 Warning. If you enjoyed the way Eche Parago ended, then listen no further. If you enjoy the thought of a grid mark foundation, or have a low tolerance for quirkiness, this may not be the story you want to be hearing. If on the other hand, you'd like to see the new administrator get what he has coming to him, then keep listening. 15 minutes was all it had taken. In 15 minutes, the world had changed, even if no one had noticed. The administrator looked upon his work, and was proud. His seniors had always disliked his ideas. They all believed that free will was some grand idea. Only the administrator knew that people were stupid. They needed to be led, to be guided. He was the one to do it now, with all this power at his fingertips. All this power, they say absolute power corrupts, absolutely. Eh, close enough for foundation work. The administrator grinned beneath his moustache as he set to work, implementing changes that would bring the world into a more ordered state. Little did he know that his plans were not the only plans out there. The foundation planned for everything, even a rogue O5. All of his plans had been built off one assumption, one purposeful lie. The O5 who had recruited him, told him there was no O5-13. That the 13th vote was transferred from one O5 to another, which was true. The 13th O5 held no temporal power. While he was often invited to listen in on Overseer Council meetings, and many of the council members treasured his advice, he had never been the most stable of people. You see, the 13th O5 made his home at a site that was not quite a site. While those who had been to it saw nothing unusual about it, site 67 was on none of the foundation's official books. It was an SCP, a quite powerful one, and one known as a little black box. No number, just a name. The easiest way to hide something is in plain sight. So a natural landmark was built around it, and those who had to visit it were given to believe it was just another SCP. The 13th was a special man. To survive in the house, one had to be. After all, time inside this SCP was a little unusual. If one were to use popular cultural references, one might employ the phrase, timey-wimey ball. Inside the house, cause did not often follow effect, and could easily loop into each other. So the 13th had to be different, had to be able to think in more dimensions than the average man. This of course resulted in him being, by our standards, not altogether there. I think you might be starting to bore people. This is a lot of background to get through. Of course, when one spends a lot of time using one's mind to explore all manner of eldritch horror and power, one sometimes gets confused as to whether the room one is in has three walls or four. So instead of trying to explain, let's just see what happens. Thank you. The 13th says, to no one specific, few are those who would ever enter his office. That 67 doesn't get many visitors. He is a tall man, red-haired, pale-skinned, but no freckles. His office walls are lined with bookshelves, and even more books somehow stay in place in their shelves on the ceiling. A simple old computer sits on his desk, an Apple IIe, still looking for steam anew. He is currently engrossed in the reports of the latest from his point of view, exploration into his house when a red light blinks on his screen. What's all this then? Ah, yes, the man take over. He mutters to himself. He happens to mutter to himself a lot. Sometimes he is even still in the room when he mutters to himself. Sometimes he mutters back. It helps. I thought I still had another week before that happened. His fingers fly across the keyboard, reading the reports as they file in. Ah, yes, interesting. Full TPK. Well, almost full. Ha! Should have taken some time to find out more, man. Always were too eager. Well, let's see what we can do about this. The comment appears directed to the old man standing by his door, who seems to still be holding his gardening shears. There were always fail safes in the foundation. Each and every O5 always had a dozen or so on hand, ready just in case. Man had found out the ones that protected the O5s, but he hadn't learned about the replacement protocols, which was what the 13th initiated with a few clicks of his mouse. 12. Is he dead? The nameless assistant, whom we'll now call Tim, for the ease of narration, peered through the doorway, watching. He had grabbed the first agent he saw, once his mind had cleared. Ah, yep. Agent Lament made a show of checking the corpse's pulse, then leaned back on his heels. You can sort of tell by the big gaping hole where his jaw and chest should be. Lament pulled off the former overseer's glasses, curious to see who might be behind them. No one he recognized, but then he wouldn't. Well, Agent, I... Tim paused, his eyes glazing over. After all, O5-4 wasn't the only one who could plant commands in people's minds. By the authority vested in me, whomesoever takes the glasses from his body shall be named O5-12 in his place. Agent Lament, you were never the first choice, but you are still capable of what we need. I hope, Tim slumps, his jaw sore. I... what did I just make you? Lament can't help but smile. Overseer was never actually a goal of his, but, since it was offered, well, maybe I can't do a better job than this poor soul, but at least I... he slips on his sunglasses. Can't hold my alcohol. 