Inside Yellowstone Mountain?
The audience in the live broadcast room instinctively recalled the terrifying image of Yellowstone Mountain erupting into a sea of fire. A heavy silence fell over everyone.
But a new wave of questions followed.
What are flowers?
Ten raised his hands to halt the growing chorus of confusion and calmly explained, "The Flower is an SCP black box... It has, until now, been known only to four Overseers: Me, One, Two, and Thirteen. It is the reset button for the entire universe."
A reset button... for the universe?
When that sentence appeared on-screen, the audience, still reeling from the revelation of the Foundation's power to restart the world, collectively lost the ability to think.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters
Nick Fury's pupils shrank to pinpoints, and cold sweat soaked his back.
The knowledge that the Foundation could restart the world had already shattered his understanding of power. But now—this? A button that could reset the universe? That wasn't just beyond human comprehension—it defied the laws of existence. Even the most ancient beings in the cosmos couldn't achieve such a feat.
Restart the universe... It was terrifying.
Back in the broadcast feed—
Ten's revelation left the room in stunned silence.
"Let me be clear," Ten continued calmly. "This explanation is overly simplified. There's no time to explain the entire nature of the World-Transforming Flower or the Multiverse Observer."
Hearing this, Nick Fury clenched his fists in frustration outside the screen.
No time? You're the one choosing not to explain it!
"All anyone needs to know now," Ten continued, "is that the Flower is a branching point—where infinite potential realities diverge. It's the most stable point on Earth. That's why we installed the ultimate contingency system, the Human Race Recovery Mechanism, on it."
He spoke as if discussing the weather.
"But unfortunately," Ten went on, "Yellowstone is also one of the most unstable supervolcanoes on the planet. That's why Dr. Null was assigned to replicate the Flower's effects in a more stable location."
He sighed. "And more unfortunately—something went wrong. Now, instead of keeping parallel universes separated, the Flower is pulling them together."
The audience tried to picture what that could mean, but it was like trying to imagine a fourth dimension. Their brains gave up.
"Isn't there a Scranton Reality Anchor around that thing?" asked the voice from seat Nine.
[Scranton Reality Anchor: A device that stabilizes reality by anchoring the Hume index, named after Dr. Robert Scranton.]
Ten nodded. "Those anchors are the only reason our universe hasn't disappeared yet."
He tapped on his keyboard. A visual popped up behind him—a small blue sphere surrounded by swirling yellow lines.
"This is a false-color image of current mathematical reality," Ten explained. "The blue sphere represents dependent timelines and quantum uncertainty. The yellow vortices represent separate timelines and universes. This image was captured last year during a project at one of our research facilities."
He tapped another key.
Now the image moved. The yellow structures churned like flower petals floating in turbulent water.
"This is real-time," Ten added. "Timelines are like photons and anti-photons. When incompatible timelines intersect, the result is mutual annihilation. As these Flowers draw nearby realities together... the consequences are unpredictable."
Some of the sharper viewers in the broadcast room began to grasp what was happening.
Ten clicked again. The words "Event Plan Sequence" appeared on the screen.
"The first universal crossover will cause the space-time membrane that surrounds our reality to collapse. Cause and effect will lose meaning. Events won't exist in linear time anymore."
He paused.
"When Schrödinger's cat is both alive and dead, in this scenario, both versions of the cat will exist simultaneously. But such coexistence is impossible. So they annihilate each other."
Understanding dawned on many viewers.
Parallel timelines intersect—reality collapses—existence annihilates.
The comment section exploded:
"What the hell—this turned into a physics lecture real quick!"
"Physics? This isn't even science fiction anymore! This is god-level magic!"
"Reality itself is being destroyed. My brain hurts."
"This is beyond gods. This is the end of everything!"
S.H.I.E.L.D.
Nick Fury turned to his top physicist.
The man adjusted his glasses and muttered, "In theory... yes. This is possible."
He quickly drew a theoretical diagram.
"When two timelines intersect, events lose their unique position in time."
Natasha Romanoff blinked. "So that doomsday scene we saw earlier—it really happened? In another world?"
"Very likely," the physicist replied.
Nick frowned. "What happens when timelines collide? Do they all just—annihilate?"
