Chapter 398 - My OC Stash #98 - Fate/Black Moon by the new (SCPFoundationXNasuverse)

-I hope we'll get some real helpful SCP's screen time for this Grail War~ Fic is a rewrite so hopefully it pops off with chapters soon

Synopsis: ???

Rated: ???

Words: 5.3K

Posted on: forums.spacebattles.com/threads/fate-black-moon-scp-foundation-nasuverse.886235/ (the new)

PS: If you're not able to copy/paste the link, you have everything in here to find it, by simply searching the author and the story title. It sucks that you can't copy links on mobile (´ー｀)

-I'll be putting the chapter ones of all the fanfics/originals mentioned, to give you guys a sample if you wan't more please do go to the website and support the author! (And maybe even convince them to start uploading chapters in here as well!)

Chapter 1

O5-8

Overseers were busy people.

Third in command of foundational operations, they were the authority within the Foundation, working side-by-side with the Ethics Committee, as the Administrator rarely intervened. Handling in overwatch of a department and day to day foundation activities, the Overseer Council was the inner circle that decided what was to happen next within the Foundation.

Every Overseer held a very special job, and dozens of not so special ones.

As an example, Thirteenth Overseers were typically responsible for the role of keeping an eye on the other Overseers- in order to guarantee that they wouldn't betray the Foundation for the sake of their own agendas. They, therefore, rarely meddled in other affairs not connected directly to the Council, such as diplomatic relations with other factions of the world.

Right now, Overseer Eight was calmly walking towards the main building of a rather small Foundation base of operations, located in a certain inconspicuous spot in the West Coast of the United States. Known as Outpost-231.

That outpost was in there, officially, to serve as a place to send reports to, to review projects and house Foundation bureaucrats who weren't supposed to stay anywhere else.

Unnoficially, it was the place he had built to stay in.

He was, at this moment, whistling a merry tune.

In his left hand, a dozen copper rings, embedded with plastic gems, shone. They didn't have any real function. Eight just found them pretty. He continued his walk down the street, now singing loudly. No one really paid attention to him, and he was very happy for that.

It would make his day easier.

He kept walking. No one paid attention on him. That was very good. He soon found himself in the building's lobby. It was a plain, clean, white one which perfectly embodied the Foundation's sense of aesthetics.

Normally, that meant "make it all white and rip off a hospital," but it actually went quite well with this specific site's architecture.

He waved to the outpost's recepcionist, Anthony. He was probably the only person who actually knew who Eight actually was. Anthony, sitting in his plain white chair, narrowed his eyes at him, clearly suspicious of his presence. Well, Eight couldn't blame him. He normally only arrived at around 12 o'clock.

Offering his hand to Anthony, he smiled widely. Anthony grit his teeth.

"Keycard." he said, clearly making an effort to stay polite.

Eight snickered and took his O5 keycard out of his pocket. Anthony stared at the card for a while, and stared at him with a very cold look. Eight knew that Anthony was holding a revolver right now. He

always kept one behind his desk.

Anthony did not like imposters one bit. He placed the card in the scanner, staring deep into his eyes while the machine did its job.

It, after a while, simply made a little "beep" and clicked. The card had been accepted. Anthony looked into his eyes, still clearly suspicious. Eight offered his hand. Anthony shook it, and gestured towards another scanner in the desk. A biometric one.

He placed his hand in the scanner, and waited.

"How is your day going, Anthony?" said Eight, while the machine did its job.

"Good." answered the doorman, dryly.

The scanner made a buzzing sound, proving that he wasn't secretly an imposter. Well, that was a relief. What if he actually was an imposter? An imposter so amazingly talented at their job that they had managed to fool themselves and the entire Foundation. What if he was one?

Nah, the scanner proved otherwise.

"You can go. Move already, sir." said Anthony, placing his gun back in the place where it was hidden- taped below his desk.

Anthony made another gesture, and Eight walked away. Well, now he could be sure he wasn't an imposter.

