1 week later...
The smell of sizzling meat and cheap rations filled the cavernous warehouse, mixing with the sharp bite of machine oil and concrete dust.
Temporary lights, strung up like glowing veins across the exposed steel rafters, cast long, warm shadows over tables hastily assembled from old crates and salvaged sheet metal.
Foundation personnel bustled through the space, laughter and clinking plates rising into the air.
For the first time since their rough landing in this world, there was a sense of ease, however fragile, hanging over Outpost D-1.
Kay leaned back in a battered steel chair, arms folded comfortably over his chest, watching the crowd.
His mask reflected the golden light of the makeshift chandeliers, hiding any expression behind a sheen of polished black.
Next to him, Volt was halfway through assembling what looked suspiciously like an improvised taser fork to roast sausages, while Pyre had already finished three plates and was absently heating the air around him just enough to toast the bread on his tray without burning it.
Across the table, Bright was in rare form, juggling an apple from hand to hand while absently tossing psychic commands at one of his experimental drones, making it hover in clumsy loops over Cain's head.
The ancient man sat there with the patience of a stone Buddha, occasionally raising an eyebrow whenever the drone came too close, but otherwise content to simply sip his tea, a rare blend painstakingly brewed by the few civilian recruits from Portal 1 who had joined them.
Clef, already several beers deep, had somehow wrangled an old guitar and was strumming a broken tune, half Foundation marching songs, half slurred bar ballads.
His voice, rough but weirdly soothing, floated over the din.
The mobile task force Pi-1, freshly returned from another reconnaissance mission, filtered in, shedding their dusty tactical gear in favor of sweat-soaked undershirts and cargo pants.
They filled in the empty chairs like they had always belonged there, sharing tales of crazy local gangs and near misses with things that probably should not have existed in the first place.
At the far end of the hall, a large white projector screen flickered to life, showing footage of the first branch site back in the GATE world, that's what the council call them.
Cheers erupted as images of beastfolk recruits helping scientists set up labs and manage supply lines filled the screen, tails swishing excitedly, ears twitching as they learned new equipment protocols faster than anyone had expected.
Kay watched silently as one fox-eared girl clumsily handled a Foundation-standard tablet, only to light up like a star when she figured it out.
Bright nudged him with an elbow, grinning like a proud uncle.
"Never thought I would see the day, huh? Anime girls irl" Bright said, popping the apple into his mouth with a snap.
"It is progress" Kay replied simply, voice smooth and easy.
Cain, polishing the heavy combat gauntlets fitted carefully over his hands to minimize accidental environmental damage, looked up with a slight smile.
"Bridges built on mutual understanding tend to last longer than bridges built on dominance," he said quietly, the words carrying easily over the noise.
"Poetic" Clef called from his seat, tuning his guitar with exaggerated motions, "and here I thought you were just the local doom magnet."
A few of the younger agents laughed. Even Pyre cracked a smirk.
Dinner continued in a chaotic, relaxed rhythm.
Laughter echoed, plates were traded, half-serious arguments about mission tactics rose and fell like waves.
Someone brought out a small case of spirits, and soon cautious toasts began clinking through the room.
It was almost easy to forget that they were in a dead-end slum of a dystopian world that barely clung to the concept of hope.
Almost.
After about an hour, the tempo shifted.
A heavy clang at the entrance announced the arrival of one of Pi-1's senior field analysts, carrying a data tablet stuffed with fresh intelligence reports.
The buzz of conversation dimmed as he strode over to Kay's table and handed the device off.
"Fresh recon," the analyst said, wiping grime off his forehead.
"We mapped more of the local area. Found a working fixer's office three blocks east. Looks abandoned now, but records show they took contracts until about two months ago. Also found some references to 'The Syndicate' in District D. Minor gang, maybe twenty to thirty members tops, not well armed, more of a social hazard than a real threat."
Kay skimmed the tablet, nodding.
"And the other districts?" he asked.
The analyst tapped the screen.
"District C is showing heavy Wing presence, rumors say it is under the thumb of Hana Association support forces, still, just a rumor. District W is a major hub to the technologies of its associated Wing, such as the prominent WARP trains. District 23's Backstreets are famous for its unique food culture, which revolves around.... human meat."
"UGH WTF!? Cannibalism!? HOTDAMN!"
"You're acting like you haven't done something more fucked up than that"
Bright leaned in, eyes glittering with curiosity.
"A-anyways, What about anomalies?" he asked. "Strange tech, reality warps, y'know, stuff that screams 'contain me.'"
The analyst hesitated again, then shrugged.
"Hard to say. Everything here is strange. Some of the people even accept cybernetic grafts, mind-modding, alchemical body armor like it is normal. If we slapped an SCP label on half the tech we saw today, Site-19 would be buried under containment reports for the next year."
Kay set the tablet down slowly.
"Good," he said calmly. "We need material. Research. Allies."
Volt finished her sausage, wiping her fingers on a scrap of cloth, and leaned forward eagerly.
