MSC: A Council of Shadows

MSC: A Council of Shadows

An Opinion Piece by Dr. Helbram

The Multiverse Stability Commission.

The Multiverse Safety Council.

The Metaphysical Supreme Collective.

They go by many names, wear many masks—or perhaps none at all.

Not many have seen their faces. Maybe they value their privacy. Maybe they're just shy. Or, maybe, and I say this with all the professional courtesy of a man who has wrestled with extradimensional horrors on a Tuesday morning—they are nothing more than a bunch of bureaucratic void-dwellers who love stamping DENIED on my applications.

That's right. Dr. Helbram, top researcher, multiverse specialist, veteran of countless incursions, has applied for a seat in the MSC multiple times. And every single time, I have been rejected.

Now, I ask you—why?

I have saved billions, trillions, and untold numbers of worlds.

I have closed fractures in reality that should not exist.

I have drank coffee in the presence of cosmic horrors and lived to tell the tale.

And what have they done?

Oh, I'll tell you.

They've paid me.

And to be fair, they pay well. I'm talking wealth beyond human comprehension—which is only fair, considering the people in this job risk their lives, their sanity, and their very existence on a daily basis.

But let's be clear: money doesn't save worlds. I do. We do. The people on the ground, in the labs, in the field, standing in the face of unspeakable entities that want to unravel time and space like a child tearing apart a paper crane.

The MSC? They sit behind their invisible desks in their invisible rooms, making invisible decisions.

Who Are They, Really?

You see, no one truly knows who sits on the MSC.

They are not elected.

They are not appointed.

They simply are.

Their records exist in classified files that even the most skilled reality-hackers can't breach. Their names are shadows in every database.

Some believe they are the oldest entities in the multiverse—ancient beings who predate thought itself.

Others suggest they are just extremely paranoid bureaucrats with too much power.

A few whisper that they aren't even people at all. That the MSC is just a self-governing mechanism of the multiverse itself, a law that enforces balance without the need for individuals.

What I know for certain is this:

They love denying my applications.

The Arrogance of the Unseen

Now, I don't mean to sound bitter—(I absolutely do, actually, let's be real here)—but what exactly do these mysterious overseers have that I lack?

Is it my "reckless approach to containment protocols"? (Please. The anomaly was going to explode anyway. I just made it explode on my terms.)

Is it my "tendency to speak too freely with the media"? (Oh, you mean the time I accidentally leaked information about the sentient black hole trying to eat a city? Sorry for keeping people informed.)

Or is it the fact that I actually do things, while they sit in their cosmic ivory tower watching the multiverse burn from a safe distance?

Let me tell you something about "protocols."

I have stood on the edge of collapsing dimensions and rewoven the very threads of reality with my own two hands. I have negotiated with gods, stared into the abyss, and made the abyss blink first. (Literally I still remember like 200 years ago when I won that staring contest, my streaming account was ban, a moment of silence for my 192 billion fans…)

And yet, I am still not worthy of a seat.

Why? Because I don't play by their rules? Because I don't sit in a void chamber debating the finer points of cosmic legislation while reality itself is crumbling?

A System That Works… Until It Doesn't

Now, I'll admit—the MSC does work.

Their funding ensures the ISS and the DCRU have the resources to handle the impossible. Their regulations keep us from spiraling into total anarchy.

They are, in some ways, the reason we haven't been erased from existence.

But let's be honest—they only step in when things are already falling apart.

They let disasters brew until they reach catastrophic levels, and only then do they send out their official decrees, their emergency task forces, their "final contingency measures."

By that point, people like me have already been in the trenches, fixing the problems they ignored.

And I am expected to sit here, take my paycheck, and be grateful?

So, What Now?

I suppose I'll send in another application. Maybe the fiftieth time's the charm. (Was it the fiftieth or the 2927th? I can't remember)

Or maybe, just maybe, I'll stop trying to sit among the unseen and continue doing what I do best—saving the multiverse, one disaster at a time.

And when the MSC finally makes a mistake they can't fix, when they find themselves in a situation beyond even their comprehension—

They'll call people like me.

And I'll pick up the phone.

Because at the end of the day, someone has to do the job.

And it sure as hell won't be them.

[END ARTICLE]

Written by Dr. Helbram, Senior Multiversal Researcher, ISS