Not only Adrian, but the viewers in the live broadcast room were also terrified.
After a brief silence, a flood of comments filled the screen once again.
"Damn! Isn't this place way too creepy?"
"Yeah, it reminds me of SCP-1730, where space got twisted into a doughnut."
"What a shame. These Mobile Task Force agents are all heroes, but the dangers here are just too overwhelming."
"I honestly don't know how they're supposed to finish this task. I can't even see the flower anymore."
"..."
Kamar-Taj.
From the Ancient One's perspective, the screen resembled a collection of distorted photographs. Reality itself had unraveled.
Spatial lines tangled together—what appeared to be the floor one second could morph into the Sand King the next. If James and the others hadn't been equipped with Reality Anchors, they would've been wiped out in under a second.
"Can they even succeed?" the Ancient One muttered.
Suddenly, the screen went black.
When it flickered back on, the view had shifted from the hellish base to what looked like the office of a high-ranking government official.
"First of all!" a middle-aged man in a general's uniform said. His voice was commanding, and his authoritative presence made it difficult to breathe in the room.
The office contained only the general and a man in formal attire—the Overseer of the Foundation.
"You need to make it clear that the Yellowstone incident is not a terrorist attack and that it's being handled," the general said coldly.
The Overseer responded calmly, "Yellowstone wasn't attacked by terrorists. It appears to be an accident during weapons development and testing. The matter will be resolved within 24 hours."
"Good. Got it," General Bowe muttered, scribbling notes. "I need a full status report."
The Overseer shook his head.
"Yellowstone is currently fluctuating between what once was and what is. A CK-class reconstruction event has caused all our databases to fall out of sync. Each global branch is reporting different items. We're using the Bald Eagle Nation's database as the baseline, tagging anomalies that don't match. But honestly, this process might never be finished."
At that moment, the viewers finally realized what they were seeing: a high-level negotiation between the Foundation and the highest echelons of society after the Yellowstone crisis.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters.
Nick Fury watched as the Foundation's top brass got grilled by the general and let out a long sigh.
As the UN's supernatural management agency, S.H.I.E.L.D. often had to cooperate with governments across the world. Despite acting heroically to maintain world peace and justice, they frequently faced opposition and criticism.
Fury had always found this frustrating—but he hadn't expected that even the all-powerful Foundation would suffer the same indignities.
He chuckled bitterly, then turned serious again.
Back in the footage, General Bowe continued speaking with barely concealed hostility.
"I know about the Olympia Project," he said, cutting in.
"Your people created a prototype super-soldier production line and didn't even report it to the Council. Do you know how many lives we lost during the early war? How many of those could've been saved?"
The Overseer stayed silent.
"It's time your Foundation stopped playing God. You're going to merge with the Department of Occult Warfare," Bowe announced as he stood. "I'll contact you tomorrow to make the arrangements."
The Overseer replied flatly, "There is no Department of Occult Warfare."
"There will be by tomorrow. The President and I will make sure of it." With that, Bowe walked out without waiting for a salute or offering a goodbye.
The Overseer watched him go with an indifferent expression.
Viewers were stunned.
"WTF? Is this guy crazy? He just threatened the Foundation's top leadership?"
"I've lived in Bengbu, but this is next-level dumb. They think their military can handle the Foundation?"
"Seriously? The Foundation's been saving humanity from anomalies every day, and they still have to deal with arrogant politicians?"
"If I were the Foundation, I'd just quit. Let's see how they handle SCP-682."
"Total megalomaniac!"
S.H.I.E.L.D. Briefing Room.
"I don't get it either," Natasha Romanoff muttered. "Isn't the Foundation protecting humanity by containing anomalies?"
Fury sighed. "The Foundation exists to protect humanity, yes. But governments always prioritize national interests over global ones."
"So when their goals align, everything's fine. But when they diverge, conflict is inevitable?" Natasha asked thoughtfully.
"Exactly," Fury nodded. "And the Foundation? They don't care about politics."
He sneered. "You think a lion cares if an ant buzzes angrily in its ear?"
The screen went black again, and when it came back on, the feed had returned to the Yellowstone site—still very much a hell on earth.