"There's no way to calculate it," the physicist admitted. "Too many variables."
Back to the screen—
Everyone watching the room on the broadcast saw the grim faces of those present.
Ten elaborated, "The resulting annihilation reaction would release unfathomable energy, accelerating the convergence of timelines—drawing in even more universes faster and faster."
On the screen, the Flowers folded inward. They churned. Then they dissolved into gray static—until only blankness remained.
No explosions. No countdown. Just nothing.
It was a silence that screamed louder than any siren.
"That," Ten said solemnly, "is the result."
"One" sighed heavily: "A ZK-Class Reality Failure Scenario."
[ZK-Class: A catastrophic event where reality undergoes total collapse—triggered by physics, or an anomalous SCP object.]
Kamar-Taj
The Ancient One gazed up at the magical screen in solemn silence.
Her centuries of defending Earth from interdimensional invaders felt small now. She had faced Dormammu. Met Eternity. Wielded the Eye of Agamotto. She believed herself strong—unshakable.
Until now.
Divine beings, cosmic gods, distorted and vanishing realities...
If even a fraction of this touched Earth—she couldn't stop it.
She exhaled slowly. At least it's not happening here... right?
Asgard
Loki was no longer arrogant.
He once believed gods were the peak of power.
Now he realized the truth: gods exist only because reality does.
And when reality fails... even gods become nothing.
In the broadcast room—
Ten continued. "I don't think we even have a name for what's coming. But unless we act in the next few hours, we lose everything. We have one last plan, but it's risky. Our only other chance is to deal with the Flower itself—which means accessing the Yellowstone Mountain facility."
"Do we have anyone there?" someone asked.
"Only one team," Ten replied.
At that moment, a realization hit everyone: James and his group are still there...
Could they be the team Ten referred to?
"Mobile Task Force Omega-7: Pandora's Box," Ten explained. "Team Able is out of contact. But we've managed to reconnect with members of Team Iris. Led by a junior researcher and two agents, they'll be inside the facility within the hour."
"...A junior researcher?" someone questioned.
"To be precise, he's a medium-level researcher. Kondraki submitted his promotion request yesterday," Ten added.
"We don't have any other personnel available."
He pulled out a file.
"James has completed full Mobile Task Force training. He should've joined the Red Right Hand."
"The guy who was supposed to join the Red Right Hand became a researcher?" another whispered. The room went silent.
"Anyone else want to add something?" asked One.
No one responded.
"Then deploy them. Keep me informed."
One turned to Ten: "Handle this. You have full authority over Foundation resources until the crisis ends."
Ten nodded.
Broadcast Room
At first, the chat was stunned.
Then it exploded.
"WHAT? They're sending James??"
"You've gotta be kidding me—he was just promoted!"
"James is the only one there... I get it now. At any cost meant him."
"Screw the Ethics Committee. There won't be anyone left to complain if they fail..."
And just like that, the reality of the situation hit.
There would be no debates. No appeals. The world itself was collapsing.
Onscreen: Yellowstone Mountain
It had stabilized.
But it looked... wrong.
Not like a volcano. Not like Earth.
Like an old, flickering VHS tape. Blurred. Flickering. Like multiple versions of itself were overlapping in the same space.
Ten's words echoed in everyone's minds:
"When two timelines begin to intersect, events no longer exist uniquely in time."
Outside the mountain
Three transport vehicles arrived near a helicopter. Twelve soldiers disembarked.
One of them—a stocky man with dark skin and sharp eyes—walked to Adrian and Beatrice. He dropped two equipment bags at their feet.
Then he handed the third to James.
"I'm sorry, Doctor," he said solemnly, "but this mission isn't suitable for you."
Beatrice froze mid-change from pajamas to combat gear. "James... you're going with us?"
Adrian blinked. "Wait, wasn't your job just to escort Iris?"
The man shrugged. "Not anymore. James is now part of Team Iris."
"Hell," Adrian muttered, yanking on his digital camo pants.
He turned to talk James out of it—only to find James already suited up, looking sharper and more focused than anyone else.
Adrian and Beatrice stared, then saluted instinctively.
"Lieutenant!"
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