The sudden change stunned the entire Marvel world audience.
For a moment, silence reigned.
Then the livestream exploded into chaos:
> "WTF?! Aren't they all from the Antimemetics Division? Why are they fighting each other?!"
"SCP-3125! It must be SCP-3125!"
"Damn, he's been possessed by SCP-3125!"
"This is insane! Not only do they have to face an enemy everywhere at once, but they can't even trust their own allies…"
"This is horrifying!"
---
S.H.I.E.L.D.
The chat spiraled into panic, but Nick Fury wasn't focused on venting.
He was thinking—desperately—about how to break this deadlock.
The Antimemetics Division was hanging by a thread.
Inside and out, the situation was collapsing.
And now, only Wheeler stood against the tide.
Could one woman possibly hold the line?
---
Kamar-Taj.
The moment Dr. Kim's body twitched unnaturally, the Ancient One froze in terror.
She caught a fleeting phantom in the screen's light—an existence too mysterious, too wrong to describe.
It was devouring abstract concepts themselves, stripping away meaning, tearing reality apart.
Her lips trembled as she whispered the only words that fit:
"The Sacred Starfish. The Perfect Pentagon. The Supreme Divinity."
Her fear deepened with every breath.
---
On screen.
Site-41 was collapsing into a nightmare.
A tornado of violence shredded the building—and the minds of everyone inside.
The ceiling caved in, the pharmacy was torn into rubble, the armory buried.
As Wheeler staggered through the corridor, agents of the Antimemetics Division fell all around her.
Some huddled in corners, muttering nonsense, their minds evaporating.
Others screamed in alien tongues, their bodies twisting under memetic infection, then seized weapons to slash at allies, enemies, and finally themselves.
Their faces were warped masks of hatred, agony, and deranged joy.
SCP-3125 was consuming them from the inside.
---
The livestream audience clamped hands over their mouths, horrified.
Even the O5 Supervisors, watching through the feed, were breathing heavily.
This wasn't battle.
It was hell.
---
On screen.
Wheeler clutched a bright red anomalous ray gun, her face tight with grief.
She dodged frenzied agents, but when one lunged at her, she fired in self-defense.
The crimson beam didn't just kill—it erased.
The man's chest, lungs, and jaw were obliterated in an instant. His body fell apart in four burning pieces.
The audience gasped.
This weapon was no ordinary gun—it was anomalous, terrifyingly so.
Wheeler froze, staring at the corpse, trembling with anger.
"This is too much!" she shouted, forcing her heartbeat under control. "I can't accept this. I shouldn't accept this. This is only my first day!"
---
The audience seized on her words.
First day?
How many "first days" had already passed, erased by SCP-3125?
How many times had this cycle repeated, forgotten each time?
---
Wheeler pressed her hand to the dark reflection in the elevator panel, staring at herself.
She whispered to the glass:
> "The first thing it did was devour everything I knew about the Division.
Then it devoured everything I knew about it.
If I had a plan, it ate that too.
But I'm still me. I can rebuild the plan. It's in front of me—I just need to see it. If I were me, what would my plan have been?"
Her left wrist twitched. She scratched at it absently.
Then she pulled out a small bright orange box marked with a huge black Z.
---
The O5 Supervisors watching recoiled in horror.
One of them even shouted:
"Z-Class memory enhancement serum?!"
---
Leon Lake frowned, muttering grimly:
"Class-Z memory reinforcement… the ultimate trump card of biochemical memory defense. It permanently destroys the user's ability to forget. The result is perfect clarity—total immunity to all antimemetic effects."
He glanced at Wheeler's wrist, marked with injection scars, and sighed.
"She's already taken it…"
Even Leon was shocked.
To lose the ability to forget—forever?
It was suicide in another form.
---
The serum began working.
And Wheeler saw everything.
The elevator was no longer clean.
Extra buttons gleamed at the bottom of the panel. She had already pressed the lowest—Sublevel 30.
The walls were scarred with graffiti scratched in despair by long-forgotten agents.
Victims of antimemetic exposure… erased from memory until even their corpses became invisible.
One such body slumped in the corner, half-decayed, its existence flickering in and out like a glitch. Even flies ignored it.
The livestream audience shivered, a cold dread crawling down their spines.
Was this the daily reality of the Antimemetics Division?
To die unseen, erased by ideas themselves?
A curse called forgetfulness.
---
Then—
Bzzzzzzzzzzz…
A long, disturbing hum filled the air.
The sound swelled, endless and suffocating, as if it had always been there—just unnoticed.
Too much data.
Too many sounds.
Too much light.
Every sensation stabbed Wheeler like a thousand needles.
And still, the elevator sank deeper.
---
To Be Continued…
Extra chapter avilable in PATREON
patreon.com/Achilles_Stein
patreon.com/Achilles_Stein