He stood tall and confident, with strikingly handso features. He looked to be around twenty-five or twenty-six years old. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that his eyebrows glead like stars and his skin was as flawless as jade.
Yet, despite his almost ethereal appearance, he was currently clad in a plain orange jumpsuit, indistinguishable from the dozens of others around him wearing the sa outfit. At first glance, one might mistake this gathering for an employee rally organized by a delivery company. But the grim silence and vacant expressions of those present told another story.
Unlike Jas, whose eyes remained sharp and resolute, the rest of the crowd looked utterly dazed—detached, lost in so internal fog. Their unfocused gazes were fixed blankly on the screen in front of them, which played the sa video in an endless loop. A voice echoed in the background, repeating the sa chilling words over and over again:
"We control. We contain. We protect."
The cara panned slightly, capturing the eerie uniformity of this crowd. Sowhere across the multiverse, extraordinary beings observed the scene through a live stream, their discussions lighting up the chat box of a group simply labeled:
[Extraordinary Chat Group]
[Tony Stark]: Damn. Is this... brainwashing?
[Steve Rogers]: Supposedly they're protecting humans from anomalies. I honestly thought the SCP Foundation was sothing similar to S.H.I.E.L.D., but now...?
[Loki]: For the ignorant masses who understand little and care even less, brainwashing is often the most efficient tool. Still, I must say—this thod? It's rather primitive.
[Wang]: As the old saying from the Dragon Kingdom goes: The people may follow principles, but they cannot be made to understand them.
While the group debated the ethics of the situation, a man in a white lab coat entered the scene. His deanor was calm and detached, and he was flanked by several heavily ard agents in high-tech tactical gear. Their weapons weren't just for show—they were ready to kill.
The man ignored the murmurs of the room and approached the podium, eyes scanning the crowd as if looking through them.
He finally spoke, his voice devoid of emotion.
"This is a world of anomalies," he began. "Anomalies are entities, objects, or phenona that defy the natural laws we understand. They may take the form of a never-ending corridor, an ancient chanical god, or even a human who can reshape reality with a re thought."
The viewers from the Marvel Universe collectively tensed. Those words alone made their scalps crawl.
Was he serious?
Could such things truly exist?
Initially, many had dismissed the SCP Foundation as just another shady organization dabbling in the supernatural. But now, with these ominous descriptions, doubts began to grow.
[Dr. Strange]: Wait, did he say reshape reality?
[Carol Danvers]: Sounds like sothing out of Wanda's playbook.
[Bruce Banner]: If they're real, these "anomalies" might be even more dangerous than we thought.
Still, due to the visibly crude brainwashing attempts earlier, most remained skeptical. The idea that such incredible dangers were being contained by an organization with such primitive thods seed... contradictory.
Back in the video feed, the man in the white coat narrowed his eyes behind his thick glasses. His cold gaze swept across the orange-clad crowd.
"As D-Class personnel, you have two priorities: first, obey all orders. Second, ensure your own survival. Always rember your identity. D stands for Dispensable. You are expendable."
A stunned silence fell.
"Your daily routine will involve experints. You are the guinea pigs here. Obey every instruction. Refuse, and you'll be returned to death row—or worse."
The chat room exploded with reactions.
[Thor]: Wait... death row?
[Natasha Romanoff]: So they're all convicts? Disposable test subjects?
[Peter Parker]: That's... horrifying.
The audience finally understood. These people in orange jumpsuits weren't delivery workers. They were criminals—many of them condemned to death. The Foundation wasn't hiding that fact either.
Even those who had been shouting about "human rights" earlier fell silent.
After all, death row inmates weren't often granted rights—especially not in a world plagued by supernatural horrors.
Naturally, all eyes turned back to Jas.
The revelation of his orange uniform and calm deanor led many to one conclusion:
He must have committed an unforgivable cri.
A cri so vile that death wasn't even punishnt enough.
Future Technology Building – Marvel Universe
Inside a high-tech lab, Spider-Man dangled upside down from the ceiling, his mask rolled halfway up his face. He scratched his head, turning to Jas, who stood calmly by a console.
