Adam was stunned by the voice on the other end of the line. He responded instinctively:
"I—I'm not a doctor."
"I know. Nothing you do can save her. But you must go to her. Now."
"I don't think... I'm the right person for this. I'm not in good shape today." Adam's face was pale—whether from fear or blood loss, he couldn't tell.
"It has to be you. There's no one else."
Finally, Adam couldn't hold back any longer. "…Who is she?"
[Chat Group Explodes]
"Who is she?!"
"It's obviously Wheeler!"
"Director of the Anti-Memetics Division!"
"Your wife, damn it!"
On the screen, silence stretched, as if the entity on the other end was struggling to find the right words.
"...She's important. Go now. She doesn't have much time left."
Adam stood frozen, lost. He lacked the strength to follow through. No other guidance came.
The landline was wired—otherwise, he would've taken it with him. The inability to do so filled him with irrational frustration.
"You'll... stay on the line?"
"Yes."
Adam made his decision.
He set the phone down and stepped into the silent hallway.
Room W16
Through the safety glass, the classroom glowed orange-red, sunlight streaming in from distant windows.
Was it dawn or dusk? He couldn't tell.
The room appeared empty.
Creak—
He pushed the door open.
Inside:
Complex, colorful ecology posters.
Scattered desks.
Books and markers strewn about.
Brightly colored backpacks.
He took a few steps down the center aisle, seeing nothing unusual—
Then he turned.
"God damn it!"
He nearly jumped out of his skin.
On the blackboard was a massive chalk sketch—a hyper-realistic portrait of a woman's head and shoulders.
He swore the board had been blank when he entered.
Then—
The drawing moved.
Lines erased and redrew themselves five to ten times per second. The woman appeared to be around his age, her features framed by hair whose true color was lost in the chalk's negative-space effect.
The only splash of discernible color: the vivid blue of her thick-framed glasses.
[Multiverse Chat Group Stunned]
Every viewer froze, eyes locked on the screen.
An unbelievable realization struck—
Marianne Wheeler?!
The next second, the chat erupted.
"WTF?! Isn't that Dr. Wheeler?!"
"How the hell is she here—as a chalk drawing?!"
"God, what's happening?!"
Three-Body Universe – Earth
Luo Ji's heart stopped the moment he saw the portrait.
He never expected that Feng Bujue would reunite Adam with his wife's fading consciousness this way.
But remembering that Wheeler was now at death's door—
His chest ached.
[On Screen]
Even as a chalk drawing, Wheeler seemed tense.
Her lips moved soundlessly, but words formed on the board:
[Adam?]
Adam stiffened, then nodded reflexively. "Yes."
[I remember everything.]
The words erased themselves, replaced by:
[Every second. I could never forget.]
New lines appeared, each overwriting the last.
[Now I know everything it did.]
[I was blind. It lingered beside me.]
[I made mistake after mistake.]
[It killed everyone I loved—except you.]
The "it" was unmistakable: SCP-3125.
Then, Wheeler's lips stilled.
Her final message lingered longer than the rest before vanishing.
Adam stood motionless, grappling with her words—trying to slot them into his fractured memories.
If such a place even existed anymore.
The viewers who knew the truth collectively sighed.
Of course.
To protect Adam, Dr. Wheeler had erased his memories completely.
[On Screen]
Adam's expression twisted with conflict.
He'd never met this woman before.
...Had he?
He studied her face, sifting through buried recollections—
Until a long-forgotten moment surfaced.
Her.
That time at the hospital—remember?
After the show, when you stepped on a nail.
You spent half the night in the ER.
She was there.
You talked.
God.
So who was she?
Adam muttered to himself:
"A... government agent? Or something in that field."
Close.
"Unshakable. Precise. Beautiful. Sharp as sapphire."
"We talked about music. Movie ratings. How trashy TV sci-fi had gotten. David Lynch."
"That was... before you knew. But it was fate."
Then—
His eyes snapped open.
"Marianne."
He understood now.
He raised a hand, as if to ward her off. "No. This can't—"
[I sent you away to save your life.]
Memories flooded back.
Years upon years of shared life, crashing into him like a live wire—
Like a gunshot to the chest.
He staggered back, disbelieving.
He'd never imagined so much had been stolen from him.
"No, no, no—Marianne—"
[It didn't work.]
"What happened to you?! I should've been there!"
Adam stepped closer, reaching for the chalk portrait—then hesitating.
[It destroyed the world.]
[Now you must live in hell.]
"Where are you?! Someone said you're dying—" Panic clawed at his throat.
[I'm already dead. I'm just memory.]
[And now, even memory fades.]
The words hit like a hammer.
Adam.
The chat group.
All froze.
Then—
Grief.
Wheeler was gone.
The viewers watched Adam through the screen, hearts heavy with pity.
This man had just regained his memories of his wife—
Only to learn of her death.