"We have more supply drops coming next week, right? Gear, medical supplies, more researchers?"
"Yeah," Bright said, stretching. "And some of those recruits from GATE. Apparently, we are getting a logistics specialist with bunny ears."
Clef barked a laugh.
"Hope they are better at filing than they are at politics."
Cain rose smoothly to his feet, brushing off his coat.
"If we are building a future here," he said, voice low but firm, "we had best make sure it is one worth fighting for."
Silence fell briefly.
Even Pyre, normally sardonic, gave a small nod.
Kay stood too, smooth and casual as ever, hands resting lightly on his belt.
"We are not just learning anymore," he said. "We are planting a flag."
The night wore on, but the sense of unity remained, stitched into the steel beams and cracked concrete of Outpost D-1.
Outside, District D slumbered uneasily under the blood-orange glow of The City, unaware that its fate had already started to change.
Somewhere in the darkness, other forces stirred, feeling the ripple of foreign power settling into their broken world.
But for tonight, the Foundation would feast, laugh, and dream of a future worth seizing.
Tomorrow, the real work would begin.
...
The sun had barely crept above the horizon, casting a sickly orange glow through the shattered skyline of District D.
Dust lingered in the air like smoke, swirling between broken scaffolding and the scorched remnants of rusted high-rises.
In the heart of a half-collapsed plaza, a new shape began to emerge from the decay, Foundation banners unfurled, black with the white sigil etched boldly at their center.
Temporary barricades lined the perimeter, each guarded by operatives in modular combat armor, their eyes scanning the streets behind visored helmets.
A humming noise came from below the cratered street, as portable drilling rigs pushed further into the earth. The construction of Site D-2 had begun.
Kay stood at the edge of a steel-reinforced platform that overlooked the dig site, arms crossed as he watched a line of utility drones lower the reinforced elevator shafts into place.
Beside him, Agent Pyre barked instructions into a comms tablet, fire suppression systems already being calibrated for the lower levels.
Volt lounged lazily against a steel beam, chewing on a protein bar while watching sparks dance from a welder's torch nearby.
"They're moving quick," Kay said, his voice calm but attentive. "Better than last time."
"Dr. Gear says the geothermal lines beneath this district are stable," Pyre replied, eyes flicking across the tablet's schematic. "We'll have power and water by tonight. First level's for barracks and supply storage. Second level's gonna hold a research wing."
"And containment?" Kay asked, eyes narrowing behind his mask.
"Third level," Volt interjected, tossing the wrapper into a nearby bin. "Deep lockdown capabilities, EVE shielding, the whole package. If something breaks out, we're sealing that thing tighter than SCP-106's personal coffin."
Up above, a Foundation VTOL buzzed overhead, dropping pallets of equipment onto the expanding camp.
Pi-1 operatives moved in organized clusters, hauling crates, securing perimeters, and laying sensor nets throughout the broken buildings.
The locals had started watching from a distance, curious, fearful.
But so far, there had been no confrontations since the gang skirmish two nights prior.
From a pop-up command tent on the far end of the plaza, Dr. Bright strolled out, still wearing his lab coat over tactical webbing. His bracelet glowed faintly, the eyes of a small, wide-eared lizard staring out through it as he yawned.
"God, I hate early shifts," he muttered, joining Kay on the platform. "So, how's our cozy little doomsday bunker coming along?"
"Faster than I expected," Kay said, his tone unchanging.
"We had to repurpose half the site crew from Gate World," Bright continued. "They finished stabilizing that realm's first base, so the Council approved our expansion budget. Sent over a few of those demi-human girls too. Cat ears, fox tails, whole cultural package."
"Great," Volt chuckled. "Now Clef won't shut up about diplomatic relations."
"I heard he tried serenading one of them with a guitar," Pyre added with a groan.
"Oh, he did," Bright said with a smirk. "She nearly put him through a wall."
Further inside the base perimeter, scientists worked beneath scaffolded towers of blackened steel, directing drones to lower prefab walls into place.
The smell of fresh welds and ozone hung thick in the air.
At the temporary mess tent, field engineers, Pi-1 officers, and anomaly researchers gathered around portable heaters and folding tables for a brief dinner.
Conversations mixed with the clatter of utensils, discussing not only structural integrity and generator stress loads, but also what intel Pi-1 had brought back from their latest sweep.
A young researcher projected a holographic map onto the table.
"Here's what we know about the City's structure so far. Districts A through K, each with wildly varying leadership and policies. We're in D, obviously, close to the center. There's no central government, just an ugly balance of power between Corps, Wings, and Fixer associations."
"The Sweepers run rampant at night," another Pi-1 agent added. "And those lunatics aren't anomalies. That's just the natural order of this place."
Cain, seated quietly at the far edge of the table with his hands folded, nodded solemnly. "Then we'll need more than firepower. We'll need influence."
The tent went quiet for a moment.
"Couldn't agree more," Kay said, tapping a finger against the side of his mask. "If this world's going to become another branch, we're not conquering it. We're surviving in it or fixing it. That means learning how it breathes."
