"Wrong!"
Nick Fury's voice cut through the silence like a blade.
His single eye narrowed. A terrible realization was forming.
"If SCP-3125 has fully manifested in reality…" he muttered under his breath, "…then how the hell are we still alive?"
An MK-Class End-of-the-World scenario. That was what it ant.
Complete cognitive collapse. Total erasure of human self-awareness.
No survival. No mory. No reboot.
The very concept of life as we know it would vanish.
Nick stared at the screen, waiting for answers.
Inside the broadcast feed, Second Supervisor voiced the sa concern:
"If SCP-3125 has invaded physical reality, all fallback protocols beco aningless. Even SCP-2000 won't work!"
At the ntion of SCP-2000, everyone's thoughts snapped to attention.
The ultimate failsafe—the world's last hope.
A machine designed to reboot humanity from scratch in the event of total extinction.
But if reality itself was overwritten?
There would be nothing to reboot.
SCP-3125 had to be neutralized. Permanently.
Instead of giving an imdiate answer, Jas—calm and cold as ever—extended the tiline on the screen.
Another year appeared: 2017.
Second frowned. "What happened this year?"
Jas looked him in the eye—no, through him, as if seeing straight into the horrors he couldn't yet comprehend.
"Living hell," Jas said quietly.
"What?"
"The world beca a living hell," he repeated, enunciating each word.
"SCP-3125 infected everything. Cities beca fleshy labyrinths. Buildings transford into walls of at. There were oceans of rot. Creatures made of teeth and fingernails. And people—humans—turned into vessels of thought-based contagion."
Every word hit like a hamr.
Viewers watching the live feed began to turn pale.
So couldn't take it.
Several audience mbers vomited.
The chat exploded.
> "What the HELL?!"
> "Was this real? Was this ACTUALLY what happened?!"
> "Why didn't anyone rember?!"
> "How did we recover from sothing like THAT?!"
The entire Marvel audience was in shock.
But it wasn't just them.
Even the four Supervisors were stunned.
Second was about to argue—until he rembered one crucial fact:
SCP-3125 wasn't like anything else.
It wasn't a virus.
It wasn't a monster.
It was a tic predator—an idea that devoured other ideas. A conceptual apex predator.
How do you fight sothing like that?
Especially with no Antitics Division left?
One of the supervisors, Ten, finally asked the obvious:
"And then what happened?"
Jas paused, then delivered a na like a thunderclap.
"Adam Wheeler."
There was a pause.
Everyone recognized the na.
"Maria Wheeler's husband?"
Ten leaned forward. "You an... he got involved?"
"He recovered from SCP-3125's influence," Jas explained. "And began searching for Hughes."
Second stared in disbelief. "He found Site-41?"
Jas nodded slowly.
But then Yi, who had been quiet this whole ti, asked the question that froze the room:
"Where is Dr. Wheeler?"
The room fell silent.
Right.
If Site-41 was obliterated, if the Antitics Division had been erased...
What happened to her?
Jas hesitated.
Then he reached into a drawer and pulled out a videotape.
But this ti, he didn't imdiately insert it.
"This footage is... corrupted," he warned. "I can't guarantee it's free from tic contamination."
Shi flinched. "You an—"
Jas nodded. "This is from 2017. The height of the Living Hell era."
The audience in the Marvel world went quiet.
They all rembered Jas's descriptions—flesh buildings, maggot oceans, conceptual extinction.
And now… they were about to see it.
Jas inserted the tape.
The screen buzzed with static and distorted noise. The image flickered like an old horror film—barely comprehensible.
Finally, the picture cleared.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
A man staggered down a dark corridor.
The cara panned closer.
It was Adam Wheeler.
Middle-aged. Disoriented. Bleeding.
His back slumped against the wall, his hand clenched in agony.
He scread as he looked down—
Two fingers were missing.
"DAMN IT!" he roared, clutching the mangled stump.
The screams echoed in a building that did not reply.
No one answered.
And no one ca.
In Marvel's world, watchers covered their mouths.
In S.H.I.E.L.D., agents exchanged horrified glances.
Nick Fury paled.
But the horror was just beginning.
Adam pushed himself up. His shirt was tattered, his body filthy and gray with ash.
He wiped sweat—or maybe tears—from his eyes.
And then—
Sothing dropped from his tear duct.
Splat.
A writhing black slug landed on the floor.
The audience scread. Newest update provided by Novᴇl_Fire(.)net
> "WHAT THE HELL?!"
> "Is he still human?!"
> "There are creatures inside him?!"
But Adam barely reacted.
He looked at the slug as if he were just wiping away a tear.
That was what scared Nick Fury the most.
Not the slug.
But the casualness.
This was normal now.
This was the world's new reality.
And no one rembered.
Adam trudged onward.
He reached a room—W16—and paused as a phone began to ring.
He stepped inside the decrepit office.
It was dusty, cold, and dimly lit. Papers everywhere.
The phone rang again.
He picked it up.
"Hello?"
The voice that answered was synthesized, female.
"Mr. Wheeler?"
Adam hesitated. "Yes. Who is this?"
"You've been unwell. I'll explain later. Right now… there's a woman in Room W16. She's dying."
His eyes widened.
Could it be...?
"I'm not a doctor," he replied weakly.
"We know. But you're the only one who can help her."
"Why ?"
There was silence.
Then the voice finally said:
"Because there's no one else left."
Adam didn't ask again.
He stepped into the hallway.
He found the room.
He stepped inside.
It was a classroom—rows of desks, ssy supplies, faded posters on the walls.
But no woman.
He turned—
And froze.
On the blackboard was a chalk drawing.
Hyper-realistic. A woman's face.
Glasses. Hair framing her cheeks. Eyes brimming with thought.
But the drawing was alive.
It flickered.
It redrew itself, five to ten tis per second, adjusting constantly.
And the color?
Bright blue glasses.
In the Marvel world, the entire audience gasped.
"That's her!"
"That's MARIA WHEELER!"
> "How is she... drawn on a blackboard?!"
> "What is this?! What the hell happened?!"
> "How can a person beco a concept?!"
Back at S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury was paralyzed.
He stared at the screen, trembling.
He had considered every possibility—
But not this.
Not this.
Dr. Wheeler didn't die.
She had been transford.
Encoded as a tic construct, etched into the walls of reality itself.
And Adam… was the last person who rembered her.
The last witness to a world erased.
---
TO BE CONTINUED…
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