Speech -250

Gathered on a flat plane not far from the jungle that bordered Wakanda, it was a most shocking sight. If anyone saw it, they would surely do a double take, completely unable to believe what they saw.

A massive number of people stood in neat rows, flanked on three sides by a fleet of advanced-looking aircraft that wouldn't look out of place in a sci-fi movie.

That, however, wasn't want would make people stare in disbelief, not that the fact that each and every person standing there was dressed in a suit just like the kind Ironman used, only the color and design were different.

 Tony Stark had made headlines across the world by donning such a suit and becoming the world's newest superhero, and becoming a peace keeping force just due to the overwhelming level of technology and power in his suit.

So to see this mighty force of people standing here, all with suits like that, this army would make anyone quake in their boots if they witnessed it.

All of them was facing in the same direction, facing a small stage on which stood a single person.

Ghost, the right hand of O5-1, the legendary French Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte, stood there dressed in a royal outfit made of the finest Vibranium threads and decorated with gold and silver.

Behind him stood some of the true elites of the Foundation, MTF-tau-5, also known as Samsara, immortal cyborgs ready and able to carry out any orders given to them.

Napoleon stood there, watching the one hundred thousand men and women under his command, all given a Foundation serious combat suit no less powerful than a tactical nuclear bomb.

This was without a doubt the most powerful fighting force in the entire world, and for now they were under his control, he couldn't help but feel excitement as he looked out at them, his heart hammering away in his chest.

Since Alexander rescued him from that accursed island, he has only been leading small forces or conducting missions on his own.

Sure, he had been granted powers that would have made him a god in his day, but he had truly missed the feeling of being a true general.

He sucked in a deep breath. "Everyone, I am proud, proud to be here and proud of all of you." He said, and his voice was cast all around, making everyone able to easily hear him.

Napoleon paused for a moment, surveying the massive army standing before him. The weight of history settled on his shoulders as the gravity of the moment took hold. Here he was, once a man of flesh and bone, a leader of men in an era long gone, now standing as something more, something reborn—a living legend, brought back to life by the Foundation.

The thrill of command was intoxicating. These were not ordinary soldiers, not the conscripts he once led across Europe. No, these men and women were the finest the world had ever seen, each outfitted with cutting-edge combat suits that rivaled anything Tony Stark could produce. They were Foundation operatives, sworn to protect humanity from the unknown, but today, their mission was far more direct.

Napoleon raised his hand, and the army of advanced soldiers stood at perfect attention. "Each and every one of you should be proud as well, you have earned that right, with blood, with sweat, and with tears!"

Napoleon let the weight of his words settle over the army before him. He could see the disciplined resolve in their faces, the cold professionalism that defined the Foundation's elite. There was no room for hesitation here—these soldiers were trained to deal with things far worse than a mere war.

They had stared into the face of the unknown, and they had prevailed. Today, however, was not about containing anomalies or protecting humanity from the shadows. Today was about taking action, and action required more than just caution; it required conviction.

He would never have questioned their conviction when it came to fighting the unknown, but today wasn't that; today was war, and that was ugly; that was darkness in different ways than fighting inhuman monsters.

"Today," Napoleon continued, his voice resonating with purpose, "we face not monsters, not horrors from beyond reality, but an enemy of flesh and blood. But do not let that fool you. Wakanda is not a primitive nation, and it is not without its own formidable power."

He paused, letting that sink in. The soldiers before him were all aware of the mission's gravity. Wakanda was the world's most advanced and secretive nation, and they had kept themselves hidden from global powers for a reason. They weren't just fighting for themselves—they were fighting to protect a resource the Foundation coveted.

"They will not expect us," he said, his voice turning cold. "They believe their isolation and advanced technology make them untouchable. Today, we prove them wrong. Today, we take what we need."

"I know that you didn't sign up to wage war, but to protect humanity, and I will tell you right now, that it is what you will be doing here, you will be fighting to protect humanity, that… that has never changed, and it will never change!" He shouted loudly, his voice filled with his own conviction.

"Wakanda, they might look like a peaceful nation, but they are a threat to humanity, to the Foundation, and to its mission!" He continued.

Napoleon's words struck hard and deep, reverberating across the ranks of soldiers. His voice was laced with certainty and a fervor that resonated with the ethos of the Foundation—the unyielding mission to protect humanity from threats unseen and often misunderstood. Wakanda, in Napoleon's eyes, was no different than the anomalies the Foundation had contained for years.

"They may cloak themselves in peace and prosperity," he went on, "but their refusal to share their resources, their refusal to acknowledge the threats we face, makes them dangerous. They hide themselves away, their entire nation a perfect hiding place for dangerous SCP objects!"

Napoleon's words hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and dark with the implications of what was to come. His soldiers, the elite of the Foundation, stood unmoving, absorbing every word. Wakanda, a nation revered for its technological advancements and its isolationist policies, was now painted as a threat, not just to the Foundation but to the very fabric of humanity's safety.

"They think themselves invincible behind their borders," Napoleon continued, his voice icy. "But the truth is that it just puts them in danger, when we the Foundation can't act in there, we can't protect them, and we can't protect the rest of the world."

The soldiers were silent, but Napoleon could feel their readiness. The promise of battle surged through the air like a current. They had fought nightmares and horrors beyond comprehension. Now they would face a nation, a people of flesh and blood, but no less dangerous.

"We do this not because we want to, we do this because we must. We can't allow this place to remain as it is, and the people would never allow their kingdom to be changed by us. We are cold, not cruel, and it isn't out of cruelty that we do this."

"Even now," he continued. "There might be dangerous SCP objects running around uncontrolled in there; in fact, the entire nation might already be dead; this is the risks and dangers of being outside of the Foundation's reach; we can't allow that for the good of humanity!"

Napoleon's voice carried over the vast assembly of soldiers, each one standing resolute, their conviction mirroring his own. The Foundation had long been the silent guardian, ensuring the world's survival from forces too terrifying for most to comprehend. Wakanda, in his eyes, was no different than an anomaly—a powerful, unchecked force that could one day jeopardize humanity if left to its own devices.

"They think their vibranium makes them untouchable," Napoleon pressed on, his voice a cold command. "But vibranium is a tool, a resource that should serve humanity, not be hoarded by a hidden kingdom."

His eyes scanned the soldiers again, all of them standing in perfect formation, waiting for his command. The weight of what they were about to do was not lost on him. This wasn't just an invasion; it was an assertion of control, a statement that the Foundation alone could decide what was best for the survival of the world. Wakanda's secrets—its resources—could no longer remain hidden from the organization tasked with safeguarding humanity.

"We do this because we are the only ones who can," Napoleon continued, his tone shifting to one of grim resolve. "And we will do what must be done, not for personal glory, not for conquest, but for the future of mankind. Wakanda's refusal to acknowledge the global threats puts us all at risk, and we cannot allow that any longer."

Behind him, the MTF-tau-5—Samsara—stood like silent sentinels, a testament to the extremes the Foundation would go to in order to protect humanity. Immortal warriors, more machine than man, programmed to execute their missions with absolute precision. They were the embodiment of the Foundation's resolve, an unwavering force that could not be stopped.

Napoleon took a deep breath and gave a final look to his army. "For humanity. For the Foundation. For the future."

With a single, decisive motion, he raised his hand. The soldiers moved into action with practiced efficiency, boarding the advanced aircraft that would take them to the borders of Wakanda. The mission was clear. The objective, undeniable.