The foundation of Site D-2 would take weeks to complete, but this dinner marked its first heartbeat, the blending of steel, sweat, and strange new purpose.
...
Under the dim haze of a post-dawn District D, the early signs of humanity awakening were marked by weak lanterns flickering in shuttered windows and stray dogs sniffing around metal heaps.
The fractured skyline loomed above like the ribs of a broken god, casting jagged shadows across the still-ruined streets.
But beneath all this ruin, something was beginning to change, Foundation boots now walked this soil, and it would not remain silent for long.
Kay led the group through a half-collapsed alleyway, hands tucked loosely into his jacket pockets.
Behind him, Dr. Bright hummed an off-key tune while spinning his bracelet between two fingers, the glint of anomalous energy pulsing within it like a heartbeat.
Cain walked silently at their flank, his tailored Foundation suit brushed clean, yet always keeping a deliberate distance from any nearby plant life.
Clef, wearing his usual trench coat and mismatched grin, strode with an old revolver lazily holstered, strumming a melody on a ukulele he'd found gods-know-where."I still say we should've brought a team of negotiators,"
Bright muttered as they passed a rusted-out vending machine tipped on its side. "Or, you know, people who don't have a documented body count in triple digits."
Kay glanced back briefly, eyes hidden behind the lenses of his mask. "That's what the ukulele is for, right?"
"Exactly," Clef said, plucking a string. "Music transcends language, diplomacy, and the human skull."They rounded a bend into what might've once been a residential courtyard, now overtaken by debris and burn marks.
Then, as if on cue, a small group of thugs stepped out from behind the shadowed skeleton of a derelict tower.
There were six of them — patchwork armor, makeshift cleavers, and the stench of desperation thick in the air.
"Well, well," one of them sneered, flipping a jagged blade in his hand. "You Foundation types think you can just walk in here, build your castles, and ignore the streets? You pay a toll to walk through our turf."
Kay stopped walking.
The wind shifted slightly.
"You've got three seconds," he said, voice calm as still water, "to drop your weapons and leave."
Another laughed. "You're outnumbered, freak. You don't scare—"The sentence never finished.
Kay moved with surgical efficiency.
One second he was still, the next he had stepped forward, grabbed the first thug's wrist mid-swing, twisted it, and snapped it at the elbow.
The man screamed, only to be silenced with a firm palm strike to the throat.
Kay ducked low, sweeping another's legs from under him and kicking him square in the chest before he could even hit the ground.
Another rushed forward, blade raised.
Bright's bracelet shot from his wrist, slithering in the air like a serpent of light.
It latched onto the attacker's chest, and in an instant, Bright's eyes glazed over as his consciousness surged into the man's body.
The thug froze, stiff, then crumpled as if the strings had been cut.
Bright walked the body a few steps forward, raised its arms, and slammed it into a wall before returning to his own with a blink and a satisfied sigh.
"God, I miss field work."
Meanwhile, Cain stood unarmed in the center of the chaos, gazing passively at two thugs who hesitated, then decided to strike.
One slashed at his face, the blade bouncing harmlessly off his skin.
The attacker screamed as his arm twisted unnaturally backward, tendons tearing on their own.
Another fired a small-caliber pistol at Cain's chest.
The bullet ricocheted and struck the gunman's own thigh, dropping him instantly.
Cain didn't move a muscle."It's your own fault," he murmured. "I warned you."And then, of course, there was Clef.
As the last man turned to run, Clef shot him in the back of the knee.
The scream echoed down the alley.
"Come on now," Clef said as he holstered his weapon, "you can't ask for tribute and then chicken out before the conversation ends. That's just bad manners."
The air settled once more.
Kay stood over the man with the broken arm, grabbing him by the collar and hauling him upright.
"Names. Territories. What gangs run this district?"The man, pale and shaking, stammered something about Sweepers, Syndicates, and Wings.
Kay absorbed every detail silently, storing the information behind that impenetrable mask.
Then a low, guttural engine noise cut through the alleyway like thunder.
The group turned toward the street.
At the far end, parked beside a burned-out tram station, stood something no one in the Foundation had ever seen before, a vehicle that looked like it had been forged from some amalgam of machine and myth.
Mephistopheles.
Its form resembled a grotesque locomotive fused into a heavy-wheeled bus, barred windows glowing faintly from within.
Steam puffed from its funnel, and something mechanical stirred behind the side panels.
At its wheel sat a shape, unmoving, but watching."What the hell is that," Bright murmured.
Kay didn't answer.
His eyes were locked on the bus."No insignia," he muttered. "Not Syndicate. Not Wing. That's not a normal bus."
Cain stepped forward slightly, arms folded.
"It has presence," he said quietly. "Like something not meant to be touched."The air around the Mephistopheles remained still, heavy with unspoken weight.
No one stepped out yet.
The bus didn't move.
It simply sat there, engines idling, a silent titan watching from the dark.