By the end of her lecture, the scientist's voice had dropped from sharp to coldly indifferent.
"In the Foundation, you could end up stuck in a lab for the rest of your life until the sun burns out... or worse—you could lose your life before that."
She didn't wait for a response. Dr. Hayden turned and walked away with her arms crossed, her voice dropping into a whisper.
"I hope it's the former."
Click!
Zyn wiped the tears from her cheeks and quietly exited the office. As she stepped into the hallway, she almost bumped into James, who was just about to enter.
Her expression tightened, and she quickly turned away.
"You applied for Project 408 again," James said flatly. It wasn't a question.
Clearly, this wasn't the first time Zyn had tried.
She nodded and muttered under her breath, "They rejected me again. Said I lacked the required experience... and advised me not to apply again for a while."
James didn't reply, but Zyn straightened up.
"No matter what it takes, I'll make it. I will work on 408."
With that, she strode off, her determination radiating through the screen.
The audience watching the live broadcast couldn't help but smile. They might not understand Zyn's deep affection for SCP-408, but her fierce determination moved them. She was the underdog, and everyone roots for the underdog.
Click.
James entered Dr. Kondraki's cluttered office. The older man was still tinkering with his vintage camera.
"Oh, you're back already?" Kondraki said without looking. "Just toss the mission report on that cabinet."
"You're not going to check it?"
Kondraki waved him off. "No need. Everyone knows SCP-343 won't hurt anyone. Honestly, if not for his cooperation, he'd be classified as Apollyon."
Then he turned, smiling. "Something abnormal happened?"
James paused but shook his head. "No. Nothing out of the ordinary."
"Then that's that."
As James set the report down, something caught his eye—a set of well-worn files on the corner of the cabinet. The first one read:
[Item: SCP-408 — Phantom Butterflies]
It was Zyn's obsession.
Kondraki noticed his glance. "Interested? Go ahead. You have clearance."
James nodded and opened the file.
The audience leaned in. Everyone wanted to understand why this file had such a pull on Zyn.
---
SCP-408: Phantom Butterflies
Object Class: Safe
Containment Procedures: The habitat of SCP-408 must be monitored by Level-2 personnel trained in biology or entomology. Humidity levels are to be checked daily and logged. The enclosure must be stocked with sugar-solution feeders, refreshed weekly.
Description: SCP-408 appears to be a swarm of zebra-striped butterflies that act with unified intelligence—likely a hive mind. When not observed, they can alter their appearance and shape, creating sophisticated optical illusions.
---
James read through it quickly. The butterflies were clever, able to blend in, mimic, and confuse.
But what truly surprised everyone was this—SCP-408 obeyed Dr. Kondraki's commands.
Across town, inside a darkened S.H.I.E.L.D. control room, Nick Fury's eye narrowed.
That wasn't just a containment creature—that was an asset.
SCP-500 had been used to suppress the regenerative SCP-682. SCP-408 was harmless, but potentially useful. What if they could use more anomalies as tools?
What if there was an entire team made of contained SCPs?
The thought made Fury sit forward in his chair.
Back in the office, Kondraki chuckled.
"Zyn's interested in those butterflies, huh? Smart kid. Just green."
James didn't reply. His eyes had already drifted to another file just beneath the 408 folder.
[SCP-1000 — "Bigfoot"]
"Can I read this?" he asked.
Kondraki looked at him for a moment. "Technically, you need Level 3 clearance. But... you've earned some trust. Go ahead. Just don't walk out with it."
The generosity surprised James—and the viewers. Kondraki was eccentric, but this was another level.
James opened the file, and the audience gasped when they saw the classification:
Object Class: Keter
At S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Natasha muttered, "Seriously? They just leave Keter-level files sitting around?"
Nick Fury was already taking notes. Up to now, they had seen "Safe" class (like SCP-343 and 408), "Euclid" (SCP-096, 173), and now… Keter. The highest danger level.
Every Keter-level SCP encountered so far—682, 1730, 1983—could cause mass death or worse.
The Keter classification meant only one thing: uncontainable or unpredictable devastation.
James began reading.
---
Containment Protocols:
Any media or scientific reports about SCP-1000 must be intercepted and scrubbed. Any person or group investigating SCP-1000 must be neutralized or administered amnestics. Remains are to be collected, analyzed, and replaced with fakes.
---
The audience exploded.
"What?! Just talking about it gets you wiped?"
"It must be memetic. Or an info-hazard!"
"MTF ZETA-1000 must be very busy!"
Back at Stark Tower, Tony leaned back. "Rhodes, thoughts? This smell like a cognitive hazard to you?"
"Maybe," Colonel Rhodes replied. "They emphasize observation. That screams danger by awareness."
A meme is an idea that spreads like a virus—and this one could be fatal.
James kept reading.
---
SCP-1000
Species Classification: Hominin
Height: 1.5 to 3 meters
Weight: 90 to 270 kilograms
Traits: Covered in fur, large eyes, ape-like cranial ridges
Intelligence: Comparable to higher primates
SCP-1000 evolved alongside early humans but suffered a catastrophic population collapse around 10,000 years ago. This was due to a genetic disease, SCP-1000-f1.
---
"So… they're basically caveman apes?" someone in the live chat said.
But then came the real twist.
---
SCP-1000-f1
This "pseudo-disease" affects SCP-1000 on a genetic level. While many are immune, some die shortly after birth. But the real danger lies in what happens when a human sees them.
Any primate who directly or indirectly observes SCP-1000 has at least a 2% chance of sudden, fatal brain failure.
Every 20 minutes of observation increases that risk by another 1%. In some cases, the fatality rate has reached 90%.
Even a dead body of SCP-1000 can cause this. Only small patches of fur are safe.
---
The live chat went silent. Then chaos.
"No way!"
"This isn't just Bigfoot—this is a walking info-nuke!"
"If these things were in a city… they'd wipe out the whole world by just being seen."
Back at S.H.I.E.L.D., Natasha whispered, "That's why it's Keter."
Assistant Maria Hill asked, "Shouldn't the virus be the actual containment object?"
"Does it matter?" Natasha replied, her eyes lingering on the words world-ending event bolded in red.
Back in the office, James turned toward the camera slightly.
"They're not monsters," he said. "They're a lost species. Doomed by their own biology."
The audience fell silent.
Bigfoot wasn't a myth or a joke.
It was a tragedy.
One wrong sighting in a crowded place could result in mass neurological failure. A single entity could destroy cities—not through violence, but through visibility.
Nick Fury rubbed his temples.
This wasn't just about weird creatures.
It was about truth being deadly. Knowledge itself had become a weapon.
And the Foundation—these people James was working with—knew it.
They were covering it up. Hiding the world's oldest tragedy behind blacked-out reports and false sightings.
Fury clenched his jaw.
The bigger the cover-up, the greater the danger.
And something told him… this was only the beginning.
---
End of Chapter 58
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