[On Screen]
Wheeler's final messages appeared:
[He found a way to Heaven.]
[Now he'll destroy it—like he did this world.]
Adam trembled. "What do you need? I'll stop him. I'll help you. Anything. I love you."
No response.
A second passed before he realized—
The image had frozen.
He approached, staring at the chalk lines.
Hesitantly, he touched the strands of her hair—
Leaving a smudge.
Chalk dust clung to his finger.
She was just a drawing.
And now—
She was gone.
Tears streaked Adam's face as he collapsed.
[Chat Group Silence]
The viewers' chests tightened, breath catching.
After so many missions, they'd almost forgotten—
Wheeler. Adam.
Beyond their ties to the Foundation—
They were just people.
Not reality benders.
Not thaumaturgists.
No immortality.
A single bullet.
One bad fall.
That's all it would take.
Yet they still fought.
Even against entities beyond gods.
Again and again.
They fought.
Now Wheeler had fallen—
And her husband Adam took up her cause.
The torch passed on.
[On Screen]
Feng Bujue reappeared, watching from some abstract distance as Adam curled into himself.
Feng still felt no fear—
But something new festered in his chest.
Sorrow.
Marianne Wheeler was dead.
Truly. Completely.
Adam's mind shattered—visibly, horrifically.
Not even SCP-3125's return could've broken him this thoroughly.
But this?
This was the silver bullet.
The only way to wound Adam beyond recovery:
Show him his wife—brain-damaged, dying—
Just as she slipped away.
Feng wrote on the opposite side of the board (careful not to disturb Wheeler's portrait) in a different font:
[I'm sorry.]
[I'm so sorry.]
[Adam—return to the phone.]
[I need your help.]
But Adam lay unconscious on the floor.
He didn't hear Feng trying another office line.
And Feng—
He was dying too.
He and Wheeler had anchored each other as long as they could.
Now that tether was cut.
He had hours left. Maybe.
"I need her," Adam mumbled into the floor.
"Don't take her. Please."
Feng wrote:
[You must save the world.]
[No one else can.]
Finally—
Adam left the chalkboard behind.
He walked down the hall to a half-open office door.
Inside, a phone rang.
The synthetic voice spoke again:
"My name is Ulrich. I belong to an organization called the Foundation. Our mission is to prevent what has already happened."
Adam's voice shook. "Then what... happened?"
"The world became hell, Mr. Adam."
A pause.
"I need your help. When I say 'we,' I mean me. Because the Foundation is gone. I'm all that's left. And I'm dying."
Even those who'd expected the worst—
The chat group winced.
Adam wiped his tears.
"What do you need me to do?"
"Go to Site-167. Find a man named Hughes."
Feng explained everything—
Concisely.
Key points only.
The Foundation. Anti-Memetics. The situation. The target.
"...Ulrich, I think our time's up," Adam said softly.
"Yes."
"The odds you faced... they were impossible," Adam admitted.
"But you saved my life. My task is still horrifying—but easier, thanks to you. I'll do everything I can. And I'll remember you. Even if it changes nothing."
"Kill that thing, Mr. Adam," Feng said. "When the moment comes—don't hesitate."
A nod. "Yeah."
At the same instant—
A laugh.
Sharp. Singular.
Feng turned.
A gaunt young man stood in the Noosphere with him, grinning like a death's-head.
He'd been waiting—patient, eager—until Feng noticed him.
And now that he had, the intruder seemed satisfied.
Almost.
A flicker of disappointment—Feng felt no fear.
But it was enough.
With sickening grace, the figure split Feng in two.
Instant death.
No warning reached Adam.
Just a click.
Then dial tone.
Adam hung up.
[Chat Group Silence]
Countless viewers stared at the screen—
At the figure who'd ended everything—
Then—
[Explosion of Messages]
"FK! How'd that bastard get there?!"
"Did he just kill Feng Bujue?!"
"God—that's the Noosphere! Is SCP-3125 merging with it?!"
"The last agent is dead. Does that mean... we failed?"
Sherlock Holmes Universe
Watson voiced the same question.
"No!"
Holmes watched the screen, Wheeler and Adam's story replaying in his mind.
Something burned in his chest—
His heartbeat grew fiercer. Hotter.
Hope.
So he said:
"It's not over yet."
The day-night cycle was gone.
But Earth still turned.
By reflex alone, Adam knew that much.
Whether the sun and moon still existed—or if only that red-black eye on the horizon remained—he couldn't say.
The eye never moved.
Its elongated shadow stretched endlessly, bright enough to sear retinas.
Physics aside, Adam felt like he wasn't walking on Earth—or even truly awake.
Like an ant crawling across some primordial beast's face—
Scrabbling through glyphs carved into its skin—glyphs from an apocalyptic myth.
Like the world was perpetually falling beneath him—
Plummeting into an abyss with no end.