I created a foundation

What did they hear?

Death by looking at it?

Ignore distance?

Absolutely invulnerable?

These words, combined, had already surpassed the limits of their understanding of "abnormality." This was no longer a creature that needed to be "contained," but a walking, illogically inexplicable, absolute concept of death.

Kasumigaoka Utaha's eyes, which always gleamed with wisdom and cunning, now became empty. She subconsciously reached out, wanting to input something on the console, but her fingertips hovered in mid-air, unsure where to press.

Analyze? Deducing? Formulating a plan?

In the face of the absolute rule of "death by looking", any wisdom seems pale and ridiculous.

Shinomiya Kaguya remained upright, but the color drained from her face, which had always maintained an icy composure. Her hands, placed at her sides, unconsciously clenched the hem of her skirt, her knuckles turning a sickly white from the excessive force.

The imperial studies of the Shinomiya family taught her how to deal with all commercial and political enemies.

The knowledge of the Foundation taught her how to face those twisted and dangerous abnormal creatures.

But nothing had taught her how to face a rule that...was certain to kill her.

The last few words of the report, like a curse, echoed silently in the deadly silent command hall.

Conventional means are meaningless.

She looked at the main screen, and saw the white dot of light representing SCP-096, which was moving straight and unwaveringly towards their location at high speed.

Chapter 160: Acting Commander Nanami Aoyama, a Genius Confinement Plan

Dead silence.

Like the absolute pressure ten thousand meters below the sea, the air in the command hall solidified into a solid, weighing heavily on everyone's heart.

The last few words of Yotsuya Miko's report, with the hoarseness of radio waves, echoed in everyone's mind over and over again like the most vicious curse.

Conventional means are meaningless.

On the huge main screen, the white light representing SCP-096, like a bullet shot from hell, dragged a straight trajectory of destruction with an unwavering attitude, approaching at high speed.

The destination it points to is the steel fortress buried deep underground under their feet - the Far East Branch Headquarters of the SCP Foundation.

"Are you kidding me... Death by just looking at it?"

A young intelligence analyst muttered to himself absentmindedly, the blood draining from his face, leaving only the same pale color as the screen.

"How can we contain this? It's targeting all of us! Everyone at headquarters who has observed the front-line footage! It'll tear the entire base apart!"

"We can't be hurt... so what can we do? Wait to die?"

Panic, like an invisible plague, began to spread silently among the crowd. The clacking of keyboards died down, replaced by waves of suppressed, heavy breathing.

For the first time, a feeling of despair enveloped this last bastion symbolizing human rationality and order.

Kasumigaoka Utaha's fingers hovered above the console, trembling slightly.

Her brain was working at an unprecedented speed, trying to find even the slightest logical loophole in this desperate report, a variable that could be used to formulate a counterattack plan.

but no.

The rule of "looking is death" stood like a cold, insurmountable iron wall before all ingenuity. Any plan, any strategy, seemed so pale and powerless in the face of such an absolute concept.

Kaguya Shinomiya stood beside her, her back still straight, but her ice-purple eyes had rarely lost all focus.

All the knowledge of emperorship that she had learned and the countless methods that she had mastered to control the situation were all ineffective at this moment.

The enemy is not a business rival, not a political enemy, and not even an abnormal creature whose weaknesses can be analyzed and exploited.

The enemy this time is a rule.

A rule equivalent to "death" itself.

"Where is the chairman? Where is Chairman Lin Qing now?"

"Go and inform the chairman!"

The noise of chaos was growing louder and louder, and the entire command hall was sliding towards the edge of being out of control.

In this gloomy atmosphere that was about to be completely swallowed by panic, a clear, calm, yet decisive voice instantly resounded through the internal broadcast and resounded in every corner of the hall.

"All departments, maintain silence!"

The noisy sound suddenly stopped.

Everyone seemed to have paused. They followed the direction of the sound and looked towards the bottom of the control desk with a mixture of surprise and confusion.

The one who made the sound was neither Kaguya Shinomiya nor Utaha Kasumigaoka.

But it was the chairman's chief secretary, Nanami Aoyama, who was always a little shy, responsible for serving tea and organizing documents, and was as unknown as air.

She stood there, her blue eyes, which usually had a hint of timidity, but now they were like the purest sapphires, shining with absolute concentration and calmness.

Under everyone's astonished gaze, Nanami Aoyama took off the secretary name tag on her chest and gently placed it on the table beside her, as if she had taken off an identity and all disguises.

"Until the chairman returns, I will temporarily assume supreme command."

Her voice was not loud, but it was clearly heard by everyone, with a power that made people believe it.