11. Clef sat back, staring at the dead body. O5-11 had been a good friend, once upon a time. 11, or as he had been known back then, Jinx had been the agent who had trained Clef when he first joined up. When Jinx got promoted, Clef would hope the old man would change things. They had made plans, had talked things over. They would do great things, with Jinx in the place to make things better. But nothing had changed. Oh, sure, at first, 11 made things better, eased some restrictions on the safe humanoids. But he didn't let any of them go, as they had talked about. He didn't ease up on the D-class death. Eventually, he became just another overseer, grinding down anyone who tried to make things better. Man might not be the best choice to take over, but at least he'd follow his plan. Heh, like Clef would let anyone else take over, the only person in this world you could trust was yourself. Clef reached over to the body of his dead friend and slipped off the man's bracelet. If there were a move past checkmate, I'd say that. But for now, let's just say I win. He slips the bracelet onto his own wrist. I always win. 10. Some transfers of power were epic. Some were quite interesting. In 10's case, it was a simple matter of an email marked urgent, showing up in the inbox of one Dr. Moose. She took a moment to read the contents, then sighed as she rolled her eyes. Really? Me and O5? F*** a doodle. 9. O5-9 was the unluckiest O5. Dr. Bright glanced down at his cell phone and made a face. F***. 9 got himself off again. He tapped his fingers together and frowned over them. There was no one on site currently who fit the specific, no, wait. There was one. Yes, two birds, one stone. Joshua, he called to his secretary, tell Agent Elroy to meet me at the elevators. A few minutes later, the doctor and the agent were riding down the main shaft together. Bright stared eternally at the numbers as they ticked down toward the bottom of the site. Yorick, on the other hand, fidgeted, hummed, and otherwise made himself annoying. It was his gift. Finally, he could contain himself no longer. Look, Jack, if this is about the cafeteria incident, it's not about that. Ah, then feeding Cain peanut butter. Look, it was really fun. Not that either. That girl told me she was 18. That excuse never worked for me either. Yorick, you're being let in on a secret several steps above your current security level. So shut up and do what I tell you. The rest of the ride continues in silence. If he had been any other doctor, he might have worried about what he was planning on doing. But Jack had stopped making emotional connections to his fellow workers. He knew it always ended badly. The elevator drew to a halt at the bottom of the site and then proceeded to move sideways for some time. Yorick shot a questioning look at the senior staffer, but chose not to ask. It wasn't until the elevator doors slid back to reveal a sign on another door that he actually spoke. 9632, wait, there's more of you? Jack opened the door and stepped inside. The room was small, a large window showing the room beyond in which a box rested on a pedestal. Yorick, this is very important. I need you to go into that room and open that box and bring me back the object within. He sighed, I've been authorized to give you the 006 you requested if you do so. Cautious but optimistic, Agent Yorick Elroy passed into the next room. Dr. Bright locked the door behind him, then turned to the window to watch. 9632 had always been his dirty little secret. It was his fault it had been created. Yorick carefully opened the box and when nothing jumped out at him, carefully reached out a gloved hand to pick up the odd metal symbol inside. This, the... Ah! The agent screamed in horrible pain as his body was grabbed by an invisible force. His bones, his flesh, his entire body was wrenched this way and that. Bright stood watching hands clasped behind his back. This was what you got when working with inferior materials. Well, it didn't matter. In a few minutes, Yorick would be completely gone, never to be seen again, and his body would rise as 059, the overseer who thought he could be immortal. Bright would have to bring him up to speed. One of the problems of 9632, he did only copy the memories up to the point of nine's first death. It didn't matter. After all, 059 was the unluckiest 05. Eight. Desiree Talley walked into the 05's apartment as if she owned the place. She had always had a habit of being in the right place at the right time. And now, she was going to be in the right place at the right time to end up an 05. Desiree was a young looking girl of African descent, her hair done up in cornrows, looking at the world through Coke bottle glasses. She opened the door to the bathroom and reached in to turn off the water with an oven mitt. She stared at the remains of eight with some distaste. Ick, overseer soup. Still, Miss Talley reached her hand into the muck, fishing around for the little ring. It was her choice to become eight, and if anyone wanted to stop her, well, she'd been planning this for a lot longer than they had. She wasn't afraid to call and help from friends in scaly places. Me and Clefuzo Fives? What is the foundation coming to? Next, they'll be asking 343 to join. And she giggles at some private joke. Seven, Dr. Gerald looked down at the burning wreckage of his vehicle. The flames could easily be seen from miles around. Pieces of the car spread across the upper third of the road he'd been driving on. He turned his hand this way in that, studying the ivory chopstick driven through the middle of his hand. Huh, guess this means I'm an overseer now, huh? He glanced down, studying the ground far below. Now, if