Blood and Gold

Douglas was sitted his thoughts were far, he needed to assimilate faster that ment Conflict was the way and the only way to achieve it. Was to do things.

Douglas's bored today. The daughter is not home right now, she is out and about spending his money on god only knows what. Though he didn't complain she was not as obnoxious unlike a certain wife, he kept smelling that strong and fruity fragrance.

The lit candle. Her and her dumb candles. Her room is covered in them, all different sizes and colors and scents and brands. Douglas had brought all cleaning supplies, he needed to confirm what he already knew, slow and deep breathing before he entered the bedroom.

Bed unmade with her sheets and blankets crumpled up together and he wonders how strongly it smells of her. Not just her shampoo and body wash, but her sweat too. And he sees clothes on the floor, a bra hung on the closet door. Bottles of nail polish and acetone and used cotton pads on the vanity where she applied and removed her makeup. Lotion on the nightstand, a jewelry dish filled with sparkling gold trinkets. All of the things that make her up. He gets to look at it up close now, messing with the tchotchkes on her dresser and bookshelf as he strolls through her room. And he snoops through her bathroom too, opening her medicine cabinet and finding razors, and Midol, and mismatched earrings. 

Douglas glanced around, noting but the chaos. The bed was a jumbled mass of sheets two white and one navy pink-blue wrinkled and twisted together. Douglas approached the bed, his fingers twitching slightly as he reached for the sheets. He counted silently in his head: 1, 2, 3... three different fabric textures, all needing to be smoothed out.

With careful precision, Douglas stripped the bed, placing each item into specific piles: Sheets 3 items, to be washed later. 1 heavy quilt, folded neatly and placed on the armchair. 

Douglas tucked the corners of the fitted sheet under the mattress, ensuring it lay flat, smoothing each wrinkle with deliberate motions. The pillows were next fluffed and positioned in a straight line against the headboard, with the decorative cushion centered perfectly.

Douglas turned his attention to the clothes strewn across the floor. He bent down, categorizing them into three distinct groups: - Tops: 4 shirts, all different colors. Bottoms: 2 pairs of jeans, one black and one blue. Underwear: 1 bra hung on the closet door, which he gently removed and placed in the designated laundry basket. 

Each item was picked up and inspected; if it was clean, he folded it precisely before placing it in the closet, aligning it by color and type.

Moving to the vanity, Douglas noted the bottles of nail polish. He counted 16 and arranged them in a row from lightest to darkest shade. The acetone bottle was placed next to the polishes, creating a tidy station. Used cotton pads were tossed into the trash with a slight shudder; their disarray felt almost wrong.

He wiped down the surface with a cloth, ensuring no streaks remained. The lotion on the nightstand was moved to the back, while the jewelry dish, filled with 11 sparkling gold trinkets, was neatly organized. He placed the rings and bracelets in groups by size and type, ensuring that they lay just so.

With a sense of the germs were on the offensive, he moved to the bathroom swiftly. He opened the medicine cabinet, the door creaking slightly. Inside, he found a few items: Razors 4, both placed into a small container for safety. 

Midol: A bottle with a cap neatly aligned with the shelf. 

Mismatched earrings: 9 pairs, which he carefully arranged into a small jewelry box, placing them side by side.

Douglas stepped back, surveying the room. It was more than just clean; it was orderly. Each item had a place, each surface gleamed. He allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before making a mental checklist of what to do next. He would wash the sheets, then return to rearranging the bookshelf, ensuring every book stood straight and every spine was aligned.

The room was now not a reflection of evil anymore but now knew it's own place and the need for order, a sanctuary from the chaos outside.

Douglas finally laid down on the bed, opens the drawer of the nightstand grazing over something else deep in the back. He pulls it out a journal. She was easy for Douglas to understand, this is the fucking jackpot. 

opens the journal. Her handwriting is madness in the form of cursive and print, but obviously he manages to make out the words anyway. There's some entries that are just nonsense - " Bugs flew into my hair ", and " Lost in a maze, following talor swift". He knew these are dreams she wrote down. He flips through the pages some more, hoping that maybe he'll come across one of the spicy dreams. He wonders which celebrity it'll feature. Probably some actor, but he hopes it's not about someone weird. 

Douglas. Saw very long list of wants, he finds, and it's within an especially long entries. Not just dreams, no - she was most definitely lucid for this one. There's details, adjectives and adverbs, words like 'desperate' and 'sexy'. She wrote in detail the way she wanted things done for her.

he awaits as he heard the sound of her careful steps up the stairs, down the hall. He can barely contain his smirk when he sees the shadow of her body on the floor right before she could walk through her bedroom door, face dropping as she see him laid in her bed, her diary in his hands. "Hey, kiddo!"

.... 

Same house, It was 5:16 pm.

events were about to begin and unfold, the weight of excitement settles in with suffocating clarity. Douglas Ramsey, a man who could finally show a bit of cruelty and dominance, sat at the dining table of one of the men who dared to abduct him, his polished presence an eerie contradiction in the suburban setting. Ramsey's sharp eyes flicked over the remnants of the meal he had consumed a hearty, succulent plate of steak, fragrant and seasoned to perfection. Each bite was a mockery of the man's life, each chew a reminder of the authority Douglas wielded, even in the home of his captor. 

The tension that choked the room was thick as the kidnapper emerged from the shadows, his eyes wide with panic and fury. His hand shook as it gripped the gun a standard issue Glock 17, black and unremarkable, yet deadly in the right hands. The man fired, emptying an entire magazine of 9mm rounds into Ramsey's chest and abdomen. The recoil from the shots rang through the room, deafening, and the kidnapper's heart pounded in his ears. 

Ramsey collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud. Blood pooled around his body, staining the cheap hardwood floors crimson. The kidnapper's breath came in ragged gasps as he watched, hoping praying that this nightmare was over. But it wasn't.

Ramsey twitched.

It was subtle at first just a slight movement in his hand, a faint stir of life in a body that should have been lifeless. But then the twitch became a full, violent jerk. In a motion grotesquely similar to a corpse's, Ramsey's body spasmed and convulsed. His bones cracked and popped as he pushed himself up, muscles bulging unnaturally under his skin as his head snapped up to glare at the man. His eyes were void of any humanity, cold and relentless, like a predator about to pounce on its prey.

The man stumbled backward, his legs weak and trembling as terror overtook him. He had just emptied an entire magazine into Ramsey's body, and yet the man stood again as if nothing had happened. The realization hit with full force there was no escape from this.

In a panic, the kidnapper Jeremy bolted for the door. But Ramsey had other plans.

As the man reached for the handle, he felt a strange pull an odd sensation, as though the room around him had grown and shifted. The air felt heavier, thicker, as if reality itself was distorting. Behind him, Ramsey rose fully to his feet, the blood went back inside were it belonged, he's now-healed wounds with an unsettling calm. From his hand, Ramsey revealed the object that would be the source of his captor's unending torment: SCP-184.

It was small, almost deceptively simple metallic dodecahedron with holes on each face, a strange, alien object that gave off a faint hum, vibrating with an unseen power. Ramsey let it drop from his hand, and as it clinked softly against the floor, the room itself seemed to breathe.

At first, the expansion was subtle, barely noticeable. The walls of the house stretched outward, creaking softly as the dimensions began to warp. The hallway to the front door elongated, the kitchen just behind the man seemed to grow impossibly far away, and the staircase leading to the second floor extended upward, twisting as if pulled by some unseen force. 

The man froze in horror, the door mere feet away from him yet feeling impossibly far. The room continued to stretch, expanding hundreds of meters in the span of seconds. The once-familiar space of his home now became an impossible labyrinth. The front door, which had been within arm's reach, was now at the end of an unnaturally long corridor, the space between each step stretching farther than the last.

But that was just the beginning.

The man raced through his home, a place he once considered a sanctuary, now transformed into despair. The walls, once familiar, seemed to stretch endlessly, their surfaces flickering with shadows and whispers. Each room he passed bore the echo of his hurried footsteps, resonating in an unsettling rhythm.

Jeremy pressed on, each heartbeat echoing in his ears, drowning out the oppressive silence. He skidded to a halt at a door that should have led to the kitchen but instead revealed a dark, swirling void. Panic surged; he turned back and raced down another corridor, the familiar scent of home now tainted by decay.

The walls had peeling, damp surface, with the occasional scratch mark—remnants of a supposed past struggle, but how was this even happening that guy.was not meant to have powers they did unbelievable research but it looks like they were wrong.

The man pressed on, each heartbeat echoing in his ears, drowning out the oppressive silence. He skidded to a halt at a door that should have led to the kitchen but instead revealed a dark, swirling void. Panic surged; he turned back and raced down another corridor, the familiar scent of home now tainted by decay.

As he ran he saw faded family photos hung crookedly, their faces morphing into grotesque expressions, eyes following him.

As he continued to madly dash through the endless hallways, he stumbled into a room filled with mirrors. Each reflection was slightly warped, showing him not just his image, but alternate versions—each more terrifying than the last. One reflection grinned maniacally, while another appeared ghostly pale, eyes wide with horror.

