ISS File: MSC-010-X – Addendum: The Containment of the Faceless Detective
Date of Entry: [Standard Galactic Time: 01/04/4104]
Reported by: Dr. Elias Varesh
Reviewed by: Dr. Vance "Wildcard" Helbram
Incident Log: Containment of the Faceless Detective
The following document details the containment of MSC-010-X, designated "The Faceless Detective," following the complete eradication of all known avatars across the multiverse. This entry is authored by Dr. Elias Varesh, based on firsthand accounts and surveillance data.
[Begin Transcript]
Containment was never supposed to be an option.
Every prior attempt had failed.
Every theory had crumbled.
Every recorded interaction suggested that The Faceless Detective could not be contained because it was not truly here.
Everywhere and nowhere. A concept, not a being.
And yet, Dr. Vance Helbram managed to do the impossible.
I would call it luck. Helbram would call it charisma. The truth was probably somewhere between reckless improvisation and blatant nonsense.
The Final Encounter
When the Multiversal Security Commission (MSC) succeeded in eliminating every known avatar of MSC-010-X, we believed we had solved the problem.
But Helbram, of course, disagreed.
"If he's really gone," he said, stirring his coffee, "why does it feel like he's still watching?"
I dismissed it at first. I assumed it was paranoia, an effect of prolonged exposure to an entity that—despite everything—defied understanding.
Then Helbram left his office.
Security footage from that moment is incomplete. Corrupted. Some frames missing. But what remains is… unsettling.
Because right outside his door, waiting in the hallway, was—
Him.
Not an avatar. Not a projection.
The true Faceless Detective.
Or, at least, the closest thing to it.
No alarms went off. No reality distortions were detected.
It was simply there.
And Helbram?
He didn't panic. He didn't call for help. He didn't attempt to flee.
He just tilted his head, took a long sip from his coffee, and muttered:
"Took you long enough."
What followed should have been impossible.
Because Helbram didn't command the Faceless Detective.
He didn't threaten it.
He didn't even speak.
Instead, he did something far more absurd.
He gestured.
With the same casualness you'd use when waving someone through a doorway, Helbram motioned toward the nearest containment wing.
And the Faceless Detective…
Followed.
No resistance. No hesitation.
It walked.
For the first time in all recorded history, it acknowledged direction.
Not as a concept. Not as a suggestion.
But as an action.
I do not know why.
I do not know how.
But Helbram led The Faceless Detective to Containment Wing 07, where an emergency null-space chamber had been prepared.
Surveillance logs show the final moments:
• Helbram stops just outside the containment cell.
• He turns to face the entity.
• He gives a simple thumbs-up.
• The entity pauses.
• A floating question mark manifests beside it.
• Helbram taps the containment doorway.
• The Faceless Detective steps inside.
• The door closes.
And just like that—
It was contained.
No force. No battle.
Just understanding.
Helbram later described it as:
"You ever have a cat that just does whatever the hell it wants, but if you're patient enough, you can get it to sit in a box? Yeah. Like that."
I cannot begin to express how utterly infuriating that explanation is.
Post-Containment Analysis
• The Faceless Detective remains within Containment Wing 07, showing no signs of attempting to escape.
• The null-space field remains stable, despite zero indication that it is necessary.
• No recorded attempts at communication have occurred since the containment event.
• However, Helbram claims that he still "feels" it watching him.
I do not know what this means.
I do not know if we have won.
But for now—
The impossible has been done.
And that, at least, is something.
End of Document
[Authorized by: Dr. Elias Varesh]
[Reviewed by: Dr. Vance "Wildcard" Helbram]
ISS File: MSC-010-X – Addendum: The Containment Dilemma
Date of Entry: [Standard Galactic Time: 02/10/4104]
Reported by: Dr. Elias Varesh
Reviewed by: Dr. Vance "Wildcard" Helbram
Incident Report – Unstable Containment of MSC-010-X
Location: Site-12, Containment Wing 07
Primary Personnel Involved: Dr. Elias Varesh, Site-12 Research Staff
Status: Critical Psychological Distress Among Staff
[BEGIN REPORT]
Containment was never meant to be a solution.
It was a delay.
The Faceless Detective was inside the containment cell, but its presence was far from passive.
With Dr. Helbram temporarily reassigned to Site-18 for an emergency ARC (Anomaly Research and Containment) meeting, responsibility for monitoring MSC-010-X fell upon the Site-12 research staff.
At first, nothing changed.
The entity remained motionless, its featureless head tilted slightly toward the reinforced observation glass, as if it were waiting.
And then—
It spoke.
Or at least, it tried to.
