The black van rolled through the rain-slick streets of New York with a heavily armed Foundation escort surrounding it from every direction. Sophie sat in the passenger seat, adjusting her glasses as she reviewed the final acquisition documents one last time. Across from her, two security personnel watched the anomalous object through reinforced containment monitors.
SCP-738.
The Devil's Deal.
Even among Foundation personnel, the object had an unpleasant reputation.
Sophie understood why.
The item itself appeared deceptively harmless. A simple wooden desk and chair. Nothing special. Nothing threatening. Nothing that would attract attention in a normal office building.
The danger came when someone sat down.
The desk could grant virtually any request imaginable.
Power.
Wealth.
Knowledge.
Immortality.
Influence.
The problem was always the price.
The object never accepted money.
It accepted sacrifice.
The greater the request, the greater the cost.
Entire families.
Years of life.
Memories.
Morality.
Sometimes far worse.
The object was less a machine and more a negotiator that understood exactly what a person valued most.
Which was why O5-1 had specifically ordered the object acquired.
The Administrator wanted it contained before somebody else decided to use it.
Especially someone like Hydra.
Or SHIELD.
Or worse.
Sophie's thoughts were interrupted as one of the agents beside her spoke.
"Containment convoy is reporting all clear."
"Good," Sophie replied. "Estimated arrival?"
"Thirty-two minutes."
She nodded.
The negotiations with Marshall, Carter and Dark had gone surprisingly well.
That alone was suspicious.
Marshall, Carter and Dark never did anything without a reason.
The organization existed to profit from anomalies.
Every deal had hidden motives.
Every favor carried strings attached.
Every handshake concealed a knife.
Yet they had willingly sold SCP-738.
That meant one of two things.
Either they had determined the item was no longer profitable.
Or they had acquired something much more valuable.
Neither possibility made Sophie comfortable.
She opened another document and began reading.
MC&D had handed over several additional pieces of information during negotiations.
Auction schedules.
Private client lists.
Rumors regarding newly discovered anomalies.
Nothing substantial.
But enough to be useful.
Enough that the Foundation's intelligence divisions would spend months analyzing everything.
The convoy continued driving.
Inside Site-19, far away from the transport operation, O5-1's Herta puppet sat behind a desk while Julius relaxed nearby.
The aftermath of the SCP-978 incident still lingered.
Mostly because Julius kept laughing whenever he remembered it.
"You know," Julius said with a grin, "your inner desire being to become an omniscient magical super-genius capable of destroying SCP-682 is actually pretty reasonable compared to some of the photos that camera produces."
I looked up from my paperwork.
"Julius."
"I'm just saying."
"Julius."
"At least it wasn't embarrassing."
I sighed.
Sometimes Julius was a centuries-old military genius.
Sometimes he was an overgrown child.
Unfortunately there was no predicting which version would appear.
A notification suddenly appeared on my holographic display.
Acquisition Complete.
SCP-738 secured.
Transport successful.
No casualties.
Good.
That was one more dangerous object safely under Foundation control.
I filed the report away before opening another document.
The Foundation never stopped.
There was always another anomaly.
Another threat.
Another crisis.
Another containment breach waiting to happen.
Julius glanced at the report.
"SCP-738 secured?"
"Yes."
"Good."
He leaned back in his chair.
"I hate objects that grant wishes."
"Most intelligent people do."
"Every time somebody finds one they immediately decide they're smarter than everyone else."
"Then they discover the cost."
Julius nodded.
"And then we have to clean up the mess."
Exactly.
That was practically the Foundation's unofficial mission statement.
Humanity discovered something dangerous.
Humanity made terrible decisions.
The Foundation cleaned up afterward.
It was a surprisingly consistent pattern.
Outside the office window, Site-19 continued operating at full capacity.
Researchers worked.
Task Forces trained.
Scientists conducted experiments.
Containment teams monitored anomalies.
Thousands of personnel carrying out countless responsibilities.
Most of them would never know how close the world came to destruction on a regular basis.
And that was exactly how the Foundation preferred it.