He didn't how long he been running he was feeling labored; he gasped for air, each breath a reminder of his growing exhaustion. Stupid legs where starting to began to ache from the relentless sprint, but he couldn't stop. 

In the distance, a low growl reverberated through the walls, sending chills down his spine. He pressed on, driven by primal fear. He burst through another door, this time into a room lined with bookshelves, the titles unreadable, the spines twisted and warped.

The growl grew louder, echoing from behind him. He darted down a narrow passage that felt alive, walls pulsing as if breathing. The air thickened, heavy with the weight of dread, each step making the ground beneath him feel unstable.

He reached a staircase spiraling downwards, an ancient structure of crumbling stone. Desperation overtook him; he plunged down the steps, each creak amplifying the sense of foreboding. The temperature dropped further, icy tendrils wrapping around him, urging him to turn back.

The rough, uneven, high, descending into darkness. He was just running no thoughts we're in his head but surviving. Flickering candles lined the walls, casting eerie shadows that danced, creating illusions of movement.

At the bottom, he found a vast underground chamber filled with more doors—some cracked open, revealing glimpses of nightmarish landscapes, others sealed shut, whispering secrets of untold horrors. The growl had transformed into a cacophony of voices, urging him to choose.

The first door was flickering light spilling from beneath, hints of laughter and warmth. The second door Complete darkness, silence that felt suffocating, the promise of something lurking within. The third:door marked with an ancient symbol, pulsing rhythmically as if alive.

Each option felt like a gamble with fate. Time pressed on, the walls around him shifting again, and he knew he had to decide—before the house swallowed him whole.

Glancing the watch confirmed his fear: the hours were slipping away, yet he felt no closer to escape. He glimpsed at the watch again reading 7:59 pm, then, in a heartbeat, it shifted to 8:03 pm, mocking his urgency.

 Jeremy was lifted his inhumanely heavy eyelids. The kidnapper looked around and he was somewhere else he wasn't locked away in a dank, dark cell; instead, he was kept in a well-lit, clean environment that appeared at first glance to be comfortable. This illusion of normalcy was a deliberate part of Ramsey's strategy. The contrast between the appearance of a normal setting and the horror that lay beneath it was meant to destabilize the man's sense of reality. The room he was kept in was an unsettlingly clean space, reminiscent of a high-end hospital or a sterile room in a high-security prison. The walls were white, the lighting soft but artificial, and the temperature was controlled just enough to avoid discomfort. There were no windows—nothing to remind him of the outside world, only a clock that ticked monotonously, marking the passage of time with a maddening consistency. 

Each day, food was provided. It was presented in a routine manner, as if the captor were being cared for. A tray would slide through a panel, and on it were meals that appeared perfectly normal at first glance—well-prepared, even appetizing. But the reality of what the food contained was far from humane.

Ramsey knew that getting the kidnapper to eat things like rats and his own dog would require a sophisticated level of manipulation. His captor had to trust the food—at least enough to consume it. To ensure this, Ramsey used a variety of tactics, including drugging the food with substances designed to both heighten the man's hunger and dull his awareness of what he was actually eating. 

 Ramsey incorporated powerful appetite stimulants into the captor's meals. These stimulants, mixed into the food and drinks, would trigger insatiable hunger pangs. Even if the kidnapper wanted to resist eating, his body would override his will, forcing him to consume what was provided. The hunger became an all-consuming need, leaving no room for second thoughts.

 These drugs were carefully calibrated so that the captor's perception was distorted just enough to misidentify what he was consuming, without completely losing his grip on reality. Colors seemed slightly off, textures smoothed over, and smells, while still present, were subtly altered. These hallucinogens made the rat meat feel like chicken, the dog's flesh taste like something from a restaurant. He could sense something was wrong, but the gnawing hunger and the manipulation of his senses left him powerless to refuse.

 Mild sedatives were sometimes used to make the kidnapper feel lethargic and compliant, further reducing his ability to question the meals presented to him. These sedatives also contributed to his isolation from his own emotions and judgment, preventing him from mounting any meaningful resistance.

 The meals were always served at the same time, further creating a sense of normalcy. Ramsey would make sure that the environment was pristine and sterile, with the food plated as though it had been prepared by a five-star chef. This contrast—between the horrific reality of what the food was and the elegant way it was presented—was another layer of psychological torment. The kidnapper never saw Ramsey during these feedings; the tray would appear, and then disappear when he was done, reinforcing a sense of isolation and powerlessness.

 The meals were deliberately made to look and smell like something familiar. When his dog was first served, it was disguised as a roast chicken, complete with side dishes and a sauce to mask any unfamiliar flavors. The texture of the meat was disguised through careful cooking methods and sauces, and the appetite stimulants made it impossible for him to question it for long. The rats were minced and incorporated into stews, their texture obscured by thick broths and seasonings. Other revolting ingredients were hidden in pastries or breads, where they couldn't be identified until it was too late.

The feeding process was just one part of the larger psychological torture the kidnapper endured. Ramsey's goal wasn't just to break him physically, but to completely unravel his mind, making him question every aspect of his reality and his own humanity. In addition to the food, Thorn orchestrated other forms of psychological torment to destabilize him.

There were days when Ramsey provided no food at all, forcing the man to starve and endure long periods of agonizing hunger. During these times, there was total silence—no sounds from the outside world, no voices, no indication of life beyond the four walls of his cell. This sensory deprivation caused the kidnapper's mind to race, amplifying his paranoia and increasing his vulnerability to manipulation. He would hallucinate, hearing footsteps that weren't there, seeing shadows in the corner of his eye.

The lighting in the room was controlled to simulate day and night, but it was erratic and inconsistent. Sometimes the light would stay on for 24 hours straight, preventing him from sleeping. Other times, it would switch between day and night too quickly, making him lose track of time and blurring the line between days. This disorientation further eroded his sense of reality.

 Ramsey had learned everything he could about the kidnapper's personal life, including his family and his beloved dog. Small items from the kidnapper's past were placed in the room to torment him—his daughter's favorite toy, a collar from his dog, or an old photo of his family. These reminders of his former life were strategically placed to trigger emotional breakdowns, making him long for the life he had before the kidnapping. However, the cruelest aspect of this was that the items were altered in subtle ways. The collar was from the dog he'd eaten, but it was tarnished, blood-stained, and slightly burned, a subtle reminder of what he had unknowingly consumed. The toys were sometimes broken or melted, symbolic of how his life had fallen apart.

 Voices of Loved Ones: Ramsey used recorded messages or distortions of voices that mimicked the kidnapper's family. He would hear his wife calling out to him from another room, begging for help, or his daughter crying for her father. The voices were faint, just enough to make him question if they were real, causing him to scream in desperation and confusion. These voices were sometimes played while he ate, deepening his emotional torment as he tried to ignore their cries.

 The kidnapper was not fed regularly sometimes to just add variety. Ramsey would withhold food for days, forcing him into an extreme state of starvation. This physical suffering made the kidnapper more susceptible to eating whatever was given to him, no matter how questionable it seemed. The pangs of hunger were so intense that he couldn't think straight; all that mattered was survival. When the food finally came, he devoured it without question. This cycle of deprivation and reward conditioned him like an animal, breaking down his dignity and sense of self.

 Though Ramsey still a good person and avoided direct physical torture, there were times when the kidnapper was subjected to random, inexplicable pain. Small electric shocks, controlled doses of heat, or painful vibrations through the floor would strike at unpredictable intervals, making him flinch or writhe in agony. The randomness of this physical pain kept him on edge, constantly in fear of the next wave of suffering. This wore him down, both mentally and physically.

 As a good person Ramsey would stage elaborate deceptions to make the kidnapper believe he was about to be rescued. A knock on the door, the sound of police sirens, or voices in the hallway talking about a search for a missing person. These moments of false hope were timed perfectly—often after the man had gone days without food or had been pushed to the brink of despair. The hope of rescue, dangled just out of reach, would lift his spirits for only a moment before it was snatched away again. Ramsey would let the hope build and then crush it with cruel efficiency, reinforcing the idea that escape was impossible and his suffering would never end.

When Ramsey finally revealed to the kidnapper what he had been eating, it wasn't done in a straightforward or compassionate manner. Ramsey let the kidnapper piece it together slowly, allowing his mind to snap under the weight of realization. He began by leaving small hints—a tuft of the dog's fur caught on the side of the "chicken," the shape of a rat's tail hidden beneath a loaf of bread. At first, the kidnapper ignored these clues, but they became harder and harder to dismiss. His growing unease was amplified by Thorn's calculated cruelty, which led to the final moment of truth.

In the final revelation, Ramsey presented the kidnapper with undeniable proof—perhaps a collar from the dog that he hadn't seen in weeks or a pile of rat bones that clearly didn't match any of the meals he thought he had consumed. Ramsey then confirmed his worst fears.

