Adrian's shock was palpable.
But to his credit, he quickly accepted the reality that James outranked them.
"Alright, people, get ready for a close-range firefight. Getting killed by a cross-dimensional monster while fixing an anomaly is not exactly how I want to go out—"
As Adrian began assigning roles, a figure approached James.
"What about me?"
More than a dozen eyes turned toward SCP-105.
The blonde girl stood at the helicopter's doorway, holding a silver pistol case.
"I don't have gear, but I can help—"
"Non-Omega-7 personnel are not allowed on this operation," James replied bluntly.
"But you're not Omega-7 either! You're a researcher! A low-level one!" Iris snapped.
Adrian rubbed his temples. "Iris, technically, James has been temporarily assigned to Omega-7."
"But you're all my friends. I can't just stand by and watch—"
"Non-Omega-7 personnel are not allowed on this operation," James repeated, firmer this time.
Ignoring Iris's furious glare, he turned to the driver.
"Operator, get this SCP back to containment ASAP. If she resists, you're authorized to shock her and bring her back unconscious."
"Fk," Beatrice muttered. "That's f***g cruel."
"She's a liability now, not an asset," James cut in. "The sooner she's off the battlefield, the better."
"Yeah, right. Sounds more like you just don't want her tagging along," Beatrice said, glancing toward the flickering mountain.
"Fell—"
James's reply was cut off by a tall man running over with a laptop in hand.
"Connected to Team Able," the agent panted, looking at Adrian. "He wants to talk to you!"
"Shit," Adrian muttered. "This just keeps getting better. It's Team Iris… oh god."
He took the computer and immediately froze.
His eyes widened, color draining from his face as if he'd just seen death itself.
James frowned and leaned over to see the screen. One glance, and his expression turned grave.
The live feed displayed the interior of the Yellowstone Mountain base.
The corridor was a nightmare of blood splatters. Ceiling lights flickered erratically. Screams and gunshots echoed off-screen.
A figure lay motionless on a lab table:
Tall. Cold. Green-skinned. Black hair. Deep crimson tattoos etched over his body. Dozens of stab wounds marked his lower torso.
Viewers in the livestream chat exploded.
"Is that hell on Earth?"
"Jesus Christ, what's going on inside Yellowstone?"
"Who's that guy on the table?!"
A gruff voice cut through the audio.
"Adrian..." came the rough rasp of Able. "Report."
Adrian fought back nausea, breathing deeply.
Three long breaths later: "Team Iris is ready to breach. All personnel accounted for—except Iris herself."
"Good," Able said. He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to shut the world out.
"I'm tired of killing people," he muttered. "You command this mission."
Adrian flinched. "Sir? Squire is next in line—"
"Squire is a soldier, like me. This situation doesn't need muscle. It needs brains. It needs you."
Able exhaled. Then fell silent. Motionless.
The camera panned to an older man with a soot-stained face and ginger-gray hair.
"You heard the order," said the agent known as Squire.
Adrian stared at James, stunned, before sighing deeply.
"Okay… where are you stuck?"
"Security Area Nine. We're holding for now, but the hallways are crawling. Casualties are piling up. Just another day in Pandora's Box, I guess."
That phrase sent chills through the viewers.
Mobile Task Force Omega-7. A specialized force formed to handle humanoid anomalies. SCP-076. SCP-105. High-risk, high-reward.
Even S.H.I.E.L.D. took notice.
"076?" Nick Fury muttered. "That's the one who went toe-to-toe with 682…"
Looking at the carnage onscreen, Fury's chest tightened.
Another elite team... decimated.
Back in the feed—
"Alright," Adrian said, spreading out a map on the hood of the vehicle.
He met James's calm, unreadable eyes.
"Thanks..."
"Security Area Nine. We go in—" Adrian paused, staring at the map with growing frustration.
Each time he blinked, the corridors twisted and changed shape.
"Shit. This map's alive or something."
"It's a CK-class reality reconstruction," James said evenly. "The site's reality field is collapsing."
Adrian's expression darkened. Agent Squire's voice echoed through the radio again.
