Boom!
Boom boom!
The sound was unmistakable—heartbeats pounding like war drums. On the screen, James stood frozen, eyes wide in utter disbelief, as a terrifying figure loomed behind him—a statue that had appeared seemingly out of thin air.
Even through the broadcast, the sound of James's heartbeat reverberated, as if it were echoing through the very airwaves. It was deafening, thudding against the chests of everyone watching.
A drop of liquid slid down James's forehead. He didn't even dare wipe it off.
But the viewers could see it clearly—it wasn't sweat. It was a small splash of blood.
Not his blood.
The screen panned slightly, revealing the grotesque source of the red droplet. Two men—one bearded, the other blonde—lay crumpled on the floor, lifeless. Their bodies twisted unnaturally, as if snapped and discarded. They resembled two fallen number sevens, side by side.
Tick-tock...
Tick-tock...
Blood dripped steadily from the corners of their mouths, pooling onto the cold, sterile floor. The vibrant red mixed with the residue already staining the room, forming a sticky, horrifying mess.
Thump-thump.
Thump-thump.
James's heartbeat continued to race, each beat louder than the last, as if struggling to stay alive through sheer determination alone. Across the Marvel Universe, the audience held their collective breath. For a moment, it was as if time had stopped.
Then, with a slight tremble, James slowly straightened his body.
BOOM!!!
The audience erupted.
"Oh my god!!! Did you see that?!"
"Fk! Fk! F!!! What the hell was that?!"
"Did that statue just… snap their necks instantly?! Are you serious?!"
"The scariest thing is—James actually reacted in time! If he hadn't, he'd be dead!"
"What's he gonna do now?! He's all alone in there, the door's blocked... Isn't he doomed?!"
Stark Industries.
Tony Stark stared at the screen, his expression twisted with disbelief.
"This is insane," he muttered. "It's real. That statue—whatever it is—killed them in an instant."
His voice cracked slightly. For once, even he was shaken.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Headquarters.
Nick Fury leaned closer to the screen, his one visible eye narrowing. His expression was darker than usual, the tension in the room palpable.
He had ordered the footage to be slowed down—by millions of frames per second. Yet even with all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s technology, he still couldn't detect how the statue moved.
"Teleportation?" he murmured to himself, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. The implications were terrifying.
Taking a deep breath, he turned to his assistant. "Raise the threat level of the SCP Foundation."
Maria Hill blinked. "And what about James?"
Nick was quiet for a moment. "Keep his classification the same."
Even though James had demonstrated incredible calm and resolve, it was still within human limits. But that thing—SCP-173—was something else entirely. Nick Fury was already calculating the cost of attempting to contain it if it ever appeared on Earth.
Meanwhile, in the livestream chat, the initial panic began to shift.
The viewers' eyes were now locked on the screen. Their horror hadn't faded, but it had given way to something else—curiosity. Captivation. Awe.
On-screen, James stood trembling, but he hadn't lost control. Despite the shock and fear, he remained composed—just barely.
He knew SCP-173's properties. He knew it could kill instantly. But as long as he kept his eyes on it, the statue couldn't move.
That meant...
He still had a chance.
The entire livestream audience leaned forward. Everyone, from teenagers in their bedrooms to powerful superheroes watching in secure facilities, stared at the screen.
Could James survive?
Fifteen seconds had passed since the initial attack.
That meant fifteen full seconds of unblinking eye contact.
Online myths once claimed that a person could keep their eyes open for twelve hours straight. But James wasn't some kind of superhuman. He was just a man.
Already, at the twenty-second mark, red lines spiderwebbed across his eyeballs. Painful. Raw.
He couldn't go on like this.
He had to leave the containment room.
But how?
The statue stood in the way. The bodies of the bearded man and the blonde man blocked the only exit.
There was no safe path.
At twenty-five seconds, James began to move.
He didn't blink. Didn't falter.
He bent slightly at the knees, turning his body sideways, and began to inch along the wall like a crab—never breaking eye contact with the statue.
Everyone gasped.
[Extraordinary Chat Group]
Steve Rogers: "He's braver than I ever was... even when I faced death."
Tony Stark: "I admit he's remarkable. But this isn't real—it's a simulation of his past life. Technically, he already died."
The Ancient One: "Strength lies not only in the body, but in the mind. Until the moment ends, the outcome is unknown."
Deadpool: "Only an idiot would say statues can't teleport. Look at this thing! It's like a horror movie on steroids."
[System Notification: Group Member 'Tony' has gone offline.]
Despite their previous doubts, everyone watching felt the same now.
Admiration.
Pure, instinctive respect.
James wasn't giving up.
Time ticked on.
Still unable to blink, James relied purely on memory and instinct to navigate.
Too fast, and he might stumble.
Too slow, and he might never reach the exit.
Two minutes passed.
James's eyes were filled with bloodshot veins. It looked excruciating, unbearable.
Still, he crawled forward. Inch by inch.
The viewers watched, hardly daring to breathe.
Five meters…
Four meters…
Three meters…
Then, James stepped onto something soft.
A corpse.
He wobbled, but quickly regained his balance. A slip-up could've been fatal. But he stayed focused.
S.H.I.E.L.D. Observation Room.
Maria's eyes were fixed on the screen. "His capillaries are rupturing. If blood blurs his vision… it'll be over."
Nick Fury remained silent. His fists clenched by his side.
In the broadcast, blood began to flow from the corner of James's left eye. His eyelids trembled. His body wavered.
Everyone watching knew what that meant.
He couldn't hold out much longer.
The image of him standing firm, alone in the face of death, had inspired millions—but even inspiration had its limits.
The blood began to seep over his eye, clouding it.
The tension reached a breaking point.
Viewers closed their eyes, unable to watch what came next.
One second…
Two seconds…
Three seconds…
Then—
"D-14134…"
"Mission accomplished!"
A robotic voice echoed through the room. The containment room lights flashed green.
James blinked for the first time in nearly three minutes.
And the screen cut to black.
Boom!!!
The Marvel world exploded into cheers.
"He did it!!! He actually made it!!!"
"Holy crap, I thought he was gonna die for sure!"
"That man's got nerves of steel!"
Back in S.H.I.E.L.D., Nick finally relaxed his grip. "Well... I'll be damned."
Even Tony Stark, now back online, couldn't stop shaking his head. "Crazy. Absolutely crazy."
The chat group lit up again.
Steve Rogers: "That man has the heart of a warrior."
Deadpool: "Alright, fine, I'm officially a fan. Sign me up for the James Fan Club!"
The Ancient One: "Strength of spirit… is not so easily measured."
Back in the real world, countless people across the planet were still trying to process what they had just seen.
A man faced a monster.
A statue that kills in the blink of an eye.
And he survived.
Not with powers.
Not with weapons.
But with sheer will.
And a stare.
James had not only stayed alive—he had made history.
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