After a while, he found himself in the elevator. He shrugged, and looked around. There wasn't anyone around. Eight pressed a button, and closed his eyes as the lift went up. A song begun to play. Eight opened his eyes and stared at the roof of the elevator.

"Eh, Stayin' Alive. Seriously?" the Overseer said to no one in particular.

He shook his head. He should really ask someone to change the song. It was annoying to listen to these three hobos singing, drunk on cheap helium, about staying alive. Hell, most people had no problems staying alive, it wasn't really that hard. The problem was to what depths you would sink in order to actually stay alive.

Not really people, yeah. There were a lot who couldn't. But a starving man could eat the flesh of others, and a thirsty man could drink blood.

Who knew?

The elevator stopped moving. With a hiss, the door opened. Floor 3.

Walking out of the small metallic container, O5-8 looked around for any wandering researchers. None. There wasn't anyone in here at this hour. Every researcher was working in their own, unimportant tasks. Security was watching over these tasks.

Eight walked towards his office, a smile in his face,

Floor 3 was somewhat unimportant. That was why he had chosen it.

No one really bothered watching over this floor, as there wasn't anything of interest in it. It was a mundane storage. A warehouse, of sorts. Pens, pencils, paper, forms and stamps, printers, laptops and notebooks. Things like that.

Stuff that you needed to watch over, yes.

There were a few guards in here, but not as much as the anomalies had. Protecting horrifying artifacts of untold power was more important to watch over a stockpile of mundane shit. Most of these guards knew that they shouldn't mess with Eight.

Obviously, they didn't know that he was an Overseer. They just thought he was important, but not that much.

One of these guards, as O5-8 passed through him, looked into his eyes. He knew that his office was in this floor, and didn't really care. It made sense, after all. Some big guy would hide his office in the place everyone thought was unimportant. Genius.

"Hi there, doc." said the guard, waving at him.

Eight waved back.

A few minutes later, the Overseer was already in his office, preparing a little cup of tea for himself. He was a busy man, but he didn't have a whole pile of reports and proposals to read. Just a few ones. With a quiet sip of his pink tea, Eight put himself to work. This was a good day.

He would just delegate all of these to the rest of the site staff. But he would, just to be sure, skim through the higher-priority ones.

A small outbreak of 610 in Russia. Where did it happen?

Near the city of... Angarsk. The plague was still stuck in Russia. The original was always stuck in that little bubble around the river Angara, unless some flesh-cult assholes decided to spread it. An MTF had... requested permission to deal with the outbreak.

There was, in the city, a booming Broken God cult. They could manuver them to destroy the outbreak with almost no danger to the Masquerade, if they could trick the cogs into attacking them.

Yes, it would probably work.

Eight signed the proposal and placed it in the "approved" pile.

What else? A renegade magus, seemingly unnafiliated to any faction, had been brought into Foundation custody. He had tried to invade a site to search for... information on a project. Specifically, one of Eight's own blackboxed Overseer projects. He apparently wanted to use it to kill... oh, Aoko Aozaki.

Eight laughed. He had not seen such a ridiculous target for an assassin before.

Apparently, some little Association aristocrat had been flipped off by her, and paid the man to go get something to kill her. The man, then happened to stumble upon one of his own Overseer projects, that was being researched at that specific site

Nevermind. The guys currently keeping him in a cell were asking for permission to use... "enhanced interrogation methods."

The hell? He wasn't the Ethics Committee. They should go ask that to them. They would probably deny it, but Overseers weren't responsible for that. Eight stared for a while at the proposal, and blinked, suddenly understanding the reason why he had asked. He smirked.

"Oh. That was why. They probably knew that. Trying to torture someone behind their backs, eh?" muttered him. He didn't like this.

He picked up a stamp and smashed it in the proposal.

"Denied." said O5-8. Served him right.

Signing his name on the proposal, he wrote two small notes in it. First, to send whoever had proposed torture to a therapist as soon as possible. Second, to amnesticize the little thief so he wouldn't remember a goddmaned

He would try to strengthen the site's security, anyway. Had the guy managed to break through the defenses? Uh... yes. Found a breach on the site's Bounded Fields, an area where, by some magical coincidence, two of them happened to cancel each other. It was hard sometimes. He could delegate this to someone else, but he felt better knowing what was happening around the world.