The command hall was dead silent, and you could hear a pin drop.

Even Kasumigaoka Utaha and Shinomiya Kaguya, who were stuck in a mental impasse, looked at her with disbelief.

Nanami Aoyama ignored everyone's gaze.

She walked quickly to the technical director who was standing there in shock, her tone calm.

"Step aside."

The technical director subconsciously took a step back.

Nanami Aoyama sat in the control seat. Her hands, which were once only capable of making coffee and organizing documents, were now like the most precise scalpels, operating smoothly on the complex control console.

Lines of complex instructions were entered rapidly, and the chaotic data stream on the main screen was instantly integrated and classified.

"Data Department!"

Her voice became more majestic through the microphone in the command seat.

"Immediately retrieve all movement data of the target, the Weeping Person. Combine it with the terrain data from satellite surveys to create a three-dimensional trajectory model. I want to see a precise trajectory prediction within thirty seconds."

"Yes!"

The department head who was called was startled and immediately responded loudly, as if his body had obeyed before his brain.

"Analysis Department!"

Nanami Aoyama's eyes swept across the report keywords flashing on the screen.

"Fuzzy semantic analysis of all descriptive keywords in the survivors' reports—crying, white, slender, and invulnerable—will be performed. Deeply match them with all known anomalies in the Foundation's main database, especially Keter-class and Thaumie-level 1 anomaly files! I need to know if there has ever been anything similar to this in human history!"

"Roger that!"

"Intelligence Department!"

Her fingers tapped out one last command on the keyboard, bringing up a detailed map of the Tokyo metropolitan area.

"Using the target's current acceleration as a benchmark, ignoring all physical obstacles, calculate the shortest time it will take to reach Tokyo's densely populated areas within one minute! Accurate to the second!"

"understand!"

A series of clear, decisive and logically rigorous instructions, like a shot of adrenaline, instantly injected into this huge machine that was on the verge of paralysis.

The investigators and analysts, who were originally dominated by panic and despair, seemed to have found their backbone at this moment. They stood up from their seats and devoted themselves to their work with the highest efficiency.

The sound of keyboard tapping rang out again, faster and more focused than ever before.

The chaotic command hall was forcibly brought back on track in less than two minutes by a "secretary" who was ignored by everyone, and it began to operate at an unprecedented speed and efficiency.

Kasumigaoka Utaha and Shinomiya Kaguya looked at each other and saw the same shock and disbelief in each other's eyes.

They looked at the back of the man sitting in the main control seat, calmly mobilizing the resources of the entire base, and felt a strong sense of unfamiliarity.

Is this still the Nanami Aoyama who works hard to pursue her dream of becoming a voice actor and blushes when praised?

This calmness, this decisiveness, this deep understanding of the functions of all departments of the foundation... are definitely not something an ordinary logistics secretary can possess.

At this time, Nanami Aoyama completed the preliminary scheduling. She raised her head and locked her eyes on the red track line on the main screen that was getting closer and closer.

She pressed a button for an intercom channel.

"Contact the seventh underground area, the Pure Land Project Team."

Her voice was cold and calm, as if she was talking about something very ordinary.

"Highest authority command, authorization code: Nightingale."

The communication channel was cut off, and absolute silence fell in front of the control seat.

Kasumigaoka Utaha and Shinomiya Kaguya froze in place, their eyes fixed on the petite figure as if drawn by a magnet.

"Authorization code: Nightingale... Authorization verification passed. The Pure Land Project Team has been activated, and command is being transferred..."

The cold electronic synthesized sound echoed in the hall, and every word was like a heavy hammer, hitting everyone's heart.

nightingale.

Kasumigaoka Shiyu had glimpsed this codename once in the Foundation's top-secret archives. It belonged to no department head, no field team leader, but directly to Chairman Lin Qing himself. It was a supreme authority that theoretically existed only in emergency plans.

And now, this authority was casually activated by a secretary who usually just smiled and said "Tea, please".

Nanami Aoyama didn't look back, all her attention was focused on the main screen in front of her, which was rapidly refreshing the data.

"The trajectory prediction model has been established!"

"Database deep matching completed! Matching degree below 0.01%, confirmed to be a new unknown anomaly!"

"Estimated time of arrival: 57 minutes and 13 seconds!"

Feedback messages kept popping up like a death curse, chipping away at their remaining hope. Every bit of data pointed to the same conclusion—before the "Crying Man" arrived in Tokyo, they had no external means to stop it.

The atmosphere in the command hall plummeted once again. The order that had just been forcibly restored to normal was once again showing signs of collapse in the face of an absolutely unsolvable reality.

"External obstruction...is ineffective."