With just a few words, Wheeler sent the chat group into a frenzy.
Only now did they realize just how terrifying anti-memes truly were.
These entities rewrote cognition and memory—silently, imperceptibly.
Even their victims remained unaware.
Worst of all, standard containment procedures were useless against them.
No matter how powerful an operative might be,
you couldn't kill an idea.
On the screen:
"So yes, they're a threat—but that's all we can say for certain."
Wheeler took a deep breath.
"Anti-memes are dangerous because we don't understand them. That's why my department exists. We think sideways—because they devour the training meant to defeat them."
O5-8 studied her in silence.
Beside him, Clay shifted uncomfortably, his expression skeptical. But the O5 behind the desk seemed willing to entertain her claims.
"Give me an example," he said. "Name an anti-meme SCP."
Hearing this, the chat group's audience instinctively recalled SCP-4739, the entity Kim had previously neutralized.
But Wheeler cited a different file:
"SCP-055."
"We don't have an SCP-055," Clay snapped.
"I'll say it again: We do," Wheeler insisted.
"No," Clay countered. "SCP designations aren't sequential. Some numbers are left vacant. This one was never assigned—it's not superstition. We've got SCP-666 and SCP-013, but no SCP-001, and certainly no SCP-055."
Marvel Universe | S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters
"So that's how it is..."
Nick Fury watched the screen, deep in thought.
He'd always wondered about the Foundation's numbering system. Were the designations truly sequential?
Did every number represent a successfully contained anomaly?
Now he understood—they weren't.
As for O5-8's assistant not knowing about SCP-001?
That made perfect sense.
Just consider the SCP-001 proposals that had surfaced:
The Gate Guardian watching over Eden.
Mary Nakayama, ascending to cosmic dominion.
Entities of that caliber were beyond top-secret.
But one question nagged at Fury—
What kind of anti-meme was SCP-055?
"Clay," O5-8 said, "look at this."
He turned his monitor, revealing a freshly retrieved file:
[Item Designation: [UNKNOWN]]
[SCP-055]
[Object Class: Keter]
The chat group erupted in shock.
Another anti-meme.
And like all the others, classified as Keter—a threat capable of catastrophic consequences.
On-screen, Clay bent over, scrutinizing the document. Stunned, he read it again.
"But... this file is from [DATA EXPUNGED]. The signatures check out. The encryption's valid. It's real."
"You've seen this before?" Clay asked.
"Never," O5-8 replied. "At least, not that I remember. But if this file is accurate, we've all seen it many times."
Clay glared at Wheeler. "This is impossible."
"If this SCP is so powerful..." he began.
"Then who wrote this file?" O5-8 finished for him. "How were these interviews conducted? And most importantly—how do you, Dr. Wheeler, remember any of it?"
Wheeler met their gaze calmly. "You don't want to know."
O5-8 and his assistant froze. Their expressions cycled through:
Outrage at her bluntness.
Confusion over her casual demeanor.
Disbelief at her claims.
Dawning comprehension.
And finally—fear.
"What if... we had known?" O5-8 asked cautiously.
"Then it would've happened to you too," Wheeler said flatly.
She continued:
"As for your other questions—we used drugs. You know about Class-A amnestics, yes? Of course you do. Who could forget them?"
"But in my department, we use a different kind of drug. One that lets you remember the unrememberable."
Her phone buzzed again. With O5-8's nod, she silenced it—this time accepting the alert. From her pocket, she produced a blister pack and popped out a single pill.
Hexagonal. Green.
She held it up, watching as recognition flickered across O5-8's face.
"Class-W mnemonic booster. Mildest potency, for long-term use. Two daily. Ask the site pharmacy—they'll deny stocking it. Tell them they're wrong. Make them check again."
O5-8 exhaled. "Now I understand why we're having this conversation."
The chat group finally grasped the situation—and promptly panicked.
"Holy hell, even the head of Anti-Memetics needs drugs to keep her memories straight?"
"Worse—even the O5s are being altered!"
"This shit's unstoppable!"
"So the department wasn't just forgotten—it was erased?"
Sherlock Holmes Universe
"Is that the truth?"
Holmes analyzed the data, his mind racing. Then his expression darkened.
No.
This wasn't just forgetting.
If it were, the Anti-Memetics Division could've easily restored memories with their drugs.
But they hadn't.
Which meant—
"They don't just not remember...
They no longer exist."
"So what is SCP-055?" O5-8 demanded.
"SCP-055 isn't," Wheeler said, relaxing slightly. "As the file states, it's a self-sustaining informational suppressant. We can only define it by what it's not."
"We know it's not Safe or Euclid. Not round, not square. Not green, not silver."
"We know it's not stupid."
"We know it's not alone."
"But we also know it's weak—because it's the only anti-meme with a physical container."
O5-8 blinked. "You have containment protocols? Where?"
Wheeler tapped her temple.
"How many anti-memes are there? How dangerous?"
"At least ten that I know of," Wheeler said. "Statistically, five more that I don't. And that's not counting the uncontained ones. There are at least two in this room right now. Don't look. I said don't look! It's pointless!"
The atmosphere turned chilling.
Across the multiverse, viewers recoiled.
Two anti-memes here?
In the O5 Council's sanctum?
O5-8 kept his focus locked on Wheeler.
Clay, less disciplined, spun around—checking corners, even behind himself.
He found nothing.
"There's a creature that follows me," Wheeler explained. "SCP-4987. It eats memories. I told you not to look—it's not here. One of my agents temporarily neutralized it."
"And the other one?" Clay asked.
O5-8 nodded. Wheeler reached into her bag—
And pulled out a gun.
BANG. BANG.
Two shots to Clay's chest.
The multiverse held its breath.
Clay collapsed against the bookshelf, gasping. "How did you—?"
Wheeler stood, took aim—
BANG.
A third shot. Point-blank.
O5-8 remained eerily calm. "That's Clay's gun. You stole it."
"Hard to sneak a weapon this heavy off someone," Wheeler said, ejecting the magazine. "But steal the gun first, then the memory of the theft? Much easier. Like I said—some 'pets' can be tamed."
"Indeed," O5-8 said coolly. "But why?"
"You should've taken your mnemonics," Wheeler said. "You can't miss a dose. I've tried. Only one person could've stopped you—your assistant."
Her patience vanished. "Enough. We have a real problem."
She tossed a dozen files onto the table. "We've contained over a dozen anti-memes like SCP-055."
Then she produced one more—nearly empty.
Her expression turned grave.
"But this is the true threat."
O5-8 read the cover:
[Item Designation: The Escapee]
[SCP-3125]
[Object Class: Apollyon]
He paled. "We don't have an Apollyon-class."
"Officially? No," Wheeler said. "The Overseers consider 'Apollyon' a surrender. Bad for morale. Promotes defeatism. So they reclassified everything as Keter."
(Apollyon-class: SCPs that cannot be contained and actively cause XK-class end-of-world scenarios.)
The multiverse reeled.
Apollyon?
Active extinction events?
"Then what's this?" O5-8 demanded.
"No time for debates!" Wheeler gestured to Clay's corpse. "Why would an anti-meme impersonate your aide? How many Foundation personnel have been replaced? What are they?"
"Where is it? What does SCP-3125 look like? Motives? Origins? Methods?
We. Don't. Know.
"Only this: It's already on Earth. Spreading. Consuming human sanity at an exponential rate."
She locked eyes with O5-8.
"We're out of time."