The moment he is told the truth, time seems to stop. His stomach churns violently as the horror of what he's done sinks in. The memory of eating the "chicken" replays in his mind the texture, the taste, the satisfaction he felt after each bite, all of it now sickening. His brain cannot process the dissonance between the comforting idea of a well-cooked meal and the horrific reality of what it truly was. There's a physical reaction first he wretches, dry heaves overtaking him as bile rises in his throat. He tries to expel it, as if purging the food will somehow undo the atrocity he has committed. 

But it's too late. The meat is already digested. It's a part of him now, and no matter how violently he vomits, the psychological damage is permanent.

His mind races, replaying every meal he had eaten in captivity, questioning the authenticity of everything he thought he knew. Had the stew been made of rats? Were those strange lumps in the bread actually insects? The more he questions, the worse it becomes. His hands tremble as he wipes his mouth, his body convulsing in an uncontrollable fit of disgust.

Denial sets in quickly as the mind struggles to protect itself from the enormity of the revelation. He refuses to believe it at first, desperately trying to convince himself that it's a lie, some cruel joke Thorn is playing on him. 

"No… it wasn't… it couldn't be."

But the taste is still in his mouth the remnants of the dog's flesh lingering on his tongue and no matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the truth. Every time he swallows, it's a reminder of what he's ingested. His once-loyal companion, his dog, reduced to nothing but food in his belly. 

It's not just the revulsion of eating something unthinkable; it's the betrayal of his own senses. How could he not have known? How could he have been so blind, so weak, so desperate that he didn't question what he was eating?

This is where the real fracture begins. His sense of self crumbles even more. The trust he had in his instincts, his ability to distinguish reality from lies, is shattered. He starts to lose grip on who he is. The man who took care of his family, who walked his dog every morning, who had principles and morals that man no longer exists. In his place is a hollow shell, a man who ate his own pet in ignorance and desperation.

The guilt that follows is suffocating. Memories of his dog flood his mind—the dog's wagging tail, its trusting eyes, the way it would curl up beside him on the couch. The love, the loyalty, the bond they shared—it all feels grotesque now, tainted by what he's done. He had consumed the creature that trusted him most in the world, that would have protected him to the end. 

The weight of this realization crushes him. He starts scratching at his own skin, trying to rid himself of the filth he feels, but no amount of scrubbing will ever clean his soul. It's not just the dog; it's the rats, the vermin, all the disgusting things he unknowingly allowed into his body. He feels polluted, tainted beyond redemption.

The self-hatred that follows is absolute. He no longer sees himself as human. In his eyes, he has devolved into something lesser, something animalistic. He was willing to put anything into his mouth just to survive, and now that survival feels like a curse. Every breath he takes is one that tastes of death and filth. Every moment he continues to live is a reminder of what he's become.

The trauma of this revelation had triggered a complete mental breakdown, and the kidnapper was spiraling into insanity. His thoughts will no longer be linear or rational. Instead, they'll come in fragmented bursts, chaotic and disjointed. He'll talk to himself, muttering about the dog, the rats, the lies. His mind will continuously replay the moment he tore into the "chicken" with hunger and desperation, now juxtaposed with the image of his dog lying helpless, reduced to nothing more than sustenance for a man losing his humanity.

In the madness of his surroundings, already warped by SCP-184, the kidnapper's perception of time and space will begin to distort even further. He'll start seeing his dog in the endless maze of the house—its ghost, haunting him with every turn. In one room, he might see the dog as it used to be, wagging its tail happily, only for the scene to twist into a horrific image of the dog's dead, mangled body on a dinner plate, staring at him with accusing eyes.

Every rat he once consumed will scuttle through the twisted corridors of his mind. He'll feel them crawling on his skin, burrowing into his flesh, making him itch and scratch at his body until he bleeds. Each bite of food he took in those days will echo in his mind, now transformed into a grotesque symphony of crunching bones, slithering flesh, and the gnawing hunger that drove him to consume without question.

The hallucinations will intensify as his sense of reality unravels. The walls of the house, already growing and distorting due to SCP-184, will feel alive—pulsing, breathing, mocking him with every shift. He'll hear voices, whispers in the walls, laughing at his weakness, reminding him of the filth he ingested. Sometimes the voices will take on familiar tones—his wife, his daughter, calling out to him, asking why he did it, why he ate their dog, why he consumed vermin. Other times, the voices will be unrecognizable, guttural and alien, taunting him with every step.

As the rooms expand and twist, they'll become prisons of his own guilt and fear. He'll find himself trapped in a kitchen, the smell of cooked meat overwhelming him, but every plate he looks at is filled with the body of his dog. He'll try to escape, but the house will shift, trapping him in a labyrinth of horror. The floors will become sticky with blood, the walls made of rotting flesh, and the furniture will warp into grotesque parodies of the things he once found comfort in.

In his madness, he'll start to believe that Thorn did this to him not just physically, but spiritually. That Thorn didn't just feed him disgusting things—he changed him, twisted him into something less than human. He'll feel like a walking corpse, forever tainted by what he consumed, forever doomed to relive the horror of it.

There will come a point where the kidnapper is no longer recognizable as the man he once was. He will have fully descended into madness, his mind broken beyond repair. The hallucinations will consume him entirely, and he'll lose all ability to distinguish between reality and nightmare. He'll see his dog everywhere—sometimes alive, sometimes dead, but always watching him, always judging him. The rats will follow him in swarms, gnawing at his flesh, a constant reminder of the filth he consumed.

In the rare moments of clarity, he'll beg for death. But even that will be denied him, as Thorn's cruel design keeps him trapped in a never-ending cycle of physical and psychological torment. The house will continue to grow, the labyrinth of his own mind expanding with it, and he'll spend eternity lost in the maze, haunted by the ghosts of his own actions, forever running from the things he ate, but never able to escape.

In the end, the kidnapper's mind will be a wasteland—a twisted reflection of the house he is trapped in, both expanded beyond reason and broken beyond repair.

He once more woke in a completely different area but he had to move he could rescue his family and they would escape together it's never to late.

The walls groaned, as if alive, and began to split and bend in impossible directions. New rooms materialized from nowhere some replicas of his existing rooms, others twisted abominations of space and material. The kitchen appeared on the other side of the hall, but something was wrong—the counters were too long, the stove made of wood, and the fridge door swung open to reveal a void of black nothingness.

His wife hadn't moved from her spot in the kitchen. She stood there, her back to him, seemingly unaware of the madness that was taking place. He called out to her, but her body remained stiff, frozen in place like a mannequin, her form unnervingly still.

His heart raced. Was she even alive?

His gaze darted toward the staircase. His daughter was upstairs, but that reality was warped now too. The staircase coiled upward like a serpent, twisting in an impossible spiral that stretched into a maze of hallways and jagged turns. His daughter's voice echoed faintly through the house, distorted and distant, like a faint cry from another world.

"Daddy? What's happening?"

Panic overtook him. He sprinted toward the door, but no matter how fast he ran, the distance between him and his escape only grew wider. The house was expanding exponentially now, each second pushing the walls farther apart. The ceiling began to stretch upward, creating vast, cavernous spaces above his head, shadows forming in the corners of his vision as the structure's dimensions defied all logic.

As the expansion continued, SCP-184's effects became more grotesque. Rooms began to overlap with one another in impossible ways—hallways intersected at wrong angles, doors opened into brick walls, and furniture seemed to melt into the floors, the materials all wrong. A glass chair sat in the corner of one room, while another room held a bookshelf filled with wooden books.

His own bedroom, once a sanctuary, had become a nightmare. The bed was too large, the sheets made of stone. The windows, which had once let in the morning sunlight, now looked out into a featureless void.

He was trapped.

His breath came in ragged gasps, his lungs burning as he sprinted down hallway after hallway, trying desperately to escape the shifting, warping nightmare. The house groaned and cracked around him, new rooms spawning without warning. A living room, but the couch was made of glass. A bathroom, but the sink spewed dirt instead of water. He reached a hallway that stretched on forever, lined with doors on either side. He opened one—behind it was a blank wall. He opened another, and it led into a room identical to the one he had just left, except this one had a television made of wood and a floor made of velvet.

Every step he took brought him deeper into the labyrinth, his own home now a maze designed to torture him. His mind was breaking, unable to comprehend the sheer wrongness of his surroundings. His footsteps echoed through the cavernous halls, growing louder and louder until they sounded like the footsteps of a giant chasing him, bearing down on him with every moment.

But there was something worse than the footsteps—Ramsey's presence. It was everywhere. Ramsey was watching him, observing his every move with cold, calculated cruelty. The kidnapper's thoughts were no longer his own, the oppressive weight of 's influence digging into his mind like claws. Every failed escape attempt, every corner turned to find another dead end, Ramsey was there, his cold, dead eyes burning into the man's very soul.

"Run faster that will bring back your baby?" Ramsey's voice echoed through the twisting halls, disembodied, omnipresent. "Have you never watched movies when a thief retires the last job is always fun. You on the other land is just bad luck it was never ment to be."