Specifically, what was happening to his own projects.

Now... the last proposal. Then he could go nap a bit in his comfy chair. He picked up the first page. He blinked.

"...What?" said him, as he skimmed through the standardized pages.

The Holy Grail War? Starting this year?

Damn, he had completely forgotten about that. It wasn't one of his projects. but it was a Level-4 one, connected to the whole damn council.

The damn war was just too much trouble. He always said it was a risky gamble, too dangerous... they should just shut the whole damn thing down and be done with it. That thing was a ridiculous idea from the start, but the council apparently had a reason to keep it going.

Some sort of reason, and Eight had no idea what it was.

What use did they even have for the wish? Large-scale reality alterations were always a bad idea. But there was a reason. Eight knew it. The way that the others spoke about it, the way the projects about it where made. There was a reason.

And Eight was the only one who didn't know that in the entire Council.

So. The Holy Grail War. The last one had been a disaster.

Who the hell thought using a product from The Factory as a summon catalyst was a good idea? The Servant even f.u.c.k.i.n.g tried to make a new Factory, a "more efficient, flawless, perfectly automated masterpiece of engineering" in his own words.

Eight shuddered at the thought of such a thing. Increasing the Factory's efficiency, getting rid of its disasters, and making it entirely automated? Their weaknesses were just that- their workers. The Factory needed workers.

The Foundation had managed to destroy more then one Factory assembly line by simply depriving them of workers. They were a machine of hunger. When they had no one to devour, they couldn't do anything, and were left weakened.

At least the Einzbern got their teeth kicked in, in the end. Their Grail stolen under their nose, any hope of reconquering the Third Magic gone. That was always a plus, on his book. Had anyone summoned the Servants yet?

Eight remembered. He remembered that lifeless husk of man, the man with the ridiculously long name full of German bullshit. The old man Acht. He remembered him staring at the Foundation soldiers after the new Factory had burned.

He would try again this time. He wouldn't summon a servant himself, probably. He would send one of his dolls to do the dirty work for him, the coward.

The Grail wasn't online yet, but people were always impatient.

Eight had to make a decision. The Foundation would probably send a candidate themselves. They had stacked the deck in their favor in every way imaginable for 60 whole damn years. But he didn't understand. Eight didn't know why.

It didn't make any sense.

Why was the rest of the Council trying to keep the War going? He didn't understand. There was a f.u.c.k.i.n.g omnipotent wish involved. Why was that happening? And why didn't they tell him the reason? Why was a f.u.c.k.i.n.g Overseer kept in the dark.

They weren't supposed to be kept in the dark. They was supposed the be the guys who knew everything.

The f.u.c.k.i.n.g Overseer Council. You can't oversee if you don't even know what is even happening.

Eight needed to know. He had delayed this for far too long. He had, somehow, forgotten about this goddamned genie-machine, hidden right below his nose. He picked up the phone. He was certain they had some decent artifacts to use as catalysts. He was having some fun, if everything else failed. It wasn't as this Grail War would kill him, after all.

The Foundation would host a Grail War, yes. A Grail War was composed of Servants fighting each other. Typically seven. Saber, Archer, Lancer, Rider, Caster, Assassin and Berserker.

But no one said it had to be like that. The two Edelfelt sisters, last war, had cheated. Pulled two little servants with their little Sorcery Trait and double Crest. If two little snooty magi could cheat, why couldn't he, an Overseer, not cheat a bit himself?

He would find out the truth in this.

"You've been hidden for a long time, Grail. I'll find out what's behind this." muttered O5-8, throwing the report back into the pile.

Whistling a rather creepy tune, Overseer Eight picked up his phone. He didn't need a lot to get in this war. A catalyst, a few troopers... it wouldn't be hard. He could play a bit with the ritual, even if he wasn't magus himself. After all, the Foundation had a whole damn division for that.

Time to make some calls.