real-time. "This is where the real work happens, Boss. Everything from containment strategies to global intel analysis. Every mission Resh-1 undertakes is planned and monitored from here."
Léonard nodded, his sharp mind already piecing together the complexity of the operations. "And the personnel?"
Franz smirked. "Handpicked from the best. Operators with years of field experience, analysts who can process data faster than most AI, and a few… specialists with unique skills."
As they walked through the area, Léonard noticed a map on one of the larger screens. It showed several active hotspots marked with glowing red circles. He stopped, his eyes narrowing. "What's this?"
Franz followed his gaze and nodded. "Current anomalies being monitored. Some are containment breaches, others are external threats we're keeping tabs on. You'd be surprised how many fires we're putting out at any given moment."
Léonard gave a low chuckle. "Doesn't sound like the kind of job where you get much sleep."
Franz laughed, motioning toward a side corridor. "Sleep is a luxury around here, Boss. Come, there's more to see."
Léonard followed, his interest growing with every step as they delved deeper into the heart of the Foundation's most secretive operations.
As they passed the reinforced glass window of the training hall, Léonard's attention was drawn to the thunderous clash of fists and feet within. The room was large and spartan, with padded floors and walls designed to absorb the brutal impacts that came with training sessions at this level. A small group of Resh-1 operators had gathered around the edges of the arena, their usually stoic faces betraying subtle hints of awe and excitement.
In the center of the room, two combatants squared off. Both were clad in lightweight, tactical training gear, their physiques honed to perfection. One was a tall man with an imposing frame and precise, mechanical movements; the other, a lithe woman who moved with a serpentine grace that seemed to defy the laws of physics.
The match began in silence, a mutual understanding passing between the two fighters. Their movements were calculated and fluid, every gesture carrying the weight of countless years of mastery across every known martial art.
The man made the first move, lunging forward with a combination of powerful strikes aimed at the woman's upper body. His fists were a blur, each punch delivered with the force of a sledgehammer. She countered with breathtaking speed, weaving through his attacks like water flowing around rocks. Her movements weren't just evasive, they were predictive, each dodge leaving her in a position to retaliate.
She struck back with a high kick that arced through the air like a whip, the impact echoing as her foot connected with his forearm. He barely flinched, using the momentum to pivot and bring his elbow down in a crushing arc aimed at her shoulder. She rolled with the blow, her body twisting mid-air to deliver a spinning backfist that grazed his jaw.
The operators watching murmured quietly, impressed.
The man pressed the advantage, launching a flurry of attacks: Muay Thai knee strikes, judo throws, and krav maga counters blended seamlessly with elements of capoeira and pankration. His strength was undeniable, each move threatening to end the match outright. But the woman's agility was otherworldly, her movements an intricate dance of dodges and counters. She retaliated with lightning-fast strikes, employing techniques from silat, wushu, and even lesser-known forms like dambe and lethwei.
At one point, the man swept low with a powerful kick aimed to destabilize her. She leapt over it with impossible ease, flipping forward and landing behind him, where she attempted a chokehold. He caught her wrist mid-motion, using sheer strength to lift her off the ground before slamming her back down.
Rather than yield, she used the force of the impact to spring back onto her feet, retaliating with a combination of strikes that forced him to retreat. Their exchange became a blur of motion, each combatant demonstrating a level of mastery that surpassed human limits.
The sound of their strikes filled the room like thunder, every impact resonating through the glass walls. At times, it seemed as if they weren't just fighting each other but testing the very boundaries of their abilities. Their movements were so precise and their reactions so fast that it seemed choreographed, yet it was anything but.
Finally, after a brutal exchange of strikes, both fighters paused, their breathing steady despite the intensity of the bout. They regarded each other with mutual respect, and the faintest hint of a smile crossed their faces.
One of the onlookers clapped slowly, breaking the tension. Soon, the rest joined in, their applause carrying a mixture of admiration and disbelief.
Franz smirked as he turned to Léonard. "Resh-1 operators. We train them to be the best, and they train themselves to be even better. No holding back, no limits."
Léonard's gaze lingered on the fighters as they exchanged a firm handshake and exited the arena, their camaraderie evident despite the ferocity of their match. "Impressive," he said simply, though his tone carried genuine admiration. "They're more than just soldiers, they're artists."
Franz chuckled, gesturing for Léonard to follow. "Artists of war, Boss. And trust me, this is just the beginning."