only I could get out of this tree. Six, Black looked at what he had wrought, and the corner of his eye twitched just a little bit. His mentor and his partner, both dead by his hand. It shouldn't have been this way. He was supposed to have given his life for six. Thompson was too good to die like a chump, but this was how it had happened. All he could do was move on. The first step was to remove Six's hat and pistols. They weren't special, but they meant something to Black. The pearl-handled pistols were tucked into his belt. The hat placed jointly upon his head. Then carefully, reverently, Black picked up the cane. This will not stand. You shall be avenged. Five, I feel like goddamn Dorothy, sort's muttered as he pulled his shoes off the body of O5-5. Really, shoes? Who makes an object of authority out of damn shoes? He frowned, studying them closer. Okay, these really feel kind of holy shit. It's human skin. He pauses, thinking over a statement. That shouldn't actually surprise me. The midgets, they surprise me. F***, I hate these cameos. As he stalked away to get the shoes re-sized for him, a dozen instances of SCP-5555J danced about the body of the former overseer. They sang in some kind of unison. I'm sure you can guess the song. It starts ding-dong. Three, hey Josh, what's up Gnosis? That program crashed. Which one? The one that takes up all that memory on the cray? Ah, f***. Oh well, just use the backups and reboot the damn thing. No problem. Two, ding, you have a new video message. Dr. Sophia Light glanced up from work with a sigh. If it wasn't one thing, it was another. Sometimes she missed being a member of the junior staff underbright. No, strike that, that was something she never missed. But she wouldn't mind less paperwork. A break from the work was welcome at this point. The video opened on an older, familiar looking woman. Sophia, if you're getting this message, not only am I dead, but I never found a way to tell you. I know what you're thinking and no, I'm not your mother or grandmother or such. I'm you. That's a long story. But let's just say, if you ever need to reboot the universe, make sure you're inside of it first. Your computer is currently getting an update with all my files. See, you're going to take over for me. You're 052. Good luck. The video cuts off, then turns back on. Side note, why the hell do the time travelers always go after Hitler? He's got to be the luckiest man alive. Look into the possibility of his SCP-ness. Light side, rubbing her temples. Less work, never one. And that is why I have decided to pass on my mantle to you. The video continued. As Dr. Gears studied the pale trench coat in his hands, his face has always betrayed no trace of emotion. I have done all I can to lead you to this point where you can control the foundation. No matter what anyone may try to tell you, your role is first among equals. The man speaking betrays no emotion himself, a deadpan delivery that wouldn't change even if he were dying while he recorded the message, which he likely was. And in the end, I just want to say, I'm proud of you. And that Gears looks up at the screen, freezing the image before it ends. He stared at the man on the screen for several long minutes, letting everything process. He was now the man in charge, the overseer at the top of the pyramid. He should feel something, some small bit of something, but he'd never admit it. He simply nodded at the image on the screen. Thank you, Father, rest in peace. Four, yes, yes, that would be perfect. Man couldn't help but laugh to himself. So much information, so many things for him to do. Oh, 10, we can expand it. Humanity will do what needs to be done, not what they want to do. His fingers flickered across the keyboard and then stopped as the screen froze. Access denied. What kind of crap is? Hey, Four, how's it going, man? The young teen on the screen smiled. Hey, sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the O5 council has held a vote of no confidence and, well, you're out. O5 council? There is no O5 council. Man paused, taking a deep breath and standing up. Apparently, I didn't erase you as thoroughly as I had planned. That can be easily re... Again, man was interrupted as 11 more video feeds popped up on a screen. Each of them failed with the shadowy outline of a human head and shoulders. Each of them displayed the words, no confidence in green at the bottom. No, no, I did this, I planned it all. You cannot do this, I am the administrator. The power is mine, the power is bang. Man, the top half of his head, gone, takes two steps, still trying to mouth words. A second gunshot echoes throughout the room and man falls to the floor, his body twitching. His assailant fires twice more and finally, the man who would be administrator lies dead. The man who killed him slips into the just vacated seat, still warm. Dr. Man is dead, took a bit to kill him. Looks like the files are right about him doing some self-orientation. I love the boys down to research, look at him. Is there any pressing business for the council at this time? Negatives from each of the council members. In that case, I, Frederick Hayden, sh... I mean, O5-4 declared this council meeting closed. O5-4 stared down at the corpse of his predecessor. It had been a long day. It was only going to get longer. He took a moment to kick the corpse in the side. Goddammit, you sh... This wasn't what I wanted. And then he turned back to the computer and to his duties. 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