It had no mouth. No vocal cords.
But the words manifested directly in the minds of those observing it.
Words filled with contempt, malice, and something far worse—
Understanding.
Psychological Impact on Researchers
At 06:14 GST, multiple researchers monitoring MSC-010-X exhibited severe psychological distress.
Security footage from the observation chamber shows:
• One researcher clutching their head, eyes wide in shock, whispering prayers to an unknown deity.
• Another frozen in place, their knuckles white as they gripped the table, unable to move.
• One individual drawing their sidearm, hands shaking violently.
• Two others turning away, rapidly dialing emergency numbers to contact their families.
• A senior researcher openly weeping, whispering that "it knows everything."
Audio logs were corrupted beyond repair.
But transcript fragments recovered from auxiliary systems reveal the following phrases:
• "Why do you insist on pretending you're safe?"
• "You are not researchers. You are spectators to your own destruction."
• "Do you think the walls keep me in, or you out?"
• "If I so desired, I would have left the moment I arrived."
• "Yet, I remain. Do you wonder why?"
The words were not loud.
They were not shouted, nor spoken with force.
But they crawled into the minds of every observer, burrowing deep, making them feel watched, judged, and utterly powerless.
And then—
It moved.
For the first time since its containment, the Faceless Detective approached the glass.
It did not lunge. It did not strike.
It only placed a single, gloved hand against the surface.
And the observation chamber fell completely silent.
Not a single researcher spoke.
Not a single one could look away.
Some dropped their weapons. Others simply shut down, unable to process what they were seeing.
Because they realized—
The glass was meaningless.
There was nothing preventing it from leaving.
There never had been.
The only thing keeping it inside the containment cell—
Was that it chose to stay.
And none of them knew why.
Post-Incident Notes
• Dr. Helbram has been recalled from Site-18 immediately. His ability to communicate with MSC-010-X is the only known stabilizing factor in containment.
• Site-12 is currently under emergency lockdown. Psychological screening of all personnel involved is ongoing.
• MSC-010-X remains within Containment Wing 07, motionless once more. But the damage has already been done.
Because this was not a failed containment attempt.
It was something far worse.
It was a reminder.
A reminder that no cage can hold something that was never meant to be caged.
A reminder that the Faceless Detective is simply waiting.
For what, we do not know.
For who—
We can only guess.
End of Document
[Authorized by: Dr. Elias Varesh]
[Reviewed by: Dr. Vance "Wildcard" Helbram]
ISS FILE: MSC-010-X – CONTAINMENT FAILURE REPORT
Date of Entry: [Standard Galactic Time: 02/15/4104]
Reported by: Dr. Elias Varesh
Reviewed by: Dr. Vance "Wildcard" Helbram
Incident Report – MSC-010-X Containment Status: MISSING
Location: Site-12, Containment Wing 07
Status: Total Containment Failure
Casualties: None (Physically).
[BEGIN REPORT]
Containment was never a prison.
It was a joke.
And MSC-010-X finally decided to stop laughing.
Event Timeline
At 03:42 GST, Site-12 suffered a brief, unexplainable reality fluctuation centered around Containment Wing 07.
By 03:45 GST, the security feeds monitoring MSC-010-X's cell went black.
By 03:47 GST, when emergency response teams arrived on-site—
The cell was gone.
Not just empty.
Gone.
The entire containment chamber, including:
• 8-inch reinforced polysteel walls lined with metaphysical dampeners
• Interdimensional stabilizers calibrated to suppress unknown reality shifts
• 30 tons of defensive infrastructure designed to withstand Category-9 anomalies
Was simply missing.
As if it had never been there.
The room that should have been there was a void—an empty black space that should have led to an entire wing of the facility.
Except, it didn't.
It led to nothing.
And then, as if to mock us, an object appeared in its place.
A single sheet of paper.
Contents of the Note
Upon retrieval and analysis, the note was found to contain only four words, handwritten in plain black ink:
"I'll be seeing you."
The handwriting did not match any known personnel, living or deceased.
Further analysis of the paper yielded no origin.
No material composition. No identifiable markers.
Because it wasn't real.
It was a concept.
A message, written into reality itself.
Post-Event Observations
MSC-010-X is no longer contained.
It did not escape in any traditional sense.
It took its containment with it.
Like a souvenir.
Where it has gone, we do not know.
What it intends to do next, we can already guess.
Because within the next two hours, reports began flooding in from various ISS divisions.
Crimes.
Crimes that defied reason, logic, or even possibility.
• An entire bank heist executed in reverse—every object returning to its original position, yet the vault was still empty.
