I collapse forward, palms flat against the cold surface of the table, shoulders finally sagging now that the doors are sealed and the reports are signed. Julius is sitting across from me, calm as ever, a glass of something expensive untouched at his side. None of us need rest. None of us need food. And yet… exhaustion still finds a way in.
Not the physical kind.
The mental kind.
"I swear," I mutter, pressing my forehead briefly against the table, "if I see one more Hydra incident report, I'm going to start using anomalous artifacts as paperweights."
Julius lets out a quiet breath that might almost be a laugh. Almost.
We are O5. We are enhanced beyond humanity. Every single one of us has been modified—biologically, magically, anomalously—until sleep and hunger became optional concepts. And for me, it goes even further. As a Heroic Spirit, rest is a suggestion, not a requirement. I could function indefinitely.
That doesn't mean I'm not tired.
The table is covered in documents, holographic projections flickering faintly above them. Raid summaries. Casualty lists. Recovery logs. Incident after incident marked with the same cursed word.
HYDRA.
"My workload has increased almost tenfold," I continue, lifting my head just enough to glare at a report as if it personally offended me. "Ten. Times. Every time we secure one anomaly, they dig up three more. Every time we think we've cut off the head, the Red Skull slithers away again."
Julius folds his hands together, elbows resting lightly on the table. He looks immaculate, as always—black suit, white shirt, blond hair perfectly in place. No sign of strain on his face, but I know him well enough to see it in his eyes.
"They're desperate," he says calmly. "Desperate people take risks."
"I'd prefer if their risks didn't involve reality-breaking artifacts," I snap back. Then I sigh, rubbing my temples. "I don't even care what his name is anymore. Red Skull. Schmidt. Skull-face. Whatever. He's like an anomalous cockroach."
That finally earns a faint smile from Julius.
The truth is, we're all stretched thin. Hydra isn't just another hostile organization—they're systematic, ideological, and obsessed. They don't want power for stability or control. They want it to reshape the world in their image, and they're willing to throw entire cities into the fire to get there.
Which means every anomaly they touch becomes my problem.
Every corrupted artifact. Every ritual site. Every SCP-adjacent object that needs containment, classification, or outright destruction. I sign reports until my vision blurs—not because I'm physically incapable, but because the sheer volume never stops.
"I've approved more emergency mobilizations this month than I usually do in a year," I say quietly. "Half the Council is buried in wartime logistics, the other half is cleaning up Hydra's messes. And that's on top of World War Two."
Julius nods slowly. "Hydra accelerated everything. They forced our hand."
I straighten slightly, leaning back in my chair. "They're making us reactive. I don't like that."
Silence hangs between us for a moment, broken only by the soft hum of the room's containment wards. This place—secure, hidden, layered with protections—feels like the eye of a storm. Outside it, the world is burning, and anomalies are being dragged out of the shadows faster than we can catalog them.
"We're winning," Julius says eventually. "Slowly. But we are."
"I know," I reply. "Doesn't make it less annoying."
I glance at the stack of unfinished files, already knowing I'll get back to them in a few minutes. No sleep. No rest. Just another cycle of containment, control, and damage mitigation.
Immortality doesn't make the burden lighter.
It just means there's no one else to pass it to.
I straighten fully, pushing myself up from the table. "Alright," I say, exhaling once. "Let's see what disaster Hydra lined up next."
Julius stands with me.
The work never ends—but neither do we.