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Inside S.H.I.E.L.D headquarters, silence reigned as the screen flickered with data that would chill the spine of any experienced agent.
"Threat Level: Black?"
Nick Fury frowned, staring at the designation on the mission file. He'd never seen that color code used before. But next to it, a note explained everything.
> [The 'Threat Level' system estimates how catastrophic an SCP object's breach would be.]
[There are seven levels: White, Blue, Green, Yellow, Orange, Red… and Black.]
[Black means: Global destruction is likely. Potential for XK-Class End-of-the-World event. Highest containment priority. Most Black-level objects are classed as Keter.]
The room fell deathly silent.
Even the seasoned S.H.I.E.L.D operatives and hardened war veterans watching the live feed online collectively gasped.
The chat exploded.
> "Wait, GLOBAL destruction?! XK-class?!"
"That's end-of-the-world territory!"
"There's no way anyone's coming back from this… especially James. Poor guy is always in the middle of these things."
"Supreme Deity? Is this thing a god?!"
As the buzz settled, more detailed protocols began appearing on the screen.
> [Standard Containment Policy: As per Section 4.1 of the January Resolution, SCP-2845 must be jointly contained by the Foundation, the National Guard, the Department of State, Homeland Security, and the United Nations Task Force "Blue Alpha".]
> [Containment includes indefinite use of external consultants under Operational Policy 336.87b.]
[SCP-2845 data is classified Level 3 (High Security), monitored by Special Info Team 45.]
[The "CHATTERBOX" protocol is in effect to prevent misuse or weaponization by foreign powers.]
The inclusion of global agencies before any containment even began shocked the viewers. This wasn't just a Foundation issue anymore—it was a global emergency.
And then—
> [Special Containment Procedures: UNCONTAINED]
The word hit like a hammer.
Before anyone could question it, the screen shifted. An elderly man appeared—a high-ranking figure from the Foundation's Department of Tactical Theology.
"The Foundation has decided to construct Site-100 on-site to house and contain SCP-2845, once the initial containment ritual is enacted," he declared.
The entire room—both within S.H.I.E.L.D and across the livestream—exploded.
> "They're building a new site just for one SCP?!"
"Is this god-tier entity that dangerous?!"
And then, the minister laid out the protocols.
**"There will be:
1. A central chamber containing SCP-2845 and 216 sub-entities. The atmosphere must be 96.3% hydrogen, 3.25% helium, and 0.45% ammonia. Temperature -110°C. Pressure: 2.3 bar.
2. Nine concentric rings choreographed by 'Ring-AJ'.
3. Six ritual compartments aligned with key compass points, each with an engraved lead hexagram."**
The room was dumbfounded. These weren't scientific procedures—they were rituals. Magic circles. Ancient symbols.
Nick Fury narrowed his eye. "Remember... Tactical Theology runs this project."
The room nodded. It made sense. The Department of Tactical Theology didn't operate under scientific logic. They were theologians, occultists, and experts in divine containment. If they said it worked, it probably did.
And then came the strangest part yet.
"At the 60-degree ring," the minister said, "we will perform Procedure 410-Cassini."
"It involves containment experts wearing six different emotion-themed masks: Joy, Anger, Sadness, Indifference, Fear, and Foolishness. The ritual is a farcical play, ending with 'Foolish' winning a riddle contest and proclaiming himself king. This is followed by a dice game. The winner doesn't matter."
The chat nearly broke from the volume of messages.
> "What the hell? A divine containment ritual is… a comedy play?"
"You can't make this up!"
"It's like SCP and Shakespeare had a weird baby."
The minister continued, unfazed by the disbelief.
"At the 120-degree ring: Procedure 420-Perinaldo."
This one seemed more reasonable—
A live orchestral performance of Holst's OP32, complete with coordinated movements, vocal elements, and precise instruments.
> "Okay, at least this sounds normal…"
"Music therapy for gods. Got it."
Then:
"Procedure 430-Epimetheus: Gift exchange, each gift worth no more than $4.28. Followed by chanting and scattering grain around the circle."
"Procedure 440-Kassir: Tie feet with wool, drink olive oil, recite incantations while smashing stones."
The viewers were stunned into silence.
And then—
"Procedure 450-Cairo."
The words chilled the room.
"A D-Class subject is prepared. Symbols are drawn on his body using platinum-based ink. He is dressed in a blue cape, crown, and scepter. After chanting, a hand sickle is used to castrate the subject. The removed organs are placed in salt water while another chant is performed."
"Procedure 460-Omphalos: [DATA EXPUNGED]"
The room went cold. What started as bizarre now veered into horrifying. Sacrifice. Human rituals. Grotesque acts cloaked in ceremony.
> "This isn't containment—it's worship."
"I… I don't know if I can keep watching."
"That's not science. That's madness."
Even hardened S.H.I.E.L.D agents looked away.
Nick Fury, however, remained calm—expression unreadable.
To him, D-Class personnel were already on death row. Their lives were already forfeit. Using them to save billions? That wasn't a question. It was an equation.
Still, something didn't sit right.
This wasn't appeasement. This was… theater. A twisted, disturbing theater.
Fury whispered, "This isn't about science or containment. This is a show... a performance for a god."
And just then, the minister dropped the final bombshell.
"If containment fails... the Foundation will detonate a nuclear device, lock down all global Foundation sites, and initiate Protocol 2845-XK1—
'Shoot Down the Moon.'"
The world lost its mind.
> "WHAT?!"
"SHOOT THE MOON?!"
"Is that even a real option?!"
The feed cut to black for a moment, then returned.
Inside the darkened hall, James stood quietly.
Beside him, a young man in clerical garb whispered nervously, "James? Weren't you assigned to Ritual 420-Perinaldo?"
James nodded.
The man hesitated, then asked, "Is it… is it really this bad?"
James didn't hesitate.
"It's worse."
Before he could speak again, the minister approached.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You need to report to the Ethics Committee."
James nodded.
He stood, gave one last look to the trembling priest, and walked out with the minister.
A moment later, the screen lit up with a new scene—
A meeting room, sterile and suffocating. The Ethics Committee sat behind polished wood, their black suits pristine, their expressions like stone.
James entered without fear, meeting their eyes.
One by one, they turned their gaze toward him.
And then, a voice spoke—measured, sharp, inescapable.
"Good morning, Mr. James. You are here to explain the containment of SCP-2845... and justify what we are about to do."
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End of Chapter 151.
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