• A small planet found with its entire surface replaced with unreadable script—reality rewritten into a dead language.
• A political leader assassinated by "an unseen force," his body folded into a two-dimensional shadow on the wall.
• A spacecraft hijacked by an "invisible assailant," the crew left untouched, but their names erased from all records.
Every single one of these incidents bore the same signature.
The same impossible precision.
The same effortless disregard for natural law.
MSC-010-X is no longer a contained anomaly.
It is, once again, a story without an author.
A crime that never should have existed.
Final Notes from Dr. Helbram
Dr. Helbram, upon reviewing this report, was quoted saying:
"Goddamn it, I leave for one meeting and the bastard pulls a magic trick."
He has since formally requested reassignment to full-time tracking operations for MSC-010-X.
Whether or not we can actually catch it remains a question no one wants to answer.
Because the last time someone tried,
They never existed in the first place.
END OF DOCUMENT
[Authorized by: Dr. Elias Varesh]
[Reviewed by: Dr. Vance "Wildcard" Helbram]
ISS FILE: MSC-777 – "The Wandering End"
Date of Entry: [Standard Galactic Time: 04/06/4114]
Reported by: Dr. Elias Varesh
Reviewed by: Dr. Vance "Wildcard" Helbram
Incident Report – MSC-777 Containment Status: TERMINATED
Event Classification: Ω-Class Multiversal Extinction Event (Averted)
Casualties: Uncountable (Total Universe Collapse)
Status: Contained & Deconstructed
[BEGIN REPORT]
There are events in the history of the Intergalactic Safety Security that shake even the most seasoned agents.
The kind that reminds us that, at the end of all things, we are small.
This is one of them.
The Awakening
It started with missing universes.
Not dead.
Not destroyed.
Not consumed.
Simply gone.
Like they had been erased mid-sentence from the script of existence.
By the time ISS intelligence identified the pattern, seventeen universes had already vanished.
No warnings. No distress signals. No survivors.
Then came the transmissions.
The Name That Should Not Be Spoken
Across the remaining affected sectors, fragmented messages began bleeding through the fabric of reality.
Emergency broadcasts from doomed civilizations.
A single phrase, spoken by voices filled with horror, disbelief, and resignation:
"He Who Wanders has arrived."
What "He Who Wanders" was, or where it had come from, no record could tell.
But the effect was undeniable.
Every universe it touched collapsed.
Not with fire. Not with war.
But with silence.
Like a story unfinished, where the last page had been ripped away.
And for the first time in millennia, the ISS faced an adversary that was not a single entity—
But an inevitability.
A force of pure erasure.
The Battle That Could Not Be Fought
The first response fleets sent to investigate never returned.
The second fleets sent to contain it never found anything.
Because by the time they arrived—
The universe they were supposed to reach no longer existed.
Every strategy, every containment effort, every last-ditch attempt at engagement failed before it could begin.
How do you fight something that erases you before you even know it's there?
Then, when all hope seemed lost—
ISS Special Operations Division made contact.
And, against all reason—
It worked.
Containment of the Uncontainable
How do you contain a force of pure disappearance?
The answer, as it turned out, was paradoxically simple.
You let it erase itself.
The ISS enacted Operation Paradoxum—a plan so dangerous that it had only ever existed as a theoretical impossibility.
Step One: Introduce a conceptual contradiction into its existence.
Step Two: Force the entity to acknowledge it.
Step Three: Make it forget itself.
A team of ISS Anomaly Research and Containment (ARC) specialists created a paradoxical reality loop within a controlled space, anchoring MSC-777 into a thought it could not process:
A universe that had never been erased but had also never existed.
And as soon as He Who Wanders tried to comprehend it—
It ceased.
In an instant, the great cosmic horror unmade itself.
It became what it had always done to others.
Nothing.
MSC-777 was contained inside the void it had created.
And then, after careful reality stabilization, it was deconstructed.
A presence that had ended countless worlds, reduced to nothing but a footnote in ISS records.
Final Observations
Events like these are not uncommon.
To protect the Multiverse means facing horrors that should not exist.
Concepts that defy reason.
Beings that hold the power to erase entire civilizations without lifting a hand.
And still—
The ISS contains.
The ISS preserves.
The ISS remembers.
Because if we do not,
Who will?
END OF DOCUMENT
[Authorized by: Dr. Elias Varesh]
**[Reviewed by: Dr. Vance "Wildcard"**
ISS - DCRU: A Day in the Life of an Average Agent
Agent Name: Alexis T'Zaleth
Position: DCRU Agent, 3rd Division
Documented by: Alexis T'Zaleth, Reporting Agent
[BEGIN REPORT]
Most people think the life of an ISS agent is glamorous. They imagine shiny uniforms, advanced tech, and high-stakes heroism.
