Scp-004 Mga Nobela at Kwento

"The 'Holding' protocol has expired. Repossessing raw materials." "Raw materials?" I yelled, the Red Blood surging back to life. I felt the violet spark Silas had left in me ignite, creating a strange, swirling energy that felt like a storm in my veins. "We aren't materials! We’re the ones who survived your 'Graveyard'!" The Null turned its green lens toward me. "Subject 01-A. Identified as: **High-Value Bio-Mass**. Synthesis of Red Blood detected. Recovery of the 'Prime Frequency' is mandatory."

The alien creature suddenly interrupted her, his dark blonde brows mildly raising with surprise as his galaxy eyes intensely bore into the human female’s dark ones, already eager to know more about this new female Negative. "Y-yes. The BloodHound found her. Soldier 0410," She confirmed right before one of the guards soundlessly approached and placed a tablet into his awaiting palm, his dark galaxy eyes falling onto the profile laid on display. "Madeleine Cross..." He muttered under his breath, his calculating gaze rapidly absorbing all the information available on the human female. "She had strong illyrian genes as well," The young doctor chimed in as she watched him read through the profile

“Lena—he’s absorbing your power. He’s becoming something else.” Lena choked: “No… no, he’s my brother—he’s not a stabilizer—” Z-03 tilted its head. “He is not Z-03. Nor Z-04. But he is no longer human.” Z-04’s voice cut through harshly: “Z-01 must be terminated. It is the corrupted precursor.” Lena screamed: “I WON’T LET YOU TOUCH HIM!” Her presence flared again— Z-03 bowed deeper. Z-04 shook violently, digging its claws deeper into the earth.

Jaxter said as he stood up and walked toward the center of the room. Hayle and Jacob watched Jaxter move away, then exchanged glances, both realizing how dangerously close they had been to a psychopath. “Roberto! Search for any member with the serial 4401 in the Golden Circle. Contact 001 and tell him I’m requesting special access to 4401. Once you find him, bring him here alive! I’ll deal with this little rat myself,” Jaxter commanded, his voice cutting through the cold mountain air.

Outside, the birds fell silent. A figure stood in our garden, between the rosemary and the struggling carrots. It was neither male nor female, clad in a robe of shifting, neutral grey. Its face was pleasant but forgettable, and it held a slate of smooth, dark stone in one hand. In the other, a stylus of white light hovered, ready to take notes. “Designates: Sze and Kairi,” it said. Its voice was calm, measured, and utterly devoid of inflection. “I am Assessor Seven. I am here to evaluate Incident Report 4492-Alpha and the ongoing status of your localized anomaly.”

“How about that one. D3M04/A4G31. It looks like the codes I saw on the other files.” Rowan opens the file and gasps. We don’t even notice that our noses are almost touching the screen as we read through the file. D3M04 10RD- Captured date 03/16/1999 - Present Subject showing signs of aggression after being separated from the mate. Due to genetic abilities, the subject is a viable donor for the life endurance of interspecies permutation. D3M04’S mate, A4G31, although a viable donor, is expendable. However, D3M04 10RD has proven himself to be unmanageable because of his superior abilities. Therefore, an arrangement has been made with D3M04 10RD that as long as he remains cooperative, A4G31 sh

And in the furthest Council vault the old servers began to fry, spontaneously, violently. An operator yelled. Sector 4 is gone! Another was crying, Memory banks are killing themselves, data is rewriting! it is playing on her name!” It was the final screen flashing: Breach of PRIMARY SUBJECT. SUBJECT SEVEN: SYNC 46 %. ZERO PROTOCOL… MERGING.

The rear door, unable to fully close in the rush, swung wildly with the vehicle's violent acceleration. Avery launched herself forward. Like a mother driven mad, she threw herself onto the rear step of the speeding van. Physical pain seemed to have been severed entirely by maternal instinct. Her ten fingers dug into the narrow gap of the door, barely half an inch wide. Inside the cargo hold, a scar-faced man hunched over the communicator grabbed his radio. "—Yes, Mr. D. The direct derivative sample of Subject 047 has been secured. No damage to the specimen." *047.*

Her body convulsed once, twice, then exploded into dust. Gone. Just like that. The sound that came out of me wasn’t even human. I slapped my hand over my mouth, squeezing my eyes shut, but it didn’t matter. The image burned behind my eyelids—her vanishing mid-step, her clothes disintegrating before they even hit the ground. The Game Master chuckled. “Precision, my dears,” it let out. “Precision is everything.” The next name flickered. “Number 0449.” A man this time. Big, broad-shouldered, maybe in his thirties. He muttered something under his breath and stepped up.

The scent of antiseptic burned my nose. A hospital. I turned and froze. A glass window stretched before me, wide and gleaming. Beyond it— A chair. Restraints. Monitors. Tubes. And me. Strapped to the chair. Pale. Still. A line of stitches running across my scalp. I stepped closer, horror flooding my chest. “What is this?” I whispered. The glass flickered, flashing words in red: "Project Confessor: Subject 01 — Giovanni Moretti" Date: 2002.