Just three files?
The audience watching the Marvel universe's live broadcast couldn't hide their disappointment. After such a thrilling introduction to the antimemetic horrors of SCP-055, they had been hoping for a deeper dive. But only three documents appeared?
Worse still, one of them was SCP-055, which they had already seen.
But then—someone made a sharp observation.
"Wait... there are three?"
That meant SCP-055 wasn't the only entity connected to antimemetic phenomena. Suddenly, the audience buzzed with speculation.
"If James only found three files… could it mean the others were erased?"
"Were his memories tampered with? Or is this all that remains?"
Everyone's attention focused back on the screen, anticipation building. What secrets were buried in James' lost memories?
The scene shifted.
A stern-looking woman stood beside James. Her sharp features were carved from ice, and her voice matched the chill.
"The O5 Council has approved your request. You are hereby granted temporary operational authority over Mobile Task Force Eta-10—See No Evil."
As her words ended, a prompt materialized on the screen:
[Mobile Task Force Eta-10: "See No Evil"]
Task Force Mission: Eta-10 specializes in the investigation, acquisition, and initial containment of objects or entities that display visual cognitohazards, visual memetic agents, or any phenomenon requiring indirect observation to ensure safety.
The Marvel audience blinked in surprise.
Then chaos.
"Wait, what?! He's being given control of a full task force?"
"That's insane! When did the Foundation ever hand out power this easily?"
"The O5s must know something big is coming… or they're using James as bait!"
"This guy's pulling off the craziest campaign we've ever seen!"
Inside S.H.I.E.L.D., agents murmured among themselves. But it was Natasha Romanoff who raised a crucial point.
Her voice was calm, but her words were piercing.
"Hold on… if there's a task force that handles memes, shouldn't there be one for antimemes?"
Nick Fury's brows furrowed. The question caught him off guard—but it made too much sense.
He turned back to the screen, watching the Overseer. Her demeanor remained unchanged—aloof, precise.
But now, Fury was uneasy.
The Foundation had just given James authority and support out of nowhere. That wasn't standard protocol.
Unless...
Unless the Foundation was already aware of a larger threat—and they couldn't handle it alone.
Fury clenched his jaw.
Was there an Antimemetics Division they'd all forgotten?
Was it possible?
He wanted to say no. He wanted to laugh off the thought.
But in his gut, the chill wouldn't go away.
James remained silent.
He didn't ask for an explanation. He didn't say thank you. He simply took the file handed to him and stepped forward.
The Overseer followed without a word.
He placed the file on the desk and slowly opened it.
SCP-2256.
[Project Name: Big Thing]
[Item #: SCP-2256]
[Object Class: Euclid]
The moment the number appeared on the screen, the audience fell into stunned silence.
Another antimemetic entity?
Before anyone could speak, the Overseer posed a direct question.
"There are over a hundred documents flagged with memetic or antimemetic traits. Why choose these three?"
James responded in a low voice.
"Because these are the only three I remember seeing."
His words hung in the air.
He didn't elaborate. He simply ran his fingers along the edge of the file, lost in thought.
The Overseer said nothing. She merely watched him, her expression unreadable.
[Special Containment Procedures: All information related to SCP-2256 possesses a slow antimemetic erosion effect. The more detailed or accurate the description, the faster the degradation of the storage medium.]
[High-resolution text, electronic records, or photographs decay rapidly. Handwritten notes, sketches, and simple analog formats persist longer.]
[As such, only rough, low-detail digital records are permitted, while critical information is to be preserved in physical hard copy at Repository 1-053, Site 19.]
[These data must be routinely monitored for corruption. No known technology can prevent or reverse the antimemetic erosion once it begins.]
The live chat exploded again.
"Holy hell! This one corrupts files based on the detail level?!"
"So it's like a virus that eats information?"
"It's like reality doesn't want this thing to be remembered!"
Inside S.H.I.E.L.D., Fury's eyes narrowed as the file continued to scroll.
The description added another layer of horror.
[This antimemetic property persists. SCP-2256 is classified as Euclid. However, the entity is considered extinct, and no additional containment is currently required.]
That line hit like a thunderclap.
"Extinct?" Natasha Romanoff whispered.
Fury exchanged a glance with Victor Hale, who was just as confused.
Antimemetic entities were dangerous enough when active—but an extinct anomaly still corrupting memory and storage?
It sounded paradoxical.
But the horror was only beginning.
[Description: SCP-2256 is a colossal animal species that once inhabited the Polynesian Islands in the South Pacific.]
[This species evolved a basic antimemetic camouflage—a primitive cognitive defense mechanism. As a result, creatures capable of perception or memory are unable to retain information about it.]
[This ability likely developed as an evolutionary trait to avoid predators.]
Stark Tower, Manhattan
Tony Stark stared at the projected screen hovering in midair.
"…It evolved the ability to be forgotten?"
He ran a hand through his hair.
"So there are creatures out there with natural antimemetic camouflage? We're not dealing with science anymore. This is… biological magic."
Back on screen, James flipped the page slowly. The document was hand-sketched, written in faint graphite, and clearly worn by time.
Despite its physical simplicity, it felt heavier than steel.
SCP-2256 had existed in the world—and no one remembered it. Not the people, not the scientists, not the Foundation itself.
And still, its influence lingered.
It was a remnant of a world we had already forgotten.
And if creatures like this had already been lost to time, how many others had simply vanished from the annals of memory?
James closed the file, eyes unreadable.
He picked up the second folder.
The audience leaned forward.
"Come on, show us the second one!"
"This is getting insane..."
James opened the second file slowly.
The title was blurred—half-erased.
But one thing was clear.
This wasn't just about forgetting anymore.
This was about a war—a war waged in silence, buried beneath the layers of cognition itself.
And James had just stepped into the frontlines.
To be continued…
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