He stood tall and confident, with strikingly handsome features. He looked to be around twenty-five or twenty-six years old. It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that his eyebrows gleamed 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 same 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 James, whose eyes remained sharp and resolute, the rest of the crowd looked utterly dazed—detached, lost in some internal fog. Their unfocused gazes were fixed blankly on the screen in front of them, which played the same video in an endless loop. A voice echoed in the background, repeating the same chilling words over and over again:
"We control. We contain. We protect."
The camera panned slightly, capturing the eerie uniformity of this crowd. Somewhere 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 something 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 method? 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 demeanor was calm and detached, and he was flanked by several heavily armed 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 phenomena that defy the natural laws we understand. They may take the form of a never-ending corridor, an ancient mechanical god, or even a human who can reshape reality with a mere 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 something 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 methods seemed... 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 remember your identity. D stands for Dispensable. You are expendable."
A stunned silence fell.
"Your daily routine will involve experiments. 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 James.
The revelation of his orange uniform and calm demeanor led many to one conclusion:
He must have committed an unforgivable crime.
A crime so vile that death wasn't even punishment 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 James, who stood calmly by a console.
"So," Peter asked, "you were on death row in your previous life? What'd you do?"
James gave him a sidelong glance and replied coolly, "Keep watching. You'll find out."
Back in the video, the white coat's voice merged with the droning background of the SCP Foundation's indoctrination broadcast. At that moment, something shifted. The convicts, previously dazed and distant, began to change.
Their vacant stares morphed into something 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 something 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, James 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 camera panned back to James.
His badge, prominently displayed on his chest, read:
D-14134
James paused for a moment, then turned around. Armed 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 time. 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 remembered the earlier warnings from the multiverse system.
This mission... It wasn't going to be as simple as cleaning up some mysterious goo.
The scene shifted again.
A document file slowly faded into view, accompanied by a robotic female voice reading the text.
SCP Foundation Secure File
[Project Name]: The Statue
[Item Number]: SCP-173
[Object Class]: Euclid
Special Containment Procedures:
SCP-173 is to be kept in a locked containment chamber at all times.
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 times.
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 document continued, listing details about the entity.
SCP-173 was a humanoid statue made of concrete and rebar, smeared with traces of Krylon brand spray paint. Despite its immobile appearance, it moved instantaneously when not observed. The entity's method 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 camera. James was led to the containment chamber by two armed 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.
James 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 metallic hiss.
James 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 moment of distraction.
And death would come.
James took a cautious step forward. He kept his eyes locked onto SCP-173. His movements 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.
Somewhere, a viewer gasped.
James didn't flinch.
Not even once.
The live chat was stunned.
No fear.
No hesitation.
Just cold, mechanical efficiency.
[Stephen Strange]: Who is this man?
[Nick Fury]: Someone we need to keep an eye on.
___________________________________
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