The man collapsed to his knees, sobbing, his body trembling with fear and exhaustion. His mind had shattered under the weight of the impossible, his once-familiar home now a prison designed to break him. His thoughts twisted and fragmented as Thorn's voice filled his head, a never-ending litany of torment and domination. Every corner of the house was Ramsey's domain now, every step forward only leading him deeper into the nightmare. 

Then came the physical torment. Each step he took forward brought with it new horrors. The walls themselves seemed to come alive, the wallpaper peeling away to reveal jagged, twisted flesh beneath. The air grew thick with the stench of rot, and the floor began to pulse and writhe beneath his feet, as if he was walking on a living, breathing creature. His hands scraped against walls made of rough bone, cutting into his skin as he stumbled forward.

The objects in the rooms began to shift, their forms warping in grotesque and unnatural ways. Chairs sprouted limbs, tables bent at impossible angles, and the walls themselves twisted and stretched like the flesh of a nightmare. At one point, the man found himself in what should have been his dining room—only to find it filled with mirrors that reflected distorted, monstrous versions of himself, their faces twisted in agony and fear.

And Ramsey was there. Always there. Watching. Smiling.

The mental torture continued. Each room he entered was a reminder of his failure, of the life he had once known but could never return to. Ramsey's voice was a constant presence in his mind, whispering, taunting, driving him deeper into madness. He saw his wife, frozen in the kitchen, forever trapped in the same motionless stance, her face a blank mask. He heard his daughter's cries, but no matter how far he ran, he could never find her.

Days passed. Weeks, maybe. Time had lost all meaning in the labyrinthine hell of his own home. His body grew weak, his mind fraying at the edges as the endless expansion of SCP-184 continued without mercy. The rooms became more distorted, the walls thicker and more monstrous. The house was no longer a house—it was a prison of flesh and bone, a nightmare of twisted architecture and maddening geometry.

And Ramsey was its master.

There was no escape. No end. The man's punishment.

The room was dim, shadows dancing along the walls as the father stood frozen, staring at the empty crib. His heart raced, each beat echoing in the stillness. The silence felt thick, suffocating, as if the air itself had conspired against him. He blinked rapidly, trying to convince himself that this was a nightmare, a cruel trick of the mind.

His baby had been there just hours, days, weeks ago?? wrapped snugly in a soft blanket, the scent of fresh powder still lingering in the air. He had heard the soft coos, felt the warmth radiating from the tiny body. But now, the crib sat empty, devoid of life. Panic surged through him, a tidal wave crashing against the fragile walls of his sanity.

"Where are you?" he whispered, voice trembling, as if the very act of speaking could summon her back. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign, any indication of what had happened. The mobile overhead spun slowly, casting eerie shadows, each figure a mocking reminder of the joy that had filled this space.

He stumbled back, hands gripping the edge of the crib as his mind raced. He thought of the last moments—the laughter, the soft gurgles, the way her tiny fingers had wrapped around his own. But now, that warmth felt like a cruel illusion. A shiver crawled up his spine as he recalled the shadows lurking just outside the window, the rustle of leaves that had sounded too much like whispers.

A thought flickered in his mind, dark and insidious. Had he not been vigilant enough? Had he let his guard down? He stumbled into the hallway, heart pounding, each step echoing like a drumbeat of impending doom. The house was too quiet, the silence a blanket that suffocated him.

"Wake up!" he screamed into the emptiness, a rawness in his throat that threatened to choke him. His mind raced back to the stories he had dismissed as folklore: tales of creatures lurking in the dark, of things that thrived on the innocence of children. He had scoffed at them, but now doubt gnawed at him, a ravenous beast.

Frantically, he searched the house, each room revealing nothing but shadows. The kitchen, the living room, the nursery—all held only the echo of his desperation. He felt his grip on reality slipping even more, thoughts spiraling into chaos. "She has to be here," he muttered, words tumbling from his lips as he opened drawers, rifled through toys, and pushed aside furniture, convinced he could uncover some clue.

His mind shattered, pieces scattering like glass. He imagined dark figures slinking away, cradling his baby in their cold hands, while he stood helpless, paralyzed by fear. The walls closed in around him, memories morphing into nightmares, each corner of the house echoing with her laughter now turned sinister.

He collapsed to the floor, the weight of grief crashing down. "No, no, no!" he sobbed, tears streaming down his face. He felt the icy fingers of despair gripping his heart, squeezing tighter until he couldn't breathe. "This can't be real. It's not happening!" The denial clashed violently with the horror of reality.

His thoughts spiraled further into madness. Images flashed through his mind—her tiny face, eyes wide with trust, and then the shadows again, creeping closer, stealing her away. The walls pulsed with a heartbeat that wasn't his own, whispering secrets he couldn't grasp. "I should have protected you," he choked out, the guilt gnawing at his insides like a ravenous animal.

His screams echoed through the empty house, reverberating against the walls, a mournful wail that held the weight of a thousand lifetimes. He felt hollow, the remnants of his sanity slipping through his fingers like sand. The darkness enveloped him, promising to swallow him whole, and in that moment, he realized the truth: he was utterly alone, and the horror of what had happened was beyond his comprehension.

As he sat there, broken and lost, the shadows whispered his baby's name, taunting him with the memory of what once was—a life so pure, now extinguished in the cold grip of a reality he couldn't accept. He was a father, but in that moment, he felt like a ghost, haunting a home filled with echoes of a love that had been devoured by the abyss.

He was clearly in denial he could not and would not think that the pork he had eaten could possibly be his little one, no-one could be that evil so he could find them all of his family the wife, teen daughter and his baby daughter and fix everything.

The kidnapper's descent into despair had already reached unfathomable depths, but what awaited him in that cursed house—the hell Douglas Ramsey had constructed for him—was beyond anything he could have imagined. What was once psychological torment through starvation, manipulation, and warped reality now turned into a twisted and brutal attack on the core of his existence: his family. Ramsey had methodically stripped away every vestige of hope and control, but the final act would go beyond breaking the mind. It would ravage the soul.

The kidnapper stumbled through the ever-expanding house, disoriented and driven by a desperate need to escape. Rooms had become surreal and distorted; hallways twisted back into themselves or led to nowhere. Doors opened into endless mazes or bizarre, nightmarish scenes that shouldn't exist. The structure, infected by SCP-184, was growing more grotesque with each passing moment, and so was the torment.

Ramsey had crafted these new rooms with a passionation mind, bending reality to manipulate the kidnapper's senses. Everything felt wrong, yet familiar—everything pointed to a horror he couldn't yet see. His vision blurred, his thoughts frayed, and the weight of his own actions—the things he had eaten, the dogs and rats disguised as food—pressed down on his consciousness like an unbearable, crushing force. He couldn't even process it fully. He needed to leave. 

But as he opened a door, stepping into what he thought was another dead-end, the scene that awaited him shattered whatever was left of his mind.

He saw them.

His wife and his remaining daughter.

The two people he had longed to protect—the only thing tethering him to some semblance of humanity in this nightmare—were in the room. But not in the way he had hoped. The room was elegantly furnished, disturbingly calm, like a bedroom from some opulent mansion, but the scene before him was nothing short of a grotesque nightmare. His wife, the woman he had vowed to love and protect, was now a mere plaything for Douglas Ramsey, utterly broken. Her eyes, once full of love and life, were vacant, hollowed out by weeks, maybe months, of submission to Ramsey's twisted desires. She was dressed in clothes far too revealing for her modest nature, and her body language was one of complete defeat, like a puppet with its strings cut. Her soul was gone—taken by Ramsey piece by piece until nothing remained but an empty shell, bound to Ramsey's perverse will.

His daughter—his precious little girl—was no better. She, too, had become a victim, her innocence ripped away in Ramsey's sadistic hands. She wasn't a child anymore, not the sweet girl he had once held in his arms. Instead, she was dressed in a mockery of childhood innocence, clothing that made the horror even worse by how far it was from who she used to be. Ramsey had turned her into something grotesque, manipulating her both physically and emotionally until she, too, was a mere plaything for his sick fantasies. There was nothing left of her either—just a vacant, shattered gaze.

Both women sat there, expressionless, detached, their bodies under Ramsey's control. Ramsey himself stood between them, his pale gray-blue eyes with the asteroid hyalosis glimmering with that familiar, terrifying detachment. He looked at the kidnapper and smiled, as though he were amused by the man's suffering—delighted by the complete ruin of his life. Ramsey didn't speak a word. He didn't need to. The message was clear. Everything the kidnapper had loved—everything he had fought for—was now twisted, broken, and defiled by Ramsey.

The kidnapper could feel his mind unraveling, his very sense of self torn apart. This wasn't just a violation of his family—it was the annihilation of his identity. The last shreds of who he had been as a father, as a husband, were being ripped away from him, leaving only madness in their place. His thoughts raced, frenzied and incoherent–What had happened to them? How long had this been going on? Was this happening the whole time? Was it my fault? The guilt and despair weighed down on him, suffocating him as he collapsed to his knees, unable to breathe, unable to think.