"So," Peter asked, "you were on death row in your previous life? What'd you do?"
Jas gave him a sidelong glance and replied coolly, "Keep watching. You'll find out."
Back in the video, the white coat's voice rged with the droning background of the SCP Foundation's indoctrination broadcast. At that mont, sothing shifted. The convicts, previously dazed and distant, began to change.
Their vacant stares morphed into sothing else—zeal. Determination. Fanaticism.
They had been successfully brainwashed.
The chat room watchers shivered. Even Loki looked disturbed.
[Wanda Maximoff]: That… that didn't look like hypnosis. It was sothing deeper.
[Stephen Strange]: Possibly mnemonic manipulation. Layered with psychological triggers. This isn't just low-level brainwashing. It's dangerous and effective.
But while others fell into obedience, Jas remained unchanged.
His expression was still calm. Rational. Detached.
Several viewers noticed this.
He wasn't like the rest.
And perhaps, that's what made him dangerous.
Just as the D-class personnel were being escorted out, the white coat suddenly called out:
"D-14134, stay. You have a mission."
The cara panned back to Jas.
His badge, prominently displayed on his chest, read:
D-14134
Jas paused for a mont, then turned around. Ard guards approached, leading him back to the man in the white coat.
"You are assigned to clean up the secretions of SCP-173," the man said.
The live chat erupted into laughter.
[Deadpool]: Pfft—cleaning? That's the dangerous task? I thought we were getting horror. This is janitorial work!
[Rocket Raccoon]: Yo, I clean up after Groot all the ti. Where's my paycheck?
[Tony Stark]: What even are these secretions? Is this SCP just an overgrown snail?
[Quill]: Maybe it's just alien poop.
Despite the sarcasm, the Ancient One at Kamar-Taj didn't laugh.
She rembered the earlier warnings from the multiverse system.
This mission... It wasn't going to be as simple as cleaning up so mysterious goo.
The scene shifted again.
A docunt file slowly faded into view, accompanied by a robotic female voice reading the text.
SCP Foundation Secure File
[Project Na]: The Statue
[Item Number]: SCP-173
[Object Class]: Euclid
Special Containnt Procedures:
SCP-173 is to be kept in a locked containnt chamber at all tis.
When personnel enter SCP-173's chamber, a minimum of three individuals is required.
At least two personnel must maintain direct eye contact with SCP-173 at all tis.
The door must be securely relocked upon exiting the chamber.
The chat room fell silent.
Every viewer, superhuman or not, could sense the danger between the lines. The docunt continued, listing details about the entity.
SCP-173 was a humanoid statue made of concrete and rebar, sared with traces of Krylon brand spray paint. Despite its immobile appearance, it moved instantaneously when not observed. The entity's thod of attack was simple and deadly—it would snap the neck of its victim.
It only moved when no one was watching.
No one dared blink.
Suddenly, those jokes from earlier didn't seem so funny anymore.
The screen displayed footage from a surveillance cara. Jas was led to the containnt chamber by two ard guards. The room was dimly lit, sterile, and filled with an oppressive silence.
SCP-173 stood in the middle of the chamber. It looked like a child's sculpture project—vaguely humanoid, crudely painted, with two bulging eyes fixed in a grotesque stare.
Jas was handed a bucket and mop.
"You have five minutes," the guard said. "Keep your eyes on it. We'll be behind the window."
The door closed with a tallic hiss.
Jas turned to face the statue, his eyes narrowing.
It didn't move.
Yet the tension in the air was suffocating.
The live viewers gripped their seats.
One blink.
That was all it would take.
One mont of distraction.
And death would co.
Jas took a cautious step forward. He kept his eyes locked onto SCP-173. His movents were deliberate and controlled. He dipped the mop into the bucket, knelt near the base of the statue, and began cleaning.
SCP-173 didn't move.
But the lights flickered.
Sowhere, a viewer gasped.
Jas didn't flinch.
Not even once.
The live chat was stunned.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Just cold, chanical efficiency.
[Stephen Strange]: Who is this man?
[Nick Fury]: Soone we need to keep an eye on.
___________________________________
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