Then they left the training room and entered an armory. Franz gestured to the space with an air of respect. "This is SCP-001-11, a small armory. Various firearms and traditional weapons are displayed on the walls, alongside their appropriate ammunition. Touching any of these weapons will manifest a scar on the wielder's body, usually a minor wound on the extremities, but occasionally something more severe, like a torso injury. The scar vanishes as soon as the weapon is released."
Léonard's eyes scanned the room with curiosity. The walls were lined with weapons of all kinds: sleek rifles, ornate pistols, ancient swords, and more obscure tools of war like halberds and crossbows. Each was meticulously maintained, the steel gleaming under the fluorescent lighting. Ammunition and accessories were neatly organized in labeled racks beneath the displays.
Franz stepped forward, selecting a long rifle with a polished wooden stock. He held it out toward Léonard. "Care to test it, Boss? Every weapon here carries a story. The scars are like echoes of their past, tied to their purpose or the experiences of those who wielded them."
Léonard hesitated for a moment before stepping forward. His hand hovered over the rifle before deciding on something else, a short, curved dagger with a jagged edge. He wrapped his fingers around its hilt.
Instantly, a burning sensation bloomed across his forearm. Léonard grimaced as a thin, shallow scar appeared, running the length of his forearm as though he had been slashed. It faded quickly, leaving no lasting pain.
Franz nodded. "A clean cut. Likely tied to close combat. The scars reveal the nature of the injuries these weapons were made for."
Intrigued, Léonard placed the dagger back on its stand. His eyes shifted to a revolver with a pearl handle, the metal engraved with intricate patterns. He picked it up, and a sharp ache spread across his chest. Looking down, he saw a small puckered scar appear just above his heart.
He inhaled sharply, pressing his hand over the mark. "This one feels… heavier."
Franz stepped closer, his expression somber. "A fatal shot, perhaps? This revolver likely saw many close encounters with death. The scars aren't just physical, they carry a weight. It's a reminder of what combat can cost."
Léonard returned the revolver to its place, and the scar disappeared immediately. He rubbed his chest absentmindedly, as if trying to shake off the lingering sensation. "These weapons are more than tools. They're histories, etched into anyone who dares to touch them."
Franz smiled faintly. "That's exactly right. Every operator in Resh-1 trains here, but sparingly. The lessons these weapons teach are not to be taken lightly."
Léonard's gaze settled on a broad, double-edged sword hanging on the far wall. It radiated an almost imperceptible energy, drawing him in. He reached for it, gripping the hilt firmly.
This time, a deep, jagged scar appeared across his left thigh. The pain was sharp but bearable, and his leg felt heavy for a moment as though reliving an old injury.
"A crippling blow," Franz said, studying the mark. "This sword wasn't just used to end fights, it was meant to disable, to leave its target vulnerable."
Léonard exhaled deeply as he returned the blade to its rack. The scar vanished again, but the sensation lingered in his leg. "This armory… It's not just a storage room. It's a battlefield, condensed into these weapons."
Franz gestured to the room. "Exactly. These tools carry the weight of countless battles, and they'll share that weight with anyone who touches them. That's why this place is one of our most sacred spaces. A reminder of the cost of power and the resilience it demands."
Léonard gave a final glance around the room, the stories of the weapons etched into his memory. "Let's move on. I've seen enough scars for today."
Franz nodded and led him toward the exit, leaving the silent armory behind.
They advanced down a long corridor and stopped in front of a door guarded by two Resh-1 operators. The guards stood at attention and saluted their superiors before stepping aside. Franz, Léonard, and Graves walked inside the room, the heavy door shutting firmly behind them.
The atmosphere changed immediately. The room was dimly lit, with only faint overhead lights casting their glow across the space. In the center stood a massive machine, its towering frame dominating the room.
Franz motioned toward the machine with a solemn expression. "This is SCP-001-08."
Léonard stepped closer, his eyes tracing the battered exterior. The machine was a mix of advanced design and obvious ruin. Its outer casing bore deep scratches and scorch marks, and parts of its structure appeared warped, as though it had been exposed to intense heat or force. Scattered wires and shattered panels exposed the inner workings, gears, circuits, and tubes, many of which were burnt beyond recognition.
"What was it for?" Léonard asked, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous room.
Franz folded his hands behind his back. "Its express purpose is officially unknown, but according to a O5, it was designed to be a time machine."
Léonard's brow furrowed, his curiosity piqued. "A time machine? That's… bold. Why is it in this condition?"
