Sequel of Enhanced (An Avenger's FanFiction).
After her supposed "death", Andromeda Johnson awakens to a new world not far from the one she was used to. She is in a whole new, dangerous world. A world on the brink of collapse. An enemy endangers thi...
In the aftermath of a dire attack enabled by stolen Cogwork technology, Meda led a delegation to Kharkiv for a high-stakes meeting with the Church of the Broken God. Representing the SCP Foundation, the Serpent's Hand, and the GOC, she confronted both the Cogwork Orthodox and Maxwellists over their involvement—intentional or not—in arming the Chaos Insurgency. The discussion quickly escalated into a reckoning, as fractures within the Church's hierarchy were laid bare. Meda invoked her divine nature to pressure the Orthodox into choosing between complicity and cooperation. With tensions high, the Bishop ultimately pledged support to the Triskelion Accord, agreeing to purge heretical factions and collaborate on future technology. The agreement marked the first official alliance between the Foundation, the GOC, the Serpent's Hand, and the Church. As the diplomatic triumph settled, war still brewed elsewhere, prompting Meda to descend into battle as a radiant force of reckoning. Her arrival on the battlefield wasn't just strategic—it was divine, and the walls ahead were already doomed to fall.
Also, fair warning. If you don't like imagining or picturing gore inside your head, then, IDK, skip the part? It's only small but, yk, you might feel queasy.
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The woods were silent, save for the whisper of the wind slipping through blackened pines and the distant hum of dormant machinery.
We'd arrived hours ago—no alarms, no sensors tripped, not even a bird startled. The camouflage runes Hoya etched into our gear glimmered faintly like dew in moonlight, then vanished entirely. Perfection. We were shadows with breath. I crouched low behind a fallen log, fingertips brushing the frost-laced bark as I scanned the dense tree line. Beside me, Hoya lay perfectly still, her eyes half-lidded but awake in that vulpine way—like she was dreaming of war. "아직 아무것도 없어(Still nothing.)," I murmured, almost to myself. "조용할수록 더 이상하지 않아?(Isn't it weirder the quieter it is?)" she replied, her voice barely a vibration in the air.
"그래서 네가 항상 긴장 상태인가 봐.(Maybe that's why you're always tense.)," I smirked. She snorted softly. "그게 아니라, 조용한 전장은 숨겨진 칼날 같거든. 웃고 있다가 찔리는 거야. (It's not that. A quiet battlefield is like a hidden blade. Smile once, and it stabs you.)" We fell silent again, watching, listening. The base was 100 kilometers from Area-12—deep in the old NRQZ, the National Radio Quiet Zone. No signal noise. No comm chatter. A vacuum of interference that let silence stretch too long. An hour passed. I timed my breathing with the wind. Then—wheels. Distant. Grinding through gravel and underbrush. I flicked two fingers toward Hoya, and she tensed.
