Few hours later.
"In plain terms, he's just an extreme introvert—painfully shy and hates being seen," Felix decided inwardly.
The other one: SCP-173, "The Sculpture — First Work."
A humanoid statue of concrete and rebar, with traces of Krylon spray paint on the surface.
It's alive—and violently hostile to humans. As long as any sapient observer keeps direct eye contact, it stays perfectly still. The instant a watcher looks away—even just a blink—it moves at terrifying speed behind the target and snaps the cervical spine.
"A creature that desperately craves attention—if you don't look at me, I get upset. Our little Peanut," Felix nicknamed it. "Neck 'massage' specialist. Guaranteed results in one session."
He was feeling rather pleased with his "raised mob and farm-XP" plan when a blood-red alert flashed across his system panel and dumped a bucket of ice water on his head.
[Warning! Base supplies critically low!]
[Current stockpiles at the medium base will sustain present personnel (15,047) for only 72 hours of normal living needs! Host, replenish immediately!]
Felix's smile froze.
Right. The system had been generous enough this time to hand him over ten thousand combat and logistics personnel… it just didn't cover their meals.
What was supposed to feed five thousand people for a month now wouldn't last even three days.
Ten thousand mouths to feed—the burn rate was astronomical.
"Damn…"
For the first time, Felix truly felt the burden of being a "family head."
He exhaled—and let it go.
Luckily, he'd had the foresight to reel in the thickest golden sponsor in Marvel—Tony—as an "external consultant."
Looked like that forty-billion "rescue fee" was only an appetizer.
Knock, knock, knock.
A rap at the bedroom door.
"Sir, it's me."
Natasha's voice.
"Come in."
Natasha stepped in, now changed into a sharp black suit with her hair pulled back into a neat ponytail—very much the bodyguard-plus–chief aide look.
In her hand was a satellite phone.
"Dr. A167 has an urgent report."
Felix took the phone, not bothering to ask how Natasha had already set up a direct line with A167 in such a short time.
A good leader needs results, not process.
"Report." Felix raised the handset. Crisp. To the point.
"Sir!"
On the other end, A167 sounded barely able to contain himself—breathless with discovery and urgency.
"We've found a new SCP lead! New York! Hell's Kitchen!"
Felix's brow knitted hard.
New York?
Already?
He'd just let those two "ancestors" loose to "freely operate," and another anomaly pops up?
"Location not yet pinpointed, but there's a first victim!" A167's words rattled like a machine gun. "I've forwarded the crime scene photo to your personal terminal! Modus operandi is bizarre—strong anomalous signatures! I—"
Beep… beep… beep…
Apparently rushing off to crunch data, A167 hung up mid-sentence.
Felix sighed at the dead line.
Sometimes, subordinates being too efficient had its downsides.
He'd hoped those two could "farm" legend points around New York for a few days. So much for that plan.
"Natasha, bring my laptop."
"Yes, sir."
Natasha slipped out and returned quickly with a sleek, matte-black, very sci-fi notebook.
She was about to set it down in front of Felix when he lifted a hand.
"Wait."
His expression tightened—unusually grave.
A chilling possibility clicked into place.
Hell's Kitchen… victim… photo…
What if A167 hadn't sent a victim photo… but a shot of SCP-096's face?
Felix's heart seized.
He had zero interest in becoming the Foundation Chair who died fastest thanks to curiosity.
"Fetch May," Felix said, just a touch of tension under the calm.
Natasha, puzzled, didn't argue. She moved.
Soon, May appeared at the doorway, face like carved ice.
"Sir."
"Here." Felix pointed to the laptop. "Open my inbox—there's a photo. You will view it and describe what's in it to me."
"Use words only. Do not show me—or Natasha—the image."
May didn't understand why something so simple needed ceremony. But orders were orders.
She sat, opened the inbox.
A bloody, uncanny crime scene filled the screen.
Her pupils tightened—only slightly. Her face remained a mask.
She spoke in a flat, uncolored cadence.
"Victim: male, Caucasian, approximately thirty. Location: alley. Cause of death: cervical vertebrae wrenched from behind with immense force; head rotated one hundred eighty degrees. No signs of struggle at scene. No witnesses."
Felix finally let the breath leave his lungs.
Neck broken…
Peanut—SCP-173.
Good. Not the shy little princess—SCP-096.
"Back strike. One-and-done," Natasha summarized professionally from May's description. "Clean, no trace. The killer—or the anomaly—is highly adept at stealth and ambush."
"Exactly." Felix nodded, the next move already formed.
He keyed Coulson's internal line.
"Director Coulson, new assignment."
His tone radiated trust and responsibility.
"Possible anomaly sighted in Hell's Kitchen, New York. Take your people and conduct preliminary recon at once."
He added, deliberately, "Intel suggests it favors rear assaults—neck snaps. Exercise extreme caution."
Listening at his side, Natasha went cold.
She understood instantly.
Felix was sending Coulson and his brand-new D-Class cadre out as canaries—to learn, with their lives, SCP-173's specific capabilities and patterns.
She opened her mouth—then closed it.
She was "just" the aide. Felix was the Chairman.
She transmitted Felix's orders verbatim to Coulson through encrypted channels.
(End of Chapter)
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