Franz shook his head. "The damage is of unknown origin. It could have been an accident during testing, sabotage, or even the result of an event too complex for us to comprehend. What's certain is that it no longer functions. Not as it was intended to."
Léonard stepped around the machine, noticing how its interior appeared just as chaotic as its exterior. Through a partially open panel, he saw the small space inside, no more than two square meters.
A single seat sat at the center of the compartment, surrounded by broken controls. Buttons were shattered, levers bent, and a screen above the seat was cracked, its display flickering faintly with static.
In one corner of the interior, the chaos had been pushed aside to make room for a small shrine. Léonard peered in, intrigued.
The shrine was simple but poignant. A framed photograph of a smiling family rested at its center, flanked by a child's toy robot and a weathered journal. A single candle burned next to it, its wax pooling onto the metal floor.
"What's this?" Léonard asked, gesturing to the shrine.
Franz joined him, his voice softening. "A memorial. It was assembled by those who worked here. Perhaps the machine's creators or those who believed in its potential. No one knows who placed these items, but they remain untouched out of respect."
Léonard studied the photograph for a moment, his expression unreadable. "If this was a time machine, what were they trying to achieve? To change the past? Or see the future?"
Franz sighed. "Your guess is as good as mine, Boss. The O5s don't speak about it, and all related documents are heavily redacted. What we do know is that this machine represents ambition, a dream to bend time itself. But it also serves as a reminder."
"A reminder of what?"
Franz met Léonard's gaze. "That some boundaries should not be crossed, and some answers are not worth the cost of finding them."
Léonard nodded slowly, his eyes lingering on the shrine one last time. The faint hum of the flickering lights filled the silence as he turned back toward the room.
"A machine like this… Even broken, it feels dangerous."
Franz smiled faintly. "That's why it stays here, locked away. Out of reach, but never forgotten."
They turned away, leaving the machine and its mysteries behind as they exited the room.
They continued down a fortified corridor, the walls reinforced with heavy steel plating and surveillance cameras at every corner. Léonard observed the area with interest, noticing how meticulously guarded it was. Groups of Resh-1 operatives moved in formation, their boots echoing against the polished floors. Each squad was armed to the teeth, their gear advanced even by his standards.
As they walked, Franz pointed out the various checkpoints they passed, each one more secure than the last. At every station, Resh-1 operatives scanned their access cards, biometrics, and retina patterns to proceed. Léonard noticed the efficiency with which the operators moved, disciplined, unwavering, and alert.
"This level of security is impressive," Léonard commented, his eyes scanning a group of operatives performing a quick inspection at one checkpoint. "It's like you're guarding something irreplaceable."
Franz smiled knowingly. "In a way, we are. This section of Site-01 is reserved for the most critical operations and assets. Only a handful of people ever make it this far."
Eventually, they passed through the last checkpoint, where even Franz's credentials were double-verified before the heavy, mechanized door slid open. Beyond it lay a corridor that felt different, more imposing. The walls were even thicker, reinforced with layers of a strange, blackened alloy that seemed to absorb light.
The air grew heavier as they proceeded. Unlike the previous areas bustling with activity, this stretch was silent. Not a single Resh-1 operative was present, and the absence of guards felt more unsettling than their presence.
Léonard frowned, his voice breaking the stillness. "No guards here? Seems… contradictory after all the checkpoints we just passed."
Franz chuckled softly but didn't stop walking. "There's no need for guards in this section. The defenses here are far more advanced than mere operatives."
Graves, who had been silent up until now, nodded. "Anyone unauthorized attempting to breach this area wouldn't get far. Let's just say the security measures here don't need human oversight."
Léonard glanced at the walls, noting the subtle grooves and faint glimmers of embedded technology. He realized the corridor itself was likely a defense mechanism, ready to activate against any threat.
"Interesting," Léonard muttered, his curiosity piqued. "So, what lies ahead that warrants this level of protection?"
Franz smirked but didn't answer directly. "You'll see soon enough, Boss. We're almost there."
The three continued down the ominous, fortified corridor, the silence broken only by the faint hum of hidden systems and the sound of their footsteps.
Finally, they arrived in front of a massive door. Franz swiped his card, performed a retina scan, a facial recognition test, a voice test, a blood sample check, and recited a formula with an anti-memetic property. Léonard whistled at the intensity of the security measures, and suddenly, the door opened.
Then Franz extended his arms and said, "Welcome to SCP-001-01, more commonly known as the Bridge Archive."
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HAPPY NEW YEAR, I WROTE A BIG CHAPTER TO CELEBRATE IT