I M Number Four Novels & Stories

Dimitri says, holding a paper with the number ‘4’ inscribed on it, well the mystery of the missing number four had been solved. Flipping it over I gasp as I see my name written on it in red. Hailey Stewarts.

I came back to reality with a gasp, coughing profusely as I revived. “Mariella, why the hell are you so stubborn?” Jose complained. “You'll kill yourself at this rate.” “S-Someone reach out…to Dante,” I rasped. “The pin is 9-4-4-1.” The radio crackled to life again. “Hey Dante?” Moretti said. “All ears,” Dante responded. “The pin is 9-4-4-1. I repeat 9-4-4-1.” Moretti said.

At the very least, I distinctly remember hearing seven taps and the first and last half of the combination. 3..3..2..something..4..5..9 I breathe in deeply, staring at the small monitor as I hope that it comes to me. I’m not sure if there’s a limit to how many attempts I get before this opportunity vanishes forever, so I try my patience, pressing my palms together as I bring my index fingers to my lips and lightly blow into my hands. 3..3..2..7..4..5..9? I shake my head, convinced that the combination doesn’t sound right in my head. It’s frustrating, and I can’t help but feel as if I’m somehow running out of time.

My heart pounding against my chest. I looked at the picture of his chest, zooming in on the snake tattoo. Narrowing my eyes… Trying to make sense of it all. And that was when I saw it. Heat pounding through my body… As relief washed over me. Two minutes remaining. 21 JASMINE There were four numbers encased on the coils of the serpent. Four. Five. Three. Two. Wasting no time, I reached for the safe. Inputting the numbers into it. Four.

"She said the number is 400, no exceptions, and to remember the rule of four?" "That's it! Oh, thank you, sweetie. You saved me a massive headache. Everything else is fine?" "Yes, Mom. Everything is totally fine." I smiled, glancing at Austin. "Perfect. I love you! Call me later!" I hung up, placing the phone on the table. "Rule of four?" I asked Austin, pulling the sheet up to my chin. "What does that mean?" He grinned, that real, genuine smile I loved. "It means if you multiply the number Brock wrote down by four and then divide it by two and add zero, you get the actual number. Brock loves secret codes. It’s exactly 400."

“Don’t try to talk. There is a leather strap keeping your mouth closed. Sorry about that. New recruits usually make the most awful racket during the initial examination that it is really for the best.” Unable to move her head, Devon shifted her eyes to and fro till she located the person talking. It was another female. Dressed identically to Eight, although her hair was a starkly bright red, cut short. “My name is Four. Welcome to the compound,” she said cheerily.

~ Terry has left the group ~ The doors open on the fourth floor, and I push the memory away, following the room numbers down the corridor, the smell of antiseptic and recycled air sitting heavy around me, until I find 404 and push the door open. Ivy is sitting up in the hospital bed looking like she lost a fight with a wall. Which, knowing Ivy, is not entirely impossible.

"Then every clue is another move." "And every answer..." Samuel finished. "...creates a new question." As they prepared to leave, Michael examined the inside of Locker 317 one final time. Something caught his eye. A tiny scratch on the metal floor. He knelt. It wasn't a scratch. It was a number. Carefully engraved into the steel. 0419 Grace looked puzzled. "A code?" Justice Sani photographed it. "It could be." Amara stared at the four digits. Something about them felt familiar.

Arc 1: The Wrong Room My keycard said 412. I pressed four in the elevator. I counted the doors in the hallway. I did everything right and somehow I am standing in the wrong room staring at the most beautiful bare back I have ever seen in my twenty-six years of life. In a room that looks absolutely nothing like mine even when the card feels right. He hasn't heard me come in.

There's something guarded in the way he holds himself, shoulders drawn slightly inward, like he's spent years learning to take up as little space as possible, to be easy to overlook in a world that clearly never once treated him gently. "Another one," Lucien says, disbelief coloring his voice. "How many more of you are there?" "Just me," the boy says, voice cracking slightly, like he hasn't used it in some time either. "As far as I know." "Who are you?" I ask, though the sixth heartbeat pounding steady and unmistakable beneath the bond's familiar rhythm has already half-answered the question for me. "I don't have a name," he says. "Not one that's mine, anyway. They called me Subject Six in t