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Monica, known only as D-77777, had survived countless brutal experints.
She hadn't been burned, lted, or had her brain sucked out like others. She was still alive when the scientists—those cold-hearted "white coats"—brought her into a new test room.
They sared so strange goo on her arms.
Everything changed in an instant.
Her mind cracked. Her body twisted. It felt like sothing had pushed her soul into a cup and drank from it like it was dying of thirst.
After that, she wasn't the sa. That "thing" inside her started using her body like a hotel room—sothing temporary. It took sothing from her, sothing deep. She couldn't na it, but she knew it was gone. In its place?
Weapons. Hatred. Firepower. War.
Her emotions—pain, frustration, and all the betrayals she'd experienced—were reshaped into sothing terrifying: a living gun.
She wasn't just carrying weapons—she had beco one.
The SCP live broadcast audience watching this in real ti was speechless. So were chilled by the horrifying description, especially the part about the soul being drunk. Others were more curious.
"Gun shape?" soone typed into chat.
"What the hell? She turned into a walking war machine?!"
"Did the Foundation create a super-soldier by mistake?"
Just then, a black off-road vehicle rolled into the scene. Its wide tires crunched debris underfoot. The steel fra glead in the broken sunlight.
It carried only one man.
And on the side of the car, clear as day, were three bold letters:
SCP.
Everyone watching held their breath. Was the Foundation finally sending soone to deal with Monica?
The car ca to a stop. The man stepped out. He was tall, dark-skinned, and muscular, with short military hair and heavy black armor. He looked like he stepped out of a movie.
But the badge on his vest said sothing shocking—"Phi-2."
Inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Natasha Romanoff frowned at the screen.
"Phi-2? Isn't that one of the task forces? Why is he alone? Negotiation?"
Nick Fury's one eye widened. "Wait... Phi-2 is the team that rebelled against the Foundation!"
The room exploded in chaos.
"WHAT?! He's a traitor?!"
"I rember now! One of the squads defected after a mission went bad!"
Everyone turned their attention to the screen as the man raised his hands in peace.
"Relax," he said with a smirk. "I just want to talk."
In response, Monica's right arm transford. Her flesh twisted and swelled, becoming a massive fusion of tal and muscle. A glowing cannon ford at her wrist, smoke hissing from the tubes on her back.
The tension was unbearable. Viewers leaned forward, waiting for her to blast him into ashes.
But she didn't shoot.
"Fine," Monica said. "I want to turn you into dust. But talk first, Combat Boots."
The man nodded, still calm. "I'm not here to bring you back. I get it. You want dead. I'd want dead too. But… do you believe in second chances?"
Monica snarled. "F* your second chances."**
He didn't flinch. "I know what you've been through. Who hurt you. Who you hurt. I read your file. If no one had given you a second chance, I know exactly where you'd be."
Monica stepped closer. Her cannon nearly touched his head. He was sweating now, the laser's glow dancing on his skin.
"You know too much about . Not good for your health, soldier boy."
Still, the man didn't back down.
"I'm alive because I picked the right side. The Foundation is losing. And I don't lose."
Then he looked her in the eyes and offered sothing wild.
"I have cars, weapons, cash, friends, information. You've been off the grid too long. You need . Don't shoot, and we can survive. Together."
Monica stared at him for a long ti.
Then the screen went black.
For three full seconds, the livestream was silent.
Then—
"WHAT?! The Foundation is LOSING?"
"Who are they even fighting?!"
"Is he trying to recruit Monica?!"
Back at S.H.I.E.L.D., Fury's mind raced.
He thought of what Jas had been told earlier by the Foundation's supervisor: The world was close to falling apart.
And now?
Maybe the infected and traitors were joining forces.
A destroyed city filled the screen. Smoke, ruins, silence.
It was Old Vegas.
Nothing was left but scorched earth and twisted wreckage.
Standing in the wreckage was Monica—now known as the Queen of Spades.
Above her floated a dark plasma ball that lted a streetlight like it was made of butter.
A black pool grew behind her, and monstrous tentacles shot out.
BOOM!
She responded with massive firepower. Cannons roared, missiles flew. But her opponent—a pale, creepy figure surrounded by sli—was almost invincible.
Missiles exploded, but 119 of them were swallowed by the sli tentacles.
Only one hit.
BOOM!!!
But the freak didn't die. He wrapped himself in black sludge and kept moving.
Monica was sweating now. She was at her limit. She couldn't run anymore. No more retreats. No more watching people die.
"This ends here," she whispered.
Then the dark spheres began floating toward her—slowly, silently erasing the world around them.
But Monica didn't dodge.
Instead, she lifted her hand toward the sky.
Everyone watching held their breath.
A strange, godly voice echoed above:
"Amazing."
A shadow blocked out the sun.
A tal fortress ca crashing through the clouds.
Its core glowed orange-white, molten tal dripping down its sides. Heat warped the air.
Monica had summoned it.
She had summoned the Fire of God.
A humming beam lit up beneath the fortress. The sound was like a heavenly bell smashing reality itself.
Then—
A blinding beam shot down from the sky!
The world turned white.
The air scread. The ground lted. The enemy was vaporized.
The sli, the mutant, the destruction—gone.
Only a charred sar was left behind.
Monica fell to her knees, exhausted. Her voice barely a whisper:
"I think I got him."
Then she collapsed.
And in that mont,
The entire Marvel Universe held its breath.
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