New Star In Marvel

Time seemed to freeze.

Everyone watching the footage could see the Duke's face—pale at first, then flushed red, and finally turning an eerie shade of black.

No one had the time or presence of mind to react.

In that instant, Dr. Kondraki flipped the metal lab table with surprising strength. It slammed into SCP-083, shattering the circle of ritual symbols mid-incantation and stopping the spell. The chaos that followed was instantaneous.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Seven rapid gunshots echoed in the containment chamber. Flames flared at the muzzle of Dr. Kondraki's silver-plated pistol. The bullets, glinting faintly under the emergency lights, struck the Duke square in the chest. One after another, the silver rounds tore through his body.

Every spectator, both within the Foundation and those watching through the interdimensional broadcast, sat stunned.

But Kondraki wasn't finished.

With the same cool detachment of someone crossing off a grocery list, he reached into his lab coat and retrieved a sharpened wooden stake. He strode over to the still-writhing Duke of the End, leaned in, and muttered:

"I've had this on my bucket list for way too long."

And then—blackout.

The screen went dark, cutting the feed.

Yet the silence was short-lived.

An uproarious wave of laughter erupted both inside and outside the screen. In the live chat overlaying the stream, the audience exploded with comments:

"WTF?! Is Dr. Kondraki out of his damn mind?"

"Cat urine AND garlic juice? That's not science, that's witchcraft!"

"Garlic, silver bullets, wooden stakes... What's next? Ten Bibles and holy water from Vatican stockpile?"

"SCP-083's going to end up in therapy at this rate!"

"This is absurd! I'm laughing so hard my ribs hurt—Hahahaha!"

Within the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, several agents visibly struggled to suppress their laughter. A few failed, snorting into their uniforms while others bit down on their fists.

Nick Fury was stone-faced—almost.

He pressed his palm against his forehead and shook his head, exasperated.

He muttered, "This man's psychological evaluation must look like a horror show."

Yet despite himself, he couldn't help but wonder: Did it actually work? Did Dr. Kondraki's bizarre gambit defeat SCP-083?

On the screen, the footage transitioned again.

The camera now focused on an auditorium. Dr. Clef, seated in the row just in front of James, was doubled over with laughter, pounding the armrest of his chair.

He wheezed between laughs, "This lunatic was born for this job!"

A new segment began.

[Post-Incident Debrief: DK-083]

It opened in a dimly lit room. On one side of the table sat Dr. Kondraki, nonchalant and sipping from a paper cup. Opposite him was a stern-looking bald man in a dark suit, clearly from Site Command.

The interviewer began, "Dr. Kondraki, how exactly did you come to the conclusion that SCP-083 shared vulnerabilities with traditional vampires? There is no precedent or research data suggesting this."

This was the question everyone had in mind.

After all, while the Duke displayed some vampiric traits—supernatural charm, aversion to light—there had never been a confirmation.

So why garlic? Why silver bullets? Why a stake?

Dr. Kondraki shrugged lazily. "I was guessing, honestly. My thought process was: either it works and I get to eat lunch... or I'm dead and someone else has to clean up the mess."

"You improvised?" the bald man asked in disbelief.

Kondraki straightened up slightly, his voice calm but confident. "Yeah. Total improv. My brain froze, so I went with gut instinct. Garlic, silver, wood. Basic vampire lore."

The interviewer blinked, clearly struggling to maintain composure. "You're admitting you had no concrete plan? That you faced a potentially catastrophic SCP with no formal protocol or backup?"

"He's dead, isn't he?" Kondraki retorted with a smirk. "Mission accomplished. What more do you want?"

The bald man fell into silence, his expression unreadable.

After a long pause, he finally said, "Fine. One more question, Doctor."

"Shoot."

"...Why cat urine?"

A grin tugged at the corner of Kondraki's mouth. "Well, I figured if I was wrong and it didn't work... at least he'd go out reeking like a litter box."

He added, "Didn't expect him to react so violently, though."

The live chat erupted again.

"NOT THE CAT P**S!"

"That's the nastiest Hail Mary play I've ever seen."

"SCP-083's dignity has been permanently neutralized!"

The mental image of the once-terrifying Duke sputtering and convulsing after being doused in cat urine was just too much.

And then came the final straw.

Dr. Bright, seated a few rows in front of James, suddenly hurled his popcorn into the air.

He jumped to his feet, red-faced, and shouted, "I LOST $5,000 ON THIS IDIOT!"

Everyone turned.

Bright fumed, "I bet Kondraki wouldn't have the guts to actually throw cat p**s at 083! I figured—who in their right mind would? But this lunatic actually DID IT!"

He stomped the ground and cursed in at least three languages.

"I lost five grand because this maniac turned a vampire showdown into a Tom and Jerry episode!"

Even Nick Fury, ever the stoic, couldn't hold back a chuckle.

He stared at the screen, shaking his head in disbelief. "This is your fourth Doctor of the Apocalypse?" he muttered. "How the hell did this turn into a comedy?"

His curiosity shifted, however.

How did Kondraki survive? No one was shown retrieving him. The feed cut off. Surely, a monster like the Duke didn't go down that easily.

As if answering his question, the screen turned snowy and static.

The narrator, the elderly voice from the previous briefings, returned.

"At the current time, we lack detailed records regarding how Dr. Kondraki survived the failed execution. All internal surveillance equipment in the chamber was destroyed during the encounter."

The static continued for several seconds.

"But," the voice continued, "external security feeds later recorded Dr. Kondraki and SCP-083 leaving the facility—alive—approximately thirty minutes later."

"Both appeared damaged but walking."

"Following this, the site's command center declared a full Red Alert, activating Mobile Task Force P-2—'Heroes of Hawthorne'—to recontain SCP-083 and protect Dr. Kondraki."

A pause.

Then the old man sighed and muttered:

"In hindsight, it would've been more cost-effective to shoot Dr. Kondraki."

Another wave of laughter rolled through both dimensions.

Back in the viewing hall, James leaned forward in his seat. Victor Hale, sitting beside him, raised an eyebrow. "That man is either a tactical genius… or completely insane."

"I'm leaning toward both," James replied.

Just then, Dr. Kondraki reappeared on the screen.

He was sprinting down a dark corridor, his white lab coat scorched and fluttering behind him like a cape. A few bloodstains dotted his shirt, but he was alive—and yelling something unintelligible as alarms blared.

A half-melted SCP-083 stumbled after him, trailing smoke, clawing at the air with fury.

Kondraki screamed back, "Next time, I'm throwing dog poop!"

The screen faded out.

Words appeared:

[To be continued…]

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