When Luo Shu returned to the Guantanamo Bay Naval Base, only three days had passed since his departure.
Though the time was short, his brazen breach—leaving a massive hole in the desalination plant—had undoubtedly been discovered. By now, the facility was under heavy lockdown, swarming with armed personnel.
Of course, no number of ordinary soldiers from the New World could pose a threat to Luo Shu. Had he not despised unnecessary slaughter, a single activation of his newly acquired Defender's Might—harnessing the power of Rules—would've vaporized every soldier on the base in minutes.
What truly concerned him was The Foundation.
Three days were more than enough for news of Site-167's re-emergence to reach them. Even if the average person had no clue about the site, "The God"—locked in perpetual conflict with the anti-memetic entity "The One Who Reveals Truth"—would surely recognize it.
If "The God" learned of these events, he'd immediately pin them on Luo Shu.
But luck was on Luo Shu's side this time. Circling the desalination plant in his unobservable state, he found no trace of "The God" or his enforcers. In fact, "The God" remained oblivious.
Countless anomalous events occurred daily across the globe. Even as a Tier-6 Overseer, "The God" wasn't privy to every report—the O5 Council only escalated critical matters to The Administrator.
To the memory-reset O5, Site-167 was just another nuclear-scorched ruin. The breached concrete walls exposing its secrets? A minor hiccup. In their recollection, the site housed no vital anomalies—or if it had, they'd been obliterated in the blast.
Thus, only a temporary Foundation investigation team had been dispatched to Guantanamo.
As for "The God"? He believed he still had Luo Shu in his sights.
Or so he told himself.
At this very moment, he lingered near the rubble of a building in Albuquerque, New Mexico, awaiting excavation results. Four days in, progress crawled. A barrage of AGM-158 JASSM missiles had reduced the structure to a mountainous debris field. Digging down to the underground garage? A Herculean task—even Miami's collapse site, prioritized for rescue, saw sluggish progress.
But with "The God's" attention elsewhere, Luo Shu acted freely.
Instead of heading straight into Site-167, he led his Pickup Truck Transformer to a secluded corner for upgrades.
A Silicon-Based Intelligence Module in hand, he issued a new demand:
"Today, you're becoming a submarine."
The truck's mental gears ground to a halt. "Master, I don't... understand..."
Its inner monologue screamed: Am I supposed to master land, air, and sea now? Even idol trainees don't suffer this much!
Luo Shu waved it off. "Relax. Just boosting your waterproofing and adding a propeller."
And so, history's first IP67-rated Ford F-150 submarine was born.
The process was laughably simple. Silicon-Based Intelligence manipulated all silicon-containing materials—sealing gaps with silicone rings achieved waterproofing. The propeller? Just redirecting the rear wheels' rotation.
By the time the retrofit finished, night had fallen over Guantanamo.
The Foundation's investigators, clocking out, filed out of Site-167's subterranean levels. The base commander sidled up, curious.
"So, agents—any findings?"
Officially, the team operated under CIA cover—hence the "agent" titles. Much like Luo Shu's old FBI guise during his D-Class Containment Specialist days in Mobile Task Force Omega-9 ("Nine-Tailed Fox").
The team exchanged glances before their leader answered, "Just a decommissioned CIA outpost from the Cuban Missile Crisis era. Only outdated documents downstairs."
They omitted the bones of Site-167's staff littering the facility. Soldiers who'd witnessed the scene had their memories wiped. In the Foundation's records, the site's nuclear detonation protocol—triggered by an irreparable breach—explained the casualties.
No need to air dirty laundry.
But they overlooked one flaw:
A nuclear blast would've obliterated the infrastructure. A neutron bomb? Impossible—the first wasn't developed until June 1977, long after the October 1962 crisis.
Luo Shu smirked at their lies and descended underground with his transformed truck.
Clearly, the team's progress was sluggish. They'd only scoured Level -1, never reaching Level -2's containment zone. A blessing—had they stumbled upon the Bermuda Vortex, casualties would've escalated the incident to O5 attention.
Time was critical. Luo Shu needed to secure Levels -3 and -4's surviving anomalies before the team advanced.
Fortunately, the Anti-Memetics Division was covert. At Site-167, they'd posed as regular staff, leaving no traces of SCP-3125—its unrecordable nature meant zero documentation.
After two days sifting through mundane files, the investigators remained unaware of the true horror lurking below.
As Luo Shu ventured deeper, the stairwell to Level -3 shimmered eerily, its submerged steps hiding anomalies that had survived both SCP-3125's massacre in 1962 and decades underwater.
Whatever still functioned down there?
Nothing would go down easy.