But then, as if to mock his final breaking point, the gun—the very gun he had emptied into Ramsey in a futile attempt to kill him—fell from the ceiling, landing in front of him with a thud. It was as if the house, now fully infected by SCP-184, had delivered the weapon deliberately. Ramsey's control over reality had extended even here. There it was: the tool to end it all. His escape. His freedom from this living nightmare. If Ramsey wouldn't let him leave, if reality itself had become a prison, then the only escape was death.

He reached for the gun, his hands trembling, sweat beading down his face. His breaths were ragged, his vision blurred by tears. He could barely hear his own thoughts over the roaring in his ears. Thorn watched, silent, as the kidnapper wrapped his fingers around the cold metal. The gun felt heavier than it had before, as if the weight of his decision was physically pressing down on him. But he didn't care. He was beyond caring. Nothing mattered anymore. His family was gone—taken from him in the worst way possible. And so was his humanity. He had eaten his own dog, rats, and other abominations without knowing. He was a hollowed-out man, devoid of meaning, dignity, or purpose.

He raised the gun to his temple, the cold barrel pressing against his skin, and pulled the trigger.

Bang.

The sound of the gunshot echoed through the distorted hallways of the house, but the relief of death didn't come. Instead, there was pain—excruciating pain. The bullet had pierced his skull, but it didn't kill him instantly. The agony surged through him like molten fire, spreading from his head down to his spine. He screamed—a guttural, primal sound of sheer suffering—as the realization hit him that he was still alive. The pain didn't stop. His body convulsed, his muscles seizing up as blood poured from the wound. The searing heat of the bullet wound blurred his vision further, and every heartbeat sent waves of agony through his brain. It was worse than anything he had ever imagined. 

He had expected peace. He had expected release. But instead, all he got was more suffering. His brain pulsed with the unbearable sensation of torn flesh and shattered bone, each second dragging out in a torturous eternity. Ramsey's expression never changed. He watched in silence as the kidnapper writhed in pain, his pale eyes reflecting the cruelty of the situation. He had orchestrated this moment, making sure the kidnapper's attempt at escape would be nothing more than a new kind of torment.

The kidnapper fell to the ground, his fingers twitching around the gun, his screams growing weaker as his voice gave out. He felt like he was drowning in pain, his consciousness slipping in and out as his body fought to survive. But he didn't want to survive. He couldn't endure this any longer. Desperation filled his mind, and with the last bit of strength he could muster, he lifted the gun again, this time aiming for his heart. He knew he had to finish it—he couldn't endure another failed attempt.

With blood still pouring from his head, and his vision now reduced to a dark tunnel, he pulled the trigger once more.

Bang.

This time, the shot went straight through his chest, and finally, finally, the darkness closed in. The pain didn't stop, but his consciousness began to fade, his thoughts dissolving into nothingness. His last moments were filled with the sight of his wife and daughter, still sitting there, lifeless, as Ramsey stood over them.

As he died, he thought he was escaping. He believed that death would bring him peace—that it would end the nightmare. But Ramsey, in his infinite cruelty, had made sure that even this wasn't true. The kidnapper's final breath was filled with one last, terrifying realization:

There was no escape. Not even in death.

And as his world faded to black, the sound of Ramsey's soft laughter echoed in his dying mind, a reminder that his suffering, in one form or another, would never truly end.

It is so unfortunate that he refused to even think or acknowledge that he ate his baby girl, he even didn't even try to piece together that the fact that the pork was his flesh and blood.

Douglas could not help but think he should have not let things go so naturally and force the kidnapper to think of the baby, honestly going from two child to one by you own hands would be interesting to see.

Douglas Ramsey. Now that his revenge against the kidnapper had reached its conclusion, Ramsey set into motion a sequence of carefully calculated actions to clean up the aftermath with surgical precision and to further arm himself for future endeavors. He was utilizing of the anomalous objects to achieve these goals, his cold, methodical approach ensuring that no trace of the events would remain, while simultaneously crafting tools and resources that would prepare him for the battles ahead.

First and foremost, Ramsey needed to eliminate all evidence of the gruesome events that had transpired within the house. The corpse of the kidnapper, the bullet holes, the blood splatter, and even the warped dimensions caused by SCP-184 had to be meticulously erased. Ramsey reached for SCP-662, also known as the "Butler's Hand Bell." The small, silver bell was intricately detailed, and though it appeared unassuming, it possessed a terrifying power. Ringing the bell summoned Mr. Felix Deeds, a highly efficient, enigmatic figure who could accomplish nearly any task requested of him, no matter how impossible or strange.

Ramsey held the bell between his thumb and forefinger, giving it a light ring. The sound was delicate, barely audible, but immediately, the temperature in the room seemed to drop slightly, and the air grew still. Within seconds, Mr. Deeds appeared—tall, dressed impeccably in a black suit and white gloves, his expression as neutral and unreadable as always.

"Mr. Deeds," Ramsey began, his voice low and authoritative, "there's a task that requires your utmost discretion."

Without a word, Mr. Deeds bowed slightly, signaling his readiness to comply.

"Remove all traces of the man's body, the blood, and any damage to the house. Make it as though none of this ever happened."

Mr. Deeds nodded. Within moments, he set to work. The kidnapper's mangled corpse, which had been lying in a pool of its own blood after the failed suicide attempts, was swiftly gathered and disposed of by means Ramsey didn't care to know. The blood splatter and bullet holes in the walls vanished, the fibers in the carpet repaired themselves as if they had never been stained. Even the spent shell casings disappeared. The house was returned to its pristine, pre-nightmare condition in a matter of minutes.

But Mr. Deeds didn't stop there. With flawless efficiency, he adjusted every minute detail of the house to match the family's previous life. Every trace of the violence Ramsey had inflicted was wiped clean, leaving behind no evidence that the kidnapper or his family had ever been harmed or manipulated. The wife and daughter, too, were returned to a normal state—physically at least—while their mental scars were hidden, deep beneath layers of conditioning.

Once Mr. Deeds had completed the cleanup, he gave a small bow to Ramsey, indicating the job was finished. With that, he vanished as quietly as he had arrived.

Now that the cleanup was complete, Ramsey turned his attention to his second goal: enhancing his already formidable strength. He had always sought perfection, both mentally and physically, and the events of his recent kidnapping had only reinforced his desire for further augmentation. Ramsey knew of a perfect solution—something from this universe, a serum that had turned ordinary men into living weapons: the Super Soldier Serum from the Marvel Universe.

To acquire this, Ramsey used SCP-294, a coffee vending machine that could dispense any liquid requested by name, including those from fictional universes. He had studied its capabilities extensively, knowing that SCP-294 was capable of producing even the most dangerous and impossible substances. As long as it existed somewhere—whether in reality or in fiction—the machine could deliver it.

Thorn approached SCP-294 with an air of calm, his mind sharp as ever. He inserted the necessary coins into the machine, the whirring sound of its internal mechanisms filling the room. With deliberate precision, he typed into the keypad:Super Soldier Serum from the Marvel Universe.

The machine responded almost instantly, dispensing a small vial of glowing blue liquid. Ramsey took the vial and examined it closely, the liquid swirling with an almost unnatural energy. This was the key to furthering his physical abilities, to becoming more than beyond human.

Without hesitation, he injected the serum directly into his bloodstream. The effects were immediate and intense. Ramsey's muscles tensed, then began to expand as the serum worked its way through his body at a cellular level. His bones hardened, his tendons and ligaments strengthened. His heart rate increased, pumping enhanced blood through his veins, bringing with it a surge of raw power. His metabolism accelerated, allowing his body to process nutrients and oxygen at an unprecedented rate.

Within minutes, Ramsey's strength, agility, endurance, and reflexes had all been amplified to superhuman levels. His already impressive physique was now nothing short of perfect—his muscles lean and powerful, his cardiovascular system running with the efficiency of a finely-tuned machine. His mind, too, felt sharper, as if the serum had not only enhanced his physical capabilities but also his cognitive abilities. He was now, in every sense, a Super Soldier.

With his physical transformation complete, Ramsey turned his attention back to the house. Although Mr. Deeds had cleaned up the evidence of the crime, the structure itself had been warped and expanded by SCP-184, the anomalous object that distorted inner spaces without changing their external dimensions. Ramsey needed to ensure that the house was returned to normal, but more importantly, he needed to prepare for any future threats by creating a militarized "bug-out" bag capable of withstanding anything.

Using SCP-184 again would allow him to reconfigure the house to its original dimensions, but this time, Ramsey was more precise. He placed the small metallic dodecahedron in the center of the house, allowing it to begin its work of reversing the spatial distortions it had previously caused. The walls that had expanded, the strange and malformed rooms that had appeared, all began to shrink back to their original dimensions. The house returned to normal as though nothing had ever happened. The anomalous geometry dissolved into the ether, leaving behind a seemingly ordinary home.

