Feeling the newborn, plant-synced power coursing through him, Felix Ragnell replayed the system's latest rewards in his head.
"A little odd."
His brow tightened—barely.
This time, every reward—summoning/controlling SCP-307, thermal sense, Body of the Green—was a personal buff.
Before this, the system had handed out faction pieces: "Temporary Base," "C-Class Combat Personnel," and the like.
"So the reward model is… phased?"
His thoughts spun fast.
"Before an anomaly is contained—during the summoning/loose phase—the system gives pre-containment rewards that are power-base oriented. It's there to keep me from getting insta-deleted by a runaway anomaly on turn one."
"After a successful containment, the post-containment rewards flip to personal upgrades—so I'm better bankrolled to tackle nastier anomalies next."
A clean logic chain clicked into place.
The system was encouraging—tempting—him to keep containing newer, stronger exceptions.
Pre-rewards are the safety net; post-rewards are the candy.
"As for Legend Value…"
He glanced at the "1550" on the system panel and felt… not all that thrilled.
A thousand Legend buys one random anomaly summon.
Tempting on paper. In practice? Russian roulette with the world as the ante.
He knew the Foundation's menagerie ran to nearly ten thousand entries. Sure, there were things like SCP-999, the cuddly Tickler; but there were also hundreds assessed "Apollyon" or "Thaumiel"—uncontainable or civilization-scale dooms—any one of which could end the world the moment it shows up.
SCP-343 "God," SCP-2317 "The Door to Another World," and the infamous Scarlet King…
Even a ten-percent shot at pulling one of those? If luck blinked, never mind his little North America sub-division—the planet goes with it.
Too risky to press "Random" even once.
"Still, this time's Legend payout is… generous."
His eyes slid to Natasha, then he remembered Tony and Sharon, still lying in the medpods.
The missing piece dropped in.
The real "highlight"—the big variance—of this containment op was that he'd dragged S.H.I.E.L.D. into the water with him.
Coulson, Natasha, Sharon—core S.H.I.E.L.D. agents—and Tony Stark, the future Iron Man: each with hefty "world influence."
Having them witness—and even participate in—a Foundation containment generated more legend than bagging a plain Euclid ever would.
"So that's it…" Felix smiled inwardly. "S.H.I.E.L.D. is my best EXP farm for Legend."
He was very glad he hadn't gone straight to nukes, and instead gambled this chess line.
The yield had blown past projections.
"You can move freely in the base," he said suddenly to Natasha, cutting through her tangled thoughts.
"So long as you don't try to leave or sabotage anything, no one will stop you. Check out our library. Or the range. You might develop a new definition of 'power.'"
He didn't wait for her startled look to settle. He turned and walked out of the command room.
He had somewhere to be—to test his new strength.
—
The lowest level of the base opened into a vast subterranean training complex.
Biomes sprawled wall to wall: desert to jungle, city ruins to polar flats—everything.
Felix selected an empty sealed chamber forged from high-strength alloy.
He stepped to the center and closed his eyes.
That entwined, plant-kin sensation welled up again.
Somewhere beyond the veil, a hungry, exuberant life-will waited for his call.
"Come out."
His whisper barely stirred the air.
Space in front of him wavered.
A lick of purple surfaced from nothing—then grew, spread, multiplied.
In a blink, dozens of python-thick vines pushed through the void, hovering in midair, slow-swaying like the most loyal of sentries, awaiting their master's word.
Felix opened his eyes. Satisfaction flashed there at the eerie, magnificent sight.
He lifted a hand toward a corner: a high-tensile alloy dummy built with human skeletal geometry.
"Pulverize it."
The instant the order left his lips, the vines streaked—sharp air-rips trailing—crashing into the target.
In a heartbeat they cocooned the dummy in a giant purple zongzi—then cinched inward.
SCREEEE—EEE—
Teeth-setting metal groans ricocheted around the chamber.
Built to shrug off heavy-machine-gun bursts, the alloy body twisted like licorice under the crush—then whump—flattened into a misshapen metal pancake.
Felix eyed the scrap and rendered judgment.
Vine toughness and hardness: roughly equal to engineering-grade plastic rods of the same volume. Nothing spectacular.
But the strengths were numbers, speed, and the paralytic toxin—lethal versus flesh and blood.
Add fine motor control—to strike from any sly angle—and…
"Workmanlike. Not weak."
Good enough for a starter offense.
He flicked his wrist; mission done, the vines melted back into the void, vanishing without a trace.
"Plant control—sort of—but different."
Clarity settled. He couldn't command all plants; he could only summon and drive SCP-307.
It was more like a specialized summoning—spirit-call—but the spirit was a dangerous plant.
"Mid-tier output. More than enough for civilians and conventional troops. But a real master—or a no-rules brute like Hulk—would probably eat it for breakfast."
He stayed cool—no giddy power rush.
As for Body of the Green…
He wasn't testing it. In theory he could repair himself by ingesting flesh, yes—but that implies getting hurt first.
Felix hated pain.
And intentionally injuring yourself inside a perfectly safe base to test a feature? Brainrot.
He had no intention of becoming the first isekai fool to self-own during a system demo.
This excellent body is not for silly experiments. It's for the Foundation's great work—to strive, to exhaust, to die if need be.
Naturally… for others to die.
(End of Chapter)
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