The live broadcast room was filled with stunned silence.
No one expected James to be the one giving the report to the Ethics Committee.
In the S.H.I.E.L.D. command center, Nick Fury leaned forward slightly, brow furrowed.
He didn't know what James' role was in this containment operation. But seeing him so calm in front of the coldest, most unflinching minds in the world—the Foundation's Ethics Committee—sent a chill through Fury's spine.
He watched, waiting.
On screen, the members of the Ethics Committee sat still and silent, their silhouettes like shadows cast in stone. Even the dim light behind them seemed reluctant to reach these figures.
The minister, standing to the side, looked visibly tense. He knew this wasn't going to be easy.
And yet, James stood tall. Calm. Controlled. Unshaken.
Then he spoke.
"As you were previously briefed, containment requires the ritual castration of one male subject, as well as the consumption of one... [DATA EXPUNGED]."
A faint sound—like a scoff or a grunt—came from one of the committee members. The atmosphere turned icy.
But James was unmoved.
"These rituals don't operate by scientific laws," he continued. "They function because we enforce meaning onto repetition. They gain power because we believe they do. That belief—when combined with resonance to the entity we seek to contain—is what gives a ritual structure."
He paused.
"But belief alone isn't enough. There must be... appropriateness. Ritual must echo the nature of what it seeks to hold."
He turned his gaze to the committee, unwavering.
"Some gods can only be appeased with blood."
That sentence—simple as it was—shook the livestream audience to its core.
The chat, which had been debating the moral horror of the rituals, suddenly fell silent.
Now it made sense.
Why the containment required such extreme procedures. Why the Foundation had gone to such unthinkable lengths.
Because they weren't trying to trap something.
They were trying to fool it.
Back on screen, James maintained his composed tone—even in the face of the world's most judgmental panel.
"I know your department doesn't like the word 'god', but it fits. The entity we're dealing with—The Stag—isn't some misunderstood cosmic force. It's a divine being. Not the benevolent kind either."
"This ritual doesn't contain him by force. It's meant to deceive him. To make him think we are more powerful than him. That's the only way to lock him away."
The audience couldn't believe what they were hearing.
> "Wait, it's a trick?"
"They're conning a GOD?"
"Bro… that's bold even for the Foundation."
"No way this works, right?"
In the S.H.I.E.L.D. control room, Fury's single eye narrowed.
He had suspected this.
The weird nature of the ceremonies—the masks, the plays, the bizarre interactions—they didn't feel like science or containment.
They felt like a performance.
A performance… for something watching.
But still, how do you bluff a Supreme Deity?
How do you fool something that can snap you out of existence with a thought?
Fury kept watching, grim.
Then came the inevitable question from the Ethics Committee.
"Even so, are the fifth and sixth rituals truly necessary?"
James responded without hesitation.
"Some gods can only be appeased with blood," he repeated. "Once a ritual is set, it cannot be casually altered. To change it would require dismantling the containment strategy from scratch. We can't afford that. The die is cast."
The Ethics Committee went quiet again.
And they understood. They didn't have the luxury of starting over.
SCP-2845 had already arrived. Two days ago. Time was running out.
James pressed on:
"Even with the ritual in place, if The Stag realizes it's being manipulated, everything collapses. Our entire defense evaporates into hydrogen vapor. There won't be anything left. So let us be thankful—it can't think."
Stunned silence.
The Stag... can't think?
People across the world stared at the stream, trying to process what that meant.
A god… without thought?
James clarified:
"This isn't a creature of decisions. This is an old god. It simply exists. It acts with the same inevitability as gravity. It doesn't choose—it reacts."
"And so, the ritual creates a dance. A performance that we repeat endlessly. It attacks, we defend. It rages, we remain composed. As long as the illusion holds, the deadlock continues."
Then came the warning:
"But one misstep, one failed ceremony… and it all falls apart."
No one in the committee said a word.
They knew he was right.
This was no longer about morality. It was about survival.
James delivered his final words with firm conviction:
"The ritual may seem absurd, even insane. But its power is in symbolism. Your approval—or mine—is irrelevant. What matters is that The Stag believes it."
In the corner, the minister was practically sweating through his suit. He was sure James had gone too far. But the committee didn't break.
They simply recorded everything.
James added one last note:
"I don't know why it came. Or what it wants. But I heard the way it turned the people into pillars. They didn't suffer… but they were changed. And if this ritual fails, all of us will share that fate."
He bowed, slowly.
"Thank you for your time."
Silence.
Then, the head of the Ethics Committee stood.
"Decision approved. Exceptional personnel requests are granted. One D-Class and one H-Class subject may be used per containment cycle."
The livestream audience exhaled.
Finally, some relief.
The plan was approved.
They would go through with the rituals, no matter how disturbing. They had no other option.
But one question remained:
Would it work?
The screen darkened.
And when it lit again, it wasn't James anymore—but something else.
A file.
One that had been left unread until now.
> [Description: SCP-2845 is an extraterrestrial quadruped, 2.9 meters tall at the shoulder. Its neck is upright, extending half a meter, ending in a head with humanoid features.]
Nick Fury's jaw tightened.
> [It has antlers spanning 4.8 meters, white with black marbling. The antlers do not shed. Its fur averages 10 cm in length, turquoise blue, with a cream-colored stripe from neck to belly. Its face is hairless.]
The moment the image rendered on-screen, the Marvel world exploded.
> "WAIT. I've SEEN this thing before!"
"It's the deer from the parallel SCP universe!"
"No way. You're saying that thing crossed into our reality?!"
"How are we supposed to contain a god we couldn't even contain in a simulation?!"
At Stark Tower, Tony Stark stared at the screen in disbelief.
"It's him." He whispered.
Colonel Rhodes stood beside him, equally horrified.
They'd both seen what this creature could do in simulations and theoretical reports.
But never did they think it would cross over into their world.
Now that it had, Tony Stark fell silent—an uncommon sight.
Because he had no answers.
In S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick Fury spoke quietly.
"So... it really was the deer. From the SCP-1730 case…"
The room was heavy.
They remembered the destruction. The way it had ended battles with a gesture.
They had hoped it was fiction.
Now it was real.
And the only thing standing between the world and annihilation—
Was a ritual play.
In Kamar-Taj, the Ancient One sat frozen, eyes wide with disbelief.
"The stag... a supreme divine entity…"
In the deepest reaches of space, the Watcher stared through the veil of dimensions.
"To think... they seek to deceive a god with performance. Can it be done?"
He narrowed his gaze.
This was no longer a theoretical conflict.
This was cosmic survival.
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