Now that the house was restored, Ramsey turned his attention to the creation of his ultimate survival kit: an extremely militarized bug-out bag. He knew that he was gonna try his luck In weird situation and it could potentially push him to the edge, and he needed to be prepared for any scenario, no matter how dangerous or dire. Using SCP-184, he took advantage of its ability to expand interior dimensions and began constructing a bag with far more internal space than its outer appearance would suggest.

The bug-out bag itself was a black, tactical military-style backpack made of high-density, water-resistant nylon. It weighed a mere 3 kilograms on the outside, but its internal space was exponentially larger, expanded by SCP-184 to hold up to 505 kilograms of gear. Inside, Thorn carefully packed the need items.

In total, the militarized bug-out bag contained approximately 505 kilograms of supplies and gear. Thanks to the spatial expansion capabilities of SCP-184, the bag itself weighed only 25 kilograms on Ramsey's back, despite containing over 20 times that weight internally. This allowed him to carry a staggering amount of equipment without sacrificing mobility or speed. The design was sleek and functional, with multiple compartments for easy access to his weapons, medical supplies, and survival gear.

The bag was built for maximum versatility. Whether Ramsey found himself in a warzone, a natural disaster, or a situation where he needed to disappear into the wilderness, the bug-out bag had everything he needed to survive for weeks, if not months. Every item inside was carefully selected for its utility, durability, and ease of use, ensuring that Ramsey could respond to any challenge with the right tool at hand.

Douglas was pretty pleased he was able to assimilate both albert wesker and tai lung, thanks to getting shot at almost dying was enough to bring albert wesker to completion and the Serum was enough to bring tai lung to completion.

Douglas had finally decided to use the gacha again, he selected the general gacha, for 30GP, and here is the results.

1. Judge Dredd(Full)

2. SCP-457

3. Dragon Universe Ball AU (Full)

4. Ainz Ooal Gown (Overlord)

5. Cole MacGarth ( Infamous)

6. Ahmanet (Dark Universe)

7. Neir Universe AU(Full)

8. Washu Hakubi(Tench Muyo)

9.Felix (Wreck-It Ralph)

10.Guts (Berserk)

Welp. So many goodies in one place Douglas had not done the gacha in three months, so this was good stuff still have 370GP left that would be left as reserves.

Plus. He can finally assimilate 3 characters at once, so he put Judge Dredd, Ainz Ooal Gown, and Cole MacGarth to assimilate next. 

So he did.

After that Douglas remembered how he used the SCP-294 to obtain the perfect Super Soldier Serum, Ramsey realized that hhe had forgotten how far this could be pushed even further. He had acquired the physical strength, speed, and resilience of a Marvel-level super soldier, but the lure of SCP-294's awesome capabilities was too great to resist. His mind turned to another substance that could elevate him beyond even this newfound power: Chemical X from the Powerpuff Girls universe, the key to creating the iconic superhuman girls.

Ramsey had, always calculated, pondered the potential of Chemical X. This mysterious black, bubbling liquid was responsible for creating the near-invincible Powerpuff Girls, granting them immense strength, flight, energy projection, enhanced reflexes, and near-immortality. But Ramsey wasn't sure it would work because he was not being made he already existed and he was not close to human at all. His intent was clear, focused on harnessing this potent chemical for his own purposes.

Standing before SCP-294 again, Douglas typed "Chemical X" into the machine. The machine, as it had done before, whirred for a moment before a small cup of the inky-black liquid appeared before him. The liquid shimmered slightly in the light, a dangerous-looking concoction that practically oozed with raw power.

Without hesitation, Douglas lifted the cup to his lips and drank the entire thing in one swift motion. The taste was unlike anything he had ever experienced, a strange, metallic yet sweet sensation, almost like pure energy coursing through his mouth. As soon as the liquid hit his throat, he felt a violent surge of power tearing through his body.

Unlike the slow, creeping effects of the Super Soldier Serum, the effect of Chemical X was immediate and overwhelming. His entire body felt like it was on fire, as if every cell in his body was being forcibly rewritten, enhanced beyond human comprehension. Douglas's muscles swelled and hardened as raw, physical strength poured into him. His bones became denser, and his skin took on an almost unbreakable resilience.

The combination of the Super Soldier Serum and Chemical X created a terrifying synergy within Ramsey's body. The serum had already amplified his physical capabilities to superhuman levels, and now Chemical X pushed those enhancements into the realm of godhood.

Ramsey's transformation left him standing as something more than human—he was now a living god. His mind was still sharp and ruthless, filled with ambition, but his body had ascended to a level of power that dwarfed even most beings but was that scale accurate in this marvel universe honestly who knows. He could challenge some superhuman, maybe a military, or government—and win.

Looking down at his hands, Ramsey felt the coursing power of Chemical X and the serum flowing through him. His muscles rippled with strength, and he knew that his every action could have potential to reshape the world. He smiled darkly, already thinking about his next steps.

With the house returned to normal and the bug-out bag packed and ready, Ramsey knew his preparations were far from over. The serum had given him immense physical power, but he was always calculating, always anticipating the next threat. He kept SCP-662 and SCP-294 within easy reach, knowing that he could call upon their power again should the need arise. His mind was sharper than ever, and his body was now augmented to perfection, but Ramsey was never satisfied with "enough."

As he stood in the now-pristine house, Ramsey took one last look around. The nightmare he'd inflicted upon the kidnapper and his family had been erased from reality, but the lessons it had taught him remained. Tn had proven that he could manipulate, torture, and destroy with a precision that few could ever hope to match, but he also knew that the world was full of more dangerous adversaries—ones who might not be as easy to break.

 . . In his relentless pursuit of power, Ramsey had fortified himself for any eventuality. His bug-out bag, weighing a deceptive 505 kilograms internally but only 25 kilograms externally, was now a symbol of his readiness. It held within it everything he would need to fight, survive, and thrive in the most extreme conditions. The tools of war, the means of survival, and the power to overcome any foe were now at his fingertips, neatly contained in a bag that was as anomalous as Ramsey himself.

With his preparations complete, Ramsey quietly left the house. To the outside world, nothing seemed amiss, but beneath the surface, he had orchestrated a masterpiece of cruelty, erasure, and readiness for the future. The events that had transpired within the house were now nothing more than a memory—and Ramsey was ready for whatever came next.

Douglas's had a undisclosed truck that was used to get here, Douglas prepared for a battle against the Chitauri—a technologically advanced and fiercely resilient alien race known for its devastating firepower, ruthless precision, and terrifying bio-mechanical war machines. Facing an entire Chitauri invasion force required more than just brute strength; it demanded calculated military strategy, adaptable tactics, and relentless teamwork.

Ramsey, alongside the kidnapper's wife and daughter, who had also been enhanced by the Super Soldier Serum, faced an imposing battleground. The Chitauri had deployed a massive assault force, thousands of troops, hover-chariots, and powerful battle-leviathans across a sprawling urban battlefield. The sky above was swarmed with Chitauri vessels and armored troops zipping down to the ground in pods. Ramsey, now not only a warrior but also a leader of enhanced soldiers, coordinated the battle in three distinct phases. Positioning and Resource Management, Assault and Counter-Assault, and Final Push with Strategic Elimination of High-Value Targets.

Phase One Positioning and Resource Management.

Large-Scale Deployment With their capacity to field tens of thousands of troops, the Chitauri overwhelmed many foes with sheer numbers.

Aerial Superiority. Equipped with hover-chariots and drones, they dominated aerial battles and frequently targeted vulnerable ground forces from above.

Resilient Armor and Cybernetic Enhancements, Each Chitauri soldier wore bio-metallic armor capable of withstanding conventional arms fire, and they operated in sync with a hive-mind that made coordinated strikes devastating.

However, Ramsey was quick to identify weaknesses

Reliance on Central Command Nodes, Like many hive-mind armies, the Chitauri were dependent on command nodes to maintain cohesion and coordination.

Predictable Patterns. The hive-mind coordination, while deadly, made their actions somewhat predictable, especially to someone with Ramsey's enhanced reflexes and strategic mind.

Vulnerability in Close Quarters. The Chitauri armor, optimized for ranged attacks, was less effective in close-quarters combat. 

Ramsey quickly coordinated with the two women, who were now combat-ready super soldiers. They carried a combined 300 kg of essential equipment and heavy firepower in their backpacks, making them formidable on their own. Ramsey's own 505 kg bug-out bag became their centralized armory, with each team member assigned specific roles:

Ramsey (Support and Recon) Ramsey positioned himself at a higher vantage point to serve as the central command, allowing him to observe the battlefield and analyze enemy patterns while providing air support using his new energy projection abilities.

The Wife (Heavy Assault and Disruption) Using a heavy M249 SAW (light machine gun, weighing 7.5 kg) and plasma grenades (1.2 kg each), she focused on disrupting larger clusters of Chitauri forces, breaking through the enemy's central formations and creating openings.

The Daughter (Stealth and Close-Range Eliminator) The daughter was equipped with dual Kukri knives (each weighing 1.5 kg) and smaller, agile firearms. Her role was to sneak into enemy ranks and eliminate Chitauri drones and commanders, targeting high-value nodes within the Chitauri's hive-mind network.

