Boom!
A sudden tremor echoed through the facility, shaking dust from the ceiling and startling the group into motion. Instinctively, everyone surged forward, taking their first desperate steps to escape whatever lay behind them.
Leading the charge was Irantu, the tall, imposing captain of the Samsara Squad. His cybernetic limbs moved with precision and purpose, scanning the environment for threats. Yet, within minutes, he came to an abrupt halt at a junction, lifting a clenched fist to signal a stop.
"My optics just flared," Irantu announced flatly, his voice metallic and resolute.
The others froze. With practiced calm, Irantu drew his weapon, its surface gleaming with advanced technology. Without waiting for backup, he strode down a narrow corridor alone, his heavy steps echoing ominously against the cold metal walls.
Behind him, Jack frowned, his eyes narrowing as he turned to James.
"There's something wrong," Jack muttered. "Dangerous meme, I can feel it."
Dangerous meme? The phrase rippled through the team with a chill, and even more so through the live audience watching the mission unfold via body-cam streams. This was the second time they'd heard those unsettling words, and each time, it made their skin crawl.
But what shocked them even more was what Irantu did next.
He approached the corner with no protective gear—no psychic dampeners, no containment devices—just his bare hands and a standard-issue firearm.
Was he insane?
The chat in the live broadcast room exploded:
"Is he serious? Barehanded against a memetic anomaly?"
"Dude's got a death wish."
"That's Irantu. He probably wants to get infected."
Then came the moment.
A flicker. A blur.
A vaguely humanoid figure appeared farther down the hallway, hunched and thin, its limbs unnaturally long. It had fingers like sickles, curving into talons that traced eerie symbols along the corridor walls.
Strangely, the patterns didn't fully register on the broadcast feed. To the viewers, they appeared only as shifting shadows, half-seen and deliberately obscured. But one thing was clear—they were not normal.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Command Center
"Could those patterns be memetically infectious?" Natasha Romanoff asked aloud, her tone alarmed.
Nick Fury stood beside her, arms crossed, his one eye narrowed. "They're being hidden from our tech," he said grimly. "That's never a good sign."
Just as he finished speaking, the creature turned.
Its head twisted unnaturally, revealing a single, luminous white eye—although it, too, was partially concealed by the thick black mist enveloping its body.
Swish!
The entity moved with unnatural fluidity. Its robe flared outward, seemingly expanding as it lunged. The fog around it thickened, warping space as if it carried the weight of the infection with every step.
Bang!
A sudden gunshot cracked through the air, cutting through the haze.
Snap.
James calmly reloaded his weapon with practiced efficiency. Without hesitation, he aimed again.
Pull the trigger. Fire.
The shot hit its mark, slamming into the memetic creature's chest. It recoiled violently, its body folding backward from the impact, a spray of black fluid spattering the walls.
The rest of the team was momentarily frozen.
Only James and two members of the Samsara Squad—Munru and Nanku—had reacted.
"Grenade!" Munru shouted.
An incendiary canister lobbed through the air.
BOOM!!!
A burst of orange flames engulfed the hallway, and the creature shrieked—its voice a screeching blend of static and pain. It flailed, scraping the wall with frantic desperation, trying to escape the fire and bullets tearing into its flesh.
Bang!
Another precise shot from James.
This time, the entity dropped to the floor with a guttural wheeze and ceased all movement.
The fight had lasted no more than twenty seconds.
Everyone stood in silence.
Munru and Nanku exchanged stunned glances before turning their wide eyes to James. "What the hell, man? How did you react so fast?"
They were enhanced operatives—half-cybernetic with Foundation tech laced throughout their bodies. Their reflexes were honed to perfection.
But James? He was an ordinary human.
"Instinct," James replied coldly, sliding a fresh magazine into his gun.
"Instinct..." Munru echoed, still dazed.
The live chat exploded again.
"LMAO, INSTINCT???"
"Dude just humbled two cyborgs with a single word."
"If Jack had said it, I'd think he was flexing. But James? That's just raw power."
On-screen, the rest of the team cautiously approached the downed entity, keeping their distance from the still-smoking corpse.
Irantu walked past the body, his voice mechanical but calm. "Status report."
A team member stepped forward, about to speak—when the corridor suddenly shuddered violently.
Before anyone could react, the floor beneath the dead entity collapsed with a metallic crash, revealing a gaping hole.
A black pit.
And from within it—
Psshhhk!
A long, sleek black creature surged out of the void like a bullet. Its surface shimmered with oil-slick darkness, eyes glowing blood-red. Rows of serrated teeth lined its open maw.
It didn't hesitate.
It dove straight for the corpse of the memetic entity—
—and bit it in half.
The broadcast room fell into stunned silence.
The live chat froze.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Command Center
"What the hell is that?!" Natasha gasped, standing up.
Memetic entities were supposed to be contagious to everything—biological or not. Even machines with advanced filters sometimes failed to resist infection.
Yet this new creature had devoured one as if it were just meat.
Nick Fury stared at the screen, jaw tight. "How...?"
An agent nearby murmured, "It looks like... a leech."
The others turned.
A leech?
Long, smooth body. Slithering motion. Black liquid oozing in its wake...
Not just one. More leeches began slithering from the pit. Dozens of smaller versions of the same monster spread out, coating the walls like a living oil slick.
Everyone went cold.
James's eyes narrowed, recalling something Onru had said before: that they were never truly alone in this place.
Could it be true?
Were these black leeches not just parasites—but the infection itself?
Nick Fury's thoughts swirled with unease. If these creatures were memetically immune, then who was the real host?
The massive creature in front of them?
Or...
Something far worse.
"Fall back!" Irantu barked.
The team didn't need to be told twice.
Da-da-da-da-da!
Munru and Nanku laid down suppressive fire as the team retreated. The corridor echoed with gunfire as the group sprinted back toward the maintenance sector, dodging fallen debris and skidding around corners.
They barreled through the broken security dormitory and into the rear access corridor.
Gunshots continued to ring out behind them.
They didn't look back.
The hallway curved into a wider maintenance bay. The emergency lights flickered overhead, casting red shadows across the walls.
They passed through the maintenance wing and toward the employee lounge, hoping for another exit.
But just as they crossed into the lounge—
Squelch.
A dark, viscous liquid began seeping from the walls.
"MOVE!" Irantu shouted, but it was too late.
An injured operative stumbled, slipping on the black ooze. Before anyone could help, a tendril lashed out from the wall and yanked him inside.
AAAAHHH!
His scream echoed from within the wall itself—twisted, muffled, and then... gone.
Everyone froze, tension coiling like a spring.
But there was no time to stop.
They kept moving, heartbeats thundering in their ears, hoping they wouldn't be next.
Just as they neared the center of the lounge—
Ding-a-ling~
A soft chime echoed above them.
Ding-a-ling~
It was faint, almost melodic, like wind chimes swaying in a calm breeze.
But there was nothing calm about this place.
James stopped dead in his tracks, raising his weapon.
The others looked around nervously.
Because in this facility, any sound that didn't belong... meant death.
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