"Your booze, sir." Kolt's assistant walked into the main cabin where Kolt was always situated, carrying a giant keg full of white rum. Kolt's favorite. Kolt was currently partying with around 20 other people, drinking alchohol and partying hard. Kolt was carrying an entire keg with his one mechanical arm, which was nearly empty.
"HELL YEAH! DRINKS ON ME, LADS! DRINK TILL YOUR STOMACH CAN'T…"
"Sir, your booze."
With several clicks and whirs, Kolt noticed his assistant. "Wh- oh it's just you." Kolt forcibly took the keg and began chugging the entire thing. "Now scram, will ya? I'm busy." Within the room was every captain of every task force in all the Foundation within the Main Multiverse, which totaled to be roughly 70 people. The assistant shifted slightly, visibly nervous. Kolt spoke up. "Ugh. What's the bad news?" The assistant cleared his throat.
"U-universe Alpha-Ask was completely destroyed sir. All of the Foundation, besides us, are dead."
"Universe what now?"
The assistant remembered that the last time Kolt had heard/spoken about his home universe was nearly 150 years ago. His mental state was increasingly deteriorating since the death of Bright, and he could only think of "alcohol" and "destroying universes." Hundreds of years of getting wasted will do that to you. "The universe you're from, sir."
"Oh… I think I remember… uh…" Kolt struggled to remember any scrap of memory from Universe Alpha-Ask. Nothing came up. Yet he recognized that name. "Eh, it doesn't matter, scram, I don't care. I'm busy."
"Sir, that's the universe you came from. The one that we even dedicated this dimensional craft to. Our purpose was to supply resources to the SCP Foundation. How could you not forget?"
"I said SCRAM."
The assistant quickly left the room, a half empty keg of rum still in Kolt's hand. He eventually calmed down, and opened the Main Ship Interface. The year was 2159. He was the wealthiest man in the multiverse. He was the most powerful man in the multiverse. He was God. He was the Pirate God.
"Ignore that cowardly bitch Kolt, ye haven't even finished all the kegs yet!"
Kolt noticed a nearby universe, and with a single flick of his mechanical finger, sent an order to invade it. He chugged another gulp of rum while he recollected his thoughts. Alpha-Ask. Alpha-Ask. Why couldn't he remember? He probably should. Does it matter? Did he give a shit?
The order is sent, and The Ship veered into the universe without fail. Currently, The Ship is about the size of a supremely large country. The United States of America was probably smaller than The Ship. The Ship has 150 million crew members. Kolt saw as each of The Ship's residence went about their daily lives inside of a God. Entire cities, communities, and religions were spawned from within The Ship. Many universes saw The Ship as MEKHANE or some other deity. They weren't incorrect.
Of course, it wasn't the Foundation's only area of operation. Billions of port communities were set up on thousands of different areas in the multiverse. The multiverse was under control of The Foundation.
The door behind Kolt opened once again. "Sir, we just got word from Sector 783. Apparently multiple universes are cutting off all entrances and exits, to prevent them from being raided by The Ship." Kolt sighed, grumbled, and turned around. "How many have done so within the next kilounivi?"
"Almost 75% sir. The number is rising quick."
"I see. Bah, just go ahead and forcefully dig through, and uh…" Kolt got up from his chair, away from the party, and looked in a nearby window. He always wore a giant black coat with moderately sized shoulder pads. His entire right arm was mechanical, his right leg was a prosthetic, keepsakes of the primitive era when Kolt did the dirty work himself. His face looked as young as it did when he was only 20 years old. He wore a very similar suit to when he first began his life as a member of the O5 Council.
Then it hit him. He remembered now. He remembered drilling through dimensions to escape his dying world. He remembered befriending several universes and gaining allies. He also remembered committing mass genocide. He remembered building The Ship to be above and beyond. Hell, he remembered when The Ship achieved apotheosis. But above all else, he remembered why he was here. To secure, contain, and protect. He has done none of those things. He hasn't raided a universe in order to plunder its resources in decades. It's all been for the hell of it.
"Are you okay?"
Kolt stared off into "space", and contemplated. He killed quadrillions of lives for nothing. He forgot what made him apart of the Foundation. Now what was he? Was he the thing he was dedicated to contain? Was it just the booze? He sighed. And then he laughed. It didn't really matter. Must be intrusive thoughts. Nothing more alcohol can't fix.
"I understand," said Kolt. "Haha! We'll find a way to drill through this. Can't be totally indestructible. Order a Bust Command on the nearest universe immediately. Use Yellent Port's 500 Battleships if you need too. Make sure they know loud and clear that we'll find a way in, one way or another!"
"Sounds good." The crew member left the cabin.
Kolt grabbed a photograph from his coat pocket. It was a picture of Kolt and Bright before he was killed. He then turned on the Main Ship Interface, and looked at the security footage for the Body Pit. 20 seconds pass before Kolt tore up the photograph, and began to send orders to raid the nearby Earth. While The Ship began to attack that universe's Earth, he sang a sea shanty with his crew. Same ol' same ol'.
It was a perfect day to set sail.