Ramsey distributed key items from his bug-out bag for maximum effectiveness.

Tesla-style Electric Discharge Devices( Complicated versions of EMP) Set up at choke points to disable Chitauri armor momentarily, allowing the team to eliminate multiple enemies with minimal effort.

Infrared and Thermal Goggles: Used by each team member to detect Chitauri hidden in cloaked positions.

Sonic Disruptors Set to emit disorienting frequencies, these were deployed in high-traffic zones to disrupt the Chitauri's hive-mind communication temporarily.

Phase Two Assault and Counter-Assault.

With their formation set, the team initiated a coordinated assault, executing strategies designed to break down the Chitauri ranks.

Initial Assault with Airborne Disruption (Ramsey's Tactical Support)

Ramsey took to the air, using his energy projection ability to launch concentrated plasma blasts, targeting incoming hover-chariots that were deploying ground troops. His plasma beams could reach temperatures of 5,000°C, allowing him to melt through Chitauri armor and hulls with each shot. Using calculated trajectories, he aimed to redirect falling debris onto Chitauri ground forces below.

To ensure their safety from aerial bombardments, Ramsey used targeted sonic disruptor grenades (weighing 0.8 kg each) to disable the hover-chariots' targeting systems, rendering them momentarily ineffective. His strategic positioning provided cover for the wife and daughter below, who were able to advance without fear of aerial attacks.

 The Wife's Heavy Assault Tactics

In the front lines, the wife unleashed a torrent of gunfire from her M249 SAW, focusing on clusters of Chitauri soldiers. Her enhanced strength allowed her to carry extra ammo—up to 300 rounds at once—and fire continuously without fatigue. Ramsey guided her aim through real-time support, enabling her to focus fire on command nodes and disrupt Chitauri cohesion.

Plasma Grenades for Entrenched Positions. She used plasma grenades strategically, tossing them into tightly-packed groups of Chitauri forces. Each grenade could release a 5,000°C explosionwith a radius of 10 meters, vaporizing enemies and creating disarray.

Selective Use of Tesla Discharges. When confronted by heavy Chitauri infantry, she deployed Tesla discharge devices that emitted 5,000,000 volts of electricity, temporarily stunning the armored troops and giving her time to eliminate them.

The Daughter's Stealth and Precision Strikes.

Under Ramsey's command, the daughter moved through enemy lines with fluidity and precision. Her smaller build and heightened agility, courtesy of the serum, allowed her to avoid detection while moving close to Chitauri command units.

Elimination of Command Nodes. Using her infrared and thermal goggles, she identified Chitauri commanders and high-ranking nodes. Each strike was swift—her Kukri knives could sever cybernetic components, rendering each enemy dead in seconds. She targeted 14 command nodes in rapid succession, creating chaos within the Chitauri ranks as the hive-mind network splintered.

Use of Compact Firearms. She carried a suppressed FN P90 (weighing 2.6 kg) for medium-range engagements, allowing her to eliminate guards silently without drawing attention. Thorn provided her with intel on patrol routes, enabling her to systematically dismantle the command network.

Phase three. Final Push and Elimination of High-Value Targets.

After weakening the Chitauri's central command and creating disarray, Ramsey initiated the final assault. This phase required a synchronized effort from all three fighters to eradicate remaining high-value targets and mop up any remaining Chitauri.

 Targeting the Chitauri Battle-Leviathans.

With the battle mostly won on the ground, the team faced a final, daunting challenge. Chitauri Battle-Leviathans—massive, armored creatures that could plow through buildings and fire devastating plasma beams. The wife, daughter, and Ramsey developed a concentrated strategy to neutralize these beasts.

Ramsey's Plasma Assault. Taking to the skies, Ramsey used his energy projection to attack weak points in the Leviathans' exoskeletons. His plasma blasts targeted their joints, melting through armor and rendering them immobile.

The Wife's High-Explosive Tactics. She used high-explosive rounds from her modified RPG (weighing 7 kg), aiming directly at damaged joints to further destabilize the creatures. Her grenades created chain reactions within their exoskeletons, causing internal systems to overheat.

The Daughter's Final Strike. Using her enhanced speed, she sprinted to the Leviathans' underbellies, placing Tesla charges in critical spots. The electric shock disabled the creatures' organic nervous systems, causing them to collapse.

 Final Elimination of Remaining Chitauri Soldiers.

With the Leviathans defeated, the remaining Chitauri attempted a last, desperate retreat. Thorn used his flight and plasma powers to herd them into choke points where the wife unleashed machine gun fire. The daughter, meanwhile, eliminated any survivors with swift, close-combat strikes.

The Chitauri forces were obliterated, and the battleground was now clear. With Ramsey's leadership and the coordination between his superhuman allies, they had outmaneuvered, overpowered, and obliterated the Chitauri invasion force. Ramsey strategic use of support tactics and his allies' strengths resulted in a total victory that left no survivors. This battle not only demonstrated Ramsey's new abilities and tactical brilliance but also showcased the brutal effectiveness of his team in a high-stakes combat environment.

This was fucked. Douglas had done all of this, in the new Mexico state. He had gambled and used the flying ability he had gotten so recently but honestly the spider-sense had come in clutch, he had not thought this through. At all he was way to shocked to be the one whad gotten two universes in a row what the fuck— does that even mean like was it random, was the Gacha broken, was shit about to hit the fan.

So he of course remained invisible and took his two new toys and flew, to do what had previously helped him assimilate Miles Morales and that was killing things and putting his life in danger. He had fully assimilated Judge Dredd, SCP-457 was currently at 60% and Cole MacGarth was at 80% but Felix was quickly fully assimilated, Douglas should have been happy but he could not he did this all on auto pilot.

He took his toys and flew back to Texas and put the toys back, and Lily the wife had "accidentally" discovered that her husband, jeremy had happened to have committed suicide when she and the daughter had gone on some late night shopping, that was unfortunate. She called 911 and was sobbing and daughter was too as if they were not their when Jeremy the kidnapper had killed himself.

"Help, my husband Jeremy Williams has killed himself." the woman Lily frantically said, her voice trembling as she explained that her husband had taken his own life.

....

The car was moving smoothly down the empty highway, but inside, Douglas's world was anything but smooth.

Douglas had done another gacha roll in the car. His fingers were nervously swiping through his phone— but stopped as he reopened the gacha again for the second time today. General gacha again for 30GP.. and here is the results.

1. Aku(Samurai Jack)

2. The Great Tomb Of Nazarick AU

3. Mortal kombat universe AU

4. Shao kahn Full(Mortal kombat universe)

5. Kazuya Mishima Full( Tekken)

6. Viltrumite race AU Full ( Comics)

7. Invincible(comics)

8. Powerpuff girls AU

9. Cortana (Halo universe)

10. Starfire and Blackfire(DC universe)

Douglas had 340GP felt so he had to do, another gacha and it had to be done but it was a verse specific one instead. So 60G had to go.

1. Chiss(Starwars)

2. Twi'lek(Starwars)

3. Mirialans(Starwars)

4. Zabrak(Starwars)

5. Keshiri(Starwars)

6. Pantoran(Starwars)

7. Zeltron(Starwars)

8. togruta(Starwars)

9. Imperial Military(Starwars)

10. Anakin Skywalker(Starwars)

Douglas had 280GP left and did another roll but a general one this time so 30GP had to be sacrificed.

1. Dr. Eggman(Sonic the hedgehog)

2. Lady Dimitrescu( Resident evil)

3. Mother Sphere(Stellar blade)

4. Samus Aran (Metroid series)

5. Shadaloo( Street Fighter) Full

6. Pokemon universe AU

7. V(Cyberpunk) Full

8. Neo( The Matrix) Full

9. Scarab(DC)

10. Rick Sanchez (Rick and Morty)

Douglas wanted to do another roll yet. But before that he first tried to absorb the pokemon universe.

[I humbly beg your forgiveness and sincerely ask for your indulgence in this matter. It is of the utmost importance that you allow this situation to evolve into something that is distinctly your own, a matter that can be resolved in a manner befitting your superior status and wisdom. Please, I implore you, do not let this be something that leads to your immediate DOWNFALL.

To facilitate the necessary rectification, may I respectfully request that the remaining 250 GP be employed in the resolution of this issue? This is the only course of action that will enable me to help without any infringement upon what is rightfully yours.

Once again, I am deeply sorry for any inconvenience this may have caused and express my profound gratitude for your understanding and patience. Your GRACE and GENEROSITY in this matter would be deeply appreciated, and I am certain that under your esteemed guidance, this issue will be resolved swiftly and appropriately!]

[NO]

[YES]

Douglas thought it over before saying something mentally.

Absolutely, I am more than willing to accommodate your request with the utmost respect and diligence. Your concerns are of paramount importance to me, and I shall make every effort to ensure that this matter is resolved swiftly and satisfactorily. It would be my privilege to assist you, and I am confident that together, we shall find the most fitting resolution.

