"Lucky Five-Seven" had survived experiment after experiment.
Her skin hadn't been flayed off. Her organs hadn't melted. Her brain hadn't been vacuumed out through her skull.
And then—the white coats brought her here.
They smeared the strange black fluid onto her arms.
In an instant, everything changed.
Her body and mind collapsed.
She was no longer herself.
Her soul was trapped in a cup—and something thirsty drank deeply from it.
Then that same thing poured itself back into her veins.
Even the audience shivered at that line.
But confusion soon followed.
> "Her soul's in a cup… and something drinks it?"
"What does that even mean?"
---
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters
Natasha Romanoff frowned at the monitor. "Could it be that being infected by SCP-3396 isn't as harmless as it looks?"
Nick Fury exhaled heavily.
"At this point, it doesn't matter. What matters is that the infected have power—and power changes everything."
He folded his hands.
"Power to defy laws. To crush peace. To start wars. If the Foundation doesn't act soon, this world will burn."
And that was the truth.
Even if Leon Lake's plan succeeded, once the infection spread… there would be no turning back.
Still, Fury couldn't help but wonder—
Just how powerful did D-77777 become?
---
D-77777: Awakening
There was no voice in her head telling her she was powerful.
No divine revelation.
The message came as smoke and iron dust coursing through her blood.
She could feel it.
Her body wasn't hers anymore.
Something had taken something precious—a part of her humanity.
And in its place, it had forged an arsenal.
Her rage, her pain, her hatred, her regret—every fragment of who she once was—melted and reforged into a single concept.
A shape that defined her existence.
A gun.
---
The livestream chat went wild.
> "Gun shape?! She is the weapon!"
"She can literally turn into a cannon—holy hell!"
"Bro, she's built for war! The Foundation is doomed!"
"Poor girl though… that's a cursed power if I've ever seen one."
---
Just then, an engine's roar echoed through the valley.
A black dune buggy approached—its heavy tires grinding the dirt, its frame stripped down to raw steel.
One man sat behind the wheel.
When the camera zoomed in, everyone gasped.
Painted on the side of the vehicle were three unmistakable letters—SCP.
> "Wait… is that a Foundation vehicle?"
"Are they sending someone after her?"
But what puzzled everyone was that Monica—D-77777—didn't shoot.
Even after everything they'd done to her… she didn't fire.
The man stepped out.
He was tall, dark-skinned, muscular, with a soldier's precision in every movement. His hair was cropped close, and his armor bore a simple patch: Phi-2.
A Mobile Task Force operative.
---
S.H.I.E.L.D.
"Why's he alone?" Natasha asked, narrowing her eyes. "Is this a negotiation?"
Nick Fury suddenly tensed. His one eye widened in recognition.
"Phi-2… wait. Phi-2!"
His voice dropped. "That's the rebel unit. The task force that defected!"
The entire room froze, then erupted in chaos.
> "The rebel team? They're back?!"
"So he's one of the traitors the Overseer mentioned!"
"Why would he come here?!"
---
On Screen
The soldier smiled faintly, raising both hands.
"Don't shoot. I just want to talk."
Monica's right arm transformed—metal and flesh twisting together into a massive cannon, larger than her own body.
Pipes on her shoulders hissed, spewing exhaust.
The barrel of her arm blazed orange.
The air hummed, vibrating with power.
Every viewer leaned forward, expecting her to pull the trigger—
—to erase this man with a single blast.
But she didn't.
"Fine," she snarled. "I'd love to vaporize your ass, Combat Boots—but go ahead. Talk."
The man smiled, still holding his hands up.
"I'm not here to take you back."
Monica snorted. "Wow. That's the nicest thing anyone's said to me this year."
His smile faded. "I know why you want to kill me. Hell, I'd want to kill me too. But tell me—do you believe in second chances?"
Her expression hardened. "F*** your mother."
He didn't flinch. "I read your file, Monica. I know where you came from. Who hurt you. What you lost. I know what kind of person you'd be… if someone gave you another chance."
Her cannon glowed brighter.
"Talking about my past is bad for your health, Nazi boy."
Sweat dripped down his temple, but his gaze didn't waver.
"I'm alive because I picked the winning side. The Foundation's falling apart, and I'm not dying for a losing cause. I have cars, money, weapons, contacts. You've been outside the system too long. You need me."
He lowered his hands slightly.
"All I'm asking… is that you don't shoot me."
Monica's glowing eyes met his.
Cold. Calculating.
And then—black.
---
The livestream went berserk.
> "WHAT?! The Foundation's losing?"
"Is he trying to recruit her?"
"What do these lunatics want?"
"Who are they even fighting now?!"
---
S.H.I.E.L.D.
Nick Fury's expression darkened.
The man's words echoed in his head: "The Foundation was losing…"
He remembered what the Overseer had told Leon Lake—
that humanity's survival was now uncertain.
And then the realization hit him.
His breath caught.
"…The infected and the rebel task forces… they've joined forces."
Cold sweat ran down his neck.
---
On Screen
Smoke. Ruins. Fire.
A once-great city reduced to ash—Old Vegas—destroyed by SCP-3396-infected mutants.
And there, standing amidst the carnage, was Monica — the Queen of Spades.
She looked up at a floating orb of black plasma, its surface rippling as it dissolved a mailbox midair.
She dodged its acidic spray, rolling behind cover and ordering the cannons at her back to open fire.
BOOM!
Shells screamed through the air, detonating across the street.
But the black sludge sprouted tendrils, swallowing everything—the explosions, the concrete, even the sound.
The chat went silent.
> "She's fighting another mutant?"
"Who the hell is that?!"
"Even her missiles aren't working!"
---
Monica's cannons folded away as six missile launchers rose from her back.
She unleashed all of them at once—over a hundred projectiles streaked through the sky, leaving trails of fire.
Only one missile made it through.
The rest were devoured by the sludge.
BOOM!
A pillar of fire erupted.
But from within the flames emerged a pale, humanoid figure wrapped in dark, shifting slime.
Even the audience held their breath.
> "Another infected…"
"He tanked a hundred missiles like it was nothing!"
---
Monica's breathing quickened. Sweat rolled down her temples.
She was done running.
No more evacuations.
No more families dying.
"This bastard dies," she whispered.
The black sludge swelled and split into a swarm of floating orbs that drifted toward her, dissolving everything they touched.
Instead of dodging, Monica raised her arm to the heavens.
The air trembled.
Her voice was almost reverent.
> "Amazing…"
The sky twisted.
A thunderclap shattered the clouds as a massive orbital cannon descended through the atmosphere—an iron fortress wrapped in flame and smoke.
Its underside glowed white-hot, molten metal dripping from its edges.
And then—it fired.
An orange-white beam of light carved through the city like the judgment of a god.
Buildings vaporized. The ground turned to glass. The air itself screamed.
The livestream's chat froze.
Nick Fury whispered, "My God…"
Natasha's jaw dropped. "That's… that's not a weapon. That's divine wrath."
The narration thundered:
This is destruction.
This is the fire of God.
When the light faded, everything was gone.
No more mutant.
No more sludge.
Just melted ground and silence.
Monica stumbled, clutching her smoking arm.
"I… think I got him," she murmured.
Then she collapsed.
---
For a long moment, the entire Marvel Universe—and every viewer watching—was silent.
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