What they don't see is the real story—the one I live.
The First Step: The Call
It's 02:30 in the morning—universal standard time—when the alert flashes on my terminal screen.
There's no time for sleep. Not anymore. Not when you're with the Dimensional Crisis Response Unit (DCRU).
The mission briefing? A few lines of text. The rest? Classified.
The message reads:
"Dimensional fracture detected, planet anomaly leading to universe collapse. Immediate deployment requested. Coordinates sent."
The coordinates are… nowhere I've ever been.
This isn't the usual—facing rogue gods, dimensional horrors, and the occasional reality-bending pirate. This is something worse.
A tear in the fabric of existence itself.
The Jump
The DCRU doesn't waste time with small details. No cozy briefing rooms. No safety protocols.
We get straight to the jump.
I strap into the Rift Stalker— an ancient ship built for travel through the fractures between dimensions. It looks like a dead planet that forgot to die, a rough shape held together by ruined metal and cosmic energy.
This ship was never meant for comfort, but it gets the job done.
I don't even feel the jumping process as we cut through the void. It's as if you exist and don't exist at the same time. One moment, you're in one place—and the next, you're somewhere else.
Somewhere else.
Where the laws of physics no longer apply.
Where the stars hang in the wrong positions, and the ground beneath you feels like breathing.
The Mission: Confronting the Unseen
We land in a dimension that looks too familiar to be alien, but something is wrong.
The sky is too dark.
The air is too still.
The plants look… off, like they've stopped growing and started decaying in place.
It's the kind of place where you don't want to be alone.
My team is ready.
Dr. Elara Stone—our brilliant theoretical physicist—opens a holo-pad. "We have two hours before the fracture reaches critical mass. We need to stabilize the core before it collapses. Agent T'Zaleth, you'll be on the frontline. Prepare for rapid engagement."
I nod, adjusting the Phase Disruptor weapon on my hip.
The Phase Disruptor isn't just a gun. It's an enforcer of reality. It ensures that the boundaries of space-time hold together long enough for us to do our job. Otherwise, everything will fall apart.
Confrontation: The Thing We Cannot Name
The signal comes through. The anomaly core is close, and my team moves quickly through the eerie terrain, our boots crunching over the shifting sands of time and space.
The closer we get to the source, the more the world warps around us. We step through fractures in the sky, and suddenly we're in a universe where the laws of gravity are reversed, and up is down, and down is a place where reality no longer exists.
We see it—finally.
It doesn't have a name. Or at least, it can't.
It's a void entity, something that was never meant to exist. A creature from the edge of non-existence, where concepts like life, death, and matter don't apply. It looks like a shadow that wants to be a star, its form constantly flickering and expanding, eating the space around it.
And the worst part? It feels aware. It's not just some mindless anomaly. It sees us, knows we're here, and is ready to fight for its survival.
I don't hesitate.
I take the first shot.
The Fight
Firing the Phase Disruptor feels like firing the will of the universe itself. Every shot cuts through space-time, hitting the creature, and yet, it barely falters. The shots travel through it like it's made of darkness and nothingness—and it barely reacts.
My team lays down fire, and we begin to stabilize the anomaly by creating a paradox within the creature's existence. Elara and Commander Raxus work fast, interfacing with the reality-distorting core to lock down its constant shifts.
But the entity is relentless. Every time we think we've cornered it, it folds space and vanishes, only to appear moments later in another dimension altogether.
It's a war of attrition.
We keep pushing, and pushing, our weapons getting weaker, our minds growing tired, and yet—somehow, we hold our ground. We don't stop because we know if we do, everything dies.
We're not heroes.
We're just the team that gets the job done.
The Aftermath
By the time we stabilize the core, the entity dissipates—dissolves into the very fabric of space. It never really existed in the first place, and now, it's gone again, leaving us to clean up the mess.
I stand over the edge of the fracture, breathing hard.
For a moment, I wonder if there's anything left. If there's ever been anything.
Then I hear the voice of my team lead, Commander Raxus:
"Well, T'Zaleth, you look like you could use a drink."
And we laugh.
Because after all this… we survive.
The Return
There's nothing glamorous about being an agent of the DCRU.
We don't get medals.
We don't get recognition.
We fix problems no one else can see. We save dimensions, and then, we walk away like it's just another day.
Because we contain.
We preserve.
We remember.
And that's what keeps us going.
No matter how far we have to jump.
No matter how much we have to face.
We never stop.
END REPORT