[Thank you for your understanding and swift response. As we move forward, I wish to inform you that, in preparation for the temporary shutdown of your primary power, we will begin the process of determining what can be assimilated and summoned. This will allow us to streamline the transition and ensure that all essential elements are retained while we proceed with necessary changes.

Once the shutdown occurs, the rate of progress will increase dramatically. With the necessary adjustments in place, we will be able to facilitate the accommodation of your power in a way that enhances its potential and functionality. The subsequent phase will unfold at an accelerated pace, ensuring that we can meet the future demands with greater efficiency and precision than ever before.

I greatly appreciate your patience during this period of transition and assure you that these adjustments will ultimately lead to a more harmonious and potent state of operation]

[Please select a base universe. All subsequent universal laws and principles will be tailored and adapted according to the choice you make]

Select Dragon Ball Universe? 

Select Mortal Kombat Universe? 

Select Nier: Automata Universe? 

Select Pokémon Universe? 

Select Great Tomb of Nazarick Universe?

Each of these options glowed in front of him in a data-driven, almost mechanical display. But it wasn't just about the modifiers or the abilities. Douglas realized, with a sinking feeling, that the base universe he chose would dictate the very fabric of that reality itself. The others would stack onto this foundation, warping and distorting their own laws to the whims of the dominant realm.

So Douglas made his choice to make the base universe the Mortal Kombat universe. Because that's the only universe were he had confidence in his safety simply due to the whole it's a realm.

After Shao Kahn's ascension to power, his victory over the realms ushered in a new era of military excellence, cultural cohesion, and unparalleled prosperity. This new version of Outworld, known as (The Eternal Dominion), is a hyper-militarized empire where stability is derived not from fear, but from strength and mutual respect within its society. Over time, the constant wars and territorial conquests have resulted in a civilization so powerful and resource-rich that even the most advanced technologies or magic systems are treated as common commodities. The people of the Eternal dominion do not fear death, for their culture thrives on victory, honor, and continual military evolution. Gold, once a symbol of wealth, is now as ubiquitous as pebbles, serving more as a unit of trade for goods and services rather than an indicator of status.

The realm's structure is rigid, but fair, with every individual given the opportunity to prove their worth through service, skill, or accomplishment. The Eternal dominion is a shining example of a society that has mastered the art of resource management, military dominance, and cultural stability, using the gifts of other realms and advanced technology to create a world where survival is effortless for its citizens—but only for those who embrace the strength required to live within it.

Major Features of the eternal dominion.

Firse. The Citadel of Eternal Command.

The Citadel of Eternal Command is a towering fortress-palace that serves as the heart of the eternal dominion government and military. This vast complex is constructed from the finest metals and enchanted stone, powered by the overwhelming force of Blaze energy and ancient technologies harvested from conquered realms. It is home to Shao Kahn and his closest advisors—war generals, strategists, and mystics who ensure the smooth running of this expansive empire.

 The Citadel is surrounded by high-tech defenses, including automated combat drones, sentient war machines, and squads of elite warriors. All soldiers are infused with advanced biological enhancements derived from the most powerful species across realms.

 The main hall holds an immense war council table crafted from pure gold, displaying holographic star maps and battle simulators to assist in the coordination of the eternal dominion conquests.

 Time manipulation technologies, derived from the Hourglass, allow the military to shift focus between multiple realms, preparing for conflicts or resource gathering as needed.

 The Citadel itself is nearly indestructible, with an entire division of soldiers tasked with the maintenance of its walls and defenses, ensuring that even the most severe threats are easily handled.

The Fields of Endless Harvest.

 In stark contrast to the war-torn appearance of the old aspects of the mortal kombat universe, the Fields of Endless Harvest are vast plains where every type of resource, from raw materials to advanced tech components, grows naturally. This is the result of Shao Kahn's dedication to shaping his world into a perfect, self-sustaining powerhouse. Gold, iron, rare minerals, and precious gems are harvested alongside crops and medicinal herbs, making them as abundant as the soil itself.

 The entire field system is managed by a mix of highly efficient farming practices, powered by Shao Kahn's enhanced technological tools, and arcane methods borrowed from conquered realms.

Automated machinery, infused with magic, works alongside laborers, extracting resources and ensuring they never run out. Every species—whether Viltrumites, Saiyans, or Zabraks—can find their needs met in these fields.

 The harvests are then processed and stored in massive silos, which serve as the empire's logistical backbone, ensuring that every citizen is provided for and that military efforts are supported by endless material resources.

 Gold, once seen as precious, is now used in everyday construction projects, ornamental items, and even as a medium of exchange in trade or social interactions.

The Legionary Barracks of the dominion.

The military backbone of Eternal dominion is its vast and numerous barracks, spread across the dominion. These enormous structures, each capable of housing millions of soldiers, are where the empire's legions are trained, equipped, and prepared for battle. Here, the next generation of warriors, generals, and tacticians is raised, ensuring that the Eternal dominion has a dominion over the realms is never questioned.

The barracks are filled with training arenas, combat simulations, and tech-enhanced warcraft factories that allow for both physical and mental conditioning. Combatants, from the Viltrumite to the sayians, undergo trials and exercises designed to push their limits.

 Fusions of magic and technology are taught here, ensuring every soldier possesses a blend of physical prowess and intellectual capacity. The empire doesn't just rely on raw strength; strategic genius is as highly valued as the ability to fight.

 Every soldier is provided with gear and weapons forged from abundant metals, including gold-tipped swords, blades of pure energy, and energy-infused armor that adapts to their unique physiology.

 The Legionary Commanders, elite figures among the barracks, hold advanced positions with responsibilities like overseeing entire military districts, leading interdimensional raids, or commanding powerful starships.

The Unyielding City of Progression.

The City of Progression is where the finest minds and scholars of the eternal dominion are put to work on advancing technologies, medicine, and magical research. It is a marvel of engineering and architecture, built with the finest materials, with gold ornaments adorning buildings of steel and enchanted stone.

 The city is where the fusion of alien technologies, magic, and genetic research is perfected. It is home to vast libraries containing knowledge from every conquered realm, offering a repository for technological blueprints, arcane rituals, and even martial arts techniques.

 Inhabitants here are encouraged to innovate, and as a result, the city is filled with energy-efficient factories, high-speed transportation systems, and automated systems that make life convenient and easy.

 The abundance of resources means that energy is virtually limitless. Powering entire districts and military machines is effortless, while medical advancements have essentially eliminated disease and aging.

Gold is used as a standard currency for crafting and trade within the city, exchanged for high-end goods and services.

The Verdant Fortress of Unity

A symbol of the peace and unity within the eternal dominion, the Verdant Fortress stands as both a military outpost and a cultural center. Surrounded by lush forests and rolling hills, this serene yet secure stronghold serves as the home for the various species and races who have found their place in Shao Kahn's empire.

 The fortress is surrounded by an abundant supply of food, medicine, and raw materials. It's designed as both a place of protection and prosperity for the people, encouraging cooperation and exchange between species.

Training in the art of diplomacy, governance, and resource management is a key part of life here. Soldiers are trained to be both warriors and leaders, ensuring that the eternal dominion's stability is maintained through the strength of its people's minds as well as their physical prowess.

 The fortress also serves as a center for interbreeding and hybridization. Saiyan, Viltrumite, Twi'lek, and many other species freely intermingle here, and genetic enhancements are commonplace, leading to the creation of super-soldiers with advanced abilities.

The presence of gold and other resources makes this fortress self-sufficient, with abundant supplies of food, shelter, and equipment to support the ever-growing empire.

 Gold is so abundant that it no longer holds any intrinsic value beyond its use in crafting, building, and technology. Gold-infused armor and gold-based alloys are commonplace in eternal dominion military production. Its abundance allows for the construction of massive starships, advanced weapons, and even larger-than-life monuments.

Technology is interwoven with magic and military precision. Every soldier, warrior, or strategist is equipped with enhanced gadgets, personal shields, and advanced tools built from both technological and magical resources.

 Power, military success, and cultural progression are the cornerstones of the eternal dominion society. Those who contribute to the empire through military success or technological innovation gain the highest status. 

 Every individual has an opportunity to prove their worth. Even civilians can join the ranks of the military or research institutions to enhance their own skills and position. 

 Honor is determined by one's ability to thrive in the empire—whether through combat, intellectual prowess, or contributing to the continuous advancement of The eternal dominion.

 The Legions of the eternal dominion are some of the most elite and varied fighting forces in existence. Drawing upon the powers of Viltrumites, Saiyans, and other races.

After, doing a bunch of modifications to this, gacha provided background, Douglas had taken a leap of faith he knew what the words ment but could not believe so he assumed their would just be an error or explanation but something unexpected happened. He had to think of something else as a distraction.

Douglas was still on the road back to his house in Texas because it was one of the few states that were not touched , I mean their's California too but he didn't wanna live there. His mind was frankly extremely fucked he had to go and rest.