"???
Does not exist?"
These two lines of text appeared on the screen—and James' eyes twitched involuntarily.
It finally made sense now. That unsettling feeling he had earlier… it had a source. A bizarre, abstract itch at the edge of his memory.
It was SCP-055.
That anomalous object's defining characteristic wasn't its appearance or origin—but the simple, terrifying fact that you couldn't remember it existed.
Even now, as the audience in the live broadcast stared at the text, an eerie silence swept through the Marvel world.
"Wait—what?"
"This anomaly makes you forget it even exists?"
"This is insane. No way this is real."
Inside the S.H.I.E.L.D. command center, the mood turned grim.
"I don't know who documented it, or how it was collected… Even its true form has been completely forgotten," Nick Fury said slowly, his one good eye locked on the screen with focused intensity.
SCP-055 had no monstrous claws or cosmic ambitions. It didn't rampage like SCP-682. It didn't break reality like SCP-2317. No—its power was subtler and far more terrifying.
It simply erased itself from memory. Quietly. Invisibly. Permanently.
And that made it more dangerous than any weapon or beast.
The fear it instilled wasn't the kind that made people scream—it was the kind that made people doubt their own minds.
How many people had already encountered SCP-055 and forgotten?
How many had died because of it?
How many systems had it breached without anyone ever noticing?
Fury whispered the term under his breath. "Antimeme…"
The word lingered ominously in his mind.
On-screen, new information suddenly updated:
[All of these conditions are periodically rediscovered by readers of this document, usually by accident, causing severe alarm. These distressing conditions last no more than a few minutes before being forgotten.]
[A large amount of scientific data about SCP-055 has been recorded, but it cannot be studied.]
[Multiple attempts have been made to destroy or relocate SCP-055 from Site 19 to Site 107, but all attempts have failed mysteriously.]
[SCP-055 may pose a severe physical threat. It may have already killed hundreds—and we have no way of knowing. Due to its extreme memetic/psychic hazard, it is classified as Keter.]
The live broadcast exploded with heated debate.
"This is why it's Keter-class. Not because of raw power, but because no one can remember how dangerous it is!"
"Wait a second—what if the door was already open, and whoever opened it forgot immediately?"
"That's the horror. Not knowing what you've forgotten."
"Hell, this is more terrifying than SCP-682!"
Back at S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury's thoughts ran deep. He replayed the word in his mind—memetic. He'd studied memetics before: anomalous information that could infect and alter cognition, much like a virus infects cells.
A meme was informational contagion. It didn't need weapons. It simply needed to be understood to cause harm.
But this?
This was the reverse.
Antimemetic.
Fury muttered, "If a meme spreads an idea, then an antimeme erases it. A concept that hides itself. A self-canceling truth."
His fingers clenched around his notepad.
He finally understood: SCP-055 wasn't just a threat—it was the perfect blind spot.
On-screen, James held a thick file in his hand, silent and still. His eyes were locked on the open containment door ahead. The silence seemed to stretch for eternity.
Then, after a long hesitation, he reached forward and calmly closed the door.
Click.
He turned away from the chamber and took out his phone.
The screen lit up.
"This is the Overseer," a woman's voice answered on the other end.
James didn't waste time. "I'd like to ask about SCP-055."
There was a brief pause.
"What number?"
"SCP Object 55. Located at Site 19," James replied.
More silence.
Then the voice replied, sounding puzzled, "I… I don't know what you're talking about. I don't believe we have a 55."
Those words made James freeze—and all of Marvel's world watching did the same.
No SCP-055?
Then what's in the chamber he just sealed?
Inside S.H.I.E.L.D., agents looked to Fury. His brow furrowed as he muttered, "Even the Overseer… has forgotten it?"
On the screen, James' fingers turned pale as they gripped the phone tighter. His expression was grim.
"I'm at Site 19," he said slowly. "The door to SCP-055's containment room was wide open when I got here."
"…Ah?" The Overseer's voice trembled with confusion. "I… don't know what that is."
James took a deep breath. "Then tell me—do you recall any containment items numbered from 2 to 100?"
"Containment items... Oh! Yes, yes. Those exist. Everything in that range is documented."
James allowed himself a small sigh of relief. "So you do remember now?"
"…No," the Overseer said after another long pause. "I mean… I don't know what it is, but I know something is there. It's something no one can remember. But it's there. It's Keter-class."
The live broadcast's audience finally exhaled collectively.
So it was true. People might forget SCP-055—but its metadata remained.
The records still existed.
But just as things seemed to settle into a strange, fragile logic…
Something shifted.
James' expression on the screen changed.
He looked confused—disoriented.
He blinked, then slowly asked:
"What is… Keter class?"
A jolt of silence hit the audience like a punch to the gut.
Even the Overseer on the other end gasped.
"Doctor… you just said you were in SCP-055's containment chamber…"
James looked down at the chamber number—clearly printed on the sealed metal door.
Recognition flickered in his eyes.
He whispered, "I… I've been affected by it too."
In S.H.I.E.L.D., a complete hush fell.
Fury stared at the screen, speechless.
Not even the sharpest minds in the Marvel Universe had a comment.
It was a moment of pure cognitive horror.
James had seen the door. Read the files. Understood the danger. And still, even he wasn't immune.
An anomaly so powerful, it didn't need to attack.
It simply… erased itself.
The nature of SCP-055 was no longer just a theoretical problem. It was a ticking time bomb, hiding in plain sight—and even the most prepared minds were vulnerable.
Nick Fury clenched his jaw. "Victor Hale… get me the Antimemetics Division. Now."
But Victor Hale, sitting beside him, hesitated. He frowned. "Sir… what division?"
Fury blinked.
"…The one that—"
His sentence trailed off.
A creeping chill ran down his spine.
What division?
There wasn't one listed.
He turned to the directory screen. Nothing. No department named Antimemetics.
It didn't exist.
Or rather…
It had existed. But they'd all forgotten.
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