Different Mobile Task Forces gave it different names.
"Nightmare."
"Death trap."
Omega-7 simply called it "enemy territory."
They moved in a tight formation, checking every intersection and corner. Communication came through gestures: a tap on the shoulder, a squeeze on the leg. They passed through checkpoint after checkpoint like pros.
There were no enemies in sight, just distant howls, grunts, and screams echoing from deep inside the facility.
As they neared the central Scranton Reality Anchor, the warping around them seemed to ease. Reality slowly stabilized.
They moved efficiently and silently—until they reached Security Area 9.
There, at the entrance, lay a grotesquely obese man nearly three meters tall, his body covered in festering sores and tumors. Corpses surrounded him, many in Mobile Task Force uniforms.
One particularly decomposed body caught Beatrice's eye. Her expression changed instantly.
"Squire…" she whispered, covering her mouth, eyes welling with tears.
It was the same Squire who'd contacted them earlier through video call. He had died fighting the creature, a rusted knife still in one hand, the other embedded deep in the monster's flesh.
While the team mourned, James was already alert, raising his gun and pointing into the darkness.
"Come out!"
The rest of the team immediately took defensive stances.
"They were ambushed shortly after entering," came a deep voice from the shadows, marked by an unfamiliar accent.
"By the time I arrived, they were all dead."
The figure stepped into view.
He was tall, handsome, and had arms made of steel.
James narrowed his eyes. "073…"
The audience was stunned.
"073? Another anomaly?"
"Why is he here? Isn't he low-risk and kept at Site-17?"
"Wait—could it be... Pandora's Box?"
"Yeah! They recruit humanoid anomalies to capture others. Makes sense now!"
On-screen, the team visibly relaxed.
"Cain," Beatrice exhaled, lowering her weapon.
Adrian signaled the rest to do the same.
Cain looked down at the corpse. "I wouldn't stand so close. Even in death, the gases are deadly."
James nodded and put on his mask. Adrian ordered, "Everyone, masks on. Regroup in Conference Room Six. Frederickson, take point."
Before leaving, James gave Squire one final look. The body had mostly dissolved into slime, the skeleton barely held together by stringy tissue. The rusted knife crumbled into reddish ash.
When the wind blew, nothing remained—no sign that a soldier had once fallen there.
Later, in the conference room, Adrian looked haggard. He was clearly no longer capable of leading.
James stepped forward, calm and collected. "Status report."
"All systems good," Beatrice answered. "Minimal damage. We have plenty of supplies."
"Ammunition?"
Frederickson replied, "My squad has more than enough."
"Effie and I had only one mag left, but we reloaded from Vince's gear," Black Bill added. "We're set."
"No casualties. Victims accounted for." James paused. "Team Able has been neutralized—presumed KIA."
Adrian raised his head, then muttered, "We can't go deeper."
He gave a tired laugh.
"If there's another mission, I'll file for retirement. I just want to get you all out of here."
His voice cracked slightly.
Abandon the mission?
The agents' expressions varied—some relieved, some anxious.
James remained expressionless.
"But this isn't just another mission," Beatrice said. "We're the last ones."
"Yeah," Adrian sighed. "So... what should we do?"
"No one's mentioned it yet, but..." Frederickson began. "What was ancient Sumer called?"
Everyone turned to SCP-073.
He hadn't entered the room. Cain stood outside, staring down the long corridor, fists clenched in an oddly respectful stance.
Adrian glanced at James. They exchanged a look.
"Worth a try."
Adrian stepped out and asked hesitantly, "Got any advice for our situation?"
Cain nodded. "Yes. But it depends on who you mean by 'we.'"
He gestured vaguely.
"If 'we' refers to you, the woman, me, and the strange researcher… I have answers. If you mean the entire team, then no. Everyone else is irrelevant."
Cain's eyes locked onto James.
"We've met before, haven't we?" he asked with a sly smile.
"What are you researching at Site-17?"
"Studying you," James replied coolly.
___________________________________
Get membership in patreon to read more chapters
Extra chapters available in patreon
patreon.com/Dragonscribe31