"You should try walking down these halls yourself," Squire chuckled. "Feels like the walls are trying to eat you."
Adrian gave up on the map.
"Give me five minutes," he said into the laptop.
He stepped away from the screen and raised his hand to gather the troops.
"Team Iris! Rally up! I need options—"
Snap!
James turned to see Iris hastily packing up her camera gear.
She stuck her tongue out and flashed a photo. "Gotcha!"
James remained expressionless.
"Don't die in there, junior researcher."
—
At the base entrance.
"This is a terrible idea," Adrian muttered.
"It's the only way," James replied coolly.
Adrian inhaled sharply, restarted the engine, and gripped the wheel.
The situation was dire.
James watched the shifting mountain on-screen. "The front entrance is swarming. We can't find cover through that maze of enemies. However…"
He paused. "The reality here is unstable. Every thirty minutes, Yellowstone Mountain vanishes—replaced by a hot spring plain for thirty seconds."
He tapped a few buttons on a device.
"I ran the math. At 30 mph, a vehicle can traverse the distance and reach the parking lot just before the mountain reappears. Like threading a pendulum."
"If the pendulum was the universe," he added casually.
The agents stared, baffled.
In the livestream chat:
"This lunatic again!"
Adrian blinked at James. "You're in the wrong department, Doctor."
James didn't respond.
Adrian swore under his breath. "If this goes sideways and the universe glitches again..."
"Ten seconds," James said sharply.
Adrian braced himself.
"Seven... six... five..."
The engine roared to life at "five." The vehicle accelerated at "three."
And just like that, they rammed into solid granite—
Only for Yellowstone Mountain to vanish.
The car shot forward across a flat volcanic plain, unimpeded.
Adrian ignored everything but the road and James's voice.
"Eight... turn... six... five... four..."
The plain disappeared.
Fluorescent lights flickered above a parking garage soaked in blood.
The wall loomed ahead.
"Brake!" James yelled.
Adrian slammed the brakes. Tires screamed. The car spun sideways and smashed into a concrete wall.
Before the agents could recover—
"Enemy on the right!" James barked.
He fired three short bursts, swift and precise.
A large gray humanoid fell, riddled with bullets.
Its face was blank. Gray. Featureless. Like a smudged painting.
The gunfire triggered a chain reaction.
Da-da-da! Da-da-da!
Gunshots echoed through the parking lot.
Behind them came the wet gurgle of agony.
James turned.
An agent collapsed, twitching.
The front half of his head—from the ears forward—was simply gone.
"Oh my god, Vince!"
"F**k!"
Bang!
James raised his pistol to his temple, brow furrowed.
Everyone froze.
Then, seeing the steely calm in his eyes, they understood.
It wasn't suicide—it was clarity.
They turned their rage on the monsters instead.
Adrian gulped.
"Answer... answer!"
"This is Car Two!" a voice shouted. "Frederickson! We're okay, but the back end is stuck in the wall!"
James looked over.
The rear of a car jutted out from solid concrete, as if fused to it.
"The time interval shifted," James noted.
Adrian stiffened. He grabbed the radio.
"Car Three?"
Only silence answered.
"I see their bumper behind me!" Frederickson cried.
Adrian turned. Beatrice stood there, hands trembling, wiping blood from her face.
Two agents carried Vince's body out.
"One KIA," Adrian said. "Vince. He's dead."
He took a breath and barked orders: "Everyone, off the vehicles! Grab what you can! We're on foot now!"
He wiped his lip, despair creeping in.
Glancing sideways at James, he muttered, "We've been here one minute. Five of fifteen are dead or wounded. Even for Pandora's Box, that's bad."
James said nothing.
Silent as a grave.
He checked his carbine, slung it over his shoulder, and stepped out of the car.
He paused.
Something brushed past.
Click.
James switched on his flashlight.
And froze.
On the ground lay Vince's face.
Just… the face.
Audience chat exploded.
"Oh HELL no!"
Behind him, Adrian gagged, doing breathing exercises with clenched fists.
His hands were pale. Bloodless.
—End of Chapter—
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