We decided it was time to move SCP-914. The sheer scale of the experiments, and the potential consequences of Very Fine biological testing, made it clear that keeping it at Site-01 posed too great a risk. Even with my red right hand and several of the most loyal Mobile Task Force operatives standing guard, the sheer potential of SCP-914 to create something far beyond our control couldn't be ignored. The possibility of accidentally refining something—anything—into a being capable of harming us, or worse, threatening the other members of the O5 Council, was too high.
So, we began the planning for a new site, designed entirely around SCP-914. Every inch of it was going to be reinforced, monitored, and isolated. The Clockworks isn't just another anomaly—it's an architect of potentiality. It can refine objects, materials, and even living creatures beyond known limits. For that reason, we dedicated an entire wing of the new facility just to housing its mechanisms, intake chambers, output bays, and redundant safety systems. The staff would be highly trained in both containment protocol and the subtle art of working alongside a machine that is, in essence, alive with its own logic.
During the transfer, I returned to New York. Site-01 would be quieter without the Clockworks taking up the massive space it had occupied for decades. I walked through the halls of my mansion, my dragon-heart resonating faintly with the magic I had been practicing over centuries. I poured myself a cup of tea and settled into my favorite chair. My mind began to wander over the current state of the world.
It was 1971. The world had changed so much over the last two decades. Humanity had gone to the moon, seemingly achieving technological miracles, yet still unaware of the greater cosmic structures we had been observing—and controlling—all along. The Cold War continued to simmer, but thanks to our infiltration, surveillance, and manipulation, the nuclear threats were contained, more controlled than the public could ever imagine.
In New York, I observed the city from my window. The streets below bustled with cars that had grown more advanced, yet the world still had a sense of chaos and energy that only cities like this could harbor. I could see how the Foundation's reach had expanded globally: our assets in the criminal underworld, our front businesses, and our legitimate corporations provided the perfect veil for operations and resources alike. IKEA, fronting as a simple furniture company, had become a logistical network we could leverage for everything from supply chains to clandestine material transport.
Meanwhile, the Mutant Mobile Task Force continued to grow. With Alex's perfected X-gene activation protocols, we were training and refining an army of superhumans capable of responding to threats beyond the understanding of normal humans. Magneto and his team had become indispensable, not just for containment and field operations, but as living proof that even the formerly villainous could be integrated into the Foundation's purpose.
Even in 1971, the supernatural continued to make its presence known. Our efforts against organizations like the Hand, the High Table, and other clandestine societies had stabilized their influence, but we remained vigilant. Dragon bones still required extraction from beneath New York, though our teams continued working steadily. Resurrection serums had become a key strategic asset, and the knowledge of chi, magic, and the remnants of K'un-Lun techniques was being cataloged and studied for the long-term benefit of the Council.
While sipping my tea, I reflected on our multiverse-level research. The Wanderer's Library continued to provide access to knowledge from countless dimensions, and I was absorbing techniques that ranged from the arcane to the highly scientific. Magic had evolved alongside our technological growth, and the combination of the two had made the Foundation not just a stabilizing force in the world, but an entity operating on an entirely different plane of existence.
The world outside continued in its oblivious rhythm, unaware that behind the scenes, humanity's progress and its safety were being shaped by us. From covert moon bases to controlled satellite networks, from mutant task forces to controlled criminal organizations feeding us resources and information, the balance of power was firmly under our guidance.
Yet even with all this control, I remained vigilant. Magic could be unpredictable, mutant abilities volatile, and SCP-914's potential limitless. Moving the Clockworks to its new home was a precaution, but the experiments had already demonstrated what it could accomplish. I knew the day might come when Very Fine would produce something truly beyond our expectations, and when that day arrived, we had to be ready.
For now, though, I allowed myself a moment of calm. The tea warmed my hands, the city hummed below, and the world—managed, observed, and controlled—continued its rhythm. My dragon-heart pulsed steadily, my mind expanded with multiversal knowledge, and my magic resonated faintly in tandem with the energies around the city. Even in moments of calm, I knew that my work was never truly complete.
The Clockworks would have its new home soon. And when it did, I would return, ready to continue testing, refining, and understanding the limits of life, matter, and magic itself. For the moment, though, I simply watched the world, contemplative, patient, and ever calculating. 1971 was quiet—but quiet was only the precursor to progress.