Wheeler hunched over the laptop, struggling to comprehend what she was seeing.
"What's wrong with you, Wheeler? Are you sick?"
The recorded Wheeler's voice was hollow:
"I could kill myself here. But my team would find SCP-3125 without me. They'd fight it without me. It's inevitable. This ends within the year. I could still die now."
"I've taken so many mnestic boosters, my endocrine system should've shut down by now. Mixing amnestics with them is chemical suicide."
"I don't remember the last time I slept without nightmares about Adam. I'm starting to forget if SCP-4987 is real or just a number I assigned to life—"
"You're not like this," the present Wheeler whispered. "You're stronger. What happened to you? And who is Adam?"
The recording continued, as if answering:
"I don't know how we survive. I don't know how we win. We're the last ones left. After us—there's no one."
Wheeler shook her head, refusing to believe.
"So I'm done. I'll walk out, forget who I am, and become you, Wheeler. You'll find a solution. I can't."
The recorded Wheeler stood, her breathing ragged.
"God, my eyes hurt. I think it's starting inside—"
A door slammed. The video ended.
Sherlock Holmes Universe
Watson frowned. "So Wheeler left this video... for her amnesticized self?"
Holmes' expression was grim. "A cycle: discover SCP-3125, erase memories, rediscover it, erase again. Until they find a way to win—or die trying."
The unspoken question hung heavy:
How do you fight an enemy you can't remember?
On-screen, Wheeler stared at the darkened laptop.
The weakness she saw disgusted her.
Yet—questions gnawed.
Who was Adam?
The answer came, ugly and obvious:
Someone she'd loved.
Someone she'd lost.
She circled the truth, fighting it.
"But how was this room built?"
She imagined Hughes designing it, a fortuitous coincidence creating a war room.
"Unless..."
"What if there are other rooms?"
"What if that's where we built the weapon?"
"Did we really plan this far ahead?"
Doubt twisted her thoughts—
Until she checked the airlock timer.
38 Anti-Memetics personnel left.
42 days until next entry.
Too late.
If she left now, she couldn't return.
Her resolve hardened.
"We're the last. After us—nothing."
Jackie Chan Adventures | Section 13
Agent Black watched, awed.
"She's a true warrior."
Even broken, Wheeler stood taller than mountains.
Wheeler stepped out of containment.
Feng Bujue—or someone wearing his face—greeted her.
"For the record, we need to check you."
He reached out.
She flinched.
"Just need... to breathe," she gasped, knees to chest. "I'm fine. I remember the plan."
Feng Bujue's expression shifted.
"You shouldn't remember... What did you do?"
Thriller Universe
Wang Tanzhi stiffened.
"That's NOT Brother Feng!"
The posture. The micro-expressions.
All wrong.
Then—who was it?
Kim?
On-screen, "Feng Bujue" cornered Wheeler.
"You look terrible. There's something on your neck. See?"
He pointed—first at her throat, then his own.
"What?"
"An infection. We need to act fast."
A Swiss army knife flicked open.
He lunged—
Wheeler blocked, their arms locked.
His eyes weren't human anymore.
She kicked, sending him sprawling.
As she fled, the ceiling collapsed.
The chat group erupted.
"WTF?! HE TRIED TO KILL HER?!"
"SCP-3125 GOT HIM TOO?!"
Three-Body Universe | Earth
Luo Ji exhaled.
Anti-Memetics was finished.
What could one woman do against cosmic annihilation?
Marvel Universe | Kamar-Taj
The Ancient One palmed.
That fleeting glimpse—
The sacred starfish.
The perfect pentagram.
Devouring all concepts in its path.
Wheeler crouched in an elevator, clutching SCP-7381—a red, bifurcated rifle that erased matter in half-meter radii.
Site-41 was coming apart.
The pharmacy—gone.
The armory—buried.
The halls were hellscapes:
Agents babbling as memories dissolved.
Others slashing at comrades, then themselves.
Faces twisted by hatred, ecstasy, agony.
The chat group recoiled.
"GOD—THIS IS HELL!"
"MK-CLASS IS HERE! HUMANITY'S GONE!"
Wheeler fired, vaporizing an attacker's torso.
Meaningless.
She studied her reflection:
"It ate my knowledge of the department. Of itself. Of any plan."
"But I'm still me. I can rebuild the plan."
Her fingers brushed her left wrist.
"Mnestic boosters first. Fortify my mind."
Then—a memory surfaced.
The pharmacy.
A crushed medic.
A bright orange box labeled "Class-Z Mnestic."
Her breath stopped.
[Class-Z Mnestic Boosters: The ultimate defense. Permanently destroys the user's ability to forget. Perfect recall. Total immunity to anti-memes.]
"God... what have I done?"
Her plan crystallized.
To fight SCP-3125—
She had to erase oblivion itself.