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 Butai's vibrant commercial district, Meda and Nahash wandered away from Chancellor von Halberstadt to explore floating markets, enchanted boutiques, and whimsical shops, savoring a rare moment of carefree intimacy. Their path led them to a vast wisteria tree, a thousand years old and revered as the city's symbol of rebirth, where von Halberstadt shared its history and meaning. Sensing its protective wards weakening, Meda performed a quiet, reverent spell to strengthen and bond with the tree, vowing to keep it safe. The moment deepened their connection to Butai, but soon it was time to pack for the next leg of their journey to the Philippines. Von Halberstadt asked to accompany them, and together they left the city's serenity, crossing the nexus gate into Berlin. There, in the modernized Reichstag, the Chancellor met the President of the Federal German Republic, their subtle rapport hinting at something more personal than politics. As Meda and Nahash boarded the Quinjet, they left the pair in quiet conversation, the unspoken promise of new ties lingering in the air. With Berlin fading behind them, the craft turned west toward the Pacific, carrying them toward the journey's end. And somewhere in Butai, the great wisteria swayed—its roots stronger, its blossoms a promise kept.
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Meda and Nahash were barely out the door before I realized what I'd just agreed to.
Seven days. Seven days of running Alpha-9, plus all the Foundation diplomacy, plus Meda's "you'll be fine, Iris, just keep things steady" pep talk that I'm pretty sure was code for I am leaving you in the middle of an active volcano with a teaspoon. Don't get me wrong — I've run ops before. I've been on recon missions that turned into extraction nightmares, survived dimensional incursions, and even dealt with Clef before his morning coffee. But Meda's desk work? That's another kind of war. First order of business: call in reinforcements. Cain was the first to answer my knock on his door — literally standing there in that too-calm, "nothing can hurt me" way of his, a book in one hand, a mug of tea in the other. "Cain," I said, handing him a stack of files that I swear weighed more than my photo collection. "Congratulations. You've been promoted." He didn't even flinch. Just set the mug down and started flipping through them like they were light bedtime reading.
Alex was next — or technically SCP-2987-1, but I just call him Alex because if I use his designation, he starts giving me dictionary definitions of every word I say. He appeared in the form of a flickering hologram in Meda's office terminal, blue lines resolving into that sharp-featured, permanently smirking face of his. "You require processing assistance?" he asked, already scanning the document backlog. "I require someone to make sure I don't drown in Meda's mess," I replied. "And before you ask, yes, you can annotate everything in whatever obsessive format you like. Just... no snide comments in the margins this time."
