[Poll Has Ended!! This one and the Shokugeki fic are going to be picked up!!]
Tony met Felix's unwavering gaze, thought of that purple, pulsing hell-cave, and finally ground out, "Deal!"
Forty billion? Chump change. Life comes first.
Seeing him agree that easily, Felix felt a stab of regret.
Too hasty.
Should've added another zero.
"Excellent." Felix nodded. "From this moment, you're an external technical consultant of the Foundation. Welcome aboard, Consultant Stark."
"Hold it!" Tony shot back. "What even are you people? That vine monster—did it escape from your lab?"
Felix didn't answer. He turned to leave. "Doctor, our Consultant has a lot of questions. He's yours."
He had to oversee SCP-307's final containment—no time to babysit.
Dr. A167 adjusted his glasses and stepped up to the three. The fire in his eyes rekindled—almost fanatical.
He cleared his throat and, as if swearing an oath, intoned with solemn, fervent cadence:
"We secure. We contain. We protect!"
"We are humanity's first line—and last line."
"We live in shadow, die in chaos, and fight so that civilization endures!"
The slogan—chuunibyou as it sounded, yet forged in iron conviction—echoed around the white room.
Tony gaped, then managed, "You… do hear yourselves, right? That's got cult vibes."
Yinsen shivered, remembering zealots who yelled slogans in the Middle East—then pulled the pin.
At the door, Natasha pinched the bridge of her nose. One thought dominated:
If recruitment always sounds like that, the Foundation's doomed.
Nope. Poaching talent? I'll handle it myself.
Before A167's "fiery creed" could spook all three high-value targets, she stepped back in.
"Doctor, your explanation's a little… abstract."
Massaging her temples, she tried the "normal" version.
"The Foundation—properly, the SCP Foundation—deals with anomalies. 'SCPs' are supernatural, extradimensional, or otherwise unexplainable phenomena, entities, or items. We exist to Secure, Contain, Protect—keep them away from the public and prevent harm."
She tipped her chin at the ceiling, pointedly: "Like what you met in that cave—SCP-307. A highly aggressive, fast-growing biological anomaly."
"Supernatural anomalies?" Tony's scientific curiosity shouldered past the fear. "So what is it, then—alien plant? Prehistoric throwback? Some lunatic's gene-splicing project?"
"We don't know." A167's tone shifted into academic rigor. "Origins vary. Some predate humanity. Some are byproducts of accidents. Some are engineered."
He pushed his glasses again, that fanatic gleam sneaking back. "But they share one trait: each contradicts known natural law—and if it breaches, the damage to civilization is… incalculable."
Off to the side, Sharon's brow furrowed.
Unknown-origin artifacts. Her mind jumped to S.H.I.E.L.D.'s files—0-8-4s—things so strange they get an 'object of unknown origin' tag and a response team. The overlap with their remit was… uncomfortably precise.
But suspicion flickered in her eyes.
Extreme methods. Civil liberties tossed out the window. Do they really "protect humanity"… or pursue some darker ambition?
As far as she was concerned, only S.H.I.E.L.D., chartered by the World Security Council, had the mandate—and legitimacy—to shoulder that burden.
The Foundation? A shadow outfit—maybe even more dangerous.
Tony, sharp as ever, found a hole. "Wait. You called that vine SCP-307, right?"
"Yes."
"That number—what's it mean?" He narrowed his eyes. "Are there three hundred and six before it?"
A167 gave him the "finally, the right question" look.
Then, in a tone so calm it looped around to boastful, he dropped the grenade that cratered everyone's worldview:
"Precisely speaking—as of this morning—the number of anomalies we've successfully contained and actively manage is… nine hundred and ninety-two."
BOOM.
Like a nuke in a sealed room, the number wiped reason from every S.H.I.E.L.D. agent present—as well as Tony and Yinsen.
Nine hundred and ninety-two?
Nearly a thousand?
The color drained from Tony's face. His mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Yinsen froze as if he'd been told a myth was real.
At the medical-wing threshold, Coulson and May, arriving just in time to hear it, turned to stone.
In the same instant, all four S.H.I.E.L.D. agents saw the same unbearable conclusion:
In shadows they never saw, the world has skirted nearly a thousand civilization-ending crises—
—and S.H.I.E.L.D. knew none of them?
Then what had they been guarding all these years?
Politicians' power? National interest?
For the first time, Coulson felt his faith—and S.H.I.E.L.D.'s very purpose—wobble.
Have we… guarded nothing at all?
Reading the room, A167 realized he'd maybe said too much.
He cleared his throat. "No need to panic. Keter-class threats like SCP-307—those that can endanger the world upon breach—are a minority. Most containments are merely 'dangerous' Safe or Euclid class anomalies."
(End of Chapter)
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